Vortex

by Chris Ryan

  A few months previously, there had been a buzz on the streets of North Korea. The government had announced that it was to dismantle its nuclear reactor. It had been hinting to the world that its nuclear capabilities would soon be given up. This was cause for optimism, everybody said. A turning point. There was hope for a new future.

  But they didn't know what Chin-Hwa knew.

  They hadn't heard the powerful men talking.

  They hadn't seen the plans.

  They didn't know about Vortex.

  Chapter Seven

  The early-morning mist hovered eerily above the marshland.

  Ben and Annie stood silently at a barbed-wire boundary fence to RAF Spadeadam, only a hundred metres away from where they had witnessed the shooting of the hen harrier the previous day. In front of them was a metal sign on a post. It seemed out of place here, in the middle of this vast expanse of nature where there were no roads or electricity pylons or any of the usual debris of modern life. Its message was clear enough, however: DANGER. LOW-FLYING AIRCRAFT. LIVE AMMUNITION TRAINING. KEEP OUT.

  Ben Tracey stared at it, hotly aware of the prickly silence emanating from his cousin. 'How are we going to get in?' he asked, half to himself. The fence was not that high – perhaps only as high as Ben himself – but it was covered by a wicked-looking roll of barbed wire that meant they could never climb over it without ripping their skin to shreds; and the fence itself was constructed of lines of barbed wire close together which meant they couldn't squeeze through.

  He glanced at Annie. She had barely said a word since they'd left the youth hostel – her way, Ben realized, of making her thoughts about their expedition entirely clear – but he noticed that she was looking up and down the fence with interest, clearly trying to work out a way in. He smiled to himself. Annie wasn't the sort of person to let something like a bit of barbed wire get in her way.

  As she stared at the fence, Ben had an idea. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a Swiss Army penknife that had lingered unused in his bedroom for a couple of years, but which he had picked up on a whim as he left home. From the many blades, he selected a small pair of pliers, then approached the barbed wire and attempted to cut through them. It only took one snip, however, to realize that the pliers were far too flimsy for the job: they buckled and dented as Ben cursed and struggled to fold them away back into the penknife before returning it to his pocket.

  His eyes flicked to Annie's rucksack. 'I suppose you bird-watchers don't have much call for a good pair of wire-cutters,' he said archly.

  Annie ignored the question and continued scanning up and down the fence. Finally she spoke.

  'The posts.'

  Ben raised an eyebrow at her. 'What?'

  'The posts,' Annie repeated. 'They're made of wood, I think.' She trotted towards one of the posts that held the fence up at regular intervals, and rapped her hand against it. 'Wood,' she confirmed with a certain sense of satisfaction.

  'Great,' Ben said, coming up to join her. 'So what?'

  'It looks pretty old and weathered, that's all,' Annie replied. 'A few good kicks and we might be able to knock it down.'

  'Do you think?'

  Annie shrugged. 'It's not really seriously designed to keep people out, is it? I mean, like you said, if you really want to get in, all you have to do is bring a pair of wire-cutters, or some pliers or something. It's just a deterrent, a safety measure – like that sign.' She eyed it up again. 'A few good kicks near the top of the post should do it.'

  Annie removed her rucksack from her back and handed it to him. She looked down at her heavy, muddy walking boots and furrowed her forehead. 'Not the ideal shoes,' she muttered, taking a couple of steps back then looking towards the post and sizing it up. She raised her arms and appeared to balance herself.

  The first kick took Ben by surprise. Annie jumped up and struck the post near the top, before landing catlike back on her feet again. The post wobbled slightly, sending shockwaves repeating down the wire fence on either side. 'It'll come,' Annie said with satisfaction.

  It took four kicks before the bottom of the post started to split. When that happened, Ben put Annie's rucksack on the ground, dropped his own, and assisted by using his strength to push the post down onto its side. The fence dipped with it. 'We should be able to walk along the post and jump over the top of the barbed wire,' Ben observed as he picked up his rucksack. He turned to Annie and grinned. 'Nice one,' he said. 'You really are my partner in crime now.'

