THINGS HAD GONE FROM BAD to worse to something even worse than worse, and it still looked as if they had yet to hit rock bottom. At least that was Colonel Nick DeSouza's assessment of the Korean crisis.
He had been on the blower with the commander of U.S. forces in the region no more than ten minutes before. There was word out of Washington that the Pentagon was trying to come up with a scheme to clear all service personnel out of the DMZ. Of course, this would require more U.S. forces to be dropped into play. Ninety thousand, according to the report DeSouza had heard.
As was the case of late, the United States would beef up its forces and then lag behind to make sure everyone else was safely away. The UN, the Red Cross-even the damned Girl Scouts if there were any left in Seoul. All of them would be covered by U.S. service personnel. Only when it was strictly American asses that were left on the line would the U.S. ground troops be given the okay to bug out. Of course, by then there would probably be a full-scale ground war raging around them and there would be no escape route left.
Tension was high among the troops as he toured the last line of defense between the North and South. It was no wonder. It looked for all the world as if the DMZ was about to be overrun by both the North and the South.
The colonel looked back down the road toward the camp of the student demonstrators. Dusk had started to settle in, and with it came the inevitable bonfires. The figures skulking around the open flames seemed to be moving more purposefully. Or maybe it was his imagination.
"Calm down, Colonel," DeSouza muttered to himself as he tore his eyes away from the huge encampment.
He glanced in the opposite direction, across the Bridge of No Return.
Colonel DeSouza had heard about the convoy that was heading their way from the North. Intelligence claimed that it was probable the force was not hostile. There were too many civilian cars in the line. One report even had two of the bulletproof limos of Kim Jong Il himself at the lead.
DeSouza didn't doubt that there was some kind of force heading his way. What he did not trust was the speculation that it was not hostile.
There was no telling what was going through the mind of the North Korean premier at any given time. Some claimed he was eccentric; others insisted he was insane. Colonel DeSouza fell into the latter category.
Obsessed with motion pictures, Kim Jong Il was probably filming the invasion from the comfort of his limousine. Who knew? Maybe one of the nukes the North was supposed to have been working on sat in the back seat. The car would be driven as far as the demilitarized zone, and kaboom!
It could be anything. To try to outguess the Korean premier was to go crazy oneself.
DeSouza felt the frustration of not knowing what was going on, but hid it from his men. His face was blank as he stared beyond the ever running truck parked at the midpoint of the Bridge of No Return.
The faintly rusted bridge was the tenuous link between the two halves of the Korean Peninsula. Whatever was going to happen as far as the North and South were concerned would happen there. Everyone along the DMZ knew it.
As he was staring-seemingly into space-the colonel heard the sound of a whining jeep engine.
The men around him tensed.
DeSouza spun. "How far away is that convoy?" he demanded of a subordinate.
"Two miles, Colonel," reported the soldier, who had just run up from the command center.
"It was two miles ten minutes ago."
"It's stopped, sir. No forward progress at all in that time."
The colonel turned back around. The jeep sound still persisted. Briefly, DeSouza thought it was the spook returning-the guy he had pegged as CIA. As he watched, the vehicle appeared out of the rugged terrain.
It wasn't the CIA operative. The man behind the wheel was Korean. What's more, he was dressed in the uniform of a South Korean general.
The jeep screeched to a stop at the far side of the bridge. It was still rocking on its shocks when the general popped out. He threw his hands into the air.
"I must cross at once!" he demanded. "An emergency situation has developed!"
"I beg your pardon, sir," DeSouza called, "but who in the hell are you?"
"I am Assistant Minister Bae Park of the Ministry of National Defense of the Republic of Korea and I have important information for my government."
DeSouza shook his head. "Do you have any identification to back up your claim?"
The man stepped onto the bridge. He walked slowly, hands still raised above his head. "Idiot!" he spit. "Is not this uniform identification enough? When I went on my secret mission to the North, I buried it not far from here in the event of just such an emergency. Now I order you to let me pass."
