Military Orders

by Martin Roth

  He stood and ushered Harel from the room.

  Back in his hotel room Harel stormed straight to the room minibar and grabbed the first drink that caught his eye, a quarter-sized bottle of French red wine. He downed it almost in one gulp. He didn’t normally drink from exorbitantly expensive minibars, and he had never before drunk vintage French wine from the bottle, but he felt the circumstances warranted it.

  Then he phoned the US Embassy, only to learn it was already closed for the day. He left a message on an answering machine, but knew that he would almost certainly have departed by the time anyone would respond.

  Then he put in a call to Peter, to be told that his former student was in an intense period of meditation, and would not be available for two more days.

  He paced his room, gazing at the painting on the wall of a beautiful Tibetan opera singer and pondering his plight. Clearly this was a set-up. If the police had the slightest shred of evidence they would have arrested him. But they had nothing. They couldn’t even manufacture anything. So they were kicking him out of the country.

  In some respects, that wasn’t a bad thing. He had done all he could, and for some reason - why, he still could not fathom - had even been physically attacked for his efforts. He probably wasn’t going to find out much more. He could go back home with a clear conscience, able to tell Sue that he had done absolutely everything possible. His expulsion wasn’t even such a bad development - it was proof that he was being set up, and thus Matt had been set up too, though right now he didn’t know why.

  But as his frayed nerves slowly began to calm, and his brain became more rational, he knew that he faced one big specific problem. Once word got around, as surely it would, that he had been expelled from India for involvement in the smuggling of antiquities his position in the university would become tenuous.

  Universities and galleries throughout the West had become highly sensitive - some might say over-sensitive - to any hint that they might be connected, however peripherally, to the smuggling of third-world art. It was a big, big issue, one capable of arousing enormous passions.

  In the highly politicized world of academia, especially in the higher echelons where Harel dwelt, the suggestion that someone had a link to such behavior could blast his or her career out of the water.

  He didn’t have enemies as such - no one who actively hated him and would stop at nothing to bring him down. But he had rivals - colleagues at his own university who resented his success and popularity, academics in other countries whose books and papers did not achieve the fame of his own - and they would leap on today’s news. His denials, his insistence that it was all a set-up, would count for little in the face of a torrent of hint and innuendo.

  Soon he would not be published any more, he would not get asked to speak at conferences, students would stop enrolling in his classes. Career-wise it was a death warrant.

  He sat on his bed and considered his options. It was disappointing to come all this way for a visit of just two days. He had an open ticket and could stop over in Japan or Korea on the way home. He always enjoyed visiting those countries. And then he could return home and get on with his book and his papers, while trying to work out how to clear his name and his brother’s. He wondered if he could get the State Department involved.

  But his furiously ticking brain was telling him something else.

  Right now he was one of the only people in the world who knew about the discovery of someone who was possibly the new Dalai Lama. What if he were to follow the trail? He might become a unique witness to a spectacle virtually never seen, the discovery of the next Dalai Lama. He wasn’t quite sure how he would fit this into the spiritual art domain, but it would certainly give him enormous street cred within his California university to have been around when the new Dalai Lama was found.

  And something else was gnawing at his brain. He wasn’t a quitter. He had been asked to solve this mystery. He had told his mother and Sue - Matt’s widow - that he would do all he could. It was now a matter of pride that he do so, even if that meant following the trail to central Australia.

  He had another phone call to make - to his parents. To his delight Sue answered. He gave her a summary of all that had transpired.

  “I haven’t been able to clear Matt’s name,” he concluded. “I feel bad about that. But in just two days I think I’ve gathered enough evidence to show that something very, very strange is going on. The fact that they’re kicking me out on an utterly concocted story is further proof of that.”

  “It sounds like you’ve done all you can,” she answered. “Rafa, I do thank you. I’m sure it wasn’t a fun journey for you. I know how busy you are. Of course I’d have gone if I weren’t about to have a baby.”

  “If you weren’t about to have a baby you’d have been in Dharamsala with Matt. Goodness knows what might have happened to you.”

  “That’s something I don’t even want to think about.”

  “How are things? When do you expect the baby?”

  “The doctor tells me the due date is in five days. So any time now. Josh arrived two days early.”

  “It’s going to be a lonely feeling, with Matt.”

  “Your mum and dad are absolutely great. They’re looking after me. I don’t know how they manage it. They’re not young, and your father’s still running his church. But I cry every night for Matt. And then I get guilty. My little baby must be feeling so strange, inside the womb of a mother full of grief and guilt.”

  Harel had no answer. He told Sue about Matt’s interest in the new Dalai Lama, and talk that he might be found in Australia.

  “In Australia,” exclaimed Sue. “Really? Rafa, that is so exciting.” She paused. Then, “Rafa, this is asking a lot. Because already you’ve done so much. Traveling all the way to India. But - please go to Australia. I’m sure the answers are there.”

  “As it happens I’ve already vaguely been thinking about that. But where in Australia? Uluru - that’s all I know. A giant rock in the middle of the desert. Where exactly do I go?”

