by Barry Lancet
With Jiro Jo’s latest message, we had a hidden tunnel under a known tunnel, which narrowed the area we needed to watch. Officially, only a single tunnel fell within the circle: the infamous Tunnel Number Three, meant to have been a precursor to an invasion from the North.
The problem was the qualifier, officially. Publicly, there were four recognized tunnels, but off the record there were said to be more than twenty tunnels in existence. Details were kept from the public. In part, to confuse the North Koreans about what the South knew or didn’t know. In part, to avoid disheartening South Koreans. With heightened nuclear and missile testing, they lived with enough cross-border tensions.
I waved Robert Kim over. “Quick question. See this circle?”
He peered at the map. “Yes.”
“What other tunnels are inside the circle besides Tunnel Number Three?”
“None. The other three are elsewhere.”
His flicker of hesitation had been slight, but enough.
“I’m talking about the undisclosed tunnels.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ve heard there are at least twenty.”
Robert’s jaw clenched.
Wilson-Yun jacked up the pressure. “Numbers that have come my way run from fifteen to twenty-five.”
Robert stiffened. Petrifaction Korean-style was winning out.
KC joined the fray. “Hell, Robert, the news channels were talking about a new tunnel last month.”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure I can help.”
“Thought that’s what you were here for.”
“This was not . . . mentioned to me by my superiors.” He lifted his head and began looking around for help.
KC punctured Robert’s indecision fast. “You were assigned to us. We need to know, soldier. Now.”
The military tone did the trick. “Okay, there are other tunnels, but none of them pass through your quadrant there.”
I studied the young army enlistee. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
KC said, “A wrong answer compromises the mission.”
“There are none. I am certain.”
“Okay, good then,” I said. “We should get in position as soon as we can, so here’s what we need,” and I told him. KC and Wilson-Yun put in some requests of their own.
When I finished, Robert asked, “Do you want me to make arrangements for lookouts along the roads?”
“That won’t be necessary, but thanks.”
He looked surprised. “Now I must ask you the same question you asked me, Brodie. Are you sure? There are only a few roads in or out.”
“Which is why we don’t need any lookouts.”
“That seems . . . unusual.”
Unusual, I agreed, but practical. I explained my reasoning. We were in the DMZ. The number of entry points could be counted on one hand. No unaccompanied civilians were granted access to the DMZ. Anyone who came through would be instantly visible. We could cover the ground if we split into two groups. Extra lookouts meant extra risk. I didn’t want to spook them. What I wanted to do was let them come to us, then swing in behind them and trap them between our position and the minefields at the border. Simple, clean, and limited risk.
“All good points, sir. But wouldn’t lookouts be a precaution worth taking?”
“Young soldiers against experienced spies or special ops from the North? I don’t think so?”
“Okay, sir. You are in charge.”
“Then it’s settled. Can I trust you to pass that on?”
“Affirmative, sir.” Robert Kim saluted, and marched off.
“They probably won’t show before nightfall,” KC said. “I wouldn’t.”
“I agree,” I said. “But it’s safer to set up as early as we can. Nothing about this abduction has followed the usual patterns.”
Wilson-Yun scratched the stubble on his cheek. “Going to be a long night, then.”
“And tough,” KC said.
I nodded and Noda grunted.
KC’s comment echoed what we were all thinking. Anything to do with the tunnels spelled trouble. And by far the most ominous of North Korea’s underground ventures was Tunnel Number Three.
CHAPTER 63
COLLECTIVELY, the four officially recognized shafts dug under the DMZ from the North are known as “infiltration tunnels.” When the first was discovered in 1974, the North and the South were in the midst of on-again, off-again peace talks, which could explain Seoul’s mild-mannered approach to the naming of what was meant to be one leg of an invasion strategy.
Four years later, the unearthing of Tunnel Number Three sent chills down the spines of South Korean military and civilian leaders. Why? Because this newest underground passage was a leap forward for the North: it was nothing less than a full-on portal to invasion.
At the time of its discovery, the tunnel was nearly a mile long and had penetrated a quarter of a mile into southern territory. With its installed ventilation system, the subterranean passageway had the capacity to delivery thirty thousand armed troops per hour across the border—to within thirty miles of the capital city of Seoul.
And most frightening of all was this: until the defection of a North Korean army surveyor, the South Koreans had had no clue as to the existence of the incursion.
* * *
Night had fallen.
Noda, KC, Wilson-Yun, and I were ensconced in a blind with a view—through night-vision binoculars—of the territory around Infiltration Tunnel Three. The remainder of the team was in a secondary blind overlooking the rest of the targeted territory. We were in radio contact. KC’s crew had brought their own weapons: M4 carbines and Beretta M9s in belt holsters, as well as extra handguns for Noda and me. Robert provided coffee, water, and double portions of bibimbap, the Korean dish of seasoned vegetables and meat over hot rice, which turned out to be everyone’s favorite.
“Here’s a question for you, Brodie,” Wilson-Yun said.
