by Don Brown
“Truman Control. Viper Leader. We have a confirmed kill on two MiG-21 Fishbeds. Repeat, confirm kill on two MiG-21s.”
“Viper Leader. Truman Control. Roger that. Confirm two MiG-21s shot down. You are instructed to return for debriefing.”
“Truman Control. Viper Leader. Roger that. We’re on our way.”
CHAPTER 9
Kim Yong-nam Military Prison Camp
The hard trunk of the old birch tree pressed into her back. The rope was cutting into her arms and wrists. Around her waist and feet was more rope, and the rope around her chest and abdomen was so tight she could barely breathe. In a few hours, they would shoot her. She would die against this old tree that she had admired for its natural beauty. Thinking this, her heart raced and tears slid down her face.
Death loomed. Her death. She knew it. She thought of her mother, who had taught her in secret, away from the prying eyes of the Communists, to always do what was right and not to worry or fear. She knew her mother would be proud. For she had done the right thing. She had tried to save the life of the dying old man, even if it now meant facing a firing squad.
She closed her eyes and tried whispering verses from the New Testament she had kept hidden in her government-issued apartment. “In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith — of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire — may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”
Reciting these verses from the first letter of Peter brought a sense of calm that cascaded from her head down. She smiled and began repeating the passage.
“In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief …”
Tongy’mak Municipal Airport
South Korea
The man watched the red-and-white Cessna 150 circle the west end of the runway, then line up for final approach.
Another slow morning, he thought. Just four takeoffs and three landings on this Friday, counting the Cessna that was about to touch down. No flight plans filed for the afternoon. The larger airports up the coast, at Samcheok and Donghae and Gangneung, had nearly driven him out of business.
Kim Jung-man knew that business was stagnant everywhere. Flight lessons, which accounted for more than half of his income in the previous year, had been in free fall the past few months. Many of his clients had moved their planes to the airports up the coast. Others, unable to afford the maintenance cost of keeping a private aircraft flightworthy, had sold their planes or, in some cases, simply abandoned them. The prolonged recession had crippled his charter service, driving customers to commercial air, their automobiles, or mass transit.
And now, faced with an onslaught of calls from impatient creditors, both business and personal, Kim Jung-man was being forced to make some hard decisions about the future of the airport.
He owned three planes that he used for his general aviation business. These included the Cessna 150 he used for beginning flight lessons and an Aero Commander 500 and a Beechcraft Bonanza G36. The latter two had been used for charter flights around South Korea and to Japan back when such flights were more plentiful.
Kim Jung-man loved flying. He could not imagine any other profession for himself. Flying was his life. Yet he had put all three airplanes for sale on various aviation websites on the Internet. The planes had been for sale for two weeks. There had been no calls.
This lack of interest from purchasers would have relieved him if the bank had not threatened to recall his line of credit, now more than six months behind, and if the mortgage company had not threatened to foreclose on his home. If only there were some other way. He did not want to sell any of his planes. A pilot develops a sentimental attachment to his planes. Selling even one was almost like choosing which of his children to sell. His choice, however, was unavoidable. Either sell one of the planes or file for bankruptcy.
The phone rang.
“Tongy’mak Aviation.”
The caller asked about one of the planes, the Bonanza G36. He answered a string of questions. Yes, it was available. Capacity, five passengers plus the pilot. Seaworthy?
What a strange question, he thought.
“Well, yes, we have sealed the aircraft to make it as seaworthy as possible in the event of an emergency water landing, but as you know, it is an aircraft and not a boat, and it won’t float very long. The aircraft does come with several flotation devices and an inflatable rubber raft in the event of a water landing. Plus, there is an emergency waterproof homing beacon, so if the plane goes down …
“The price?”
Suddenly he couldn’t bear to let the aircraft go. He upped the price. “We are asking six hundred thousand dollars.”
Kim held the phone away from his ear as the caller ranted about the higher-than-advertised price tag. But if the deal fell through, at least he would keep his precious Bonanza. “Yes, yes, I know that is fifty thousand more than we advertised, but we have gotten numerous inquiries, and I already have one offer above the listed price. It is contingent on the buyer getting financing, which looks good right now. But if that financing comes through — … What? Your buyer is prepared to pay cash?”
I should have asked for more, he thought. Farewell, sweet Bonanza …
“Okay, okay … Yes, I can meet you here this afternoon.”
He hung up the phone.
Strange call, he thought. Then he realized he had neglected to get the caller’s name and contact information. He checked the phone and hit redial. The phone rang. A beep but no voice mail. Kim hung up. Perhaps this was a hoax.
He shrugged. He would know soon.
Seoul, South Korea
Gunner leaned back in his chair, surveying his newly assembled team. They sat around the table in the kitchenette area of Gunner’s hotel room. Jung-Hoon worked the telephones in Korean, speaking with the rapid-fire velocity of a stockbroker, one call after another. Jackrabbit gulped a Coke as he scribbled notes on a legal pad, creating a list of supplies.
Gunner returned his gaze to a map of North Korea, focusing his eyes on the area around the cities of Hungnam, on the east coast, and Hamhung, just inland. He was also looking for potential escape routes across the Chinese border — if they made it that far alive. Pastor Lee had called with the information they would need if they got to China.
