Nuclear Storm. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ The Samoan examined the credentials for more than thirty seconds. Bolan wasn’t concerned—they were real as far as anyone outside the State Department was concerned. “One moment, sir.” The bodyguard touched his earpiece and muttered something in what sounded like Korean.

       Moments later, the bodyguard returned his attention to Bolan. “Please stand with your legs shoulder-width apart and spread your arms.” Bolan complied, and the second man ran a handheld metal detector over his body. When he was finished, the Samoan patted him down thoroughly. Satisfied that Bolan was unarmed, the second bodyguard produced a key card and swiped it through the lock on the double mahogany door, which opened to a burst of music, loud conversation in several languages, the laughter of men and women, and a swirl of smoke.

       The Samoan opened the door farther for Bolan. “The doctor will be with his guests in the main room. You will be escorted at all times while inside. Do you have any questions?”

       Bolan shook his head and stepped into a small foyer. He was met by a smaller Asian man, also dressed in a tuxedo, with alert eyes, a buzz cut and an unmistakable bulge under his right arm. “If you’ll follow me, sir.” He turned and escorted Bolan into the large main room.

       The huge Chairman Suite more than lived up to its name. It was decorated in black wood and granite, with dark hardwood floors covered with large patterned rugs. A long black-and-silver screen depicting a flock of cranes taking off from a pond took up the far wall of the room. The furniture was modern and sleek, from the leather wingback chairs and plush couches scattered around the room to the ebony baby grand piano surrounded by several women as someone played what sounded to Bolan like some kind of show tune. The women were all singing in more than one language.

       From the looks of it, the party had been going on for some time. A long, granite-topped table along one wall contained the remains of a demolished buffet, and suit jackets, evening wraps and shoes were scattered around the room. Bolan guessed the women in attendance were professionals, and as he was led deeper inside, he saw one of them lead a balding, potbellied man dressed only in an undershirt, socks and garters into another room and close the door.

       Cigarette and marijuana smoke mingled, the thick, stale cloud obscuring what would probably have been a magnificent view of the city’s skyline.

       The third bodyguard led Bolan to a corner of the main room, where a large, U-shaped black leather couch was currently hosting several men and women, all in various states of undress. And in the middle of it all, leading his inebriated guests in an off-key chorus of “I Did it My Way” was the man himself, Dr. Kim Dae-jung.

       The man known as the driving force behind North Korea’s nuclear weapons program wasn’t much to look at. Barely clearing five feet, he was pudgy, with a bulging belly that attested to a life spent at a lab table. He wore rimless glasses and his receding black hair, normally swept back from his forehead, stuck out in all directions, as if he had just been mildly electrocuted.

       Bolan stood patiently next to the bodyguard while Dae-jung and his group finished their song. His eyes and ears, however, were cataloging every person, where they were, and what they were holding or doing. He spotted two more obvious bodyguards in the room, and one of the prostitutes who he thought might be disguised to blend in with the guests.

       The song finished to cheers, applause and everybody drinking a round of what smelled like sake. The bodyguard slipped over to Dae-jung’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

       “What? Here? Now? What does he want?” the drunken doctor bellowed. The bodyguard pointed to Bolan, and Dae-jung adjusted his glasses as he looked the soldier up and down. “Well, you State bastards finally caught up with me, didn’t you. Took you long enough.”

       “I’m afraid so, Doctor, although following your trail was very…interesting. I’d like to talk to you about your accompanying me to the United States, where there are several people who are waiting to talk to you.”

       Dae-jung peered at him blearily through the smudged lenses of his askew glasses. “I could have you killed, you know. It would be a great mystery. You walk into this room, but you never walk out.”

       Although he was sure he could take out both of obvious and covert bodyguards without receiving a scratch, Bolan nodded. “You could, but the State Department would just send someone else to find you. Why not save both your bodyguards the trouble of disposing of me, and the U.S. government the trouble of flying someone else halfway around the world, and just come with me now?”

       The diminutive scientist stared at Bolan for a few seconds, then roared with laughter. “I’ve never met a suit with a sense of humor before. Sit, sit, have a drink. You want anything else—a woman, a man, a boy, coke, hash, dust?”

       Bolan slid in between Dae-Jung and the beautiful, almost-passed-out Filipino woman next to him. “I’ve only come for one person. Now that I’ve found him, it’s time to go.”

       Dae-Jung poured sake into two cups, his hand trembling slightly. He looked several years older than the CIA’s most recent picture of him. Bolan wasn’t sure if that was due to the stress of being on the run, or due to living a 24/7 party lifestyle for the past few weeks.

       Dae-jung picked up one of the glasses and stared into the liquor as if he might be able to see the answer to his problems in it. “I worked for those bastards and our glorious leader for twenty-four years, always maintaining the party line. I did all right, too—cars, summer homes, even vacations. But when my daughter and her entire family starved to death in 2008, well, there’s only so much a man can turn a blind eye to, right?”

       Bolan nodded. “I would agree with that.”

       Dae-jung suddenly held out the sake cup to him. “Before I agree to anything, you must drink with me. Otherwise, I will order my bodyguards to have you killed.” His smile said he was joking, while his eyes, suddenly clear and piercing, said he wasn’t.

       Bolan accepted the glass and held it up. “To your daughter and her family—may they rest in peace.”

       The drunk scientist clinked his glass against Bolan’s, spilling a rivulet of liquid down the side, then downed the shot in one gulp. Bolan followed suit, feeling the smooth rice wine heat his palate as it slid down his throat. He placed the empty glass back on the table and watched Dae-jung.

       “Can I stay in Las Vegas? I’ve always wanted to see Las Vegas!” the doctor proclaimed loudly as he grabbed a magnum bottle of champagne and refilled his glass.

       “I’m sure that can be arranged.” Always aware of the bodyguard, Bolan leaned closer to the small Korean. “However, it would be in your best interest if we were to leave now. Doubtless there are others who are looking for you as well who don’t have your well-being in mind, and if I was able to find you, they will soon, too.”

       Dae-jung swigged his champagne, a drop trickling down his chin. “I’ll party tonight, then go with you tomorrow morning, sleep on the flight over.”

       “With all due respect. Doctor—” Bolan was interrupted by Tokaido’s voice in his ear.

       “Striker, you’ve got armed men coming down the hall—shit, they just took out both guards outside the door! They’re gonna be inside any second!”

      Chapter 2

      Bolan was already standing, trying to lift the drunken scientist to his feet as the bodyguard pushed through the crowd of women to intercept him.

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