by Martin Limon
“No more women,” he said. “Other than Estella. And as I said, you can talk to her. After that, I must ask you to leave. We have important maneuvers launching soon.”
“Yes, sir, I understand.”
I’d done what I’d been sent here to do. General Bok was now on notice from the 8th US Army to not embarrass them further. He’d also told us that it wouldn’t happen again. But was Estella an exception that he wouldn’t let go of? The sooner we interviewed her, the better.
General Bok nodded to Katie, performed a smart about-face, and marched out of the room.
Estella insisted on talking only to Katie. Not us. One of the young officers guided Katie away, and after a while, we spotted the two women about a hundred yards off, standing alone on a berm overlooking the minefield below, moonlight shining on the North Korean observation huts. Dark figures moved silently behind gun emplacements.
Ernie and I waited on the wooden deck, breathing the night air in deeply. “No pollution,” he said.
“No factories for miles,” I replied. “And not too many internal combustion engines.”
“Except for a couple of battalions of M48 Patton tanks.”
“There’s that. But it’s surprising how quickly the exhaust dissipates when there aren’t tens of thousands of kimchi cabs adding to the mess.”
Ernie nodded toward Katie and Estella. “I wonder what they’re talking about.”
“Girl stuff,” I said.
“Like ‘Why am I being held hostage?’”
“Yeah, stuff like that.”
“Is she Eastern European?” Ernie asked.
“I don’t think so. When they passed under the light earlier, she looked olive-skinned. Maybe Mediterranean or Hispanic?”
“Maybe Bok gets off on foreign women.”
“Who knows what he gets off on?”
Katie and Estella strolled away from the berm and approached a structure I hadn’t noticed before. Made of wood, it was about ten feet tall and illuminated by dim paper lanterns.
“A Buddha statue,” Ernie said.
“Yeah. All the way up here. Illuminated at night so the North Korean soldiers on the other side can see it.”
“They don’t allow religion in North Korea, do they?” Ernie asked.
“Not on your life.”
“So this little temple, it’s sort of rubbing their noses in it.”
“Precisely its purpose.”
The two women stood in front of the shrine and talked for another half hour. They hugged, and Estella walked away toward a clump of squat cement-block buildings to the left of Bok’s headquarters. Katie trudged uphill toward us. She entered the building below and joined us on the deck a few minutes later.
“What’d she say?” Ernie asked.
“None of your beeswax,” Katie said.
“What do you mean, ‘none of your beeswax?’ We brought you up here, for Christ’s sake. Does Estella want us to take her out of here or what?”
Katie shook her head. “No. She wants to stay.”
“Of her own free will?” I asked.
Katie looked up at me. “Of her own free will.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” Ernie said. “This place creeps me out.”
Within seconds, we were ready to leave. One of General Bok’s assistants watched us climb into the jeep but did nothing to notify his boss. That was okay with us. All three of us, for once, agreed on the same thing: it was time to un-ass the area.
As we drove away from the headquarters of the ROK Army III Corps, Katie Byrd Worthington sat quietly in the back of the jeep, jotting notes on the conversation she’d had with Estella. Every now and then, she lifted her notebook in front of her face, twisted it to catch the available light, and continued scribbling.
“Shit,” Ernie said, slamming on the brakes. Ahead of us was a slow-moving convoy of army-issue five-ton trucks. Wooden signs painted white with red lettering swung from their rear bumpers. uihom. pokpal-mul. Danger. High Explosives.
Ernie flashed his high beams to pass. That’s when I noticed that the rear of the truck in front of us was jammed with long wooden crates of ammunition, like coffins after a war.
“Strange,” I said as Ernie gunned the engine, down shifted, and passed the trucks.
“What’s strange?”
“That they’d be transporting ammunition away from the DMZ.”
“Maybe peace broke out.”
“Don’t you wish?”
“No, I don’t,” Ernie replied. “I’d be out of a job. So would you.”
“Don’t worry,” I replied as we sped past the long convoy. “We have plenty of job security.”
When we made it around the convoy, Ernie drove quickly, since traffic in those mountains was almost nonexistent at night. Eventually, we passed the city of Chuncheon without stopping and made good time toward the outskirts of Seoul. Only when we hit the city limits did we finally encounter cruising kimchi cabs, but Ernie navigated them easily, and about an hour before the midnight-to-four curfew, we pulled up in front of the Bando Hotel.
Katie started to climb out.
“You didn’t tell us what Estella said.”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have time.”
