Reload

by David McCaleb

  The commando slipped his own pistol into a pocket and started down the road from which they’d come, quick time. Ko caught up. As they jogged away he heard Pumpkin Beard barking more orders. He turned to look and stumbled on an ice chunk.

  “Stay in the tracks!” Jellyfish hissed.

  A half kilometer later, Ko’s legs began to burn.

  * * * *

  A vise squeezed Ko’s stomach, sharp pain twisted beneath his belly button. He hadn’t run so far even at soccer practice. After a half hour he’d stopped to dry heave. Yet Jellyfish was barely breathing. His mouth was closed, but vapor streamed from his nostrils like a Chinese dragon.

  The man glanced over one shoulder at the wide road behind them. “Almost there. Quit making so much noise.”

  “Dying isn’t quiet,” Ko managed between breaths.

  The commando sneered. “Oh. That what you’re doing? Sounds more like you’re slaughtering a sow.”

  Ice crackled from somewhere and Ko straightened, head tilted toward the salt marsh, listening. The rising and falling of tides frequently sent sharp echoes across the grasses, but this one had sounded different. They jumped to another track in the road, then over a snowbank and into trees. After a few minutes a green dump truck approached slowly, plow rumbling as it scraped on ice, a plume of twisting snow trailing behind. The wind, having picked up over the last hour, blew the shifted white powder back across the road.

  Jellyfish leaned to Ko’s ear. “Follow me.”

  The truck passed. The plume of plowed snow blanketed the pair where they squatted behind the bank. Jellyfish jumped out and ran after the vehicle through a swirling fog of sparkling crystals thrown skyward. Ko scrambled out too, straining to keep up, the knife jabbing his side resurrected as his breath came harder. Every drawl was accompanied by suffocating ice-mist, just like in primary school when the older boys had used to tackle him and rub his face in a drift. He could no longer see the commando, but strained after the truck.

  A sudden gust pushed the snow fog away, and he spied the man already clinging to the tailgate. Ko put out one more burst and managed to grab a chain, climbing up a rusty step. He pushed chin to chest and covered his mouth with the coat collar, shielding lungs from breathing the frozen plow mist.

  Ten minutes later, they passed the first dark house of Songpyong. The commando shook Ko’s arm, then dropped off the back of the truck. Ko followed, staggering and sliding on ice. His lungs no longer hurt, but his hand was frozen, cramped from gripping the chain. The truck clattered on ahead, its white plume now shrinking as the houses blocked and slowed the wind.

  Ko pointed down a side road. “I know a shorter way.”

  After a heavy run they stopped to peer around a tall holly bush. A motor clattered somewhere beyond a thin fog covering the harbor. A gust of wind suggested diesel exhaust. Loud squeals sounded as tire boat fenders rubbed against steel and wood. A sigh of relief. The troop transport was still parked in the harbor lot. “Can you see anything with your scope?”

  Jellyfish stepped next to him. “I didn’t bring any of that gear.”

  “Why not?”

  “In case we get caught, you idiot.”

  “Fine.” Ko shrugged and walked toward the truck. “I don’t see anyone.”

  One of the rear tires was half-flat, but the others looked OK. The drift piled on the driver’s side suggested the vehicle had been there awhile. Ko peered into the back. Empty. The door opened after several yanks, cracking a thin, transparent sheet of ice around its seam. The driver’s seat was a wooden crate. A Ural model truck, but an old one.

  There’s a reason this thing is still sitting here. He got in and depressed the clutch, moved the gear lever into neutral, and pressed the start button. A single click came from the engine compartment.

  He got out and lifted the heavy hood, propping it up with a driftwood branch he’d grabbed from behind the sea bulkhead. Jellyfish pressed the button several times. More clicks came from the starter. “Could be the battery. But no one would abandon a truck for that. Too easy to get a jump. Probably the starter.”

  Jellyfish kicked the wheel hub, then marched in a circle, limping. A loud grating came from across the parking lot. The green dump truck had pushed a pile of snow away from the boat ramp and was now backing up.

  “Get him to give us a jump, then!” Jellyfish ordered.

