The Pekin Target q-10

by Adam Hall

  01:40 and to hell with them all. We were going in.

  16: USAFB

  "Okay," Captain Newcomb said, "these are hard copies of some stuff we took from high altitude with vidicon cameras three or four months ago." He pushed the square-format pictures across the briefing table and leaned over them with a pointer. "The scale is 1:944,300, or approximately one inch to 15.6 miles, and the ground resolution is 200 feet/line, so we have a pretty clear image of the monastery. It's right here."

  One of the lights on the telephone near the door had begun winking but nobody took any notice.

  "Halfway up the mountain," Ferris said.

  "Maybe a bit closer to the peak. We lose definition lower down on this picture because of the trees and shadow. We estimate the altitude at 1,000 feet. The —»

  "The altitude of the monastery?" I asked him.

  "Uh? Right. The monastery, not the peak. The peak's around two thousand, which tallies with local survey maps."

  Lieutenant Lewes sat hunched over the table, chewing gum. He was the pilot. After Ferris had told London I was ready to go in on their terms there'd been a long delay, presumably because Croder had had to go through Washington or the Pentagon to set up liaison with the US Air Force and arrange the drop. We'd only arrived here fifteen minutes ago at ten in the morning but Ferris had got me through security with no problem. This was the new Air Force base to the south-west of the city: I'd passed the gates last night on the way to Karibong-ni.

  "You'll be dropping an hour before dawn, so that you'll have time to release the chutes and stow them and get yourself set up for the ground approach." Newcomb glanced round as the door opened, but went on speaking. "The Met. tells me that it's likely you'll be going down in virtually still-air conditions."

  The girl slipped into the empty chair without saying anything. Ferris gave her a nod and went on listening to Captain Newcomb.

  "The estimated mean air temperature at that altitude band is fifty-six degrees at the time you'll be dropping. There's one potential problem, and that's the likelihood of ground mist at this season, especially after the monsoon rains. There just isn't anything we can do to help you with that." He straightened up from the table. "Are there any questions so far?"

  "What about — " I began but Ferris stopped me.

  "Hold it a moment, would you?" He pushed his chair back and got up. "Gentlemen, this is Miss de Haven of Geological Survey. She'll be going in as the guide."

  The rest of us got up, though Lewes looked a bit uncertain; the girl was in green battledress and he'd heard all about women's lib. "This is Captain Bob Newcomb," Ferris told her, "Lieutenant Al Lewes, and Mr Clive West."

  "Hi," Al said.

  "For God's sake sit down," she told us. "I'm sorry I was late: your security people held me up."

  "That's quite okay," Newcomb said and we all sat down again rather awkwardly. "I'll just recap what we've done so far."

  We listened again to the briefing while the girl slung her canvas shoulder bag round the chair and put her elbows on the table and studied the photographs. The light on the telephone was still winking and Lewes went across to it and pressed one of the buttons and came back.

  "There's a certain amount of night flying by the military and civil freight lines between Seoul and Daegu," Newcomb told us, "which is a plus in terms of sound cover; the direct air lane between the two fields runs approximately twenty-five miles from the monastery at its closest point on a horizontal plane, so they're used to hearing air traffic not too far away."

  He asked for questions again, and the de Haven girl got up and walked about, her arms folded and her gaze mostly on the briefing table; she was short, with chunky blond hair and steady eyes and a square chin; I thought I'd seen her before but couldn't remember when; I didn't believe the "Geological Survey" tag: it was almost certainly a cover, because this was a high-risk drop and she must be in some kind of spook unit.

  "What jump altitude are you thinking of?" She looked at me for the first time since the introductions.

  "As low as we can make it. Say one thousand."

  "That's too low." She was looking at the briefing table again. "Even with ground wind zero it's not going to be much fun in that terrain. Let's make it three."

  I got up too, and felt Ferris watching me, and ignored it. "I don't know what a calculator would give us, but during that extra two thousand feet we'll be in the air for something like two minutes longer."

