by Andy Lettau
The day had flown past, equally balanced between work and fun. For some inexplicable reason the dog had managed in a few hours to find a vulnerable point in O`Brian. While the inevitable was gradually tightening its vice-like grip on souls, something broke out in O`Brian that he would never have thought possible: his own anxiety in the face of approaching death. With gentle movements he stroked his little companion, but at the end of the day he realized that it was Mariam he was trying to be nice to.
As crazy as it may sound, he put his thoughts down on paper just before going to sleep: it is nice to know that you are needed and that you can show affection. In the whole time on board, and especially after the meteorite, this is the first day when I feel really needed. This little dog, Pinky, can never replace Mariam. But in his eyes I can see purity and innocence, and it reminds me so much of her.
Sitting on his bed, O`Brian spent some thinking about this day. He would never have thought it possible to have feelings like this, let alone write them down. When the First Lady ordered Pinky to be returned to her night quarters, two pairs of eyes met and wordlessly understood each other.
Sometimes, O'Brian wrote in his diary, life just goes to the dogs ...
CHAPTER 9
Atlantic Ocean
North Korean submarine DA BAK SOL
28th December
An hour after sighting Air Force One, the DA BAK SOL had arrived to within a half mile of the Boeing, which was supported by yellow pylons and – apart from the engines that had been ripped out – apparently completely intact. The majestic 747 airliner, even through a three-quarters extended periscope, was a breath-taking spectacle. Pak could not get enough of it and unwillingly allowed himself to be pushed to one side by Captain Ji when he gave the last orders for the careful approach maneuver.
"We do not know who is under water and who is on board. I do not think it is advisable to surface yet," was the Captain's appraisal of the situation.
"Hmh, if the enemy were nearby, he would have us sunk us long ago with a torpedo," replied Pak. "If these disturbances in the atmosphere make radio contact impossible and if US submarines are not able to use their radio or sonar, then we are in no danger. We should not miss this historic opportunity to hoist the North Korean flag on this machine. We should enter and take possession of what we can find. Today we can become heroes - even if we have to risk our lives. This day will go down in the history books of the whole world!"
Pak was in triumphal mood and saw himself being decorated quite soon with medals and distinctions. He saw himself standing in front of the delegates in the Mansudae Assembly Hall, in order to be honored by a leading functionary of the DKRP as a Hero of Work. Perhaps even the Beloved Leader himself would award him the medal.
"Comrade Political Officer," Ji interrupted his daydreaming, "I cannot spare anyone, in case you intend to board the enemy vessel. After the tragic death of several crew members all remaining expertise is required on board for us to return safely to our beloved country. We need every man, we need every helping hand. If there is even just one American on board with a weapon capable of piercing armour plating, he will have an easy target. He will be able to shoot holes in the DA BAK SOL when he surfaces and sink us there and then."
Pak thought feverishly. The Captain was not entirely wrong. However, if they had made it so far, and were, so to speak, sitting in the waiting room, they should have the determination to go on to their goal.
"Comrade Captain, I have a suggestion to make. We both go out through the pressure chamber and swim across. Without you our self-sacrificing crew will not succeed in returning the DA BAK SOL safely back home. And without me it will be almost impossible to prove that we were actually here. We leave the vessel and swim over to Air Force One. If we are arrested, our government will do everything to rescue us from the clutches of the imperialists. If there is nobody on board, we can photograph each other as mutual proof and take away with us valuable documents that confirm our daring enterprise. If we are shot, we will have died fulfilling our military duty. Captain Ji, I am counting on your complete loyalty to our Beloved Leader."
Pak had emphasized the last sentence so that all the men standing around would hear it. If Ji turned tail, he would be considered a traitor to his country. And what happened to such people was generally known from rumors.
But how true the rumors were was beyond Pak's knowledge. And if he were honest, he wouldn't want to know. The only thing that interested him at the moment was the successful completion of the mission. To sink an American cruise ship and become a murderer in the eyes of some people - that was one thing. But to become an immortal hero in the history books, because you had taken possession of a US symbol and then sunk it - that was another thing. If he and Yang could get a bigger apartment as a result of this honorably acquired fame, that alone would make it worthwhile.