  Ko hopped down and ran across the lot, waving. The driver tried to roll down his window, but it, too, appeared frozen. At last he cracked the door and peered out. “Huh?”

  Ko stared into a deeply furrowed face with gray eyebrows and earflaps pulled down tight. “I need a jump.”

  “Why you out so late?” The man’s eyes drifted to the three gold bands across the point of Ko’s collar. The driver only had two. Reserves—or just incompetent, considering his age.

  “Ordered to get this truck back to post,” Ko said, jerking a thumb casually over one shoulder.

  The man lifted his head, gazing across the parking lot. “That piece of crap’s been there a week. Just a dead battery, huh?”

  “Don’t know. But you’ll help us find out.”

  The driver frowned. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit. Where’s your tool truck?”

  Ko looked at his boots, thinking. A little truth couldn’t hurt. “It broke down.”

  The man wheezed a laugh. “Motor pool got its hands full, all right. OK. Let’s see if she’ll crank.”

  He pulled up beside the troop transport and dropped the plow. The old driver insisted on attaching the battery cables himself, muttering like an old woman. Sparks arced with a loud crack when he clipped one side to the transport’s battery. He switched the clamps around, looking not at all embarrassed of his mistake. Jellyfish stood near the plow, just behind the old man.

  Ko pressed the starter button, but it still only clicked. He stepped down next to the plow driver. “Maybe we gotta let it charge awhile.”

  The driver brushed ice crystals from a short, thin mustache. “Nope. She sparked hard when I crossed the cables. Battery’s not your problem. See, you need a—”

  Crack!

  The man’s eyes rolled up. His body crumpled against Ko.

  Behind him stood the commando, holding his pistol outstretched, muzzle pointed at Ko’s head, that wax paper gaze as if seeing beyond him. A boat fender squealed loudly, followed by grating of metal.

  Ko braced for a second shot, this one for him.

  Chapter 30 – Only If I Have To

  The driver slumped into Ko’s arms. He stumbled backward at the weight as the man’s dirty brown hat fell onto ice. “Why’d you do that? You didn’t need to kill him.”

  Jellyfish Commando’s eyes seemed opaque as opals now. “I didn’t. He won’t be out long. Help me get him into the back of the dump truck.” His pistol was still trained at Ko’s chin. He decocked the hammer with his thumb, then slipped it back into his pocket. Ko lifted the old man’s shoulders and the two hefted him atop a truck bed half-full of sand covered by a black mesh tarp.

  “Then, why didn’t you kill him?”

  The commando ripped an earflap from the driver’s cap and shoved the makeshift gag into the man’s limp mouth. “Why did you? Why didn’t you?” he mimicked. “Make up your mind. Kill only if you have to.” He knelt on the unconscious man’s chest and pressed the pistol against a temple.

  The driver moaned, opening an eye, then wriggled his jaw, tongue exploring the inside of his cheeks and the gag.

  “Don’t move. We won’t kill you, unless you make noise.”

  The prisoner’s eyes darted around, full of confusion and fear. He jerked his shoulders, as if trying to sit up but then remembering being told to stay still. Finally, he nodded.

  Jellyfish pointed to Ko. “You drive. Do anything foolish, I kill this man then have the others execute your sister and daughter. Understood?”


  What had Ko gotten his family into? Only trying to save his sister, and now all their lives were threatened by the men doing it.

  He lowered both trucks’ hoods and climbed into the cab. The seat was warm against his legs and a heater blew hot from beneath the dash. The driver must’ve been doing his job a long time to merit working heat.

  He gripped one of three small levers mounted near the shifter and pushed. The plow sank into the earth and the truck’s front wheels rose from the ice. Ko pulled it out and the plow lifted, dropping the front of the truck back down. But now the blade was so high he couldn’t see the road. He fiddled with the control till it held somewhere between, then tested the other levers, angling the device side to side.

  Knuckles rapped at the window. It was Jellyfish, leaning down from the bed. Ko lowered the glass. “What?”

  “Go! Who cares about the plow?”

  “Give them no reason to suspect,” Ko said.

  The answer seemed to please Jellyfish, who slipped back under the tarp, telling him, “Keep that window cracked.” No one would want to stop a simple snowplow. This would be better cover than their previous truck. Ko shifted into first and released the clutch, surprised at how well the tires gripped. Must be the weight of all that sand in the back.