  "So?" She glanced up from the table.

  "There'll be a three-quarter moon."

  "Oh. You mean we'll be visible for that much longer?"

  "Yes."

  "Are they going to be watching for us?"

  "We don't know," Ferris cut in.

  "Can we find out?"

  In the silence I thought: either she's been under-briefed or isn't thinking.

  "No," Ferris said.

  She switched her hard blue eyes onto me. "You've made drops like this before, Mr — ?"

  "Clive."

  "Mr Clive?"

  "Clive West."

  "What? Oh. Fair enough. I'm Helen."

  "I haven't made a drop over mountains. But I'd rather risk a broken ankle than hang there in the sky for two minutes longer. I'm going in from one thousand."

  "We'll talk about it later. For the moment we —»

  "I'd like it to go down now in the operational notes," I told her, "since this is the only briefing session we're going to get. We jump from one thousand feet."

  Al Lewes got up and went over to the window and blew his nose rather noisily. Newcomb went on staring at the aerial photographs. De Haven turned her head to face Ferris; she had a very direct gaze, always moving her head instead of glancing with her eyes.

  "This is only a two-crew operation, Mr Ferris, but there's got to be one of us in command, the same as if we were flying a plane in. I was called in as an expert to plan the drop, and the only way I can do it is my way. Is that agreed?"

  Ferris slid his long fingers together on the edge of the table. "You won't accept Mr West's authority?" He said it pleasantly.

  "It's not a question of accepting him." Her tone was perfectly cool. "If he knows as much as I do about dropping into that area and finding his way afterwards, that's fine, and you don't need me. But if he doesn't — which I assume is why you shied me in — then I've got to be in charge, not only because I want to protect my life too, but because it'll lessen the risk or us both." She took her sling bag from the back of the hair and swung it across her shoulder.

  Captain Newcomb picked up his pointer and aligned it carefully along the edge of the nearest photograph. Lewes as still standing at the window with his back to us. In a moment Ferris looked up at me. "My instructions," he said, "are that if any question arises as to who's in charge of the drop, it's Miss de Haven.

  She took the bag off her shoulder and slung it round the back of the chair again.

  "Well, that's got that out of the way."

  "Decaffeinated."

  "Anything with it?"

  "No."

  Three pilots came into the canteen, still in their flying gear. I'd watched these people throwing F5Es all over the sky most of the day; then I'd seen a film in the auditorium and now I was in here trying to absorb the shock.

  "Can I join you?"

  Helen de Haven.

  "Of course."

  I turned the newspaper over as she sat down; there was a photograph.

  "How are you feeling?"

  She was in a blue tee shirt and jeans; I hadn't recognised her for a moment; she looked younger, more feminine. "Feeling?"

  "About the drop."

  "Not very good. What can I get you?"

  "Coffee. Not very good?"

  I gave the order. "You came at the wrong time."

  "That's easily dealt with" She got up and slung her bag across her shoulder.

  "We've got to talk," I said, "in any case."

  "I'm not sure I want to."

  "Anything to ea
t, with the coffee?"

  "What? I don't know. A bun, I suppose. What the hell's gone wrong?" She sat down again and looked at me with her steady hard-blue eyes.

  The paper had been lying on the counter when I'd come in. I suppose that was luck, of a kind: I might not have seen it otherwise.

  She met her death, it said on the front page, in the same grim fashion.

  "I don't know yet," I told Helen de Haven, "what's gone wrong. But we'll keep you briefed."

  Her eyes were narrowed slightly and her mouth was firm. "Is it this thing about the jump altitude?"

  "No. Although I'd like to reach some sort of a compromise about that." The girl put two coffees on the counter and pushed the cream and sugar closer. "When you were briefed," I asked de Haven, "what were you told, exactly?"

  "It was a secret briefing."

  "Were you told, for instance, that we'll be going into what might be called hostile territory?"

  "Something like that."