“Oh, that’s right. Your emergency dispatch lets you travel after midnight.”
I nodded. She thought about it.
“Okay, then.” She canted her head. “Buy a girl a drink?”
“Can do,” I said.
Ernie parked the jeep, and the three of us entered the almost deserted bar of the Bando Hotel. Ernie and I thought we were ready for anything—and maybe we were, except for what Katie had to tell us.
-20-
“She’s Basque,” she said.
“What the hell’s that?” Ernie asked.
“A part of Spain,” Katie told him.
“What’s she doing in Korea?”
“That’s what I asked her.”
“And what’d she say?”
“She said I’m in danger.”
“You?” Ernie asked. “A reporter who never pokes her nose into other people’s business or publishes anything unflattering? Why would you be in danger?”
“Don’t be a wiseass,” Katie replied. “You’re in danger, too.”
“We already knew that.”
“Not just from Sarkosian. It’s General Bok.”
“He’s after us for outing him for bringing whores up to his headquarters?”
“Not that.”
“Then what?”
In a move that reminded me of Strange, Katie glanced around the almost empty Bando Hotel barroom. When she was satisfied that no one was listening, she leaned toward us.
“Estella isn’t what she seems.”
“I don’t even know what she seems in the first place,” I said.
“She seems like a mistress who’s living with a rich man.”
“On his own personal army base,” Ernie said.
“Hey,” Katie replied. “I told you, don’t be a wiseass. There are millions of women in this world who do what they have to do in order to survive. You men have it easy. Pick up a rifle, aim it at somebody, and you have a job. Women have to bear the brunt of all your killing.”
“Okay,” I said, holding up my hand to appease her. “You’re right. We have work, we have benefits, we have what we need to survive in the army. It’s easy for us to talk.”
“You’re damn right,” Katie said, still angry.
Ernie leaned back in the narrow booth, signaling that he’d keep his mouth shut.
“Okay, so Estella’s in a tough situation,” I said. “Is she trying to get out of it, or is she okay being stuck there?”
“She’s not stuck,” Katie said. “That’s the thing that surpris
ed me most. She’s there because she wants to be.”
“She actually thinks she has a future with this General Bok?”
“Not that. She’s there because she has a job to do.”
We waited.
“She threatened me.”
“Threatened you? Why?”
“She not only threatened me, but the whole Overseas Observer. Says we’ll be shut down. If not through legal channels, then through extra-legal channels.” Katie sipped the last of her beer. “She says they’ll blow up our printing press in Hong Kong if they have to. And then the next one and the next one, until we give up.”
Ernie was unable to keep his mouth shut. “Who’s they?”
Katie glanced at him with withering disdain. “Let him ask the questions,” she said, nodding to me.
“Okay,” I said, “who’s they?”
“Who the fuck do you think they are?” Katie asked.
Ernie came up with the answer first. “For Christ’s sake,” he said. “It’s brilliant.”
I glanced between the two of them. For once, Katie didn’t protest him speaking, but lowered her head in weary acknowledgement. A grin spread across Ernie’s lips.
“What in the hell are you two talking about?” I asked.
“You still don’t get it?” Ernie asked. “Estella is a honey trap. She’s there to make sure he follows the game plan.”
“Whose game plan?”
“Think about what Strange told us. The military higher-ups who are promoting Bok so he’ll be able to step in if and when Park Chung-hee goes down.”
It finally dawned on me. “So Estella isn’t a whore.”
“Don’t use that word,” Katie snapped.
“Sorry,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “Estella isn’t General Bok’s mistress. She’s an agent.”
None of us wanted to say it out loud, even though no one was listening. Estella was part of the US Central Intelligence Agency. The CIA. It figured that they’d have their claws deep into General Bok’s hide. I wondered if anyone else around him was in on it.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Did Estella admit that explicitly?”
“In the world of espionage,” Katie said, “nothing is ever said explicitly.”
“So you’re just surmising?”
“Yep. Surmising my sweet ass off,” Katie said. She rose from the table.
“One more question,” Ernie said. “If Estella’s CIA, and you hate the CIA, why’d you hug her when you finished talking?”
“Who says I hate the CIA?” Katie asked. “They’re good copy. Besides, Estella’s a woman trying to do a big job in a tough situation.”
“Like you,” I said.
“Don’t try to butter me up, Sueño. There’s still time to get that photograph in Sunday’s issue.” She smiled at both of us in turn. “Sweet dreams.”