"So, Comrade Captain, what's your decision?"
Ji laughed out loud. As far as he was concerned Pak was still wet behind the ears and hadn't the faintest idea what the standing of Korea in the rest of the world was. In the course of his military career Ji had often come into possession of information about the class enemy, which had caused him to wonder about the correctness of artificially induced ideological action. The problem was just that you couldn't talk to anyone, even your own wife, about these things. With time you got used to the whole inflated intimidation apparatus and played the game of the political bosses. With time you forgot simply that you were serving a dictatorial regime and pursuing some false identity. You just turned the bitterness inside and took pleasure in the little things of life.
For Yong-Jo Ji the last small pleasure would be returning home so that he could be at the grave of his wife, who had been denied proper medical treatment, and shed a last tear over her. Then he would drive to his apartment, put his ceremonial uniform on, drive into downtown Pyongyang, urinate on the over-lifesize statue of the 'Beloved Leader' on Kim-Il-sung Square and, before being caught by the party snitch, put a bullet through his head.
"Comrade Pak, your plan is an excellent idea. Let us get into or diving suits and bring honor and glory to the Fatherland!"
CHAPTER 10
Atlantic Ocean
Air Force One
28th December
They were inside. The water dripped from the old-fashioned neoprene suits and left dark stains on the expensive beige carpet. Pak and had never before in their lives seen an aircraft so luxuriously fitted out. They almost felt embarrassed entering with their military uniforms on.
While they covered each other with 9mm Chinese Type 59 pistols and put down their flippers on two soft upholstered seats, Pak was the first to break the silence and patted the Captain gently on the shoulder.
"Maybe there are some of them still on board. At the back. Or on the upper deck."
With his index finger on his lips he gave a sign that they should be quiet and careful.
Twenty minutes later it became clear that the plane had been completely evacuated. Somewhere Ji had read a report that said that Air Force One – unlike other civil aircraft – could take a hundred and fifty passengers. The spacious arrangements of the seating and sections closed off by dividing walls seemed to confirm that this was true.
"Do you think the plane was full?", Pak asked, who was still dazed by it all.
"Judging by the things left on the seats it looks like it", replied Ji. "The question is, where are they all? A group this size would never fit on a submarine, not even one of the Ohio class. At least not for any length of time."
"Strange."
The men went through the individual rooms and offices. Pak discovered a small library of world literature, including works by contemporary writers. He had heard of most of them. He leafed through a few illustrated books and was fascinated by the beauty of the world. He found a few lexicons and tried, in about twenty minutes, to absorb the entire knowledge of the world, a plan that was of course doomed to failure. He found documentation of the UN, doss
iers about individual countries, as well as a comprehensive collection of music videos and movies. There were numerous magazines arranged alphabetically on the shelves. When he picked up the current issue of Playboy, he couldn't believe his eyes. In the West women let themselves be photographed without clothes on in suggestive poses.
Pak went through a heap of current newspapers, including the Washington Post, die Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, Le Figaro, The London Times, La Stampa, Nowaja Gaseta and Pravda, China Daily, Jedi`ot Acharonot and many other newspapers which he'd never heard of before. On the last page of a Swiss newspaper, whose name he couldn't pronounce, the Neue Zürcher Zeitung, he saw a picture of the Beloved Leader, accompanied by his retinue apparently shopping in great style. Because he did not understand the text below the picture and he couldn't find a copy of the Pyongyang Times quickly enough, he reached for the class enemy newspaper, the Korea Times, in the hope of finding something in the inside pages. After leafing through briefly, he found something. There was a detailed description of a disgracefully expensive shopping expedition of the Beloved Leader in Hong Kong.
In disgust Pak threw the newspaper away and cursed. "Cheap propaganda!"
He could not accept the idea that the Leader was leading such a luxurious lifestyle, while his people were dying of hunger. It was only after he had turned round that he saw that Ji had been looking over his shoulder.
