by Andy Harp
“This is not allowed.”
The North Korean slapped the vessel’s captain across the face with his Type-64 pistol. The old man sank to one knee. “We’ll determine what is allowed,” said the North Korean.
A new spate of machine gun fire erupted at the fantail and two bloodstained bodies were thrown over the port side.
“Under what authority is this outrage?” said the captain, rising from his knee.
The North Korean struck him again. “You’ll muster everyone to the bow.” He signaled to the first mate, frozen in shock, with a wave of the pistol. “Now!”
In short order, the few crewmembers and passengers were huddled together on the cold bow. Most of the passengers were elderly South Koreans visiting the Diamond Mountain they remembered from their youth.
“We have someone on board who has done our republic a great wrong, and we’ll shoot each of you until we find him.”
“We have no idea who you are seeking,” the captain said.
“Thirty minutes.”
As the ship came to a stop, Will sank lower and released the electronic magnet. Using a re-breather, he could stay there, without any signs of bubbles, for hours. Having only one choice, he remained submerged.
When the thirty minutes expired, the North Korean pointed to a young woman dressed in the uniform of a crewmember.
“Take her there.” He pointed to the port side of the bow, and two soldiers leaned the sobbing woman over the edge. “I warned you.” He chambered a round and aimed the pistol to the rear of her head. The others remained still, stunned.
An instant before he squeezed the trigger, the Solbong shifted to its starboard side, a move so sudden and so violent that everyone on deck fell over, like bowling pins, and slid against the other bulwark. The North Korean fell backwards, and as he did, a pistol shot rang out into the air.
The vessel rocked back again violently to the port side.
The captain looked over to that side, spying the black fins of a massive structure passing by. One of the smaller North Korean patrol boats pitched up in the air at the sound of a machine gun firing aimlessly, then flipped over like a child’s bathtub toy.
The Trident submarine broke through the surface just to the stern of the last patrol boat, and the North Koreans scrambled into their vessels in chase.
“All ahead, full, now!” The captain’s order sent all Solbong crewmembers scrambling back to their stations. In short order, Will could hear the propellers winding up as he reattached the magnet to the hull.
As darkness began to fall, the cruise liner Solbong entered the waters of South Korea protected by a slew of South Korean destroyers. CNN’s lead story that day was of another international incident caused by North Korea. The following week, North Korea ceased the ship’s access to the ancient Diamond Mountain. The government’s official statement was that another outbreak of SARS had created concern. It apparently did not matter that no SARS case had ever been reported in either North or South Korea.
As she docked in Tonghae, South Korean investigators swarmed over the ship, but no one noticed a ripple of water near the ship’s hull. The afternoon’s bloodshed attracted all the attention.
On the other side of the port, near a breakfront, a dark figure pulled up on one of the rocks and removed what looked like fins and a mask. Only one person was watching, however, as he walked up the dirt road.
“Thank you,” said Will, soaking the overcoat of Mi Yong as he pulled her close.
Chapter 45
“Ijust don’t know.”
Will smiled as he leaned back into his seat at the hotel restaurant in downtown Seoul. The Western breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee saturated his senses after three days of super fuel patches and adrenaline. He still felt a bit groggy—doubtless the result of recent sleep deprivation. They had traveled by rental car through much of the night to cross the peninsula of Korea. She had rented the car, thus eliminating all evidence that he’d arrived in Korea or was traveling in it. The heightened alert from the shooting of the Solbong crew members made this especially important. All through the journey, the radio reported various accounts of the shootings. All appeared senseless, because North Korea never acknowledged that anything had happened to any of its people.
One report from Pyongyang accused the capitalist United States of violating its territorial waters with a Trident submarine, thus raising fears of a possible nuclear attack. The U.S. Navy acknowledged that a navigational error had caused one of its vessels to travel just north of the DMZ, but went on to explain that it surfaced only to lend potential rescue and aid to a South Korean vessel under attack.
In the restaurant, Will swallowed another long gulp of coffee as he took in her presence. It had been a long time since Quantico.
“You obviously got the backpack in Hawaii,” Mi said.
“Yes, thank you again.”
“Your friend from the Natick lab said he wanted feedback on all the equipment on your list.”
“I’ll be happy to do that,” said Will.
She smiled at him. It was dangerous for her to be in Korea—she knew that all too well. But for once, Mi felt right.
“What about the flight?” said Will.
“We have two tickets on a KAL flight to Los Angeles at fifteen-hundred hours.”
“How about Immigrations?”
“You have a Marine Corps uniform and endorsed orders.”
“Charlies?” He referred to the relaxed Marine Corps dress of khaki sweater, shirt, and gabardine pants.
“Yes,” said Mi, “you’ll be traveling as a gunny.”
Will smiled. He liked impersonating a Marine gunnery sergeant, though he knew one gunnery sergeant on a submarine right now who’d be chagrined to find out.
“It seemed less obvious,” said Mi.
“Yes, a colonel going through customs on both ends might stand out.”
“Because you’re on endorsed orders, you need no passport, and none would be entered into the system on either end. It wasn’t too hard getting an identification card.” She handed him a wallet, a white military identification card, and several hundred-dollar bills.
