Then there was a more prolonged silence until Stone heard Reuben's voice. "Oliver, are you okay?"

A few moments later Reuben and Stone stood over the body after making sure the room was empty. Stone shone his light on the body. There were two bullet holes within a centimeter of each other, dead center of the man's chest. Stone examined the man's features, clothing and weaponry. "North Korean," he deduced.

"What exactly did you do at the CIA?" Reuben asked as he looked at the twin bullet holes.

"I was officially called a destabilizer destabilizer. It sounds far less offensive than what I actually was."

The machine-gun bullets ripped through the door to the firing range; Reuben and Stone threw themselves to the floor.

The door burst open and a second man flew inside, still firing.

Stone managed to kick a leg out and trip the man, sending him sprawling and his machine gun flying out of his hands.

Reuben pounced on the much smaller man.

"Got 'im, Oliver," Reuben cried out. Reuben wrapped his huge arms around the man and squeezed. "Not so tough without your gun." Then Reuben cried out in pain as the man smashed his heel on top of Reuben's foot. Reuben's grip loosened a bit, which was the only opening the man needed. Two blows slammed into Reuben's chin, then two more thunderous strikes knifed into his gut, and Reuben was on his knees gasping for air and spitting up blood. The man's hand raised, the blade in it held in a killing position. It descended toward the back of Reuben's neck.

The bullet hit him flush in the brain, and he dropped to his knees and then toppled to the floor.

Stone thrust the pistol back in his belt and ran over to his friend.

"Reuben?" he said shakily. "Reuben!"

"d.a.m.n, Oliver," Reuben said slowly through his busted mouth. He rose on trembling legs. The two men looked at each other.

"What the h.e.l.l are we doing here, Oliver?" Reuben said, wiping the blood away. "We're way out of our league."

Stone looked down at his trembling hands and felt the pain in his leg where he'd tripped the man. He'd killed two men tonight after not having killed anyone for nearly thirty years. Despite his brief feelings of his old training coming back, this was not not like riding a bicycle. It was less about physical training and youthful strength and more about a mind-set that said it was okay to kill another human being by any means possible and for any reason. Stone had once been such a man. He no longer was. And yet he was trapped in a building that would very likely be his and his friends' crypt if he didn't continue to summon his old homicidal instincts. like riding a bicycle. It was less about physical training and youthful strength and more about a mind-set that said it was okay to kill another human being by any means possible and for any reason. Stone had once been such a man. He no longer was. And yet he was trapped in a building that would very likely be his and his friends' crypt if he didn't continue to summon his old homicidal instincts.

"I'm sorry for bringing you here, Reuben. I'm very sorry." Stone's voice cracked as he said this.

Reuben put a big hand around his friend. "h.e.l.l, Oliver, if we gotta die, I'd rather go with you than anybody else I know. But we have to get back. I mean what would Caleb and Milton do without us?"

Alex and Simpson were in a large, dark room that smelled distinctly foul. They had not heard the shots from the firing range because it was insulated for sound. Using his night-vision goggles Alex was able to see that there was a narrow elevated pa.s.sageway leading across the room that was reachable by a set of metal steps.

He whispered to Simpson, "I'll go first, to make sure it's okay. But cover me close," he added.

"Why do you get to play hero?" she asked.

"Who says I'm playing hero? If I get in trouble, you better d.a.m.n sure come bail me out, even if it means getting your a.s.s shot up. Now, listen, when you go across that pa.s.sageway, you stay right in the middle, okay? Do not step on the sides."

"Why, what'll happen?"

"I don't know and I don't want to find out. Oliver just told me to stay smack in the middle, and that's what we're going to do."

Alex made his way cautiously up the stairs and then walked across the catwalk staying right in the middle and keeping low. He reached the other side, saw the door to the other room and called back softly.

"Okay, it's clear, come on."

Simpson hurried after him. As soon as she reached him, the entry door to the room opened and closed. Alex and Simpson instantly crouched low.

Alex studied the situation and then tapped Simpson on the shoulder and motioned to the exit door behind them and then indicated he was staying behind. As Simpson started off, Alex crouched on the edge of the catwalk, his pistol pointed straight ahead. He glanced back at Simpson and nodded. She opened the door and eased through. However, she made a slight noise, and this caused the other person in the room to hurry up the steps and onto the catwalk. Alex stepped forward and, unfortunately, to the side of the pa.s.sageway. He heard a click, and the floor under him disappeared. He plummeted downward and landed in knee-deep, sludgy water. He heard another splash farther down the tank. The other guy had apparently fallen in too. It was now so black in here that Alex couldn't even see himself, and his night-vision goggles had fallen off into the muck. Alex prayed his adversary didn't have night-vision equipment, or he was dead.

