by Roger Weston
Soon his headache went away as did the pain in his gut. Now he was ready to hunt again. He decided against following the path they took on the night of the first storm when they saw the ambush party. He didn’t want to go near the bodies of the men who had been killed there if he didn’t have to.
He doubled back towards the main house and cut inland through a pass between the mountains. The snow made for miserable travel and soon he was reconsidering the coastal route. But recollections of those faces of the dead urged him on. He followed a creek, but kept plenty clear. He wasn’t going to fall in and freeze.
As he stayed with this route he was surprised to find himself moving through a herd of thousands of sheep spread out over the snow. The snow was trampled down which made for easy passing.
Beyond the mountains, the snow stretched on endlessly. He spent three hours trudging through some of the bleakest and most hopeless and despairing whiteness he’d ever seen. Every few seconds he checked his backside and searched the horizon.
Finally, humping over a hill, he saw in the distance, a large cove that reached in from the sea. Near the shore of the cove, he saw a rusty old shipwreck rising out of the water.
He now took a rest in hopes of regaining his strength before proceeding. The wind chilled his bones and made his head ache. Chull-su sat down on the bluff by a rusty anti-ship canon and stared at an icy shipwreck, another war ruin. No doubt some Japanese died in that shipwreck. Chull-su would shed no tears on this hill. Bombing that ship was the only good thing the Americans ever did.
He had to get rid of his shakes before he moved on. Whiskey would calm him.
He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a mouthful. He screwed the lid back on and put the bottle into his pack with the others. Finally, after smoking a cigarette butt down to the filter, it was time to get a better look at that cove.
Starting up, he flicked the cigarette butt into the snow and drew a deep breath, but his lungs couldn’t take the shot of cold air. He coughed and hacked, squeezing his burning chest. When the attack passed, he sat there thinking for a long time. His independent thoughts began to multiply. New thoughts born of the elemental environment. He was open to independent thinking now that his unquestioned obedience to DowKai philosophy had been tested.
As he started to stand, he began coughing again. The coughing increased in its intensity. Soon he was hacking up blood, spitting, the coughing becoming uncontrollable. Out came the whiskey. He tore open a packet of pills and washed them down with a guzzle. Looking at the nearly empty bottle, he saw blood swirling around from his backwash. He took another swig and packed the bottle. He hiked on.
After twenty minutes, he arrived at the cove-side beach and examined the Japanese shipwreck not far off. He could see a decrepit name plate reading: Borneo Maru. He walked on and left the strange ship behind. This island was a death pit. Storms. Shipwrecks. Frostbite. Savages. Traps. Accident. Murder. Everybody who came to this island died. Chull-su would live. Already he’d defied every peril.
How despicable the Americans were. How their western decadence led them to moral decay. How the western disease was spreading. The whole world was being polluted by the ugly Americans and their global influence. Thanks America. Die America.
Where were the women and boy hiding?
CHAPTER FORTY
Pinisha
Frank stood up and faced the door. Something cold and grim told him that dying was the easy way out. He was betraying Luke by leaving him vulnerable and alone.
The door opened.
The little Korean from the museum walked in. Gaudy clothes, slicked-back hair, goatee, fat lips. Frank sat up to get a better look at the killer of Colonel Kim.
A dull blankness loomed behind the redness of bloodshot eyes. He said, “You killed many DowKai men on the island. Mok Don is angry.” When Frank didn’t answer, the man continued: “Mok Don will make an example of you in front of the crew.”
“What do you mean?”
“You, Mr. Murdoch, must come with me.” The man laughed, and Frank saw his broken, bloody teeth. “You have a meeting on deck. Sooner you’re dead the better.”
Frank’s head dropped. “Let’s get it over with.”
“A long time ago, Mok Don killed a man and let his son live. Later, the son tried to kill Mok Don. Mr. Don learned his lesson.” Hyun grinned. “My brother Chull-su will clean up the mess and make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
Frank slowly put on his coat as fear squeezed his guts. Regrets flashed across his mind: His son!