The United States military was allowed to travel through customs in South Korea solely on proof of orders. It required only an ordinary word processor to print out orders showing temporary additional duty at a military conference held at the Marine Corps expeditionary base in Pohang, Korea. She handed him the papers.
“Orders for a conference on Ulchi Focus Lens?”
She smiled.
“Ironic,” he murmured. She had him attending a conference on the annual joint military exercise that trained forces to stop a North Korean invasion.
“UFL” involved thousands of South Korean and American soldiers. They “gamed” the movement of troops in response to a North Korean attack. Numerous such conferences occurred between December and August every year.
“We need to get to the airport,” said Mi.
Will had grown to care greatly for this woman, and not just because of her bravery. He wanted Krowl to pay as much for what he’d tried to do to her as for what he’d done to Will.
“I’ll go change,” he said.
It wasn’t at all unusual for a Marine Corps gunnery sergeant in Seoul to check out of the high-rise Seoul Lotte hotel, especially in the company of an Asian woman presumed to be his wife. American forces had stayed in Korea now for more than five decades. When the two checked in at Inchon International Airport, many similar couples were already there.
So Mi was traveling as Will’s wife, and her passport under that name had been accurately stamped upon her arrival a week earlier. In addition, her passports and visas were correctly listed in the Immigrations computer, so there was no suspicion at all when Gunnery Sergeant Donald Ruskell’s orders were reviewed.
“Here on UFL?” said the Customs official.
“Yes, sir,” said Will, alias Donald.
“I guess we’ll see you back in a few months.”
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br /> “Probably several times.” The exercise was well known at Immigrations.
From there, Will and Mi passed through to the third floor departure concourse. “We’re flying business class,” she told him.
“I knew there was something I liked about you.”
“The business class lounge is on the fourth floor.” Mi led him across the Inchon air terminal to a steel-doored elevator, identified by a black-lettered sign marked “Lounges.”
“We’ve got about an hour until boarding,” Mi said.
He smiled at her again. “Before we go, I’ve got to call an old friend in Georgia.”
“Who?”
“A guy named Gary Matthews. He’s not involved in this.”
The elevator, though empty, felt cramped. As they entered, Mi turned to the sliding doors, glancing through them into the open terminal floor, at the mass of people.
“Oh.”
“What’s wrong?” Will looked at her face, which had suddenly turned white. She slumped back against the wall of the elevator.
“Nothing.” Mi tried to appear as normal as possible.
“You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I thought I saw someone I knew a long time ago.” She leaned her back up against the wall for support, trying to remain calm.
“What do you need me to do?” Will said.
“Nothing.”
They showed their boarding passes and entered Korean Airline’s opulent teak and gold business class lounge. This is quite a distance from the conditions of the past few days, Will thought as he headed toward one of the telephones. He dialed the international operator, placing a collect call to Georgia.
“I’ll be right back,” Mi said. He barely heard her as Mi headed back out the entrance. The telephone rang on the other side of the world.
“This is Harold Wilson, calling collect,” Will said. Wilson had been one of their professors in law school, and his agreed-to alias.
Mi, in the elevator, took one look at Will, sitting back in the oversized leather chair by the phone, intently concentrating on the conversation.
The elevator opened onto the main floor of the massive terminal and Mi crossed it, openly, certain her every move was being watched. Fear had occupied much of her life. Today was no different.
“Can you tell me where the ladies’ room is?” she said.
The KAL clerk smiled and bowed slightly as she pointed to a side hall. Mi walked directly toward it, finding it nearly abandoned. How could I walk from such a congested place to someplace so empty? she thought, knowing it gave him every opportunity.
The clerk at KAL’s prestige lounge announced KAL Flight 017 to Los Angeles just moments after she left. Will hung up the telephone. His message had been brief because the call was expected. It would only have been a surprise if the call had not been made.
But Mi was gone. Looking at his watch, he thought it strange she wasn’t back by now. Will decided to head down to the main floor, hoping to cut across to the gate and save time. Something felt wrong, though, as Will scanned the terminal. She was nowhere in sight. His heart kicked up a beat. “I’m looking for a lady, dressed in a brown business suit,” he said to the KAL clerk.
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said, “I believe she went to the ladies’ room over there.”
“Thank you.” Will’s heart raced.
The hallway was long and dark, with poorly lit, blinking fluorescent lights. It was empty, save for one person. As Will walked down the hall, he was passed by a man in his early thirties, wearing a black leather coat and bearing a deep scar on his hand. The man looked down. Will made a point to remember his face.
At the end of the hall were two doors facing each other. One was the men’s room. Will glanced quickly into the men’s room, expecting nothing, and was unsurprised. When he opened the other door, he saw nothing but a row of gray metal stalls facing a row of white porcelain sinks.
Will stopped and squatted down, looking through the bottom of the stalls. His heart sank when he saw, on the far end, a slumping leg. He ran to the stall.
Mi Yong sat against the side wall, staring straight ahead, her eyes fixed, her blouse soaked in blood. A large gaping wound ran across her throat.