A shot was fired, and the bullet clanged off the side of the tank far too close to Alex's head. He crouched down, returned fire and then moved. He tried not to breathe in the stench of the s.h.i.t he'd fallen into. The wound in his arm was hurting, his bruised ribs were aching like h.e.l.l and his neck was on fire. Other than that, he was in great shape.

Alex had another problem besides these physical injuries. Because he was in knee-deep sludge, it was impossible to move without revealing his position. So Alex didn't move. The problem was neither did the other man. This was turning into a battle of the first one to move dies. And now it occurred to Alex: This was the "patience" room that Stone had mentioned. After some minutes of standing still Alex realized he needed another strategy. He slowly reached out until his fingers touched the metal sides of the tank. Then he drew out his flashlight.

Alex suddenly jerked his torso to the side, and the knife sailed by him, clanged against the sides of the tank and fell into the water with a small splash. Alex didn't fire his weapon, though, which was undoubtedly his opponent's hope.

He hefted the flashlight in his hand, reached up and placed it carefully against the metal side of the tank. Its magnetized side instantly clamped securely there. Next Alex ducked down, and, stretching his arm as far as it would go, he placed his index finger on the flashlight's power b.u.t.ton. He readied his pistol, said a heartfelt prayer, pushed the b.u.t.ton and whipped his hand back. The light blazed on, and a second later two shots. .h.i.t it directly. Another instant and Alex's own gun rang, and he let out a sigh of relief as he heard the body hit the water. Then someone was scrambling past overhead. How was that possible? There was no floor anymore. Then someone else else raced by. raced by.

Alex jumped as high as he could, trying to reach a handhold to pull himself out. Twice he missed and fell into the water. The third time he was on target, pulled himself up and managed to jerk himself along the handrail to the next door and through it.

CHAPTER 66.

STONE AND REUBEN LOOKED around what appeared to be a replica of famed Hogan's Alley in Quantico, which the FBI used to train its agents for real-life scenarios. The Secret Service had a similar setup at their Beltsville training facility. This room had mock buildings, a phone booth, sidewalks and an intersection complete with traffic light. An old black sedan with rotted tires was parked on the street. It was as though they had suddenly stepped back in time. around what appeared to be a replica of famed Hogan's Alley in Quantico, which the FBI used to train its agents for real-life scenarios. The Secret Service had a similar setup at their Beltsville training facility. This room had mock buildings, a phone booth, sidewalks and an intersection complete with traffic light. An old black sedan with rotted tires was parked on the street. It was as though they had suddenly stepped back in time.

Standing on the street were a number of mannequins-a couple of men, three women and some children. The paint on their faces had faded, and they were very grimy, but they still looked remarkably lifelike. Reuben noted that there were bullet holes in the heads of all of them.

Stone led Reuben behind one of the buildings. There were wooden staircases here leading up to landings at each of the cutout windows.

"This is where we'd do our sniper work," Stone explained.

"Who were you training to kill?"

"You don't want to know that," Stone tersely answered before putting a finger up to his lips. Footsteps were heading their way. Stone pointed upward, toward one of the windows. They made their way quietly up and cautiously peered out.

Three North Koreans had entered the s.p.a.ce. They moved as one well-trained unit, each taking turns covering the others as they searched the area.

Stone's and Reuben's fingers tightened on their pistol triggers. Stone eased forward and lined up a shot. The problem was the men were carrying MP-5 machine guns. If Stone and Reuben each took out one of the North Koreans, that would leave one left and their position revealed. And even with two pistols between them, it would not be an easy thing to beat an MP-5 in a pair of skilled hands.

"Holy s.h.i.t!" Reuben exclaimed.

One of the North Koreans had just dropped to the ground with a knife stuck in the side of his neck. The other two instantly fired in the direction of where the knife had come. Then there was silence as the two North Koreans hurriedly moved forward, taking up cover behind the old car. With the backs of the North Koreans now to Stone and Reuben, the two Camel Club members could have taken out both of them. Yet when Reuben looked over questioningly, Stone shook his head. He wanted to see how this played out before they committed themselves.

One of the North Koreans drew an object from his jacket, pulled a pin and tossed it in the direction of the knife thrower.

Even though the grenade was not heading in their direction, Stone grabbed Reuben and pressed him to the floor of the landing they were on.

The explosion rocked the small s.p.a.ce. When the noise abated and the smoke cleared somewhat, Stone and Reuben glanced up in time to see the North Koreans moving forward. Stone would have waited: It was still too smoky to see all that clearly.

An instant later, leaping out of this cover of smoke was a figure dressed all in black from head to foot. He moved with such incredible speed and agility that he appeared to be immune to the effects of gravity. A pair of crescent swords flashed at his sides like wings.

Using the swords, he struck the machine guns, knocking them out of the North Koreans' hands. When they reached for their pistols, the swords sliced into their holsters, dropping them to the ground, where their a.s.sailant kicked them away. All this occurred in one blindingly fast series of motions.