  Why hadn’t Jellyfish killed the driver? It would’ve been easier. They still had his sister and daughter to ensure Ko’s cooperation. What good would an old man be?

  Only if I have to.

  Had Ko really had to kill his fellow guard at Hwasong? Could he have just knocked him out and tied him up? Eun Hee had screamed when he’d thrust his blade into the young man. Perhaps this commando wasn’t as evil as he’d seemed. As dire their situation had become, he’d held a presence of mind, a small respect for life. It was Ko who’d been sloppy.

  Back on the main road, he shifted into third and dropped the plow, blowing crystal whiteness atop the already high drifts. The more it looked like he was working, the more convincing the cover.

  Passing the marsh for the third time tonight, he caught a whiff of a muddy, fishy stench that blew through the crack of the open window. “It’s all kinds of rotting stuff,” his father had said. “A marsh is in a constant state of decay. But crabs live on it. Small fish breed there. Life, from death.” Then their motor had sputtered and cut off, its gas tank empty. His father had lifted a wet oar and passed it to him with a grin. “We didn’t run out of fuel. Got a full tank right here.”

  Thinking of this now, Ko glanced at the dump truck’s gas gauge. Damn. Probably only ten liters left.

  * * * *

  To keep warm, Red jogged in place behind a dirty snowbank and some sort of pine tree with short needles. Its branches drooped beneath the frozen burden.

  He unzipped a pouch of his assault pack and pulled out another protein bar, fingers grazing the black rubber Iridium sat phone. Stretching his neck over the drift, he glanced both directions down the icy road. All quiet, he punched secure, then the Det’s speed dial.

  “Base Supply.”

  “Grace, this is Red. Can you—”

  She dropped her voice to a hushed whisper. “Red? Why the hell you calling this number? I’ll patch you to the fusion cell.”

  “No, I need you to—”

  Her voice quieted even more. “Yes, I will. All hell’s broken loose. Mr. Steele’s here.”

  What? “Repeat.”

  “You heard me. Director of National Clandestine Service.”

  “Why?”

  A huff. “How should I know? Well...I couldn’t help overhearing he said Javlek’s pissed you’re on the op.”

  That was coming. But Red was willing to take the ass chewing. Relieve him of command, for all he cared. He had to protect his family, and the Det. No one else had been moving fast enough. “Grace...”

  “OK, OK! Mr. Frank told me something about a leak. Not able to watch from CIA’s command center. Red, I think the CIA is completely dark on this op. I swear, I don’t think anyone knows about it. Even Steele didn’t till a little while ago, after your feet were wet.”

  “Who else is there?”

  “No one. Steele tried to get a few others in, but the first shirt took care of it.”

  The first shirt... Red smiled. The stubby Inuit had a skull thick as a pit bull. He’d reviewed old performance reports his first week in command, and one from the sergeant’s prior assignment had said he should be locked in a crate labeled open only in case of war. Well, the man did his job.

  “I’m not talking to anyone. I just want an update on Lori.” Red leaned back across the snowbank. The frozen highway still lay silent. “Make it fast.”

  “I called to Hopkins again first thing this morning. Still no luck. A nice fem in patient relations said they had no record of her. Doesn’t surprise me—the CIA covering their tracks. They must have discharged her. I tried her cell again, but no answer. That’s three days since I’ve spoken with her.”

  Red wriggled cold toes in tight boots, staring at a streak of frozen moss on bark. It looked like a tiny green waterfall bursting from the tree. He wasn’t concerned that Hopkins had no record of her. But why hadn’t she answered her cell? Three days.

  Just as he hit end, Gae’s voice crackled in the comm. “Eenbound. Dum-p tu-ruck. With plow.”

  Red closed his eyes and pinched his nose, pondering the sounds coming through the comm. Speak English, damn it. What the hell did he just say?

  “Maybe like that plow truck that passed a while ago,” Richards commed.

  OK, we can work with this. Not quite an hour delay. Still enough time to get in place, as long as nothing else went wrong. A three-hour reserve, less than optimal for the distance, but doable.