He was at the idling truck and still coming. The men around DeSouza were tensing, guns trained on the lone intruder. Some looked to the colonel for orders. The rest stared coldly at the general.
"I'm sorry, General, but I can't do that."
The man was beyond the truck by now. He was nearly over to the other side of the bridge. He stopped only a few yards away from DeSouza.
"The North is about to drop a bomb on your fool head!" the general screamed.
He stabbed a finger into the darkening northwestern sky.
Colonel DeSouza followed the frantic gesture. He saw that a new star had appeared in the sky.
No, two. But they were not stars. With sudden horror, he realized all at once what the swiftmoving objects were.
"Incoming!" DeSouza screamed, racing from the bridge.
The South Korean general was forgotten as the men scrambled for cover. As the rockets from the frigate Chosun roared in, the Reverend Man Hyung Sun threw his hands down. Running in his baggy South Korean army general's uniform, he scrambled into an American jeep.
Steering away from the imminent explosion, he raced down the road away from the DMZ.
THE AIR AROUND THEM crackled with electricity. The men who had gathered around as the two Masters of Sinanju squared off felt the hair at the backs of their necks rise from the palpable energy being thrown off by the only human beings on the face of the planet trained to the limits of their physical and mental capacities.
Neither of them had yet struck a blow. It was like some friction-causing dance that would go on and on until the energy level became so unbearable that the built-up power would have to be released.
To the spectators, the younger Master of Sinanju seemed strong and agile, but the old Master exuded a sense of quiet confidence and grace.
At the center of the crowd, Remo washed slowly around the flawlessly artful movements of his mentor.
Chiun had yet to attack. One thing was certain-Remo would be damned if he'd be the one to strike the first blow. If Chiun was so sure of his allegiance to Man Hyung Sun, he would have to be the first to lash out. Only then would Remo defend himself. But so far, Chiun had not fired a fist.
The surge of raw, violent power welling up around them was beginning to throw off Remo's senses. His nervous system was so finely tuned that it could not long take exposure to the kind of unseen dynamic energy that was produced by another Master of Sinanju. It was like putting a magnet next to a compass.
Expecting an attack, they had both cranked up their senses to the limit. When one did not materialize, they still could not tune down their level of preparedness, lest in relaxing either one of them would leave himself open to an assault from the other.
Remo was beginning to sweat. Across the cold plain, he could see beads of perspiration break out on the furrowed parchment forehead of the Master of Sinanju.
They were both beginning to tire.
Remo felt dizzy. He tried to concentrate the awkward sensation away.
Chiun suddenly stumbled over a small stone that was jutting from the frozen mud. He caught his balance quickly, resuming his deliberate circuit around Remo. Though he did not otherwise show it, the point was made. He was feeling as lightheaded as Remo.
The parked cars swept up behind Remo as the two men piro
uetted around one another. He felt the crowd, more dense at his back toward the road.
Ordinarily, he would have been able to hear and sort every individual heartbeat within the multitude. Here, they were just background noise. A cacophony of thudding.
He circled back around. Chiun was now moving toward the road. They were almost to the point where both of them were parallel to the stretch of desolate roadway when Remo's senses picked up something from the string of army vehicles.
It was an odd sensation. Something concentrated, directed at him.
No. Beyond him now.
As Chiun moved toward the road, Remo realized that whatever had been focussed on him was now aimed at Chiun.
He was straining too hard. It was too difficult to push his senses farther than Chiun. He was about to shift his attention solely back to the Master of Sinanju when he heard a distinct metallic sound. It spurred him to action.
Without warning, Remo lunged at Chiun.
The Master of Sinanju seemed genuinely shocked that Remo would actually attack him. His almond-shaped eyes opened wide as he prepared a defensive blow. But there was no defense to what Remo next did.
