CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Inside his office, Park opened the safe, retrieving several passports and stacks of cash from different countries. Someone had dared to attack them on his day! Someone that he couldn't see, couldn't hear, and couldn't retaliate against. He would escape and regroup, then come back to take over later. Right now, he just needed to leave.

He raced back down the hallway toward the secret door he knew was available to him. Although not quite as short as the previous president, he was well aware that his height was seen as a disadvantage. Now, where would he go? Where could he go?

"General Park! General Park!" yelled one of his staff.

"What?"

"Sir, what are we to do? Your cabinet has been killed. All of them. Where are you going?"

"I'm going to meet with my generals at the military base." The staff member eyed him suspiciously, shaking his head.

"Sir, your generals are all here as you ordered. The base was destroyed when the jet was destroyed. Your country needs you, General Park." Park smiled at the younger man, taking slow, careful steps as he moved toward him.

"I know that my country needs me," he said quietly. "However, the country does not need you."

Before the young man could move, Park had pulled his weapon, shooting him in the abdomen twice. He turned away from the man, not even looking back.

"You'll learn to never question me again."

"Cowboy, Rush, Tobias, and Christian, you're with me," said Conor. "We have to find Park and remove him. The rest of you get to the tunnel and start making your way to the exit. We'll meet you there."

"I don't like this, Conor," said Rett. "We should stay together."

"There's too many of us. If we split up, we have a better chance of finding Park and getting out of this place alive."

They were standing on the fringes of the chaos, watching as the crowds trampled one another, trying to get away. The shooting had long since stopped, but the dead men on the balcony were a message that their world had just changed.

"I hate to interrupt a good argument, but would any of you like to know where Park is?"

"AJ, I swear to God I'm gonna beat the shit out of you," smirked Conor.

"Only if you can catch me, asshole, and I was a SEAL too. A much faster one. Thanks to Erica, I've been keeping an eye on a hidden door near the gardens of the palace. Our boy Park just left with a large backpack and blood on his clothing. He exited the rear of the gardens onto the street behind, and he's now heading west. My guess is he's planning on catching a boat somewhere."

"AJ, can you get a read on him? Is he headed to the tunnel?" asked Dan.

"If I were a betting man, and I'm not, that's the direction he's headed. He's got about a seven-minute head start on your guys, but that dude has seriously short legs. You should be able to casually walk that way and catch him."

"You're the best, AJ. Thanks, brother."

"I do what I can."

"Tanner? Hiro? Abe? Did you hear all that?" asked Conor.

"We heard. We'll stay put, waiting for him to show. There are two boats off in the distance. Only one is for us, so we have to guess the other is for our short-legged friend."

"It won't matter. We're going to beat him there."

Park kept his head down, trying to escape the crowds that were going crazy. Looking down, he realized that he still had on his military jacket with ribbons and medals, covered in blood. He ducked into an alleyway and took the jacket off, shoving it into a trash bin. Most of the medals hadn't been earned anyway.

When he'd devised his plan, he made sure that he assigned himself the medals and ribbons necessary to gain the confidence and trust of his people. No one would know. No one would question him.

Moving back to the main street, he continued his trek toward his escape route. He'd sent the message to his private boat, warning that if the man was not there, he would suffer a fatal end. They would all suffer a fatal end.

What really bothered him was who and what had killed his cabinet and attempted to kill him. There had been no warning sirens, no helicopters seen, no jets seen. No one had seen anything on the radar, and worse, there had been no sounds of gunfire. Yet whoever had killed them was close enough to get the shots. Perhaps it was someone internally. Perhaps he was right in his belief that no one could be trusted.

Reaching the Taedong River, he crossed and realized that it would be several miles before he reached the tomb. He had to get a ride. Surely, someone would give him a ride.

Standing in the middle of the street, he held up his hand, trying to stop traffic. He was met with car horns and cursing, yelling at him to get out of the way.

"Do you not know who I am!" he yelled at the passing vehicles.

"A crazy old man," yelled one driver.

"I will destroy you," he growled at the man.

Quickly, he moved out of the street and to the walkway once again. It wasn't safe for him to be there. He felt a hard shove and went face-first onto the concrete, skinning his hands and knees. But when he turned to yell at the offender, there was no one there.

He looked around him, shaking his head as he leaned back on his hands, resting a moment. Once again, he was taken aback by the feeling of someone stepping on his hands. He heard the crack of a bone and screamed.

"Who's there?" he yelled. People stopped, looking at the disheveled man on the ground. An older woman held out a hand to help him up, but he slapped her arm away.

"Get away from me!"

"I'm only trying to help," said the woman, shaking her head. She moved on, walking comfortably toward her own home. Stopping at the traffic light, she turned back, shaking her head again. It was alright. He would have made a terrible president.

"The whole world is mad," he whispered to himself. "Someone plotted against me. That's it. Someone plotted against me. My aide. My aide who disappeared. It must be him. No. No, he wasn't capable enough. My daughter. No. No, she is too stupid."

He looked like a madman whispering to himself as he continued to walk. Along the side of the road, he spotted a rusted bicycle. Maybe it would be sturdy enough to get him to where he needed to be.

He stood the bike up and attempted to get on the seat. The problem was that the seat was too high. He would need to stand the entire way in order to pedal toward the tomb and hold one side of the handlebars with his hand, the other steering awkwardly with his forearm on the hand that was broken.

It was the only way for him to reach safety. Even if he arrived at the tomb unharmed, he still had several more miles of tomb to walk. He shook his head, placing one foot on the pedal, the other on the ground.

"It must be done."