  The crunching of tires on ice came faintly from afar. Red leaned over the snow dune to look. One corner of the road glowed with headlights, the opposite direction from which Gae would be driving.

  Red punched his comm. “Vehicle coming our way. Half a klick.” He glanced back at the blue farm truck, listing on the side with a blown tire. Fifteen minutes earlier an old green Volvo had stopped next to it. A woman in a felted black wool coat like his mother’s had rummaged through the empty cab. Stepping down with a half-full plastic bag, she’d slammed the door and driven off.

  “Gae, how far you out?”

  “Not know. Under sheet. A five minutes?”

  Red pulled the locator from his belt and leaned over the black screen, then pushed the brightness up till the four tags of his team were just visible. He cursed silently, remembering Gae wasn’t a tag. What a cluster. Could this have been any more of a thrown-together mess? “We’ve got something coming down the road opposite you. Slow down. I want them clear of the area before you get here.”

  The distant glow turned into the hot eyes of two headlights. The vehicle rolled around a curve, a white box truck streaked dirty charcoal down the side. Blocks of splash-ice in the wheel wells had grown so large they rubbed the rear drive tires, hanging like stalactites from mud flaps. It slowed and stopped beside the broken vehicle, just like the Volvo. A crackle as the icy driver-side glass rolled down. A young voice spoke inside the cab, then a man’s head stuck out the window and peered around.

  Red crouched lower.

  The driver shouted. He seemed to stare at the ground next to the tire, then turned and glanced up the road, almost directly at the spot where Red had jumped over the plow drift. The window rolled up and tires spun as the truck gained speed.

  “Richards. White truck, headed your way. Think he noticed my tracks. You see Gae yet?”

  “Affirmative, but over four hundred meters away. Plow’s shootin’ a rooster tail of snow.”

  “Cooley, Lanyard, get ready to move the ladies.” He flipped down his monocular. “Forward is clear. Once you verify it’s Gae, everyone load up. I’ll come to you.”

  * * * *
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br />   Lanyard clung to the top edge of the dump bed, holding a black-gloved hand down to Red. The two locked wrists and Lanyard hoisted him up. Red slipped under the tarp and dropped to a mound of sand. A small man with weathered, deeply creased skin sat in the far corner, wrists and ankles tied, shivering, Gae’s pistol trained at his belly.

  Red tossed Gae his tactical pack. “The plow driver?”

  He made a clicking noise with his cheek.

  “He’ll get in our way.”

  As soon as the words left Red’s mouth, Gae smiled and slipped a serrated blade from its scabbard. Red grabbed his wrist. “That’s not what I meant.”

  The commando wrenched his hand free, but slid his knife back into its sheath.

  “Lanyard, cover the old man. Gae, get the driver moving.”

  Red slipped off his watch cap and ran fingers through tangled curls. Holy shit. We’re supposed to be bringing out two assets, the driver and his sister. Now we’ve added his daughter and an old man. Looking more like a gypsy band than a spec ops team. Epic fail on his first op command. How were they supposed to eliminate a mole and blow up a semisized printing press while making sure none of the locals ran off? The ladies were leverage against the driver, and vice versa. But now this old man... He had no dog in the fight. He was unexploded ordnance.

  Maybe he should let Gae kill him. At least then he could blame the bloodshed on South Korea.

  No. One innocent fisherman was already dead, and by the looks of the bloodied trench coat wrapped around the ladies, its prior owner hadn’t faired so well, either. The next person to die should be an actual target.

  The truck lurched forward. Red peered over the tailgate. The white crystal rooster tail from the plow buried the blue farm truck as they passed. A hand gripped his shoulder. He jerked his head around and peered into Gae’s yellow eyes.

  “Driver say no gas.”

  “How far can we go?”

  “Depot close. Say ten minutes.”

  * * * *

  Ko turned a corner and tall white fuel tanks came into view by starlight a half kilometer ahead, one with what looked like brown molasses trailing down the side. They stood in two rows, like the fuses in the electric box his father had once shown him at the old fish processing plant. They’d hired his dad as a handyman at times, till once he’d accidentally shut down the entire heading and gutting line when swapping out one of the ancient fuses.