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level. Kyle found a bilingual sign at the top of the staircase with Arabic script and Korean lettering. Just as in Syria, the underground bunker complex had been built by North Korean engineers.
A central square room was the hub of six separate corridors, and a pair of Marines went down each of them.
“Jesus Christ!” muttered Double-Oh as he and Kyle came to a stop outside a barred cell door. The walls were also scorched back here, but the fire had cooked hotter above, and it would have required some time to reach back along the concrete fingers, where there was a minimum of oxygen. The scorched bones of a human being lay beside the door inside the cell, as if he had been trying to pull the bars apart in his last minutes during the process of suffocation and incineration. Apparently the flammable liquid also had been splashed inside the cages prior to the fire. The poor inmates had been doomed to burn alive.
Every cell held the same gory story. A dead person in each. Swanson scanned them, and there was some light ticking on one of the meters. He backed away.
“Okay, guys. Rawls, you take a position at the top of the stairs by the entranceway while the rest of us break out our cameras and document all of this for the intelligence people to figure out.” He wanted to take the contaminated body out with them, but there was no way to secure it to prevent whatever infection it carried from spreading. He would have to settle for cutting a few samples from the corpses, sealing them in double plastic ziplock bags, and wrapping those tightly with duct tape.
The three Marines removed their hoods and masks, then put them back on because it was so hard to breathe deep inside the bunker complex. It was like standing inside a giant fireplace. They worked as fast as possible, wanting to clear out of this building, go home, and take a shower. “Palace of Death is right,” said Joe Tipp. “Not much to look at, but the name is sure accurate down here.”
Captain Newman’s voice sounded suddenly in their earpieces. “Get out now! Somebody’s coming fast!”
They were on the bottom floor, documenting the tiny cells and their inhabitants, when the call came in. Racing up three floors on slippery stairs while wearing MOPP booties was pointless. There was no way to make it in time, and when they cleared the final doorway into the upstairs office area, Rawls was motioning for them to take cover. Two vehicles raced through the open gates and braked to hard halts with the headlights shining on the building.
One was an old Range Rover, and in it were a young man who was driving and a woman as a passenger. The second was a military truck with a squad of armed men wearing Iranian Revolutionary Guard uniforms, chasing the people in the Range Rover and not hunting for U.S. Marines.
“Hold fire,” Captain Newman said over the intercom. The Marines on the overwatch and inside the building observed what was happening with their fingers on their triggers. Swanson had left the sniper riflebehind for the building search. He brought his small M-4 carbine to bear on the group and focused the scope.
The soldiers had surrounded the front vehicle and were yelling for those inside to get out. The doors opened, and the driver exited and was immediately pummeled to the ground and dragged a short distance away, still in the pool of bright light. The woman got out slowly, but she, too, was smashed to the ground and hauled over beside the prone driver. She struggled to her knees, pleading; “I am just looking for my brother!”
A soldier in a beret, possibly an officer, shouted at her. “You are a traitor and a spy! You were told to stay away from this place. Your infidel brother has run away.”
“No,” said the woman. “He would not do that. He is only a student and loyal to our country.”
“Another traitor.” The soldier pulled out his pistol and kicked the driver in the ribs. The man groaned. “And I know who you are, too, only too
A central square room was the hub of six separate corridors, and a pair of Marines went down each of them.
“Jesus Christ!” muttered Double-Oh as he and Kyle came to a stop outside a barred cell door. The walls were also scorched back here, but the fire had cooked hotter above, and it would have required some time to reach back along the concrete fingers, where there was a minimum of oxygen. The scorched bones of a human being lay beside the door inside the cell, as if he had been trying to pull the bars apart in his last minutes during the process of suffocation and incineration. Apparently the flammable liquid also had been splashed inside the cages prior to the fire. The poor inmates had been doomed to burn alive.
Every cell held the same gory story. A dead person in each. Swanson scanned them, and there was some light ticking on one of the meters. He backed away.
“Okay, guys. Rawls, you take a position at the top of the stairs by the entranceway while the rest of us break out our cameras and document all of this for the intelligence people to figure out.” He wanted to take the contaminated body out with them, but there was no way to secure it to prevent whatever infection it carried from spreading. He would have to settle for cutting a few samples from the corpses, sealing them in double plastic ziplock bags, and wrapping those tightly with duct tape.
The three Marines removed their hoods and masks, then put them back on because it was so hard to breathe deep inside the bunker complex. It was like standing inside a giant fireplace. They worked as fast as possible, wanting to clear out of this building, go home, and take a shower. “Palace of Death is right,” said Joe Tipp. “Not much to look at, but the name is sure accurate down here.”
Captain Newman’s voice sounded suddenly in their earpieces. “Get out now! Somebody’s coming fast!”
They were on the bottom floor, documenting the tiny cells and their inhabitants, when the call came in. Racing up three floors on slippery stairs while wearing MOPP booties was pointless. There was no way to make it in time, and when they cleared the final doorway into the upstairs office area, Rawls was motioning for them to take cover. Two vehicles raced through the open gates and braked to hard halts with the headlights shining on the building.
One was an old Range Rover, and in it were a young man who was driving and a woman as a passenger. The second was a military truck with a squad of armed men wearing Iranian Revolutionary Guard uniforms, chasing the people in the Range Rover and not hunting for U.S. Marines.
“Hold fire,” Captain Newman said over the intercom. The Marines on the overwatch and inside the building observed what was happening with their fingers on their triggers. Swanson had left the sniper riflebehind for the building search. He brought his small M-4 carbine to bear on the group and focused the scope.
The soldiers had surrounded the front vehicle and were yelling for those inside to get out. The doors opened, and the driver exited and was immediately pummeled to the ground and dragged a short distance away, still in the pool of bright light. The woman got out slowly, but she, too, was smashed to the ground and hauled over beside the prone driver. She struggled to her knees, pleading; “I am just looking for my brother!”
A soldier in a beret, possibly an officer, shouted at her. “You are a traitor and a spy! You were told to stay away from this place. Your infidel brother has run away.”
“No,” said the woman. “He would not do that. He is only a student and loyal to our country.”
“Another traitor.” The soldier pulled out his pistol and kicked the driver in the ribs. The man groaned. “And I know who you are, too, only too
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