Contagion Option

Bolan nestled in a copse and changed into his peasant gear and a wide-brimmed hat to further obscure his western appearance. A fast check of his disguise prosthetics, and he knew that he was in business. The Beretta pressed against his ribs under the baggy, shapeless gray jacket, its twin cinched against his hip under his belt.

But those were only to come out when he found the heart of this operation, if he got that far.

Throwing the sack over his shoulder, and leaning against the walking stick, Bolan stooped enough to seem a full foot shorter and began his march toward the smugglers’ destination. It was a simple disguise, making him enfeebled and bent with age. His paperwork, battered as if it were twenty years old, would pass a cursory inspection, and his knowledge of Southeast Asian languages would carry him even further.

It had been a long time since the Executioner had disappeared among the teeming masses of the Orient, but he still knew all the tricks of role camouflage that had proved a far more effective weapon than a handgun or a sniper rifle.

As prepared as possible, Bolan disappeared into North Korea.

“WE’VE GOT TROUBLES, Doctor,” General II-Raye Chong said into the phone.

“We, General? You’re the one discussing things on an open line.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor. Our ship out of Thailand was intercepted by the United States Navy.”

“And your submarine disappeared without a trace. Yes, yes, I know,” the doctor responded, seeming bored and tired.

Chong grimaced at the dismissive tone. “We’ve been out of communications with the submarine, yes.”

“You would think that if they spotted U.S. Navy helicopters around a ship smuggling your latest round of experiments, they would have retreated to a safe harbor and contacted you.”

Chong felt his cheeks heat with anger.

“And there were no reports that the submarine was captured, even on the most sensitive of communications,” the doctor responded. “I know. I checked.”

“So, what now?” Chong asked.

“We presume that your operation has been compromised,” the doctor answered. “But, even if they did recover any intelligence from the submarine, there is nothing tying you and your smugglers to me here.”

“But—”

“And it’s highly unlikely that you’ll end up having an enemy visit you in force,” the doctor stated. “You’re safe in Korea.”

“And if someone is coming?” Chong suggested.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “At most, a handful of intruders into your territory. You should have sufficient forces to deal with them.”

“Doctor…”

“You truly are determined to try my patience, aren’t you?” the doctor asked.

“You know something about what I’m going to run into, don’t you?” Chong asked.

“I know everything, General,” the doctor returned. “That is why I am not some overdressed, desk-bound pencil pusher with delusions of adequacy, and you are not at the heart of this operation.”

Chong took a deep breath.

“Careful, General, we wouldn’t want you to get too upset. You could drop dead of the most innocuous ailments,” the doctor replied. “At least, that’s what the coroner would make of my skill.”

Chong’s spine chilled at the thought. He’d seen how the doctor had been able to strike down enemies miles away. Chong and several of his underlings had met with the man once. When the doctor returned to his home base, thousands of miles away, the doctor had informed the general and his staff of their vulnerability to his whims via a conference call.

At the utterance of the word “whim,” Lieutenant Sung had suddenly fallen into a fit of seizures. Foaming at the mouth, the Korean thrashed on the carpet, unable to cry out in agony as the doctor described how Chong and the rest of his staff had been implanted with subdermal, remote-control devices. Each contained a highly lethal biotoxin that became untraceable within moments of the victim’s expiration.

Sung lasted fifteen minutes, puking and twisting violently on the floor before he died.

Fifteen minutes that had to have felt like an eternity in hell.

“Remember, General. Deal properly with me, or I shall become very, very cross,” the doctor informed him.

Chong cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.” Chong could hear the doctor’s smile as he spoke.

The strange doctor gloated on the other end of the phone line, and there was nothing that General Chong could do to stop him.

He had entered into the bargain with the man to forge his own destiny, free from the Beloved Leader who seemed determined to hurl the world into chaos.

Instead, Chong knelt before a new master who cherished the power of life and death as if he were a sorcerer.

“If you are going to receive visitors, General, I advise you to be prepared now. They should arrive within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. If you can, call in all the high-tech surveillance and all the best soldiers you have access to,” the doctor advised. “I’ve lost several friends to the kind of opposition that can make a submarine disappear without a trace.”

Chong tilted his head. “So soon?”

“If they’re not in the country already, they’ll be there by dawn,” the doctor informed him. “And they will arrive invisibly, but with enough force to level your base.”

“Is there no one you can send to aid me?” Chong asked.

“Not presently,” the doctor replied. “But, please, feel free to kill yourself before falling into enemy hands. Because if you do become a prisoner, I can guarantee that it will be the longest, and last, fifteen minutes you’ll ever spend.”