Using every ounce of Sinanju-trained strength and energy in its most crude form, Remo flung himself clumsily atop Chiun. The two men toppled in an awkward bundle to the frozen rice paddy.
A lone bullet sang over both their heads.
As the rifle crackled through the wasteland, the fascinated crowd scattered in a panic. The collection of men-including the president and premier-ran for cover behind various vehicles.
"Get off, lummox!" the Master of Sinanju demanded. He batted and pushed Remo off him.
Another shot rang out. Remo threw himself back on top of Chiun, pushing both of their bodies to one side as he did so. The second bullet thudded into the earth where they had been.
"This is inexcusable!" Chiun shrieked. He kicked Remo away, scampering quickly to his feet. "Why do you leap on me like a perverted ox?"
"I was saving your life," Remo growled.
A few more shots rang out. The friction that had been building between them was now broken. With their senses back to normal, the latest volleys were easily avoided by both men.
"You were doing no such thing, for I am about to die of embarrassment. Have I trained you to be Bulk Hogan?"
"I figured you'd thank me. I know you were too far away to sense him."
"I was no such thing," Chiun sniffed. He adjusted his kimono skirts with fussing agitation.
"Whatever," Remo replied, annoyed.
They turned in unison to see who it was who had started taking potshots at them. Remo was not completely surprised to spot Rim Kun Soe bracing a rifle against the hood of a parked North Korean army jeep.
Running, the two of them crossed the distance to Soe before he was able to squeeze off another shot. Remo yanked the gun away from the Public Security Ministry man, cracking it in half. He dropped the two sections to the ground.
"What is the meaning of this!" Chiun demanded.
"He's ticked at you for calling him the son of a Pyongyang whore the whole time we were at the Berlin embassy," Remo supplied for Soe.
"Oh, and am I now to be shot at for speaking the truth?" Chiun asked, jamming his fists against his hips.
"He was also probably trying to keep you from carving him a new belly button for not getting all your gold back to Sinanju." Remo smiled at Soe. "Just because I didn't say anything, it doesn't mean I missed your jaw smacking the dashboard when I mentioned the gold."
Chiun's eyes had grown wide. "This is true?" he cried, his voice rising several octaves.
"It is not my fault," Soe begged. "A government edict froze all incoming freight. I discovered the last shipment in a storage area when I was reassigned to the airport."
The premier of the North and the president of the South had come forward once Remo had disarmed Soe. At the security man's latest revelation, however, Kim Jong Il began to tiptoe slowly backward.
Chiun wheeled on the two leaders. Kim froze.
"Does this pile of dog droppings speak the truth?"
"All deliveries were held up at the airport after the head incident," Kim Jong Il admitted uncomfortably. "I suppose some of your gold could have been left behind. But it wasn't my idea," he added quickly, raising his hands in a defensive posture.
"Observe your future, crazed offspring of the corrupt Kim Il Sung."
Chiun raised a finger as he spoke, long nail extended. With a daggerlike thrust, the sharpened nail penetrated the belly of Rim Kun Soe.
The security officer's eyes grew wide in shock as Chiun wrenched upward. The razor-sharp nail sliced from Soe's navel to his sternum. Steaming organs slipped from their resting place, plopping to the frozen ground like heavy water balloons.
Soe's mouth formed a frantic, slow-motion O. But even as the intense pain was registering, he was pitching forward. He fell on the viscous bags of his own internal organs. Once he dropped, he did not stir again.
Chiun aimed the killing nail at the body of Soe.
"That is you if my gold is not in Sinanju this day," the Master of Sinanju intoned to the North Korean premier.
"I swear it will be done," Kim Jong Il insisted. His eyes were sick as he looked down on the security man's body.
The premier scampered back to his limousine. Throwing his driver out onto the ground, he climbed behind the wheel. Almost as soon as the engine started, the car began making a huge circle through the field next to the road. Straightening out, it zoomed back in the direction of Pyongyang.
