Vengeance and Reckonings

by Todd Turner

  Since an agent from South Korea would be next to impossible, Kim thought his only chance would be to get an agent from China on the flight, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to trust him at all. Worse, it meant he’d owe one hell of a favor to the Chinese security agency, a group he’d much rather not owe.

  He’d have to weigh the risks. Getting the Chinese to cooperate meant a certain quid pro quo. Yet, knowing they were allies of the North, he wasn’t at all sure anything he obtained from them would be of value. In fact, the Chinese could make things even worse.

  He pondered his position and decided to call that asshole in Washington, D.C. If anyone was to be in debt to the Chinese, he’d prefer that it be Michael Bonner.

  Bonner’s reading of Kim couldn’t be more off base. Kim was dedicated to his profession and his ethics were unimpeachable. What Bonner was picking up on and misreading as suspicious, though, was actually disdain. Kim couldn’t stand the man and wouldn’t be surprised to learn if Bonner were in fact behind this whole affair.

  Kim’s call to the American would go as follows: give facts, ask for direction on the next steps the American would like to take, and exchange no pleasantries. His wife would tell him he could fake it if he didn’t like someone; she’d say just pretend, but for Kim it wasn’t possible. He’d work with the man but had no intention of pretending to like it.

  Bonner agreed to ask the Chinese to put an agent on the flight solely to watch and monitor. He’d also let Kim know what was happening next, though this assurance provided Kim little solace. Rather, he wondered if asking Bonner had even been a good idea.

  Kim wanted to grab Chung in Beijing, drug him, threaten him with death, and if that failed, threaten him more directly between his legs. That never failed. Even illiterate gangs knew it was always more effective, more so even than waterboarding.

  Bonner wanted to make sure this guy was indeed working for the North, see where he led them, and then decide how best to handle it.

  That strategy seemed not only ill-advised to Kim but downright stupid and reckless. Assuming Bonner did finally think the North was involved in this, how did he propose to go in to get him at that point?

  Once someone is in the North, that person is gone—so much so, he is as good as dead when it comes to being of use for information. Bonner’s position made no sense, and Kim now suspected his original instinct and distrust of the man were more than likely spot on.

  June 27, 08:00 CDT

  Beijing, China

  Chung/Lee showed up at Beijing International three hours before his scheduled departure to Pyongyang, as he’d been trained to do: be early, don’t risk issues with security, and appear to be like any other passenger. The problem, though, was that this was Chung’s first and only mission, and while his training was strong and his dedication to “father” Kim Jong-un fervent, he clearly wasn’t willing to die, and his facial expressions and body language once more exposed him.

  Kim did manage to get an agent to Beijing as well, and the agent’s reports confirmed how big a mistake Bonner was making. Chung’s level of fear proved he was no valued asset. Given the nature of this mission, the North would want no loose ends—and Chung was certainly that. Most likely, he would be terminated upon giving his report in Pyongyang.

  Kim didn’t like it. Chances were this guy didn’t know much. He worried Chung was no more than a pawn with instructions to drive a batch of cars to some destination before they were delivered to the port; but that was more than Kim had to go on now. At least maybe he’d know the car’s destination, and maybe even find out what had been done to that car and how, and to how many other cars as well.

  That thought kept eating at Kim. No one had indicated they even considered the possibility there could be more cars involved. That the Americans found a car—by pure luck—with a nuke quite ingeniously installed in its gas tank was an indication of smoke, not fire. He was certain if they could do this to one car, they could do it to several.

  Kim had to get a man on that flight, someone to watch the Chinese watchers: and at any sign of foul play he would intercept Chung. What Kim was about to put into action would either be the end of his career and cause an international incident that would shame South Korea or worse, make China look like a victim of a conspiracy; or, Kim would be 100 percent correct and ensure the salvation of the free world.

  Kim had other resources in the American intelligence community. Some were good friends, and it was one such whom he called. The director of the CIA felt much the same way as did Kim about Bonner. In fact, around Washington it was widely believed Bonner fortuitously kept his cabinet position in the new administration as a show of inclusion, an effort to reach out to the other side of the aisle.

  Director Steven Richards was an affable if perhaps a dull man. Methodical, slow in his physical mannerisms, of a type at first glance you’d not think to be well suited as director of the CIA. Yet that outward demeanor was a clever cover he created, one he’d carefully crafted along the lines of his favorite TV detective, Columbo. Richards had an intellect that worked at light speed, a mind that captured every detail taken in by his eyes, nose and ears, every sense. Nothing escaped his notice, and best of all, no one involved was any the wiser. He let others do the talking. That way, he could soak in everything around him.

  Kim told Richards the entire story up to this point, including his thoughts on the Secretary of Homeland Defense’s actions. Kim was well aware he was asking his friend to commit an act of insubordination, one that could also be prosecuted as treason by an ardent government attorney.

