White Gold

by David Barker

  Once the door had clicked shut again Sim ran up to the window and crouched below it. He listened and then poked his head above the sill. The others were already at the far end of the room. Sim could see many crates stacked along the walls, some on pallets that were covered in shrink-wrap. There were a couple of tool boxes on work benches off to the right. Sim was trying to figure out what he could use as a weapon, when the door at the far end of the room opened and another miner appeared. The noise of loud machinery beyond invaded the silence.

  The man stopped when he saw the two guards and Freda. He shouted something in Swedish and pointed at their guns. One of the guards replied, signalling with his hands that he couldn’t hear what was being said and beckoned the man forwards. Sim wanted to shout out a warning, but knew that he had to stay hidden. As the miner came closer, Sim saw one of the guards grab hold of the restraints on Freda’s wrist. The other guard reached behind his back and pulled a knife from his belt. As the miner leant closer, the guard plunged the knife into his neck and clamped a hand over the man’s mouth. The door swung closed and the machinery noise was cut off.

  “Huh, maybe we can ditch this body with hers,” said the killer, nodding his head towards Freda. “Industrial accident, right?”

  “Yeah, nice one.”

  They moved through the door and as soon as they were out of sight, Sim vaulted in through the broken window. He ran up to the work bench and found a hefty wrench. He was about to dash off in pursuit of Freda when he noticed a small cardboard box next to the tools. It had some English written on the box. ‘Pelletized samples.’ He flipped the lid open and saw dozens of greyish purple balls. They were like rough-cast marbles, only about a centimetre across. Sim tipped the box into his pocket and ran for the door.

  The next room was much longer than the previous one. Sim could feel the floor thrumming through the soles of his boots. A machine in two sections, connected by a conveyor belt, ran the length of the room. The first unit, nearest Sim, resembled a huge tumble dryer and the noise coming from it was painful. A cylinder, on its side, was rotating but held off the ground by stanchions at either end. Inside, something was grinding away. He shook his head, trying to think. Beyond this machine there were three smaller cylinders, perpendicular to the large one. They seemed quiet and still.

  The two guards and Freda were near these smaller cylinders. They had dragged the dead miner across the room, but stopped pulling now. The two men looked at each other and one said, “This will do.”

  Sim had run out of time. Ducking behind the large cylinder he pulled a couple of metal marbles from his pocket and threw one at the guards. The ball clanged into the machine they were standing next to, causing them to look up, startled. Sim threw again, this one catching a guard on the side of his head.

  “What the fuck was that?” The guard rubbed the mark where he had been hit and started walking towards Sim’s hiding place, clicking the safety off his machine gun. Sim retreated around the end of the cylinder. As the guard got to the end of the machine, he failed to notice the balls that Sim had quietly scattered across the floor. The guard’s foot came down on two of the marbles and slipped. Not enough to topple the man, but his arms flailed as he tried to maintain his balance. Sim leapt out and brought the wrench crashing down on the man’s head. It missed, but crunched into his collar bone. Sim heard something snap and the guard howled with pain. The machine gun fell to the floor. Sim swung again with the wrench, this time from left to right and it smashed into the man’s face. The guard collapsed to the floor. Sim bent down to pick up the machine gun but before he could grab it, a burst of bullets thudded into the cylinder next to him. He dived for cover.

  Sim tried to reach around the corner for the gun, while staying hidden behind the machine. As his arm poked out, another burst of bullets. One of them nicked his sleeve. A burning sensation whip-cracked up his arm. Sim yanked his arm back and wrapped the fingers of his left hand around the wound. It was a deep cut, slicing open his forearm, and would need bandages. But he did not have time for that. At least the bone was intact, he could still use the arm if he ignored the pain.

  Sim scrambled to the far side of the cylinder and crept along the room towards Freda. He held the wrench in his left hand now, and had the few remaining pellets in his right hand. Blood from his wound was dripping into his palm, mixing with the rough marbles. He heard the guard start to walk towards his fallen colleague. The footsteps ceased. Sim realised he would be a sitting duck if the man climbed across the conveyor belt and came down this side of the room. Just in time, Sim dropped to the ground and rolled under the large cylinder as the guard did exactly that. A hail of lead rang out against the end wall.