We spoke in whispers. After the sun had set, our voices carried farther. Who knew what kind of ears—human or electronic—might be approaching, or listening in on the other side of the border.
“I’m all ears.”
“Any of our targets terrorists or insurgents?”
“More like spies.”
“Sounds like an easy takedown.”
From behind his field glasses, Noda growled.
Wilson-Yun turned his attention to the chief detective, but Noda uttered no further sound, so the Marine looked at me. “You have a translation for that?”
I said, “My partner’s saying spies are anything but easy. Different world, different bag of tricks.”
Nodding, Wilson-Yun dropped into a Marine’s combat stillness as he considered this new point of view. Eventually he said, “Roger that.”
* * *
Time passed. Night sounds emerged. Cricket song welled up on all sides. In the nearby forested area, the long, subdued growl of something large and feral rode the low register.
KC spoke softly into his radio. “Game time is approaching, boys. Wits sharp and eyes sharper.” He pressed a hand to his ear to better hear the response. “Affirmative,” he said. “We got room.”
“For what?” I asked.
“Company. The South Koreans are sending over QRF soldiers.”
Noda said, “Explain.”
KC smothered the microphone in his fist. “Quick-reaction forces. One of the first-line-of-defense specialty units out here. Locked and loaded and ready to fight twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Each one is trained in antitank weaponry, which could be part of a push by the North. Their canteens are always full. They carry rations. The fighting starts, first responders won’t have time to grab provisions, so close are North and South. So goes the theory.”
“No tanks tonight,” Noda said. “Tell them no.”
KC looked my way and I nodded.
He relayed the message, listened, then covered his mike again. “They’
re saying if our targets run, these guys can hunt them down. They know the terrain like their own backyard.”
“ ‘Like their own backyard’? So where’s the tunnel entrance?” I said.
“That your official reply?” KC said.
“No. Just tell them we have too many bodies as it is and we’re not looking to attract attention.”
KC relayed my reply, listened, then said, “Robert wants a word. Channel thirteen.”
I adjusted my headset and said, “What’s up?”
“QRF are the best, sir.”
“I already heard but—”
“Don’t need them,” said Noda.
“You hear that?”
“I did, sir, but the men are already heading your way. Camp authorities insist.”
* * *
Two QRF soldiers joined us—Daewoo assault rifles at their shoulders, Kevlar vests over their uniforms like us, and fully armed equipment belts at their waists. Pistols, combat knives, grenades. Neither of them spoke English or would admit to speaking English.
But with or without language ability, they were still watchdogs.
I was losing control of the operation.
“Think our targets could be a no-show?” KC asked, peering through night-vision binoculars, then cocking his head and raising them skyward.
“Could, but unlikely,” I said, scanning the terrain with a pair of my own glasses.
KC spoke into the radio. “Got two large birds circling overhead. Anything we need to worry about?”
I raised my binoculars. Silhouettes with six-foot wingspans cruised the wind currents a hundred feet forward and eighty feet above our position.
“Black vultures,” Robert replied. “They found something dead.”
“Hopefully not human,” I said.
“Out here you never know,” Robert said.
“We’ll check the site if they land.” KC signed off and glanced my way. “Tell me how sure you are about this location again.”
“I’m sure.”
“Your source?”
We still held Habu and his men in a hidden location out in the Japanese countryside. Our men continued to press the gang leader on several fronts but he hadn’t changed his answers, and nothing new had emerged since Jiro Jo forced the disclosure of the tunnel-under-tunnel gambit.
“Solid. We got the right intel.”
KC lowered his binocs. “Not looking good.”
“Then we keep looking,” I said.
CHAPTER 64
TWO a.m. came and went. Then three. The moon dropped behind a mountain range and the night grew darker still.
Sunrise was at 5:19.
The sky would start to lighten around 4:20.
KC put his hand to his ear. “Roger that. Hold.” He lifted his glasses and scanned the area to our left. “Nothing yet.” Then to me: “They have something.”
I switched the dial on my headset back to our secondary unit but the channel was silent.
“Who you talking to?” I asked.
“Not sure. Robert patched me through.”
I glanced at our uninvited guests. The QRF soldiers were clearly tuned in. Which meant channel thirteen.
I flipped over. “Robert, you there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The second unit has a sighting?”
If so, Anna’s captors were taking the long way around.
He hesitated. “Not exactly, sir.”
“Who has eyes-on, then?”
Robert’s voice flattened. “The QRF soldiers on the road.”
“What soldiers on the road? Did you relay our earlier discussion about avoiding lookouts?”
“Word for word, sir. They said they would take it under consideration, sir.”
“And you didn’t think it useful to tell me that?”
“I was under orders not to, sir.”
I exhaled loudly. Of course you were. Was this the South Korean army acting on its own, or were they being prodded by the American forces commander here, himself guided by the hand of someone above him? There was no way to tell, and this was the wrong time to sort it out.
KC said in an undertone. “Eight o’clock.”
