Kim did not move, keeping his back to him, but the North Korean said, “American. You must be Malone. I saw you in the train station.”
“I told you to drop the gun.”
“Or you’ll shoot me?”
“Something like that.”
“She was a lovely girl,” Kim said. “So much like her mother. A shame she was also a fool.”
“You kill your children easily.”
“The choice was hers, not mine.”
He kept the gun aimed, amused at how Kim thought a little small talk would buy him time to assesses his options.
Unfortunately, there weren’t any.
“I tried to love her,” Kim said. “But I assume you saw what she did. Burning that sheet, which you surely know about.”
“It’s done,” he made clear. “This is over. The only question is, will you walk away in one piece.”
“Of course I will,” Kim said. “Why would I not? You stand above me, in the balcony. I can tell from your voice. And I am down here. I doubt you will shoot me for no reason.”
“Turn around. Nice and slow.”
He’d purposefully not repeated his command to drop the gun. Kim slowly turned, the pistol still firmly gripped at waist level. He saw the sound suppressor at the end of the barrel and now knew why the shots had been so muffled.
“I’m going to leave,” Kim said. “Here are the remaining papers.” He tossed them to the floor. “As you say, this matter is over.”
“Except for the five murders you’ve committed.”
“And what would you do? Try me in a court? I doubt it. The last thing America wants is to provide me with an open forum. I may not have the answers, but I can ask enough questions to cause the United States a lot of embarrassment.”
That he could.
Which actually begged the question that the arrogant fool apparently wanted answered.
Would Malone shoot him?
He lowered the gun and decided to give the bastard a fighting chance.
“I see,” Kim said. “This is to be my trial.”
The challenge had been issued. Leaving here meant going through him. Kim’s daughter had pegged him right. This man’s family had ruled millions of people for a long time. And they’d accomplished that feat through lies, force, violence, torture, and death. Never had a single person voluntarily voted for them. Their power was hereditary, dependent on corruption and brutality. Placed under a microscope, or exposed to the light of day, or even debated in the simplest terms, their evil quickly came into focus. They would never amount to anything where people possessed a free and informed choice.
“Just you and me,” he said.
Kim stood rigid, the gun at his waist.
He knew Stephanie Nelle wanted this problem eliminated. She hadn’t said as much, and never would she. Officially, the United States did not resort to assassination. But it happened. All the time.
“Is this a duel? A shootout? Like in the westerns?” Kim chuckled. “Americans are so dramatic. If you want me dead, just shoot me.”
He said nothing.
“No, I don’t imagine you would do such a thing,” Kim said. “You don’t seem like a man who kills for no reason. So I’m going to toss my gun down and leave. That’s much better than me being given a public trial. We both know that. Then this matter can truly end.”
Kim’s thin lips twisted into an acrid smile.
Ordinarily, he’d agree, but there was the matter of Larks, Jelena, and Hana Sung. The waist-high wall before him shielded his gun from Kim’s view. His right thumb slowly cocked the hammer back and clicked it into place. Kim’s arm with the gun straightened and he began to aim the weapon toward the floor, as if about to discard it. Malone kept his gun at his side, wondering if Kim might actually call his bluff and walk away. But men like Kim Yong Jin always thought themselves smarter than others, and this version did not disappoint him.
Kim swung his arm around and up.
Malone raised the gun and fired, all without the benefit of a solid aim, but he did not miss. The bullet tore through Kim’s chest and hurled him backward. One hand shot up for support but found none. The weapon pinwheeled out of Kim’s hand.
He knew what had to be done.
He fired two more shots.
*
Isabella heard retorts.
Definitely gunfire. Both she and Luke turned toward the source.
The cathedral.
They rushed to its main doors and found the latch open. They each assumed a position on either side of the stone jamb. Luke pushed the wooden slab inward. Its hinges whined some resistance. She stole a glance inside, the gun gripped with both hands. Past a small vestibule and into the nave, she saw a body lying in the center aisle. Luke spotted it, too.
“Malone,” she called out.
“I’m here. It’s all clear.”
They both relaxed their weapons and entered the church.
Kim Yong Jin lay still on the floor. To her right she saw the daughter, the body in a posture only achievable in death. Malone stood above them in a balcony that encircled the church.
She caught the warm sickly stench of blood.
“He killed her. I killed him. What about Howell?”
Luke shook his head.
“That’s too bad.”
She saw the stack of documents lying beside Kim and retrieved them.
“The original of the code is gone, burned over there at the candles. Nobody will ever see that again.”
“Then that ends this,” Luke declared.
“Not quite yet,” Malone said.
SIXTY-SEVEN
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA 6:00 P.M.
Stephanie sat in the helicopter as she and Joe Levy flew across Pittsburgh. Below, rush hour clogged the highways. Since they had no time to sit in traffic, a chopper had been waiting at the airport. The trip north on a Department of Justice jet had taken less than two hours and they should be on the ground shortly.