  Luckily for Kim, Director Richards knew his friend well enough to know just what he was asking. Not only was he sure of Kim’s feelings and analysis, he knew that not acting could cause death and destruction on a massive scale. Kim ran through all the red flags from the beginning and described how he felt his skin was being pricked by a thousand needles, that his stomach was being tied up in knots by some sadistic sailor. And that sadistic sailor was Michael Bonner.

  June 27, 10:42 CDT

  Beijing

  The flight in Beijing was prepared for boarding. Everyone’s documents had been checked and rechecked. Pyongyang isn’t a destination where it’s easy to turn around and come back if your papers aren’t in order.

  As the flight boarded, Chung found his aisle seat in the middle of the cabin. He’d made more of a scene than he’d liked at the gate, insisting on an aisle seat; but it was one thing his training and common logic had taught him: don’t trap yourself in an already confined space.

  The problem for Chung is that any such request raises suspicions in those customarily dealing with officials of the North Korean regime. Most people on the plane would be nationals of North Korea or Chinese who are as culturally restrained as North Koreans. They simply don’t make requests, don’t get involved, and if they see something they keep out of it. They live and conduct their every action by a simple adage: Nails that stick up get hammered down.

  After Chung settled in, he momentarily thought about the extra security screening he’d been subjected to before boarding this flight. He hoped it was just a random selection. The reality was that he’d been tagged for secondary screening long before the boarding process had begun.

  The Chinese placed two agents on the flight: one requested by Secretary Bonner, and another that the Chinese routinely placed on this flight. One of these agents was seated across the aisle from Chung, and the other was directly behind him.

  Kim had one hell of a time getting an appropriate agent on the flight. His only chance was a Chinese-born Korean in the agency. Getting him to Beijing in time for the flight was also a feat; but in the end, NIS Agent Lim was seated in the center seat right next to the North Korean spy.

  Lim was an avid martial arts enthusiast, holding black belts in four different disciplines, and a physical health nut, exhibiting oxlike strength and catlike reflexes. When it came to hand-to-hand combat, he was probably the best agent in about any service. Give
n the inherent incompatibility of bullets and pressurized fuselages, not relying on a gun had clear advantages; hopefully, the need for his specialty on a commercial flight would be limited.

  Lim’s inventive strategy was to claim he wasn’t feeling well, and that he would appreciate the aisle seat to speed access to the toilet. Chung was visibly shaken. The seat for which he’d fought so hard was about to be lost; but he was disarmed. He simply couldn’t deny the ill man his request without arousing more suspicion.

  Taking the center seat, he felt as trapped as a rat on a sinking ship. Little did he know he’d just saved his own life.

  ◆◆◆

  The request Kim made of Director Richards would make Richards complicit in an illegal mission serious enough to bring down the entire administration. If he was wrong, it would be the end of his political life and there would be no way for him to save face in the shame he would bring to both his country and the United States.

  The plan was bold and dangerous. It was fraught with risk and could, in hindsight, end up looking so overreactive, it would make America’s trumped-up invasion of Iraq look like an accidental border crossing.

  Kim knew that only one agent aboard the flight might not be able to have control for long. If he needed to overpower two or more agents, his chances of saving Chung for questioning were dismally slim.

  Kim was convinced that the Chinese agent(s) were under orders from Bonner or the Chinese or the North Koreans to kill Chung rather than risk his interrogation by the South Korean National Security. He was certain beyond any doubt, so much so that every fiber of his body was taut with trepidation. Chung was his sole human lead; his importance could not be overstated.

  The United States Air Force provides support for the South Korean Air Force at a base near Seoul. The audacious plan was to scramble six South Korean fighters and six American fighters that would blast into North Korea, engage the commercial flight, and divert it to a landing strip near the northern border of South Korea.

  A major highway runs east to west skirting the DMZ precariously close in some places. When driving toward the west, everyone has a curious desire to look to the right, but at the same time not wanting to appear to be looking to the right.

  At one point, for a distance of nearly four miles on the plateau of a summit, the highway widens from its regular two lanes to a width that would provide ten lanes, with a retractable divider down the middle. A driver along the highway here would notice he or she is suddenly in the middle of what appears to be a massive concrete landscape and may notice lookout towers on the road’s south side, but would not know that the depth of the concrete has also increased by nearly two feet.

  Before this incident, this national security landing strip had been used for training missions and occasional visits to the DMZ by dignitaries from around the world. Since the distance was more than ninety nautical miles from the expected intercept point in North Korea, it was far more than could be passed off as an accidental border incursion. If discovered, it would most certainly be perceived as an act of war.

  The flight commander of the combined force made it crystal clear in his briefing: they were NOT to fire back at any fire they encountered. Under no circumstance were they to fire upon North Korean forces, the hope being they would get in under the North’s less-than-sophisticated radar, intercept the plane, and direct it to the landing strip before the North could react.

  If the North chose to chase the team out of the country and continued to engage in South Korean airspace, then all bets were off; they were instructed to engage and destroy.