  'Yeah.' Annie rolled her eyes at him. 'Well, if we get caught, I'm telling them it was all your stupid idea.' Deftly she skipped onto the post and jumped over the boundary. A few seconds later, they were both in.

  They had only gone from one side of the fence to another – hardly any distance at all – but somehow it felt different on the other side. More exposed. Ben had the impression Annie felt it too. As soon as they had made it across the fence, they both started looking around a bit shiftily, trying to see if anyone was watching them. Ben found he was glad of the mist.

  'Where to now, pathfinder?' Annie asked in a hushed voice.

  Ben thought for a moment. 'Well,' he said, 'there's no point following the boundary now that we've crossed over. And anyway, however he managed to get in, I'm sure the old man will have headed towards the centre of Spadeadam rather than skirting around the edges.' He pointed in a direction that was at right angles to the fence. 'So I guess it means that way.'

  Annie inclined her head. 'Whatever you say,' she agreed, and strode out in the direction Ben had indicated.

  As they walked, the ground became marshy underfoot and the mist, which had been hovering around their knees, became thicker and more pervasive. It wasn't long before they were unable to see more than twenty metres in any direction. 'It's getting cold,' Annie said after a while.

  Ben nodded. 'Hopefully the sun will burn this mist off as it gets later. Maybe we should stop and put an extra jumper on.'

  'Good idea,' Annie replied, shivering. She peered through the mist. 'Is that a copse of trees up ahead?'

  Ben looked. Sure enough he could see the ghostly outline of some trees a little way in front of them. 'Let's get there,' he said. 'We can put on some warm clothes and have a look at the map. Maybe the trees will be marked, and it'd be a good idea to keep track of where we are.'

  It didn't take them long to reach the trees. Ben and Annie dumped their rucksacks with a certain amount of relief – walking through the marshy terrain was a lot harder work than they'd expected, and they were glad of a few moments' rest. Once they had rummaged around and found a jumper each, they sat on top of their rucksacks and ate some chocolate to give them a bit of instant energy and warmth.

  'I can't believe it isn't even autumn yet,' Ben commented. 'I suppose they won't be doing much in the way of live ammo training today.'

  'Why not?'

  'Well,' Ben faltered, 'the mist, I suppose. Difficult for planes to see and everything.'

  'Oh, come on, Ben,' Annie replied with a smile. 'It's not the First World War, you know. Pilots don't fly by sight alone. Anyway' – she looked around her and then upwards – 'this mist might seem thick to us, but it's probably just ground cover. Like you say, it'll burn away—'

  'Shhhhh!' Ben interrupted her, holding up his hand and straining his ear to hear.

  Annie fell silent. 'What is it?' she mouthed.

  They both sat perfectly still. There was a shuffling sound nearby, but for some reason the mist seemed to obscure where it was coming from.

  It stopped, and all around them seemed deadly quiet. Ben and Annie looked at each other, neither of them able to stop an expression of worry from showing in their faces. In his mind's eye, Ben saw the image of the soldier from yesterday, the one who had shot down the birds, and he found himself holding his breath, acutely aware of the heavy thump-thump of his own heartbeat.

  The shuffling started up again. This time there was no mistaking the regular pattern of footsteps.

  Somebody coughed
, a harsh, hacking, sandpaper sound that echoed through the still, early-morning air. And then the footsteps. Regular. Determined. And coming nearer.

  It was only by chance that Ben was looking in the right direction to see the figure approaching out of the mist. It was just a shadow at first, a silhouette becoming gradually more distinct as it approached. Ben lightly brushed Annie's hand to get her attention, then pointed in the direction of the figure. They watched, wide-eyed, as it approached.

  He was muttering to himself, the old man. His head was bowed, but although he walked slowly he was not as infirm as some people his age might have been. As he came closer, Ben could hear him muttering, a low, indistinct murmur of words that made no sense to his ears. Occasionally he would stop, raise his head and look all around. He seemed for all the world as though he were searching for something, but each time he did it, Ben had the impression that he believed himself to be somewhere completely different to where he was ten seconds ago. He strained his ears, desperately trying to catch some of that indecipherable muttering, but it was impossible. Ben couldn't help thinking that there were no real words coming out of the old man's mouth.

