CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

U-Jin Shook looked in the magnifying mirror attached to the bathroom wall; his back turned to the larger bathroom mirror of his hotel room. He was trying to find the small scar left by the doctors when he was implanted with the device. He knew what had happened to Keoyong, and he wasn't about to let it happen to him.

Finding the thin scar, he ran the electric razor on the back of his head, shaving himself from temple to temple, all the way down to his neck. It was a fashionable look, but his desire was for practicality.

Taking the scalpel in his hand, he maneuvered the mirror to allow for a clear view of the old scar. He bit down on the hand towel then made the initial cut. The next would be more difficult. He'd have to go through several layers of flesh to get to what he needed. Keeping the bleeding under control would be his challenge.

He wiped the dripping crimson streak, pushing back on the bathroom counter. He was sweating profusely from the pain, but he couldn't stop now. He felt the nerves and the muscles and held in the urge to vomit. Wiping the blood once more, he saw the shiny silver object. Unable to get a grip with his slick, bloodied fingers, he grabbed the tweezers, wrestling with his hold. Finally able to grasp it, he pulled as hard as he could, yanking the device from his body.

Falling to his knees, he gasped for air, trying to control the pain and shock. He stuffed the area with gauze, squelching the bleeding for the time being. Washing his hands once again, he removed the gauze and took the small cautery device he'd purchased at the medical supply store.

Unsure of what to cauterize and not, he simply went wherever blood was seeping. The pain was excruciating, taking him back to his training days. When it was done, he was left with a large gaping wound.

Once more, he gathered his breath, washing his hands a third time. Lifting the hand-held stapling device, he stapled his own flesh together, then dressed the wound as best he could. He wrapped everything in a plastic bag, shoving it into the trash can. Wiping down the countertops, he placed the soiled towels in another plastic bag and put them in his bag.

Finally, he washed his hands once again, then his face, gulping down several glasses of water. As darkness fell, he lay face down on the bed, trying to ignore the throbbing pain at the back of his head.

When the phone rang, he ignored it, even turning off the ringer. Tonight, he needed sleep. Tomorrow, he would find the woman, kill her, get his money, and leave this horrible country.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

Tomorrow.