They had returned to the hotel last night and, after a good night’s sleep, arisen early to make their plans. Jung-Hoon, as Gunner had hoped, had started putting together the mission. Whether his motivation was the money he’d been promised or his innate hatred of the North, Gunner didn’t know.
Not that it mattered. Jung-Hoon was the man of all men in South Korea uniquely qualified to spearhead a daring privately financed armed commando mission into the most dangerous country in the world.
“I think we have found an aircraft,” Jung-Hoon said as he hung up the telephone.
“Oh, yeah?” Jackrabbit said. “Whatcha got?”
“A Beechcraft Bonanza for sale. Model G36. Located at Tongy’mak Municipal Airport on the east coast.”
Jackrabbit set the Coke down on the table and raised an eyebrow. “Bonanza Model G36 would seem to be perfect. Two men in the cockpit. One in the back. And plenty of room for weapons, rafts, and electronics.”
“Exactly,” Jung-Hoon said. “Speaking of weapons, have you been working on that supply list?”
“Here.” Jackrabbit slid a piece of paper across the table. “That ought to do it.”
Jung-Hoon picked up the paper and began reading.
“Should be enough fireworks in there to light up Pyongyang if we have to but not too much to carry on the plane,” Jackrabbit said.
Jung-Hoon began reading the list out loud. “Three M-16 rifles with noise suppressors. Concussion grenades. Ninety MREs. Handheld dagger military GPS devices. Updated crypto key. Wire cutters. Plastic explosives. Remote det
onator. Three US Navy SEAL combat knives. Handheld electronic jamming device. Three thousand rounds .223-caliber ammo. Pup tent with portable heater and blankets.” Jung-Hoon looked up. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”
“I’d ask for more if we had the room and the manpower.”
Jung-Hoon looked at Gunner. “We’ll have to get all this from blackmarket arms distributors. It’s illegal to make these purchases in South Korea. We’ll pay a big premium for that. And then to have all this delivered in short order, there’s another premium. We’re talking big money here.”
“How quickly can this be assembled and delivered?” Gunner asked.
“I suppose that depends on how quick you want it, Commander.”
“Say twelve to twenty-four hours. Maybe sooner if the price is right.”
“Ooohhh. You are asking a lot,” Jung-Hoon said.
“I am asking.”
“Understand that you are asking a lot of people to stick their necks out. I would have to make a call to get a quote for you.”
“Make the call, please.”
Jung-Hoon nodded. “As you wish.”
From the corner of the room, the muted television, set on CNN International, flashed images of two US Navy fighter jets. “Hey, Jackrabbit, turn that up, will you?”
“Sure, boss.” He punched the remote.
“Repeat … this news breaking from CNN International. We have unconfirmed reports of an air-to-air combat exchange between US Navy combat jets and combat jets of the North Korean Air Force. Eyewitnesses from civilian South Korean fishing vessels in the area report witnessing a dogfight, and one vessel shot this video, which appears to be footage of two jets being brought down by air-to-air missiles.”
“Unreal!” Gunner muttered. He stared at amateur footage of two jets appearing to blow into fireballs in the sky. The footage kept repeating.
“Looks like the real thing to me, Commander,” Jackrabbit said.
Gunner nodded in the direction of Jung-Hoon, who was talking on the phone. “How good is he in the cockpit?”
“I’ve flown with him,” Jackrabbit said. “He’s all right. Put it this way. We never crashed or anything even close.”
“Can he fly below radar?”
“You’ll have to ask him that.”
Jung-Hoon hung up the phone.
“Looks like a couple of Hornets just splashed a couple of Fishbeds,” Gunner said.
“Not good for us,” Jung-Hoon said. “Makes the situation even more dangerous. They’ll be shooting surface-to-air missiles at everything that’s flying.”
“Yes, we were just discussing that,” Gunner said. “How did it go with your weapons contact?”
“Expensive.”
“How much? We’re running out of time.”
“He can deliver within four hours, but he says it is very dangerous for him. He will risk being arrested. I tried to get him to lower the price.”
“Jung-Hoon, if you don’t tell me how much, they’re going to call me back out to the carrier before we can get out of here.”
“One hundred thousand US dollars. Wants cash.”
“Ouch!” Gunner said. “I’ll be bankrupt before this thing gets off the ground.”
“That too much, Commander?”
“No. Not yet. But we’ve got to work fast. Get me the wiring instructions for the weapons people and the plane.”
The CNN report continued: “The footage you are watching was taken from a camera phone onboard a South Korean fishing vessel, operating in international waters in the Yellow Sea. Off the North Korean coastline.” Repeated footage of missiles streaking into the backs of two fighter jets, followed by fireballs. “This footage was sent to a South Korean television station in Inchon. This is officially unconfirmed. Neither the US Navy nor the South Korean armed forces have commented. However, it appears the American and South Korean military have both gone to a higher stage of alert readiness. We have received reports of some South Korean reserve units being called in, which, if true, would indicate a potential escalation with the North.”