  Sim rolled out from under the cylinder into the side of the room he had started on. Freda was standing there, hands still tied behind her back. The bindings seemed to be looped around something, because she was struggling but not able to leave that spot. Her eyes widened as Sim ran up but she did not speak. Her forehead creased as she stared at her rescuer. The makeshift handcuffs had been hooked onto a protrusion from one of the three smaller cylinders. Once Sim had unhooked Freda’s bindings, the British agents retreated to the end of the room.

  The guard appeared at the far wall. He squeezed the trigger on his gun, aiming at the pair as they ducked for cover. There were only two shots, both pinging into the wall next to them. And then the noise stopped. The guard looked at his machine gun and swore. He gave his colleague’s body a flick with his boot. No reaction. He knelt down to pick up the second machine gun and started walking slowly forwards. He had a clear sight of both doors. Sim and Freda were trapped.

  Crouching there, Freda noticed some Swedish writing on the three cylinders that she could not understand but a symbol that she did. Underneath there was a large red stop button and next to that a green switch. As the guard came closer she flicked the switch. The three cylinders began to hum. The gun flew out of the guard’s hand and clanged into the side of the cylinders. Sim’s wrench also was yanked from his hand and stuck to the machine, magnetised. Freda leapt out from behind the cylinders and aimed a roundhouse kick at the guard as he tried to pull his gun away from the machine. Her foot caught him in the lower back. He gasped in pain and turned to face his attackers. Sim circled around so that the guard had two opponents coming at him from different sides. He was much taller and broader than either of them. Sim threw an uppercut that the guard dodged easily but the distraction was enough. Freda landed a kick to his head and the fight was over.

  “There’s some cord in the other room, I’ll get them both tied up before they come around.” He jogged off while Freda stood guard. As soon as he had them tied up, he ran up to Freda and gave her a hug. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  She stood there, not returning the embrace. “Err, thanks for rescuing me. But… do I know you?”

  “It’s me, Freda. Sim.”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ve had some surgery as a disguise.”

  “Prove it.”

  Sim lifted up his shirt to reveal the scar that ran between a pair of ribs on his left. Freda’s fingers tracked the milky white line and then her arms wrapped around him, squeezing tight.

  “Wardle told me you were dead, the shithead.”

  Sim felt tears wetting his cheek as they stood there for a moment, not caring about anything else in the world.

  “When Tom tried to poison me, Wardle figured it would be best to keep my survival a secret from the TF. And that meant keeping it a secret from everybody.” Sim stood back, allowing Freda to dry her eyes. “Rosie’s twelve weeks gone and thinks she’s a widow now.”

  “Rosie’s pregnant? But I thought Elsa had your child.”

  “My life got complicated after you left.” Sim paused. “Why did you leave?”

  “I thought I was over all this.” Freda lowered her eyes. “Poor Rosie.”

  “Things aren’t much better for Elsa. I don’t seem to bring much luck to the women in my life. Yo
u sure you want to stick around?”

  “Ha, I thought I was the unlucky one. Funny thing is, I came here to avenge your death.”

  Sim smiled. “I think we may have blown my cover at ESCO.”

  “We’re running out of time to stop the nuclear warhead,” said Freda. “I don’t think we have time for the subtle approach any more. What did you find out?”

  Sim explained about the secret base.

  “Maybe we can break into ESCO headquarters and send a signal to the terrorists with the bomb. Make them think the mission is being aborted.”

  “If we can get back inside. Disarm all the guards. Hack into their systems.” Sim shrugged. “Seems like we’re in it up to our again. Come on. I’ve got a bike waiting outside.”