He walked between the two guards. The little man followed behind. They walked out into the hall and started aft. Frank spun around, and seizing the AK off the man behind him, slammed the butt into his face. The man collapsed like he’d been rapped with a baseball bat at the World Series. Spinning the other way, Frank cold-cocked the man in front of him before he could get off a shot. Then Frank broke through a cabin door as he knew the little man had enough time to respond.
There were two Koreans in the cabin and both reached for their weapons. Frank buffeted them both in the face with his swinging rifle butt. Leaving them unconscious, he peeked out into the hall. The little man was gone. One of the guards was coming around. Frank rushed out into the hall and hit him in the back of the head with his rifle. As the man went limp, Frank hurried down the companionway.
He took the elevator to the lower deck. As the elevator doors opened at the boat deck, he gripped his rifle tightly, but saw no one. He walked down the companionway and out the open door to the catwalk outside, broad on the starboard quarter. Holdback hooks kept the door open. They were still in the gray zone. Cold wind blew across the decks. The wavy ocean reeled past. Slowly, he edged for’ard, nervously glancing aft. At any moment a crewman might surprise him from behind. The catwalk ran all the way astern and offered him no cover from behind. He edged for’ard, keeping out of sight of the crew gathering on the main deck alow. Drawing closer, he spied over the rail and down at them. He saw some twenty men along the weather deck’s starboard rail.
Rapidly, his eyes scanned across the crew. Mok Don was not there. Frank backed away from the rail, completely out of sight of the men alow. He hurried back inside, his heart pounding, his adrenaline racing, a knot wrenching at his stomach. Within moments every man on the ship would be hunting him. There was no time to lose. Where was Mok Don?
Frank hurried back to the elevator. The wheelhouse was his only chance. He stabbed the button and waited. Around the corner he heard the cook banging pots in the galley. Suddenly, a voice began ranting Korean over the ship-wide intercom system.
That was it.
Every man on board knew of his escape.
His grip tightened on the assault rifle. He stood waiting for the elevator with the tension of stretching hemp rope. Sweat ran down his forehead.
Ding. The elevator doors opened to the shocked, wide eyes of Mok Don and Hyun. Both held AKs across their chests.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Kiska Island
Chull-su trudged over one snowy dune after another as his hunt continued. The food and bottles in his backpack caused the shoulder straps to dig into his shoulders and chafe the skin, but he kept moving. He went on feeling little relief. His breathing was hoarse, his lungs on fire. His legs felt like cement and burned every time he lifted them. Sweat soaked through his black insulated jumpsuit, which made the material stick to his legs. The cold was starting to penetrate him. Coming down the back side of a dune, his legs gave way and he collapsed forward, arms at his sides, his face carving a groove in the snow as he slid several feet. He cursed several times while he got up on his feet and started huffing over the next dune.
At last he came to the bay. He hiked though endless, monotonous, miserable dunes as he strove to circle the body of water. As he neared the half way mark, the hiking went from miserable to insufferable. The snow gave way beneath his feet and exhausted him.
Forlornly, he kept on. He now doubted the Aleut was following,
though the thought still added an edge to his adrenaline. He smoked a cigarette butt and washed down a packet of pills.
Half an hour later he was nearly around the bay, but was still grunting in those wretched hills of snow. Finally, realizing he’d pushed himself too hard without stopping for food and drink, he felt nausea. Then came the flood as he vomited into the snow. He dropped to his knees. Soon there was nothing left, but he continued retching and dry heaving. His headache was unbearable, but it was ghastly cold and he needed to move on.
After some tough hiking, the wavy blanket of snow angled down and gave way to black-sand beaches at Kiska Harbor. Chull-su passed several water tanks in the hills above the harbor. He spotted numerous tunnels in the area and searched them. Along the shore, walking was easier and he picked up the pace by the old submarines. He passed the piers and an icy boat ramp.
The hiking went on past one lake after another. His pace slowed as strength seemed to drain from his legs and his back. He crossed a couple streams safely.