They say you don’t feel the razor when it cuts across the neck, only the pressure of a hand. You feel dizzy, then cold, then very tired as life drains away.
Will slammed his fist against the wall. He knew that reporting the murder would be useless. The police would detain him, then discover there was no Gunnery Sergeant Donald Ruskell in the Marine Corps. Meanwhile, the killer would be gone and Krowl might be warned.
Will kissed her on the cheek and gently closed her eyes. He had to flee before anyone else saw him in the restroom. He backed out, leaving the stall door slightly open, so she’d be found soon.
Fortunately, Will made it down the hallway before anyone else turned the corner. His heart pounding, he walked across the terminal, looking at the international gates of each flight, hoping for any opportunity.
At none of the gates did he find what he was looking for. He kept moving, past flights to Tokyo, to Singapore, to Los Angeles. Still no man, no scar.
• • •
Rei knew the police would cover all exits from the airport once her body was found. His original plan was to leave the airport, then take a taxi to the farmhouse. Her death was well worth a plan change. Killing Mi settled an old score, and it would bring great praise from his superiors.
The smartest plan change, he decided, would take him somewhere least expected. “I need one ticket to Los Angeles.”
“Sir,” said the woman at the check-in counter, “this isn’t usually done when the flight’s boarding.”
“I’m sorry, but traffic held me up.” He held out a blue American passport, knowing it would eliminate any dispute over visas. He also held up a gold American Express card. “If you have a seat in first class,” Rei said, “it would be appreciated.”
“Yes, sir, I think KAL 017 does have a seat in first.”
“Thank you.”
“It’ll cost $5,128.61.” She shuddered to give him the amount, and gave him a slight bow as she did.
“Yes, that’s fine. My expense account can handle it.” He returned the bow.
“Thank you, Mr. Nagota. You can board at your leisure.”
“Thank you, young lady,” he said, smiling.
Will saw only the shape of the man and his black leather jacket as he passed through the boarding gate, but recognized him instantly.
LA, he thought. Perfect.
Chapter 46
“Holy Jesus!” said the usually soft-spoken Tom Pope. The others on the morning shift at the SIOC operations center turned his way.
As a frequent visitor to the FBI’s operation center, Tom was cleared to use computer terminal six—a joint, highly classified Department of Defense and Department of Justice computer that received and monitored classified e-mails. Many of the e-mails were random communications on global events. A few were directed to specific recipients. If the subject matter was critical, the computer flashed an attention-getter as soon as the user logged on. Tom Pope logged onto his e-mail account at oh-six-hundred Eastern Standard Time. He often began his typical fourteen-hour day by swinging past the operations center and reviewing critical e-mails. Immediately, an alarm on his computer beeped, and as he scanned the e-mail text, he was already dialing the home telephone number of Dave Creighton. “Boss, this is Tom.”
Creighton talked to Tom every day, seven days a week, usually at seven in the morning. Their conversations were always to the point. By the timing of the call, Creighton knew instantly the caller and the subject. If Tom Pope called an hour early, something was up.
“Yeah, what’s happened?” said Creighton.
“I’m at the SIOC and just received this e-mail info’d to me.”
“What part of the world?”
“The resident agent in Seoul,” said Tom. The FBI stationed agents in cert
ain spots around the world. For the FBI, Seoul was not considered one of the more critical assignments. In the criminal justice system, Seoul was similar to Japan, in that crime was well-contained by both the local culture and aggressive police departments. There was the occasional drug trafficker, particularly dangerous in this anti-drug society, but that was rare. And Seoul was not known for terrorists.
“What’s he got?”
“Let me just read it to you.”
Inchon International Airport discovered body of mid-twenties Asian female bearing U.S. passport for “Kim Ruskell” of San Francisco, California, murdered by a sharp object severing the arteries in her neck. Estimated time of death was fourteen-hundred local time. Investigation reveals the passport to be false. Fingerprints fail to identify subject. A witness noted a mid-thirties Asian male wearing a black leather jacket seen walking in the vicinity of the crime. Only other noticeable feature was a scar on one hand.
“Sounds like that’s a match to Boston,” said Creighton. “I’m e-mailing him an urgent reply and I’ll attach the Boston photo,” said Tom.
“Good idea. Call the Aviation Department.” September 11th had brought many changes, including millions of dollars to the Bureau to enlarge its aviation department from half a dozen airplanes to well over eighty. The pilots were all FBI agents, and many of the airplanes were used for surveillance of suspects. Electronics allowed the aircraft to, among other things, eavesdrop on possible terrorist cell phone calls.
The FBI air force also provided executive transportation when critically needed. It was available twenty-four seven to those on a very short list. Dave Creighton was on that list.
“Tell them it’s Creighton-approved, Whiskey Tango Authorization Ten,” said Creighton. “Call me for confirmation, and it’s an international trip to Seoul.”
“Okay.”
“They’ll probably recommend the Falcon 7X.” The 7X was the newest addition to the FBI fleet. It had a range of over five-thousand seven-hundred nautical miles. The triple engine jet could make it from Washington to Honolulu in a single straight shot.