  CHAPTER 33

  North Korea

  It’s funny how a human face becomes unrecognisable when it’s upside down. Ivan was staring at a naked man, strung up by his ankles on a crude set of gallows. The human brain is good at recognizing people from a distance, sideways on, even just half a face. But flip them upside down and nothing. Just not programmed to do it, I guess.

  The first man they had strung up had suffered a stroke or a seizure and had died even before the questions had started. The mercenary leader shook his head at the stubbornness. Somebody in this crappy village must know the whereabouts of the dive equipment. Why won’t they just tell us? He looked around at all the pathetic specimens his team had corralled into the centre of the village. Most of them seemed malnourished. Hadn’t even put up a fight. So why won’t they talk?

  Ivan knew that his Babel app was working. He could see it in their faces. The villagers were listening to him. And it must have been somebody in this hamlet who stole the kit. There isn’t another settlement around for miles. Not surprising when he saw what a wretched living they must make off the land around here. Hundreds of miles from Pyongyang. Scratching out just enough food from the few fields the mercenaries had walked through to get to the village. Poor soil, no irrigation and ploughed by man or buffalo as far as he could tell. He couldn’t see any signs of power cables or solar panels. How do people live without electricity these days? And he was pretty sure from the smell that toilets were just a hole in the ground to these people.

  Ivan lashed out at the inverted prisoner with the back of his hand. The man groaned and his body swayed slightly from the force of the blow. The leader was struggling to contain his anger. Not just at the tight-lipped people but at their government for forcing this miserable existence upon them, for making them so paranoid that the threat of torture held little power over them. But anger would not get answers. And he needed that equipment.

  One of his men returned from searching around the village, clutching a car battery and some lead wires. Ivan showed the battery to his prisoner. Some of the villagers who were being forced to watch began to whisper to each other.

  He turned around to look at them all. “Anybody got anything they’d like to say before I attach these probes to his bollocks?” Nothing. He shrugged and clipped the wires onto the battery.

  The man’s eyes opened wide as the first wire’s bulldog clip bit into his flesh. “Please. We don’t know who took it. Whatever you’re looking for. It wasn’t us.”

  Ivan hesitated for a moment. The voice sounded genuine enough. But some people are just good at lying. He’d cracked some tough nuts in his time. Hah, he smirked at his own little joke. These nuts are not for cracking. Frying, maybe… He clipped the other wire in place and listened to the screams as the suspended man writhed in agony. He turned to look at the other villagers. Most had shut their eyes or turned away, some were holding hands over their ears.

  Still no confession. He unclipped the wire and breathed deeply as the screams subsided to a whimper. “Cut him down.”

  He was going to have to try something worse. Walking towards the rest of the villagers he selected a girl. Not yet old enough to be physically different from a boy, but the long hair and skirt gave it away. He tried to drag her to the front, but the girl’s mother clung onto her, crying and shouting something his Babel app was struggling to translate. He nodded to one of his colleagues who forcibly separated mother from daughter. The mother would not give up. She kicked and gouged at the soldier until the butt of his machine gun smashed into her face and she dropped to the ground.

  The leader thought about the best way to leverage the girl. String her up like the others? He doubted it would make much difference. The mother might have talked but now she was unconscious, thanks to Humper’s heavy handedness. Was the father amongst the crowd being forced to watch? He wasn’t sure.

  A thought struck him and Ivan asked his colleague where the car battery had come from. He left the girl in the hands of another soldier while he went to investigate. A room at the back of the biggest and least-decrepit building in this village. The battery had been attached to a large radio set. Its antenna reached up to the ceiling. A pair of headphones lay on the table next to the radio. He grabbed the headphones and yanked their cable from its socket.

  Returning to the assembled villagers he held the earpieces aloft. “Are you all fucking spies or something?” They all shook their heads, like naughty schoolchildren. “Then what the hell are these for?”

  One man stepped forward nervously, glancing at his fellow villagers. “Please. We listen to news. Chinese news. BBC world service. Not allowed in our country.” The other villagers nodded but kept looking at their feet.