He continued on along the coast, determined to stalk his prey to the death. Only his hatred sustained him as the hiking grew more and more difficult and the slopes, steeper. At times the terrain was rugged and had to be circumvented. Continuing along cliffs over thrashing waves, he passed several enormous, inky-black, lava pillars rising from the whitewater below.
He came to a rugged area which couldn’t be scaled, so he started inland, climbing mountainous, backbreaking, snow-cursed hills rising high above the sea. The climbing was debilitating and he spit and hacked ceaselessly.
Toward the top of the hills, he was disheartened by the bleak, dismal, snow-invaded whiteness. Then, panting with infirmity, he crested on the hilltop. There it was. A cabin. The hunt was nearly over.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Pinisha
When the elevator doors opened, Mok Don and Hyun both reacted after a moment’s shock. As they lifted their guns, Frank was already in motion, swinging his gun upward as he lunged into the elevator. Hyun took the full brunt of the blow in the head and buckled like he’d been whacked with a sledgehammer; the rising follow through rapped Mok Don across the cheek, slamming him into the wall as his face snapped sideways.
Hyun was instantly knocked unconscious. Mok Don fumbled to regain a hold on his weapon even as he hit the floor. Shifting his grip, Frank swung his rifle like an ax; the muzzle crashed across Mok Don’s wrists. He yelled in pain. Frank heard feet slapping down the companionway as the elevator door closed behind him. He shifted his grip, centering the muzzle between Mok Don’s horror-stricken eyes. With his free hand he stabbed the elevator button.
“Reach for that weapon and you die.” With Mok Don at his mercy--a wave of wrath swept over Frank. His finger began to shake slightly on the hair trigger. But just as rapidly, a wave of reason swept over him.
He thought of Luke, Abby, and Ingrid. The elevator rose.
Mok Don stared at Frank contemptuously, yet warily, unsure what to do. Blood ran freely from the gash on his cheek.
“You’re a dead man.” He spat blood on the floor. “Give up now and I’ll have mercy on you. You haven’t a chance. You’re trapped on this boat with thirty armed men hunting you down. It’s only a matter of minutes.”
Frank drew a circle on Mok Don’s chest with the bargaining end of his AK-47. “Odds are they’ll kill me, but you’ll go first.”
Mok Don glared at Frank, a trace of fear showing on his face.
Frank picked up both their rifles and took Hyun’s pistol.
The elevator door opened. “Let’s go,” Frank said.
Mok Don struggled to get up. Frank grabbed him by the collar and threw him out of the elevator against the bulkhead. “Hurry up.”
Mok Don picked up the pace, walking haggardly down the hall into the wheelhouse.
Frank dug the barrel into his back. “Tell him to drop the gun.”
Mok Don relayed the message in Korean. The shipmaster bent down and set his pistol on the floor.
“Slide it over here.”
The shipmaster did so, then stood back up and took a deep breath, nervously watching Frank.
Frank laid the extra guns on the floor by the wall. “Order the crew to prepare the life boats. Tell him that. You’re gonna do some rowing.”
“You can’t do that,” Mok Don said.
“If you want to stay here and die, that’s fine.”
Mok Don translated the order. The shipmaster went to the control consul, pushed a button, and barked Korean into the ship-wide intercom system.
Frank pushed the muzzle into Mok Don’s lower back and walked him to the starboard-aft window by the wing deck. He looked out at the life boat on the quarter-deck. Two crewmen rushed out on deck to the davit and began lowering the boat. “Good,” Frank said. “I want every man in those boats. They’re casting off in five minutes.”
Mok Don spoke to the shipmaster in Korean. The shipmaster said something back. Mok Don looked up at Frank. “Shipmaster Chung will have to stop the ship to cast off the life boats. He can’t do it in five minutes.”
“Wrong,” Frank said. “The ship will not slow down.”
Anger flashed across Mok Don’s face. “He must stop the ship. He must.”
“Don’t touch the controls. You tell him that either the crew casts off now or he dies.” Frank jabbed Mok Don with the muzzle.
Mok Don squalled at Shipmaster Chung. Frank understood nothing, but the shipmaster got into action fast, giving another order over the intercom, eyeing Frank nervously as he did so.