  “The answers will be there, I’m sure of it. Rafa, I know it’s asking a lot…”

  “No. It’s not that. I could spare a few more days. But the central Australian desert…”

  “You said you met Peter in Dharamsala. Your former student.”

  “Yes. I actually just phoned him, but he’s meditating for a while.”

  “He knows a lot. And he’s very friendly and helpful. I’ll phone him later and press him to find out more details about what’s happening in Australia. And I’ll have a think. There will be other people we met who might have information. I actually think I can contact some people who will have a lot of information. So you’ll have to stay in touch.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Look, Rafa, I don’t know what all this means to you, but I’m sure Matt would want very much that you go to Australia. Very much. And for what it’s worth, it’s what I want too. You said that Matt was asking lots of questions about the next Dalai Lama. Well, Rafa, I can tell you that lots of people are trying to find out those things. I’m sure it’s the key to solving who killed Matt, and why. You know, there are people who want to stop the next Dalai Lama, especially the Chinese. It’s likely these people are also going to Australia. That’s where everything’s going to be happening. Please go. For me. And especially for Matt.”

  This is starting to sound dangerous, thought Harel.

  Chapter 18

  Prayer Mountain, South Korea

  Bishop Lee, head of the New Joy Gospel Church, looked out the open door of the Sanctum with impatience. Where was the man they knew as Brother Half Angel? The meeting could not begin without him. He would be in charge of the operation. The governing elders, all six of them, were seated, eager to begin. Only Brother Half Angel was absent.

  The Sanctum was a small basement room near the Sanctuary of Prayer Mountain. On one wall was a large silver cross, on another a broad map of the world. The other two walls bore photos of
nostalgic scenes in North Korea, including Mount Paektu, the ancient tombs at Kaesong and one of the old churches in Pyongyang.

  Bishop Lee had good reason to feel impatience. This meeting was of tremendous significance, more important than just about anything he had ever done. This meeting, once it got under way, had the potential to change the Christian church across the globe. More than that - it could even change the course of human history.

  At last the door opened, and in walked Brother Half Angel. He gave a half-nod to the assembled elders. It was a greeting, not an apology. Brother Half Angel might apologize to God, but never to humans.

  Bishop Lee had developed a finely tuned understanding of the human condition, and he knew that the man deliberately arrived late. After all, he actually lived here at Prayer Mountain, unlike the bishop and the six governing elders, who had all driven up from Seoul.

  He strode across the room and took a seat at the long table. He was a striking figure, a short man of about fifty, but with broad shoulders and a barrel chest which suggested, correctly, that he could be a formidable fighter. His oval face was unevenly tanned, and was topped with thinning black hair, trimmed back in an old-fashioned military crew cut.

  But it was something else that set him apart. At some point during a secretive military career he had been involved in a terrible accident. This had resulted in the loss of his left hand and a portion of his forearm. It so happened that, at that time, he had a vivid tattoo of an angel, spread down the length of his forearm. Now, as a result of the tragedy, this had become just half an angel, and the man had acquired his nickname.

  Bishop Lee regarded the men, seated before him. “You know why you are here,” he said. Though an old man, and speaking softly, his voice projected power and authority. Even today God continued to use that stirring voice in regular sermons that were touching the hearts of millions.

  “We have been planning this operation for a year. We have been praying over it for a year. And now the moment has arrived for decisive action. But as you all know, events have taken a strange twist. A quite unexpected twist. So suddenly all our planning has been thrown into turmoil. Brother Half Angel will still be leading the operation. But we now feel we have to send Sister Sunhee as our main operative. That is what we must confirm today.”

  He leaned forward to a control panel on a desk near him and flicked a switch. Behind him on the white wall appeared a picture of a beautiful woman. This was Sunhee.

  The picture wasn’t really needed. Everyone in the room knew her. But it provided impact. Without question she was one of the most stunning young ladies Bishop Lee had ever seen.

  The men were all staring at the seductive image. Meanwhile, Bishop Lee knew that Sunhee was right now at prayer, in one of the many dedicated grottoes built into the mountain. She understood that here in this room the men were deciding her future.

  Brother Half Angel was the first to speak. “She is not ready,” he said simply.

  Bishop Lee’s heart sank. It was important to discern the intention of God. He had always done that. It was how the church had grown. In fact, he was certain that God’s plan was that this mission go ahead. And that it go ahead with Sunhee. But he knew from experience that Brother Half Angel was a supreme prayer warrior, with the ability to discern God’s purposes. Yet he also had the sneaking suspicion that the man was playing devil’s advocate, hoping to force her defenders to speak up.

  One of the elders immediately offered a view. “She speaks fluent English. That’s what we need. And she’s tough. We know that. As tough as any of our men.”

  Tougher, thought Bishop Lee.

  “Physically strong, yes. But is she mentally strong?”

  “She was locked up in North Korea and she escaped. She’s been raped.”

  “That either makes you strong or it destroys you.”