“Shut it off, Jackrabbit,” Gunner said.
Jackrabbit complied. “At least it isn’t on the east coast.”
“We’ve got ships off the west coast, in the Yellow Sea,” Gunner said. “That won’t stop them from scouring all air routes. Especially at a time like this.”
“You having second thoughts, Commander?” Jackrabbit asked.
“Not a chance,” Gunner said. “But we’re gonna have to get moving before the admiral calls me back to the ship. Jung-Hoon, what’s the total cash we’re going to need?”
“Six hundred thousand for plane. One hundred thousand for weapons. Plus another fifty thousand should be more than enough for bribes and payment for cooperation in North Korea.”
Gunner’s heart pounded. In his mind, his limit had been perhaps a half a million dollars to finance the whole operation. But now the price tag had risen to three-quarters of a million.
Even with his land holdings in Virginia, worth several million dollars, this was a huge chunk out of operating cash. His thoughts turned to his mother back home at Corbin Hall and another Thanksgiving having passed with more painful memories of the unknown. He recalled the years growing up, the empty plate for his grandfather, how his mother always honored him with a few words before the meal was served. “He was a brave man and a good man,” she would say. “He may be gone, but he will never be forgotten.” And then, in homage to the United States Marine Corps, each year she would close her reminiscing with the words Semper Fi, followed by “Let us pray.” And then, Thanksgiving would proceed, although his mother would often wipe a tear or two before passing the turkey.
He again took the picture of the young Marine from his pocket, gazed at it for a couple of seconds, and stuck it back.
“Jung-Hoon, if I turn all this money over to your friend, how do I know he will deliver the weapons and keep his mouth shut?”
“He will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I will slit his throat if he betrays me in any way. He knows this.”
“Remind me not to cross you,” Gunner said. “We’ll wire him the money. Have your contact meet us at the plane. Make sure he’s got everything there or it won’t be a pretty sight. We need to check the stuff, then load the plane and go. We don’t have any time to waste.”
“No time for a test flight?”
“No time for anything. We’ve got to take off this afternoon,” Gunner said. “If you can’t fly that thing, I need to know it.”
“I can fly it,” Jung-Hoon said. “I can fly anything. I like to take a test flight before I fly with passengers.”
“No time. I’ll take my chances.” He glanced at Jackrabbit. “You okay with flying with him without a test flight?”
“What the heck,” Jackrabbit muttered, “we all got to go sometime.”
The three men looked at each other, then Jung-Hoon said, “Very well, Commander. I will call my man and tell him to meet us at the airstrip.”
Kim Yong-nam Military Prison Camp
Are you ready for the execution, my dear one?” Colonel Song polished the last brass button on his drab-green Army jacket as he glanced over at his assistant, Mang Hyo-Sonn, who was getting dressed. Aroused by the events of the morning, they had had their tryst earlier than usual.
Mang pulled on her green enlisted uniform, alpha class, which on a woman meant a drab-green skirt matching her uniform blouse. The fit was tight. Her legs, he thought, were as luscious as they had been the first time he had noticed them. All this reminded him again of the privileges of rank, and although Mang Hyo-Sonn was the latest in a line of fine-looking conquests, something about her made him want her more than the others.
“Almost ready, my colonel,” she said as she buttoned the top of her blouse. “And I cannot wait for the execution.”
He pulled her close and their lips met. The total effect — his power over life and death, his ability to
have the most beautiful of women at his command — sent his head swirling with an intoxicating euphoria.
“My big and powerful man.” Her finger traced across his chin. “A thought did occur to me about something.”
“A thought? What thought, my love?”
“That poor stupid girl. Don’t you think in an odd way she may have done us a favor by what she did?”
“A favor?”
“Yes. I was thinking that this might be the case.”
“What kind of favor?” He relaxed his grip and rested his hands on her shoulders. The sparkle in her black eyes roused his curiosity.
“My colonel.” She toyed with the dimple in his chin. “This is the most prestigious military encampment in all the DPRK, is it not?”
“Yes, of course. Nothing compares in terms of prestige. Not in the Democratic People’s Republic.”
“Umm. It makes me love you that much more, my colonel, that you can wield such power, that you command the confidence of Dear Leader. But tell me, you have now been commandant for three years, no?”
“Yes, it will be three years at the end of next month.”
“And because of your leadership here, your excellent record, there is a good chance that you will be promoted to general, is that not right?”
“I see that you have studied the career paths of my predecessors at this post.”
“I do my homework.” She flashed a sexy wink. “I want to fully understand the man of power I serve.”
“What is your point, my beautiful one?”
“Well, in the three years since you have commanded this encampment, not one of the old Americans has died, is this not true?”
“That is true. Prisoners have died over the years. Some were executed before I assumed command. But no one has died on my watch.”
“Precisely, my colonel. This exemplifies why you are so brilliant.” She blinked and smiled.
Song hesitated. He was about to order a three-man firing squad to fire a round of bullets into the heart of a traitorous pig, but now, in the moment, he felt mesmerized. “Many have accused me of brilliance, my dear, but how does the fact that no prisoner has died yet also exemplify my brilliance? These are old men. They could die at any time.”