"That is that," Chiun said, satisfied. "Now, where were we?" He turned back to Remo.
Remo wasn't paying attention to the old Korean. He was glancing along the line of cars. "Where's Sun?" he asked.
With the excitement over, people had emerged from between the vehicles. Man Hyung Sun was nowhere to be seen.
"He is here," Chiun said. "Perhaps I will not have to throttle you if you agree to beg his forgiveness."
"No, Chiun, really," Remo insisted. "He's not here."
A quick search of the crowd and cars failed to turn up the Reverend Sun.
"That is odd," Chiun said, baffled. "Why would the seer desert us on the eve of pyon hada."
The answer to his question came from a point far above all their heads.
A great whistling sound filled the sky. As the faces of the Korean delegation looked up to the noise, they were horrified to see a flaming object hurtling toward them through the gathering twilight.
The FROG missile tore through the sky at a speed far greater than even a Master of Sinanju could outrun.
As they looked up at the incoming missile, Remo and Chiun both knew with cold certainty that they were standing at ground zero. With nowhere to hide.
Chapter 30
As they watched the missile streaking in from the north, another bright object snaked up over their heads from the south. It came from somewhere in the direction of the DMZ.
The latest alien celestial object flew in a direct line for the first. Their flight paths intersected high above the line of cars.
The explosion was brilliant. Flaming debris rained down, trailing smoking bright trains in their wake.
Soldiers and government officials ducked for cover inside cars and under trucks as tiny shards of shattered metal dropped all around them.
Remo and Chiun had dived into the safety of the remaining bulletproof limousine. After the explosion, they emerged to survey the wreckage.
"What the heck just happened?" Remo asked.
"The boom device boomed," Chiun said dully.
"No, there was another one," Remo insisted.
"Two booms, one boom-who cares?" Chiun said. He stamped out a small fire at his foot.
"Patriot missiles!" Remo said all at once. "They were deployed along the DMZ a couple of years ago. They must have tracked the incoming missile and shot it down."
The Korean soldiers were beginning to mutter among themselves. As they
spoke, they looked in the direction of the South Korean president. None of them seemed pleased.
The president did not appear very comfortable with the attention he was receiving. He ducked behind Remo.
"I guess we know what happened with Sun," Remo announced as he looked at the suspicious soldiers.
"We do?" Chiun asked.
"C'mon, Chiun," Remo said, annoyed. "It's pretty obvious he bagged out on us."
"Perhaps your heresy chased him away."
"Bull," Remo said. "If he knows everything like you say, then he knew the missile was coming. I think he knew 'cause he arranged for it to happen. Either way, he left you here to die, Little Father."
He could see his argument was having an effect. The seeds of doubt had been sown in the old Korean.
Around them, the crowd of North Korean soldiers and government officials was beginning to grow more hostile. In the absence of either their premier or the seer of pyon ha-da, they were turning their hostility concerning the missile attack against the closest representative from the South-Kim Dae Jung. None of them seemed to much care that the missile had come from the north.
"Perhaps you are right," Chiun grudgingly conceded, as he eyed the angry crowd. "I am not saying that you are, but if you were, what would you do now?"
Remo was looking at the crowd, as well. Nodding, he raised his eyebrows. "Run like hell?" he suggested happily.
"A wise choice," the Master of Sinanju replied.
Bundling up the South Korean president, the two of them jumped into the nearest jeep. Leaving the angry crowd in a cloud of dust, they tore off down the road toward the DMZ.
COLONEL DESOUZA HADN'T been in the Gulf War, so he had never had the privilege of seeing the Patriots in action. Until today.
As he scanned the field of smoking debris along the old iron bridge, he had to admit it. He was impressed.
For the third time that day as he was looking out across the bridge, a jeep drove into view on the other side.
It was the CIA guy. He had returned with the president of South Korea, as well as another man who appeared to be almost as old as the rock-faced mountains above them. Maybe older.
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