  The same bizarre method, the paper said, was a feature of both killings. Otherwise, I suppose, it wouldn't have made the front page in a city of seven million people. I watched her again for a moment as the little Suburu made the turn outside the terminal building, her pale face at the window. It was the last I would ever see of her.

  Only hours before her death on the steps of the temple in Seoul, the newspaper had said, Soong Li fei had been the chief mourner at her brother's funeral.

  Outside the canteen an F5E went down the runway and lifted off with a reverberating rush of sound.

  You must be very careful, Li-fei had told me. She knew Tung Kuo-feng, and the things he was capable of doing; but she had forgotten to be careful herself.

  "Are you getting cold feet?" the de Haven girl asked me.

  "What?"

  "This hostile territory thing. It's losing its appeal?"

  "I don't know," I told her, "if it's still on."

  "The drop?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh, for God's sake, they called me down from the north, and I'm bloody busy."

  I was trying to focus on the fresh English face with its unwavering gaze, but there was a kind of double exposure and I was also watching the soft cinnamon eyes of Soong Lifei.

  "What do you do," I asked de Haven, "in the north?" Not that I was interested, but there was a social obligation to keep the conversation going while I thought out what to do.

  "I train parachutists for NATO. Why?"

  "Then you're too valuable to lose. How did you get yourself into this mess?"

  She put down her coffee with a little bang. "Clive, are you always like this?"

  "Like what?"

  "A bear with a sore arse. Look, if you've decided to back out of doing the drop then just tell me. Frankly I couldn't care less, but by God I shall want expenses and compensation for wasted time."

  Her anger was finally getting through to me and the image of Soong Li-fei was fading. "Something's happened," I told her, "that might stop us going in. I've got to ask Ferris for his instructions; then we'll tell you the score."

  "That's extremely kind of you. Exactly how long do I have to wait?"

  "I'd say an hour or two, not more." I put some money down and left her.

  "Thank you for the coffee," she called after me.

  At eight o'clock Ferris signalled London and told them what had happened; then we went on talking.

  "You left Soong Li-fei at what time?" he asked me.

  "About ten past nine last night."

  "And she was found outside the temple about midnight. Three hours at most; half an hour at least. I mean she could have been killed half an hour after you left her — the time needed to drive from the airport to the vicinity of the temple."

  What we had to decide was whether there had been time for Tung's men to interrogate her before they killed her off, and whether she had been forced to tell them I now knew how to find Tung. The ultimate question was a very simple one: if we made the drop before dawn tomorrow, would Tung be expecting us?

  If he were expecting us, we wouldn't have a chance.

  "From what you knew of her," Ferris asked me, "do you think she'd break?"

  "I think Tung's men could break a sphinx."

  Ferris paced the small room; these were my quarters, by courtesy of the US Air Force, complete with bathroom, two telephones, a TV set and an internal communications panel. The equipment for the drop was stacked in the corner: climbing boots and gloves, rope, rucksack, provisions, field glasses, first aid and the rest of the stuff.

  "What present status is Youngquist?" I asked Ferris.

  "He's standing by as your replacement."

  "Briefed right up to the minute?"

  He didn't look at me. "Yes."

  "Does that reflect your estimation of my chances? Or London's estimation?"

  He looked at me now, a bit annoyed. "Our estimation's the same as yours. We're not keeping anything back from you. If you'd like to consider your record with the Bureau you might realise they're not about to throw you on the scrap heap."

  "Civil of them."

  "We think you've got a good chance of getting through to Tung Kuo-feng, otherwise we wouldn't ask you to go. Croder's discussed a dozen other options including a low-level bombing raid, but the best chance we've got is by putting one man in by stealth, a man with your proven capabilities."

  "Then send me in alone."

  "You mean without de Haven?"

  "Yes."

  "She'll be with you only until you sight the monastery from the ground, unless you need her help after the drop. She's led climbing expeditions right across this country and she speaks fluent Korean."

  "How will she get out?"