Our left flank, behind us. I looked. There were tiny figures in the far distance. I raised my field glasses—and saw a miracle.
From the shadowy green haze, three figures emerged and were coming our way.
* * *
In the faintest whisper, KC said in my ear. “Targeting Alpha One.” Meaning the farthest-forward male.
“Got Alpha Two,” Wilson-Yun said.
A light sheen of sweat prickled KC’s forehead. We waited until the trio drew closer—two men in South Korean uniforms and Anna, head draped in a scarf to ward off the night chill. Alpha Two held her upper arm in a tight grip and urged her forward. The leader stopped to consult a scrap of paper in his hand and pointed left.
“Thirty yards,” KC said, his voice no more than a soft exhale.
The group moved cautiously forward, heading toward terrain directly over Tunnel Three.
“Twenty yards.”
One of the soldiers behind me shouted loudly in Korean, an incomprehensible command blasting in my ear. As I stood by, stunned, Alpha One pivoted, bringing up a firearm.
KC shot him.
Anna’s minder dropped flat to the ground and raised a weapon. Wilson-Yun took him out with a headshot. The QRF soldiers hit him with multiple bursts.
Head lowered and staring at the body at her feet, Anna stood frozen in place, arms glued to her sides, quivering and muttering, “No, no, no. Don’t shoot. No, no, no.”
The six of us emerged from our hide and spread out. We advanced slowly, a step at a time, weapons raised.
Noda and I pointed our Berettas, which would be effective in another few yards. KC, Wilson-Yun, and the QRF boys targeted Anna with their weapons.
KC spoke loudly. “Ma’am, raise your hands. We need to see your hands.”
KC and Wilson-Yun’s carbines pivoted back and forth between Anna and their downed victims. The QRF troops focused exclusively on Anna.
“Do not shoot her,” I said in clear, well-enunciated English. “Do you understand?”
Neither of the QRF soldiers responded.
“Do—you—understand?”
“We hear you, sir,” the closest said.
So they did speak English.
“Ma’am,” KC said, “we’re not going to hurt you, but we need to see your hands.”
One of the QRF soldiers repeated the phrase in Korean and I did the same in Japanese, using Anna’s name and telling her she was safe.
She nodded, seeming to understand, but stood frozen in place. Emotionally paralyzed.
The QRF guns rose incrementally higher as we advanced.
“Do not shoot her,” I said again.
Noda snapped at them in Japanese, and they reacted at his intensity if not his words. The scar slashing across his eyebrow burned a bright red.
When we’d come within ten feet, Alpha One stirred. He yelled something into a radio in his left hand, the gun in his other hand jumping. Two swift trigger pulls took down Wilson-Yun and a QRF soldier with leg shots. Both men crumpled as KC’s M4 flashed, sending three rounds into the prone North Korean. His body jerked spasmodically, then lay still.
Anna squealed in fright. Her hands came up. Her head came around. Where I expected to see a frightened face or maybe a timid smile of gratitude I saw a twisted snarl.
She was a he.
With a gun rising fast.
I shot her. Him.
Damn, damn, damn.
Decoys.
Or a test run.
CHAPTER 65
TELL me!” I yelled into my headset.
“Sir?” Robert said for the third time.
“You heard me. The soldiers on the road—did they see anyone else?”
“No.”
“Did the three men here do anything else?”
“They were in radio contact with
someone.”
I covered my microphone and said to KC, who was searching the bodies, “What’s the range of their radios?”
“These pieces of crap? In this terrain, maybe half a mile. A mile, tops.”
“Any other communication gear?”
“No. Cell phone transmissions would have been picked up.”
So Anna’s minders had been close, waiting for the go-ahead. If we’d been able to sneak up on the advance party, as was the plan, we might have scooped them up before they called the others. Once we’d unmasked the fake Anna, we might have been able to lure Anna and her real minders out here.
Too late for that.
I had to get to China. Fast.
* * *
Wilson-Yun and the injured QRF soldier were rushed to the base hospital, while KC, Noda, and I headed back to the Joint Security Area. The remaining QRF soldier and Marines stayed behind with the bodies, and others soon joined them.
I was furious, my mind reeling at the possibilities. I leapt from the jeep.
Robert hustled up, saluted, and said, “Sirs, you are wanted for immediate debriefing.” Robert pointed to a nondescript white building, where no doubt top brass would be waiting.
“Get the hell away from me,” I said.
“Sir, I must insist.”
KC’s hand went to his carbine. “Stand down, soldier.”
Robert backed off and waited.
I stalked off to the far corner of the lot, out of earshot, and called a friend in Tokyo. Time was short and Anna’s captors were on the move again. Let the base authorities listen in if they could.
When he picked up, I said, “I wake you or are you out on a shoot?”
“Hey, JB. On-site now. What’s up?”
“I remember hearing you snagged a big Korean account. That true?”
I was on the phone to Ben Simmons, a longtime American expat photographer based in Tokyo who specialized in Japan and Asia. On a workday, Simmons rose before first light, because light is what he chased.