  Even the most seasoned pilots knew this would be both a dangerous mission and one that would define the years of their service. This was the mission they would tell their grandkids about.

  It was more than ninety miles of sheer terror. Flying with a commercial jet that would slow them down would increase the time it takes to get out of harm’s way. They would have to land on an airstrip that doubles as a major highway just south of the DMZ, remove a passenger, and fly him in a fighter jet to U.S. Special Operations Command Korea (SOCKOR). No part of this mission was expected to be easy.

  Their best defense was the element of surprise. It would prevent the North from quickly scrambling their fighters, a low flight altitude, and the hope that the North wouldn’t fire on a commercial jet—a hope to which no one ever had given much credence. Most everyone believed the North would have no qualms about firing on a commercial plane. All in all, that’s a hell of a lot to go wrong. The chance of success was less than twenty percent, not generally considered a valid risk for a military operation.

  June 27, 10:52 CDT

  Beijing

  Agent Lim convincingly faked his illness and left in a dash for the rear toilet as the plane was almost finished boarding. One of the most experienced and talented agents in the South Korean service, Lim was essentially invisible to all aboard the plane. No one had even given the sick man a second look.

  Lim immediately identified his Chinese counterparts and was very glad to see just two agents; but he couldn’t discount the possibility that the North Koreans well may have installed trained military agents in the cockpit crew. With regard to all details and associated risks, that possibility was the primary threat to the success of the operation.

  While in the tiny toilet in the rear of the craft, Lim injected himself with a countermeasure that would protect him from being put down by nearly any known tranquilizer or muscle paralyzing agent—precisely what he would use were he planning to take out someone on a flight.

  Lim also prepared another shot for his “prize,” as Chung would be referred to in this operation. He quickly returned to his seat. He watched the two Chinese agents making visual signs to each other. This was going to go down quickly. He suspected they would make their move very soon after takeoff, during the climb up to cruising altitude.

  He sat slowly, continuing his weak and nauseous act. He quickly analyzed what motions the two men would have to make from their seats to reach his prize; then he ran through the most effective countermeasures in this head. As the plane began to push back from the Jetway, Lim’s level of alertness was so keen he could almost see behind him.

  The taxi out to the runway seemed to take forever. Lim was beginning to wonder if they were planning to drive this jet to North Korea. At last, at the end of the runway, they sat and waited for the tower to clear them for takeoff. The engines wound up while the aircraft was held back by the brakes. This pilot clearly was military trained but hopefully not still in the services of government.

  Once the massive brake calipers let loose of the disks, the jet began to thrust forward, increasing speed faster and faster till the nose of the plane lifted off the ground. Seconds later, the landing gear pulled up into the belly of the machine with a loud thump, then a grinding sound as the doors closed, followed by a hush as the airflow under the thin skin of the jet smoothed.

  June 27, 11:24 CDT

  Chinese Airspace

  Any moment now, Lim thought as he pretended to rest in his seat, with his eyes seemingly closed. Then suddenly, the agent behind him moved first, followed almost instantly by the one on his right across the aisle. Lim shot up, twisting his torso and thrusting his arms forward with such speed and force neither man saw the crushing blow to their throats coming. They both dropped. One agent was on his knees then fell over, prone in the aisle, gasping for a breath that would never come. The other agent, directly behind Lim, fell straight back into his seat with the same gasping croak issuing from his crushed larynx, his eyes wide, as though somehow trying to take in what just happened.

  Lim saw his prize move, fearing for his life. When he pushed him back down in his seat and pulled his South Korean National Security identification, he instructed the prize in clear clipped words, “Look at it and if you want to live, you will do exactly as you are told.”

  Chung sat back and nodded in quick agreement. Lim jabbed the needle into his thigh and pressed the plunger in on
e fluid motion. Instantly, Chung relaxed. The drug was designed to induce compliance without knocking the victim out. The injection included other drugs to make a person alert and to counteract most known suicide drugs Chung might be inclined to use, and, too, drugs that would begin to treat his recent radiation exposure.

  Lim dragged the now-dead Chinese agents to the last row of the plane, attracting the attention of an otherwise oblivious flight crew. Limited to one attendant in the rear and one in the front, this airline wasn’t known for its adherence to safety or service policies expected in most of the world.

  The two attendants rushed Lim as he was pulling the first dead agent to the back. Lim flashed the ID again, and the color left their faces. Both were North Korean, and he was someone they least wanted to tangle with. The fear instilled in North Koreans of the National Security (even if they are from the South) is even more ingrained than that felt by old Russians of their own KGB.

  He ordered them to sit in the seats where he would have put the now dead agents or meet a similar fate. Using plastic zip ties, he tightly bound both flight attendants to the arms of the seats and their feet to the aluminum bar underneath, fully immobilizing them.

  None of the other passengers on the typically empty flight offered any resistance, content to maintain complete lack of eye contact with Lim or dare make any move at all. They were trying hard to appear invisible, lest they draw the slightest attention.