Omega Cult. Don Pendleton
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sect,” Lee said, correcting him.
“My most sincere apology.” Park’s contrition was nowhere evident in his demeanor or his voice. “Three infiltrators in your sect, planted by South Korea’s NIS.”
Park referred to the National Intelligence Service, initially launched as the Korean Central Intelligence Agency in 1961. It was renamed the Agency for National Security Planning twenty years later, finally switching to the NIS label in 1999 without revising much in its outlook or former methods of collecting information.
“That is one of Master Shin’s primary difficulties with the plan. Observers know the NIS has worked with the Omega Congregation time and time again. Why would they suddenly subvert us? Far more likely would be sabotage by your own agency.”
“Logic need not confuse the matter,” Park replied. “Perhaps the move was made by rogues within the NIS. Who knows? Who even cares? A bit of speculation in the Washington Inquirer and your master’s other news outlets should set the stage for what comes next.”
“And none of that shall happen without full approval from the primary soul, as you knew well enough when we began.”
“He was on amenable terms at that stage.”
“And he still may be, but the reaction to Los Angeles, although expected, has included calls in Congress for a full investigation of the Congregation. That jeopardizes my relationship to you, as well as your remaining in America.”
“We take precautions, do we not?” Park asked.
“And yet I hear from one of my people employed with San Francisco PD that federal agents are always watching you.”
“Which is exactly why we take precautions,” Park replied, sounding a trifle testy now.
“But risks are multiplied today. Nothing seems innocent, nothing coincidental, since the sarin was released.”
“You’re having second thoughts,” Park said. “Buyer’s remorse. That is unwise.”
“I hope that is not meant to be a threat,” Lee cautioned Park.
“Of course not, brother.”
“We are not brothers until you have joined the Congregation, Captain.”
“I do not use that title here,” Park said. “Hardly at all, in fact, except on ceremonial occasions in Pyongyang.”
“It still applies, however, does it not?”
Park dipped his head, humble acknowledgment of his rank in the SSD. “But I do not command you or the Congregation. I suggest continuing a course of action that we have agreed upon, while you appear to have cold feet.”
“That is an American expression I have never fully understood,” Lee said.
“It means—”
“I know its meaning,” Lee cut off his guest. “It is the pointless reference to feet I do not grasp.”
“Americans,” Park answered back. “What can I say?”
“Indeed.” They might have shared a laugh at that, if their present dilemma weren’t so serious.
Lee forged ahead, telling his visitor, “I simply doubt the wisdom of a new offensive now, so soon after the first.”
“Momentum is our goal. How else can we—”
“Propel our sundered nation into action,” Lee completed it for Park. “I know. But if the final vote from Master Shin is negative...”
“You’ll ask him one more time, at least, won’t you?” Park pressed.
“I will, tonight. But don’t expect a miracle.”
“Aren’t miracles the province of religion?” Park inquired.
And now Lee had to laugh at that. He had no more sincere devotion to the Omega Congregation than he had to Scientology or any New Age sect created as a tax dodge by its authors. All the mumbo-jumbo Lee espoused and parroted was simply propaganda dictated by Shin Bon-jae from Seoul, a means toward ultimate reunion of Korea’s separated nations.
“If we’re finished here...” Lee said.
“For now.” Park rose from his chair while Lee remained seated behind his desk, a modern small-scale potentate. “But we shall speak again, and soon.”
“As always, Captain Park, I shall be looking forward to it. In the meantime, I shall speak to Shin and let you know what he decides.”
“And I shall pass on his decision to my headquarters. No doubt, if he reneges at this point, Pyongyang will be disappointed.”
Meaning furious, and both men knew what that meant. The Supreme Leader did not take bad news well. He valued blind obedience and punished those who crossed him, whether it was a minute infraction of some order or a major breach of protocol. Forgiveness was not part of the vocabulary taught to him by his notoriously brutal father.
Lee did not wish to make an enemy of North Korea’s leader, but neither did he relish acting as a Judas to his master, Shin Bon-jae. Lee owed his present wealth and status to the founder of the Omega Congregation and could not forget that lightly.
On the other hand, he realized, there was a clear and present danger that his role within the cult would lead to his destruction as police closed in on those responsible for the Los Angeles attacks.
Was there a third alternative, between betrayal of his master and an all-out war with Pyongyang?
That would require more thought and Lee knew he was swiftly running out of time.
* * *
BOLAN HAD THE place staked out, his VW Passat parked on a corner that permitted him to see the front door of the Congregation’s headquarters and to watch the entrance of a narrow alley at the rear, designed for garbage pickups but also available for private entry through the three-story building’s back door. When Park Hae-sung emerged from that alley, driving a gray Mercedes-Benz, Bolan knew him on sight and gave the North Korean half a block before he started following.
No one knew better than Mack Bolan how the various US intelligence agencies had failed his country over time. Indeed, Bolan had even fought against rogue members of the CIA when they’d stormed Stony Man Farm, killing the second great love of his life and leaving other members of the Farm team gravely injured. Still, for all of that, he did not automatically discount their naming of a foreign national in the United States as something more than a respectable and straitlaced businessman.
Hard evidence condemning Park Hae-sung? So far, by Hal Brognola’s own admission, it was slim to nonexistent, but the smell was there, and Bolan had himself confirmed Park’s link to Lee Jay-hyun’s chapter of the Omega Congregation. Was it mere coincidence the two men meeting within two days of the sarin slaughter in Los Angeles?
Bolan was skeptical.
He trailed Park from Ashbury Heights, southwestward, through the Mission District to Portrero Hill, a residential district known for its panoramic views of the San Francisco Bay and city skyline. The fact that Park Hae-sung lived there—his address on Rhode Island Street confirmed by Hal Brognola’s file—told Bolan that, if not exactly rich, Park wasn’t strapped for cash.
Bolan tired of watching Park’s house after twenty minutes on the street, with no suspect arrivals dropping in, and decided his time was better spent preparing for a strike on Lee Jay-hyun and his cult’s headquarters. If his luck held, he might have time to question Lee concerning his relationship to Park. If not, he’d double back to Park’s address, confront the likely North Korean agent in his lair and squeeze the information out of him, by any means required.
His problem would be cracking the Omega Congregation’s headquarters. Not physically—Bolan had come equipped for that, except for lacking stun and frag grenades—but he’d already worked out an alternative to cover