  "You'll be given a final joint briefing before take-off."

  I turned to stand with my back to the stuff in the corner; it was tempting me: I wanted to go in, despite the increased risk, and that wasn't intelligent. "What can you do to find out if Li-fei was made to talk?"

  "Almost nothing. I've got Youngquist working on it, with five or six agents in place; but all they can do is hope for luck in tracing her movements from the time she left you — finding people who might have seen her or talked to her during that blank time period."

  "Who's going to make the final decision?"

  "London. Providing you agree to go in if they ask you to."

  "I shall agree."

  "You may want time to think."

  "No."

  Because Tung would have to be stopped: he'd already gone too far. He had ordered six killings and Li-fei's wouldn't be the last; and since I'd seen the photograph of the pretty Chinese girl in the newspaper I had wanted urgently to meet Tung Kuo-feng, the diabolus whose hand had reached out from the mountains to guide the sword that had struck across that delicate porcelain neck.

  "We're not looking for personal reasons," Ferris said. "We're not mounting a vendetta."

  I suppose he sensed my mood; or maybe he thought that Soong Li-fei had meant more to me than she had. But how much does a girl have to mean to you before you're ready to destroy the man who took her head from her body?

  "What reasons are you looking for?" I noticed that my tone wasn't all that pleasant.

  "We're running a mission. We're asking you to carry out a technical operation, an exercise in logistics. It's the only way you'll get through."

  "That's the trouble with London. You're not meant to have a soul. You're meant to be a bloody machine. But just for your information, when I go in it'll be for my own reasons, and there's nothing you can do about that. Nothing at all."

  An orderly woke me at 2 a.m. and I reported to the control tower as instructed.

  London must have decided. I couldn't ask Ferris because he wasn't here. At 02:15 they put de Haven and me into a transport plane and we landed at Daegu fifty minutes later, 150 miles south-east of Seoul. The night was clear and windless. Ferris was there.

  The briefing was summary; the main points had been gone over before. Ferris was p
erfectly calm, but that didn't mean a thing. Helen de Haven had withdrawn into herself; either she was feeling tension or had dismissed me as a boor and had no inclination to talk. We left the briefing room at 03:46 by the clock on the wall and walked onto the tarmac, already strapped into our chutes.

  "Hold it," Newcomb said, and we stopped. He went ahead of us to join Ferris and Lieutenant Lewes. It was almost dark in this area: they must have switched off the tarmac lights.

  I said to de Haven: "Did they tell you what our chances are?"

  She looked up at me in the faint light. "They didn't give me any actual figures."

  "Did they tell you we might be dropping into gunfire?"

  She was quiet for a moment. "They used the expression ‘extremely hazardous.' Does that fit?"

  "Yes. As long as you know."

  "All I know is, you don't want me on this trip. But I'm hard to scare. Sorry."

  A figure was moving across the tarmac to our right, towards the buildings. "Put those goddamned lights out."

  "The thing is," I told the girl beside me, "that the people I work for happen to use human beings as machines. They're not terribly concerned that in twenty minutes from now there could be two dead bodies hanging from parachutes over the Korean mountains. I just want to make sure they didn't sell you short."

  The man was shouting again. This time someone called an answer.

  "If there's a chance for you," she said, "there's a chance for me."

  "It's not a big one; but I've got my reasons."

  "And so have I."

  Then the lights over the dispersal bay went out, and we followed Newcomb's flashlight towards the plane.

  17: Dance

  Newcomb was using the omni stations at Seoul and Sogcho and at 04:07 he came back from the flight deck as we felt the airspeed slackening off.

  "Five minutes," he said. "Everything okay?"

  "What's our altitude?" de Haven asked him.

  "We're coming down from seven thousand now and we'll be running in at three five." He crouched in the aisle between the seats, looking at us in turn. "The moon's at one o'clock, seventy degrees. I'm going to put you down to the west of the target point by an estimated mile. You won't be silhouetted against the moon to anyone watching from the monastery."