"Interesting, what?"
Pak said nothing and signaled with a gesture that time was pressing.
In the President's suite he let himself be photographed for the first time after Captain Ji had taken an aged Pentax digital camera from a waterproof bag. Because the door to the adjoining bedroom was wide open, revealing the comfortable bed, Ji could not stop himself from observing, acidly:
"Do you want me to take one of you wearing the pajamas with the President's coat of arms ?"
Pak answered him with a look of grave disapproval.
"Get on with it!"
The two men gradually got nearer to the most important area on board, the electronic communications control center. A special digital lock prevented access, and the door would not give, even a millimeter. Apparently, the crew had had the presence of mind to seal off this area, so that their secrets would be protected from prying eyes.
"If we can get it open, we might get some of the missile codes, " said Pak excitedly.
"Not likely," replied Ji. "There is always a high-ranking officer near the President. He carries the so-called Nuclear Football. A briefcase with the codes for all land, air and sea atomic warheads. It's a well-known fact. You learn it in the military academy."
Pak understood the side swipe only too well. He had never been taught things like this. Three years at sea as an ordinary seaman had not helped him to acquire knowledge of these things. In the estimation of Ji his status as a political officer must have been something like that of a someone who sells bibimbap in a public rice kitchen. He considered briefly whether to mention the Captain's remark in his official final report. This was one easy way in which to get people to fall into disfavor.
Before he was able to think about it any further, Ji distracted him. "We have visitors."
Pak turned around and saw a black dot approaching on the starboard side about a mile away. It was a small boat, obviously going at some speed. Who could it be?
"Americans?"
"Presumably."
"And now?"
"I suggest withdrawal. Our boat is on the port side, we could remain undetected and come back later."
Pak thought about this. Whoever came on board – whether to get supplies, remove traces, establish contact with the world outside or pick up something that had been forgotten - would probably be carrying a weapon.
"And if they are not Americans?"
"Comrade Political Officer, whoever's coming, it's hardly likely be the pilots to try to start the plane."
Pak resented this attempt at instruction. Of course, the 747 engines were missing and there was no chance of getting the plane out of the water.
"Captain, they might be plunderers, vandals or just pirates. They might do major damage."
"You don't say!"
"Comrade Captain, I'm warning you! I don't like your tone!"
Ji grinned, his face a few inches from Pak's. His eyes flashed with pure contempt.
"Listen, Comrade Political Officer, whoever's coming, I'm now leaving this floating palace and going back to my crew. If you want to die, go ahead. I cannot permit myself this luxury just at the moment, because my men will not get home without my help. There are women and children waiting for them there."
Without another word Ji turned and walked to the middle of the cabin, where the emergency exit to the portside wing was open. Pak looked angrily after him. He was seething with rage.
"Ji!"
The Captain turned around. "What is it now? Are you going to shoot me? Or do you want me to take another photo? A final picture of you on the golden toilet of the American President, with our national flag over the drainage-way?"
Pak made his hands into fists and uttered a curse. The sweat meandered over his brow in streams and ran into his burning eyes. What this man was doing was beyond refusing to obey orders. It was verging on insubordination. It questioned Pak's entire existence and the meaning of his mission. His next words revealed clearly his most profound scorn:
"If we both survive this, I will bring you before a tribunal. I will make sure that you never get another command."
Yong-Jo Ji allowed his yellowing teeth to flash.
"Do you know what, Comrade Pak? I really do not care."
Pak took the pistol and aimed it directly at the Captain's head. "How can you dare to say such a monstrous thing. What you're saying is treason."
Ji remained totally undisturbed and put his flippers on as calmly as could be. The weapon, which had already disappeared into its holster, gave way to the diving goggles, into which he spat once. He rubbed the spit in so as to have protection under water against the metal fittings. He took his time answering, although the boat - a motorized Zodiac with three people on board – was by now quite near.