  Just as Ben thought he was going to walk straight towards them, he stopped, looked around once more, and veered off in a different direction. But when he came to the trees, he halted and sat down against one of them, just as Ben and Annie had done.

  The two of them sat in silence for a moment. 'He didn't see us,' Annie breathed. Ben looked at her and saw anxiety etched on her face – the arrival of the old man had clearly frightened her a bit, and if Ben was honest he would have to admit to feeling a bit spooked himself.

  The old man was rummaging inside a plastic carrier bag now. He pulled out a Thermos flask and, with slightly shaky hands, unscrewed it and poured himself a cup of something hot. He breathed in the welcome steam escaping from his cup and closed his eyes, as though that simple thing had given him more pleasure than anyone could know, then he sipped gratefully before resting his head against the bark of the tree.

  'I feel a bit sorry for him,' Annie whispered.

  'Yeah, me too. See why I wanted to come and find him? Look, I'm going to go and talk to him—'

  'No, don't,' Annie said, just a bit too quickly.

  'He's harmless, Annie,' Ben assured her.

  Annie responded with a wide-eyed, uncharacteristically frightened look.

  'Come on,' Ben said reassuringly. 'I'll show you.' He stood up, and started walking towards the old man, with Annie close behind.

  'Joseph!' he called gently when he was near enough for the old man to see them, but not so close that he would be too alarmed by their presence. 'It is Joseph, isn't it?'

  The old man looked up like a startled animal, spilling his hot tea over his hand as he did so. The scalding liquid didn't seem to worry him.

  'How do you know my name?' Joseph hissed. 'Who are you?'

  'I'm Ben,' Ben replied confidently and with a smile. 'We spoke last night in the youth hostel. Do you remember?'

  Joseph seemed to shrink back against the tree, looking first at Ben then at Annie. There was not even a spark of recognition in his face.

  'We talked about this place,' Ben persisted. 'About Spadeadam. You told me about Blue Streak. Don't you remember?'

  The old man started nodding his head furiously. 'Blue Streak, yes,' he gabbled. 'Spadeadam. Strange things happening at Spadeadam. Strange things.'

  His voice crumbled once more into a meaningless mutter and Ben and Annie cast an anxious look at each other. 'I thought you said he'd recognize you,' Annie breathed.

  Ben grimaced, then looked back at the old man before taking a tentative step forward. As he did so, his foot landed on a twig. It cracked, the noise sounding much louder than it should do. Instantly the old man stood up, his hawk-like eyes peering at Ben. He held the now empty cup above his shoulder as if it were a missile that he was prepared to hurl. 'Stay away,' he warned. 'Who are you? Why are you following me?'

  'We just want to make sure you're OK,' Ben said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone of voice.

  Again the old man peered at Ben and Annie, as though looking at them for the first time. 'Kids,' he said shortly. 'Spadeadam's not a place for kids. You must leave, now. Leave me alone. Get out of here.'

  'But, Joseph—'

  'Get out!' the old man roared, and for a moment Ben thought he saw real madness in his eyes. Both he and Annie stepped nervously back.

  The old man looked around him yet again, and started muttering once more. This time, Ben managed to catch something of what Joseph was saying. 'I have to find the place,' he was whispering to himself. 'They don't know I'm here, and I have to find the place.'

  'What place, Joseph?' Ben called with a confidence he did not feel. 'Who doesn't know you're here?'

  Joseph shook his head. 'Leave me alone. And get out of here. You have to get out of here.' He turned away from them, picked up his plastic bag and returned the Thermos flask, then walked further into the trees. The deeper he walked into the copse, the more indistinct he became in the mist, but before he disappeared from sight, he turned round to speak to them once more. For an alarming moment, his bright green eyes seemed to shine like emeralds in the mist, clear and knowing. 'Leave me alone,' he called again, before continuing on his way.

