The director could see he was outgunned, so he nodded his assent, then he and Carol Williams left the gallery.
“Make sure we’re alone,” she called out to Chick-fil-A Man, who nodded, then followed the others out.
“They gone?” Danny asked.
She still lay on the floor. “Yep.”
“Open that sucker up.”
SIXTY-THREE
CROATIA
Malone watched as the first man from the train joined his compatriot in the station and they realized that Kim was armed and on the move.
“Everyone down,” he screamed in English as he found his own weapon.
The few people on the platform who understood him looked his way, saw the gun, then fled toward the station doors. Kim also reacted to the warning, jamming the barrel of his gun into Howell’s ribs. Malone gave that act some respect, but the two Koreans seemed not to care. They’d taken cover behind a metal bench and aimed their weapons. Their mission did not include returning either Kim or Howell alive.
And here was a golden opportunity.
* * *
Isabella spotted Kim and Howell fifty feet away, the station platform dim, people fleeing. Both she and Luke were exposed with no cover. But Kim’s attention had been drawn in the opposite direction.
To Malone.
Whom she saw had drawn his gun.
Hana Sung, though, was staring straight at her and Luke.
A row of luggage carts stood lined to their left, which offered some protection.
She leaped that way as Sung aimed her gun and fired.
* * *
Malone had seen Isabella and Luke exiting the train, and while the father worried about him, the daughter was shooting at them, rounds popping out in rapid succession.
A woman screamed.
Another man yelled.
In Korean.
Kim turned his attention away from Malone and toward the other two. More Korean words passed between them. Isabella and Luke had lunged for cover behind a row of luggage carts. Kim forced Howell ahead, toward the doors that led from the platform to the station, using his captive as a shield. It would only be an instant before Luke and Isabella started firing. He hoped they realized that Howell was in a bad predicament.
“Luke,” he yelled. “Two more to your left. Both armed.”
Bullets came his way from the Koreans as they now realized his presence. Luckily he’d found cover behind one of the iron pedestals that held the ceiling aloft. Rounds pinged off the metal, tossing sparks, ricocheting in every direction.
He steadied himself and prepared to return fire.
* * *
Kim’s heart fluttered with panic. Alarm burned at the back of his ears. This town was a trap, one set by both the Americans and North Koreans. He had to flee. Hana had occupied the man and woman from the train, and the two Koreans were shooting at someone else off to his right. Unfortunately he had to cross that line of fire to escape. His left arm wrapped Howell’s neck, the gun still tight to the man’s ribs.
One of the Koreans stopped firing and turned back his way.
Anan Wayne Howell was of no use to him any longer. He’d been played on the train. Surely Howell had been told not to mention that he knew Jelena was dead, but the younger man’s emotions had gotten the best of him. Still, though Howell was of no value in one respect that did not mean he was completely useless.
He pivoted left and placed Howell between him and the rising danger.
A shot came his way and thudded into Howell’s chest.
The man’s breath left him in a gasp and the body jerked from the impact. Another round and a second bullet slammed into Howell.
Neither penetrated through to Kim.
He released his grip on the American.
* * *
Malone winced as Howell was shot twice.
He fled his cover, aimed at the Korean shooting, and took him down with one shot. The second man then went on the offensive, firing Malone’s way, which caused him to dive to the concrete floor.
Rounds whizzed past him and dinged off the train.
He rolled and used another iron pillar for cover.
The last he saw, Kim and Hana Sung were fleeing the platform into the station.
And the remaining Korean followed.
* * *
Isabella crouched beside Luke, their position not the best in the world. They had some cover, but not much. Rising up and shooting would involve exposure, but she saw that Luke was willing to risk it. So was she. A lot of rounds were being expended. Their eyes met and signaled that they would do it together. Luke nodded and up they went.
The platform had gone quiet.
A body lay on the concrete near the train, a second off to the left in the shadows.
“Malone,” Luke called out.
“Here.”
And she saw a dark figure emerge from behind one of the support pillars. He held a gun at his side and rushed toward the man down near the train.
They did the same.
It was Howell.
Luke rolled him over. Howell was breathing, but spewing blood with each exhale, more fluid pouring from two chest wounds.
“Hang in there,” Luke said. “We’ll get you some help. Stay with us.”
Her heart sank.
“Kim used him as a shield,” Malone said.
“We had some issues on the train,” she noted. “All hell broke loose just before we got to the station. Three more are dead on board.”
“The daughter was holding a stack of papers,” Malone said.
She’d seen them, too.
“I’m going after them,” he said. “You two get some help. Don’t let him die.”
And Malone ran off.
* * *
Hana followed her father as they rushed from the train station and onto the street. She’d seen many a town just like this in China and North Korea. Compact and quiet, the paths through it narrow and angular with abrupt endings. Even worse, they knew nothing of the local geography. Above them stood the chief glory, a cathedral with twin bell towers and ornamental windows, its brightly lit belfries framed by the night, then blurred by the fog.
“We go that way,” her father said.
And he ran up the inclined cobblestones toward the church, turning a corner and disappearing into the darkness.
She glanced behind them and noticed no one.
All of the commotion remained inside.
In the distance she heard sirens.
And knew what that meant.
* * *
Malone ran through the station toward its street exit. The few attendants on duty were all in a panic, providing enough confusion for him to make his way through the building. He slipped the gun, still in hand, beneath his jacket. Outside, in the mist, he spotted Kim and his daughter rounding a bend, headed up an inclined way between the closed shops toward the cathedral. He saw nothing of the second Korean who’d also left the platform. He doubted he’d fled, so he told himself to proceed with caution.
Sirens in the distance were drawing closer, maybe only a few blocks away.
He hustled off in Kim’s direction.
* * *
Isabella could see that Howell was in a bad way. Two slugs to the chest could do a great deal of damage. Luke cradled Howell in his lap, the man’s eyes open, his breathing labored, blood still spewing with each exhale. That meant a lung had been pierced. One of the station workers had called the police and an ambulance. Several of the passengers from the train stood off to the side, watching. She wondered if there was a doctor anywhere among them, but her callouts in English for one had gone unanswered.
“Hang in there,” Luke told Howell again. “Stay with me. Help is coming.”
Luke’s gaze up to her asked if that were true, but she could only shake her head and hope.
“Malone shouldn’t have gone alone,” she said. “One of the guys shooting at us is out there, too.”
“I agree,” Luke said. “Go
.”