Then the man stopped and stood between the pair of North Koreans. He very deliberately took off his black hood and placed the crescent swords on the floor.

Tom Hemingway eyed the men closely and then spoke to them in Korean.

"What'd he say?"

"Basically to surrender or die," Stone answered, his gaze transfixed on the scene in front of them.

"Think they will?" Reuben whispered.

"No. They're North Koreans. Their tolerance for pain and suffering is beyond most people's comprehension." As Stone stared at Hemingway, he thought to himself, And they're going to need every ounce of that tolerance right now. And they're going to need every ounce of that tolerance right now.

The North Koreans both a.s.sumed Tae Kwon Do stances. One made a quick feint with his foot that Hemingway didn't even bother to respond to. He spoke again to them in Korean. They both shook their heads. The other launched a kick at Hemingway, who grabbed the man by the foot with one hand and, with a thrust of his arm, sent him sailing backward. He spoke again in Korean.

"He said, 'I'm sorry to have to do this,'" Stone answered as Reuben looked at him questioningly.

Before they took another breath, Hemingway struck. His fist broke right through the feeble defense of one of his opponents and slammed directly into the man's chest. Moving so fast it was actually difficult to follow with the naked eye, Hemingway whirled and delivered a crushing kick to the side of the man's head.

Even from where they were hiding, Stone and Reuben could hear the snap of the man's neck.

The other man ran across the street toward the car with Hemingway on his heels. When he whirled around, Hemingway saw the knife and leaped. The man threw the knife and it sliced into Hemingway's arm, but he kept coming. The heel of his foot hit the North Korean directly on the chin, knocking him back against the car. Hemingway stopped and looked at the blood on his arm, then turned his attention back to the man.

"This ain't going to be pretty," Reuben said.

Hemingway's first strike killed the man. Stone could see this from where he was crouched. He had never seen a blow that hard thrown by a human being. It was more like the raw power of a grizzly bear.

And yet Hemingway did not let the North Korean fall. He held him up against the car and kept striking away, in the head, in the chest and in the abdomen. He was. .h.i.tting him with such force and astonishing speed that when Hemingway finally let go and the man slumped to the ground, Stone and Reuben could see that the car door behind him had been caved in.

Hemingway stepped back and took a deep breath as he surveyed the three dead men. As he went to pick up his swords, Stone took out his pistol and drew a bead on the back of Hemingway's head. Suddenly, Hemingway stiffened, stood straight and slowly turned in the direction of where Stone and Reuben were hidden.

He stared up at the window. Although he couldn't possibly see them, it was clear that Hemingway was aware of their presence.

As Hemingway stood there, apparently waiting for the bullet to come, Stone lowered his gun. Hemingway waited a few seconds, and then, in a blink, he was gone.

Simpson ran as fast as she could but was hopelessly disoriented. She finally stopped and looked around. She was in a maze. "Alex?" she cried out.

"Jackie!"

She ran toward his voice.

"Jackie, they're in here somewhere. Watch yourself."

She instantly stopped and knelt down, listening. All she could hear at first was her breathing. Then the sounds of footsteps, stealthy footsteps. She backed down the corridor, away from them. She held her pistol up, ready to fire "Jackie?"

"Down here," she called out.

Alex stuck his head around the corner and saw her. He quickly joined her.

She looked at his filthy clothes. "What the h.e.l.l happened to you?"

He rubbed at the muck. "Don't ask. Just don't ever say I lack patience, or I'll deck you." He gazed behind him. "Two guys blew past me coming in here. Any sign of them?"

She shook her head. "So how do we get out of here?"

"It's as simple as checking the floor."

"What?"

Alex didn't answer. He walked down the corridor and stopped where it intersected with another. He got on his knees and looked at the floor. "d.a.m.n, how about that?"

Simpson hurried forward and joined him.

"See?" He was pointing at a small dot in a crevice in the floor that was barely visible.

"A red dot," Simpson said. "What does that tell us?"

"Which way to turn."

"How?"

"You must be a landlubber."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning sailors know that red means port and port means left." He turned left down the corridor, and they walked along until they reached another intersection. There they found another dot. This one was green.

"Green means starboard and starboard means-"

"Right," Simpson finished for him.

They made their way through the corridor this way and soon found themselves at the end.

"Okay, how did you know about the dots?" Simpson demanded.

"Oliver told me."

"So he really was here," Simpson said slowly.

Alex stared at her. "I never doubted it." He looked up ahead at the door at the far end of the hall. "Oliver said we only had two rooms on this side. That means through that door-"

"Is the president."

"And Hemingway," Alex added grimly.

"He is a federal agent, Alex, which means he might be on our side."

"Jackie, listen to me. This guy is a traitor, and he can probably kill you with his pinkie. If you get a chance to shoot him, take it."