  Ben and Annie watched as the figure of the old man grew increasingly ghostly among the trees. Ben stepped forward after him. 'Come on,' he said suddenly. 'We have to try and talk to him again, find out what he's on about.'

  But Annie had grabbed him by the arm. 'Ben, he's incredibly frightened, can't you see? Keep disturbing him and we'll send the poor guy over the edge.'

  Ben looked anxiously after him. 'What are we going to do, then?'

  Annie bit her lip. Ben half expected her to suggest that they go home, but when she spoke it became clear to him that she was as intrigued by Joseph and his mysterious warnings as he was.

  'Let's follow him, from a distance. We'll have to be careful and keep out of sight, but at least we'll be able to see that he's OK.'

  Ben nodded. They grabbed their rucksacks, put them on and then, as silently as they could manage, started to trek deeper into the forest. And deeper into RAF Spadeadam.

  Chin-Hwa's driver had deposited him outside the government building a couple of hours ago. He had rushed inside in a matter of seconds, but the heavy rain had still saturated his cheap clothes. Since then, he had been waiting on his own in a bare, chilly room containing nothing but a few old plastic chairs. There was no point asking anybody how long it would be until he was seen: Chin-Hwa would be called when his presence was required, and no sooner.

  The door opened and an expressionless government worker appeared. He spoke to Chin-Hwa in a voice devoid of respect. 'They will see you now,' he said.

  Chin-Hwa nodded, and followed the government worker out of the room and along a succession of corridors that all seemed identical. In all the time he had been coming here, Chin-Hwa had never managed to learn his way around. Sometimes he wondered if the place had been built like that on purpose.

  Finally the government worker stopped outside another door and knocked respectfully before opening it.

  'The scientist,' he announced to whoever was waiting inside. He stepped aside and allowed Chin-Hwa to enter.

  There were four people in the room, the same four Chin-Hwa met with every time he came here. They wore suits that marked them out as high-ranking government men, but Chin-Hwa had immediately recognized them from their pictures in the newspaper when they had first met. The most important of them – the man to whom they all seemed to defer – sat at the head of the table. Behind him was a large picture.

  Everybody in North Korea recognized the man in that picture. Kim Il Sung – president until his death in 1994, when his son Kim Jong Il succeeded him as leader and declared his father Eternal President of the Republic. His picture hung at every train station and in every school; there were more than 800 statues of the Eternal Preside
nt scattered around the country. Not knowing who he was would be unthinkable.

  The leader of the government group nodded cursorily at Chin-Hwa. 'Sit down,' he instructed. Chin-Hwa took his place at the table. 'The Vortex device will be delivered the day after tomorrow, as discussed,' the leader informed the assembled group.

  The other three government officials nodded in satisfaction; Chin-Hwa did his best not to let dismay show in his face.

  The leader turned to one of the officials. 'We are sure that the British government knows nothing of what is happening?'

  The official nodded. 'The British scientists developing the device work in secret, and the military personnel at the RAF camp are ignorant of their activities, with the exception of a handful of renegade officers who have a serious financial incentive to keep the research private.'

  'Good,' the leader replied. He turned to Chin-Hwa. 'And you,' he said abruptly. 'You are sure that once the weapon is in our hands, you will be able to examine it and copy its design?'

  Chin-Hwa's lips went thin. He had never made such a claim, but he knew that to suggest he couldn't do this was to sign his own death warrant. 'I am sure,' he replied quietly.

  'Good,' the leader replied. 'I can now inform you of the president's wishes. Before Vortex is delivered to us here, he wishes to establish that it will be operational. He has instructed that it be tested on a major Western city.'

  Chin-Hwa's eyes narrowed. He looked around the room for any sign of concern on the faces of the assembled officials, but he saw none. It was hardly surprising, of course – they all knew the implications of questioning the president's wisdom. But in a moment of recklessness, Chin-Hwa felt he could not let the silence that followed go unbroken. He coughed. 'May I ask,' he said, his head bowed humbly, 'what the president's target is?'