"Pak, in the course of my career I have seen people like you come and go. Some have disappeared never to reappear, others have served their way to the top of the Party. But they all had one thing in common: they were permanently afraid. And you are afraid that your judgment of me will be questioned and you and your wife will be investigated. It might please some to learn that your darling wife works secretly for the Christian underground. Or have you already voluntarily applied for an annual ticket in our favorite re-education camp?"
This hit Pak like a sledgehammer. How did Ji know about this? How was it possible that what Pak thought he had talked his wife out of a year ago confidentially could now be known by others? How could this man have such intimate and potentially damaging information about his private life? Was everyone in his country a spy?
Pak was just about to leave. He held his weapon in an almost convulsive grip. If he pressed the trigger now, all of his problems might be over. Once and for all. He could tell the crew that Ji had been killed by the Americans. Maybe the DA BAK SOL would manage to get home without the Captain. Somehow. With a large slice of luck. Where there was life there was hope.
"Oh, by the way," Ji said calmly, as he already halfway across the wing, "if you shoot me, you may find it difficult to get back on. I have instructed the First Officer to take only the two of us back. I would not like to create the impression one of us had helped the other to defect."
Pak released his grip on the weapon.
He stood and looked anxiously though the windows at the approaching danger in the form of the small boat. He could hand himself over and after the torture maybe start a new life somewhere. He could commit suicide and leave Ji, the crew, the world and even his wife to get on without him.
He chose love.
CHAPTER 11
Atlantic Ocean
North K
orean submarine DA BAK SOL
28th December
The Mercury outboard motors of the Zodiac which had just come alongside on the starboard side of the 747 were still buzzing in Pak's ears, as he dived overboard shortly after Captain Ji and was swimming back to the DA BAK SOL.
Both men were now standing in the narrow diving chamber and waiting for the water to be pumped out and pressure to be re-normalized. Breathing heavily and dripping they took over their gear, helped by two crew members.
"We have to talk," Pak said in a hissing voice.
"Whenever you wish, Comrade Political Officer," replied Ji calmly.
"Now!"
"Good. Then I suggest that we meet in my cabin."
Five minutes later both men had changed and were standing in the small Captain's apartment facing each other. Pak tried to find the right words, while Ji was combing his short grey hair. Almost sixty, he was a detached and unhurried person and radiated an enormous amount of composure and self-confidence. The many wrinkles in his still attractive face reminded Pak of the lines made by waves seen from a bird's eye view. Each wave was like a year, a bit like tree rings.
Pak now stood in front of this oak, which he had to fell.
"Comrade Captain, words fail me," was the opening salvo of the relatively small and gaunt Pak. "As if we didn't have enough problems, you are now undermining my authority. What was the remark about my wife intended to mean ?"
Ji turned, a slight smile on his face. He put the kettle on to make tea.
"Would you like a cup?"
"Captain, please answer the question!"
Yong-Jo Ji cleared his throat and asked to sit down on the only chair in the room, while he sat on the mattress and looked at the rising air bubbles in the kettle. But Pak stiffly preferred to remain standing.
"Comrade Pak", said the Captain, speaking quietly and deliberately, "you are still young and inexperienced. I do not reproach for you for this. When I was your age, I too was a firebrand and regarded the struggle of our country against its enemies as the most important task of my life. You probably know my file and my background. I grew up as an orphan in Chongyin, the former Seishin in the northwest of our country. My parents were simple fisher folk. They experienced the repression of the Japanese and I myself experienced American bombardment in the Korean War. I fought my way up from modest circumstances and faced death many times. I went into the navy, more under pressure than by choice. There I found my vocation and have since spent the rest of my life defending our shores. I served on the only frigate of the Soho class that our country has ever produced. I took part in countless espionage and sabotage missions along the coastline to South Korea. I experienced the greatest famine in Chongyin and the general decay of the country. I never complained and always believed in the uprightness of the Party and our great Leader. My wife and I never had children. Fate had not ordained them for us. After this mission – if we survive – I will be discharged honorably with all my medals from active service. This is my last voyage and everything I have left is the memory that my life in later years has been better than that of the average North Korean."