  “Oh, give me strength.” He pulled out a knife and held it to the girl’s throat. “Where is my bloody dive equipment?” he shouted. The girl squirmed under his grip and the blade nicked her throat. Some blood trickled along the blade, wetting his knuckles.

  One of the other mercenaries came forward. “Sarge? Do we really have to do this?”

  Ivan switched off his Babel app. “I’m not missing out on the biggest pay dirt of my life. Do you fancy swimming into the middle of a freezing cold lake in your skivvies? Diving down to check for netting without any scuba gear?”

  “Can’t we get some more kit flown in?”

  “We don’t have time for that. Besides, we’re on radio silence, remember.”

  “But—”

  A wrinkled man with grey hair ran out from behind one of the buildings clutching an ancient gun. The mercenary leader looked up. “Bloody hell, is that an AK47?” He stood watching for a moment before realising that the old villager was raising it to fire. He held it awkwardly and squeezed the trigger. The gun flew out of his hands but some bullets found their mark. The mercenary closest to him had been slow to react, like his leader, puzzled by the absurdity of the attack. His face creased in puzzlement as blood seeped through the front of his shirt and he dropped to the ground. The other villagers started screaming and ran off in different directions. Some of the mercenaries started shooting indiscriminately.

  The old man turned to flee. Ivan ran towards him, impeded by the people running in different directions and the bloodied bodies he was leaping over. He pointed at two of his squad and shouted. “You two, stay with the package. Everyone else, get after the old git!”

  The mercenaries were struggling through the forest, trying to keep up the pace demanded from their leader. They had lost one of the team to the old man. He was surprisingly fast for somebody who looked like he’d been around during the original Korean war. And he had refused to talk. By the end, death had been a merciful way out of the pain. The other villagers had shown the soldiers where he had lived and it had not taken long to find his secret treasure. He had obviously been a hoarder. Attractive bird feathers, skulls of tiny animals and smooth, coloured stones festooned his home. And under a dirty rug, beneath the floor boards, there was a compartment. Along with another AK47, some ammo clips and a grenade, they had found some jewellery, a jerry can of petrol and their diving equipment. Even the villagers seemed surprise. The soldiers had buried their comrade, smashed the radio and left the villagers to clear up the rest of the mess.

>   Now the mercenaries had an additional load and fewer shoulders to share the burden. Ivan insisted on setting off straight away, even as the moon crept out from behind broken clouds. Not much moonlight penetrated the canopy and their head-mounted torches lost their potency as battery charges dropped. Tired legs stumbled in the gloom as mud and roots sought out more victims.

  The sky was brightening a little by the time they reached the edge of the forest. Back to the spot where Ivan had first surveyed the approach to Heaven Lake. Too late to make a dash across the open ground now. He knew the men were too fatigued and the sun’s rays would soon be lighting up the eastern slopes ahead of them. They made camp and ate the food they had commandeered from the village. Ivan allowed a small fire to be lit. The team still grumbled about the tasteless pulp.

  “At least it’s not hard rations again. Looks lads, you’ll be able to afford five-star cuisine soon enough. We’ll bed down here during daylight. Tonight, we finish the mission.” He raised his mug of tea in celebration. I won’t need you lot for much longer.

  On the other side of the Chinese-Korean border, Gopal and Rabten were being driven by a woman from the export agency. They had needed to stay low for a couple of days after the debacle at the hyperloop terminus. Once their new IDs had been sorted, the agency had kitted them out for the mission and assigned them a handler. It was a long drive, but the woman insisted on doing it all herself. Five hours straight, both before and after lunch. Rabten had complained about the long gap between meals on the first half of the journey, but had shut up once they had bought extra snacks during the lunch break just west of Shenyang.

  Gopal tried to read as many briefing files as he could, but looking down at a screen while the car was in motion was not good for his neck or for travel sickness. He stared out of the window, watching the crop fields of Eastern China slip by. After he had helped foil the Gangotri plan, he had often wondered about the water situation here in the driest, most densely populated part of the country. The crops looked healthy enough. Perhaps the Chinese had found another solution.