“Good,” Frank said. “Apparently you want to live. Tell the shipmaster to get down on deck with the others. I want every man off the ship in five minutes. And tell him to take that filth in the elevator with him. Nobody stays and lives. I’m getting impatient.”
Fury rushed up Mok Don’s face. “You can’t do this.”
Frank looked at his watch. “Go ahead. Take your time.”
Mok Don began frantically shouting at Shipmaster Chung. The shipmaster yelled another order over the intercom and hastened out of the wheelhouse.
Mok Don looked at Frank; desperation gleamed in his eye. “Don’t do this. I’ll give your gold back.”
“The time to negotiate is over.”
Frank returned Mok Don’s stare for a long silence.
Mok Don’s chest heaved to fast breaths. Blood was running down his cheek and soaking his collar. His eyes darted around in desperation, suddenly freezing on Frank.
“What--what about me?”
“Well, now, that depends on how fast your friends are. Why don’t you move over to that intercom and give them a little pep talk.”
Mok Don hurried to the consul and barked orders into the mike. Then he moved to the window and looked alow. Frank looked too. Already two life rafts were in the water falling behind the ship, and Frank watched a third splash down. Crewmen were abandoning ship without hesitation.
“Lucky for you, they’re listening,” Frank said. “You’d better hope they all listened.”
“Of course they did. Do you think they fear the ocean more than they fear me?”
Frank didn’t answer.
“They need food and water,” Mok Don said.
“If your men were smart they grabbed some. Now I want all the men off the island. Call off Chull-su.”
“I can’t.”
“Call him on his SatPhone.”
“He has nothing. But Shipmaster Chung can take us back. Then I’ll stop him.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Couple of minutes crawled by . . . Sweat was running down Mok Don’s face and turning red as clear drops passed over the bleeding gash. . . . Moment to moment existence flew past, lofty in the heightened awareness of Frank’s quickened perception. The life boats were shrinking in the distance.
Staring back at Frank and up the black muzzle of the AK, Mok Don was now soaked with sweat, blood still running down the side of his face.
“Go.” Frank jabbed Mo
k Don with the gun, prodding him toward the elevator. Hyun was gone, the rug bloodstained where he fell. Mok Don was silent as they descended to the boat deck. The elevator doors opened, and they walked out into the empty companionway. Frank said, “Move out that open door.” They walked down the passage and stepped outside. Cold wind blew at their hair and clothing. The savage sea fell quickly past.
“Hurry up,” Frank said. He pushed Mok Don who was leading the way aft. The covered catwalk led to the stern by the after house and covered swimming pool. Frank eyed the Hector, which was towing behind on a hawser line belayed to a bollard. Evidently Mok Don had considered the crab boat part of his plunder.
“Take your shoes off,” Frank said. “It’s hard to swim with them on.”
“Don’t do this. I’ll make you rich.”
“Now.”
Mok Don kicked his shoes off. He wouldn’t look at Frank.
“That’s better,” Frank said. “You’ll swim faster that way. And I recommend you swim real fast. You got a ways to go to catch up with the rest of them. Life boats aren’t too far off. Yeah, I’d swim real fast. Bleeding in the water’s a bad thing. But you should be alright if you swim real fast.”
Simmering with anger, Mok Don glowered at Frank.
“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” Frank said. “Every second is putting space between you and those life rafts. That’s cold water.”
Mok Don’s eyes went past Frank. For a moment they scanned the superstructure, looking for something. Then he looked back at Frank. “You’re a dead man, Murdoch.”
Frank dropped his rifle on the deck. His palm leapt forth bare and hard, connecting with Mok Don’s nose. Mok Don’s heels came off the ground and he landed on his back with an ill-mannered groan. When he looked up, blood was pouring from his nose, down over his mouth.
“That’s from a friend of mine in Korea who claims you’re scum,” Frank said.
Mok Don struggled to get up. Frank pounded him in the eye, again flattening him. “You have any more grievances you’d like to voice?”