  “Exactly. She tried to kill herself. That doesn’t suggest strength.”

  “But then she found peace in God. And that has become her strength.”

  Bishop Lee listened as the conversation went back and forth. This is what always happened. These men were Koreans. They didn’t hold back, even in the house of God. The talk could become heated. There was often shouting. And sometimes they failed to reach agreement, indicating that God was telling them to wait. But often they fell impressively into line.

  “We need someone fluent in English,” said another elder. “Sister Sunhee is one of the few. And don’t forget, we now know that this mission will include living with a family, and helping to guard a young child. A woman is appropriate.”

  Bishop Lee angled his body slightly so he could look at the image on the screen. This photo was taken with a cheap camera for her internal ID. It hardly displayed her full radiance. Yet, with her high cheek bones, almond eyes and clear, olive complexion, she looked like a fashion model. And still you could discern the fresh-faced innocence, almost a naivety, but blended with a sense of idealism.

  “This is a new type of mission for us,” said one elder. “Normally our role has been the defense of the persecuted church. But this is something quite different. It is something that is going to change the face of religion around the world. We cannot afford mistakes.”

  Bishop Lee spoke. “The big question of course is whether she has learned from the disaster one year ago, when we were bringing out Pastor Jeon from North Korea. She did everything right, with great initiative and courage, to get him to Brother Half Angel’s boat. But then they got fired upon by a North Korean patrol boat and she panicked. She had to jump with the pastor into the sea. But she wouldn’t.”

  Now Brother Half Angel defended the woman. “She is from North Korea. Not many people there can swim. Swimming pools hardly exist. We all know that. And the beaches are barricaded against invasion, and to stop people trying to swim away.”

  “What happened is understandable, but…”

  “She has repented,” insisted Brother Half Angel. “She has spent the past year in repentance.”

  “Out of action for a full year,” muttered someone, a touch snidely. “So is she ready?”

  “But not out of training.”

  “Already one of our men has been killed in this mission.”

  “Yes, but she will operating in a different country. A different continent.”

  Bishop Lee let the argument continue for several more minutes. Then he intervened. “We assumed everything would happen at Dharamsala. All our planning was based on that. This is urgent. We have only days to act. It is urgent we make a decision.”

  “That’s exactly right,” said Brother Half Angel. “We have a dozen people in Dharamsala. So who knew that God would make it happen in Australia?”

  “God?” queried several elders at once.

  “Remember, this is not a highly dangerous mission,” said Bishop Lee. “It is not like sending her into North Korea on a rescue operation. It might be mainly guarding a child.”

  Brother Half Angel spoke. “She may not be ready. But we have no choice.”

  Chapter 19

  Prayer Mountain, South Korea

  Sunhee sat in the grotto, crying out to God. She knew the governing elders were debating this important mission and her participation. She knew little about the nature of the operation, but she prayed nevertheless that she might be selected. She wanted to be active wherever God was at work. The governing elders were all godly men. Whatever they told her to do would be God’s will.

  She knew that if it were not for God she would not be alive today. She owed her life to Him. She would happily give her life back to Him.

  But she also understood how badly she had blundered a year earlier, when Pastor Jeon was shot. Her inability to swim, her terror of being in water - something she had never revealed to the others - caused her to panic. She was from North Korea, where nowadays only the elite learned to swim.

  She had spent the past year in repentance, spending winter nights in the prayer grottoes praying for God’s grace on her life. She had taken wor
k at Prayer Mountain as a cleaner, often working until midnight. Sometimes she rode on the Prayer Mountain shuttle bus - used to transport worshippers from the church in Seoul - to a local municipal swimming pool, where she repeatedly forced herself to jump in at the deep end until she had worked out how to swim. And as part of her penance she sometimes took a thin sheet of metal and used her hands and teeth to fashion it into a small crucifix.

  Never again would her North Korean upbringing cause her to imperil a mission.

  Chapter 20

  North Korea

  Sunhee witnessed her first public execution when she was nine years old. It was an exhilarating experience, like watching a movie in real life, and she recalled it often, especially when it came time for her own execution.

  In a country where the primary entertainment was the cinema, mainly featuring movies about North Korea’s triumph over the imperialist United States, the Great Leader had added public executions as another means to keep his population docile. These provided drama while engendering fear.

  Sunhee recalled that, a few days before the event, posters went up around town to announce that the condemned man had been convicted of stealing state property and had been sentenced to death. On the day itself kids skipped school, and Sunhee even spotted some of her teachers in the crowd. The location was a disused strip of rocky land between the railway station and the seafront.

  First the man was paraded through the main thoroughfare of Kyongsong, the only paved street in the town. The excited crowd followed, growing larger as the time of the execution drew near. Sunhee recalled that at one time during the procession she was close enough to the man to look into his face. He was quite old. And in his eyes she saw not fear but indifference.

  At the site a hole in the ground had been readied, and soldiers pushed a thick pole into this. The man was made to don a specially designed padded execution suit, intended to absorb his blood.