She turned and walked toward the old cement staircase.
The next morning as we were walking toward the 8th Army Snack Bar, I was still wondering how Sarkosian had managed to locate Katie. She herself had no idea. I asked Ernie about it.
“Maybe he’s psychic,” he said.
“And maybe not. I’ve been thinking.”
“About time.”
“Maybe Sarkosian found Katie the same way we did.”
Ernie glanced at me. “By checking with the Stars and Stripes?”
“Yeah. Maybe he went to their office and asked them where he could find her.”
“But the MPs have been notified to be on the lookout for him.”
“When a GI in uniform walks through the front gate, they don’t bother checking his identification. The uniform is proof enough. Maybe he waited for a big group, and the guard at the gate didn’t read every name tag.”
“How in the hell could they miss him?”
“Maybe the MP was busy and the Korean gate guard waved him past. Besides, a lot of GIs look like him. Husky, dark whiskers. When they’re busy, a guy like that would’ve been easy to miss.”
“Could be. They have enough to worry about. He may have even done it before the notice on him went out. Plus, when you’re leaving and walk off post, they don’t check you at all. Not on Yongsan Compound, anyway.” Ernie thought about it. “Let’s go ask that guy, what’s his name?”
“Master Sergeant Mortenson Cleveland.”
“Right. We can go to his office this morning once they open.”
Inside the snack bar, Strange was waiting for us. We went to the serving line first, grabbed a tray and silverware, and at the steam table ordered breakfast. After we paid the weary cashier, we joined Sergeant First Class Harvey, NCOIC of the 8th Army Headquarters Classified Documents Section, at his table.
“Had any strange lately?” he asked.
“More than you’ll ever know,” Ernie said, plopping down his tray and taking a seat.
Strange frowned. “You’re supposed to share.”
“Says who?”
“Says the information I have for you guys.”
“Give it to Sueño. I’m busy.” Holding his knife in one hand and his fork in the other, Ernie tucked into his ham and eggs.
“What is it?” I said, maneuvering the front edge of a BLT into my mouth.
While I chomped, Strange grinned. “Better than you’ll ever imagine,” he said.
“How so?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Look, Harvey. We had a late night and we’re both starved, so cut the crap and talk.”
I seldom became short with him. Ernie was constantly, but not me. Somewhat rattled by my impatience, he sipped on his hot chocolate, wiped his thin lips with a napkin, and glanced around the snack bar to make sure no one was listening.
“Somebody got wind of the Provost Marshal sending you guys up there to talk to General Bok,” he said, “to tell him to lay off the dames and not embarrass Eighth Army any further.”
“Actually, we didn’t tell him that. All we did was ask him about the women and let him figure out the rest on his own. But go ahead.”
“So word came down from on high to leave General Bok strictly alone. No more CID agents, no more First Corps Commander up there. No matter how much he embarrasses Eighth Army. Hands off. That’s the word.”
“Why?” Ernie asked.
Strange spread his fingers. “Hell if I know.”
“Who issued this directive?” I asked.
“Somebody high up.”
“The Pentagon?”
“Or God or somebody. But whoever it is, the Eighth Army Chief of Staff jumped. He called your boss, Colonel Brace, and chewed him out for sending you guys up there in the first place.”
“Oh, great,” Ernie said. “He’ll blame us.”
“Shit always flows downhill,” Strange said. “In fact, now the Chief of Staff’s acting like the entire thing wasn’t even his idea.”
“He’s the one who told Colonel Brace to send us up there?”
“That’s the scuttlebutt.”
“Typical,” Ernie said, slicing into his ham and shoveling a huge chunk into his mouth.
“That stuff’s bad for your cholesterol,” Strange told him.
“So’s two marshmallows with your hot chocolate.”
“I’m back to one.”
“Why? I thought you already hit your fighting weight.”
“There’s a new dolly at the headquarters building I’ve had my eye on. I want to be lean and mean for the encounter.”
“You? Seduce someone? Don’t make me laugh.”
“She’s already making eyes at me.”
“You mean that new WAC? The one in Plans and Operations? The one who’s nearsighted?”
“Yeah. What of it?”
Technically, the Women’s Army Corps, the WACs, had been
disbanded a couple of years ago. Now, women were integrated into all army units just as men were. But that didn’t stop most GIs, and especially two reprobates like Ernie and Strange, from continuing to refer to them as WACs.
“Her lenses are thicker than your skull,” Ernie said. “She can’t see more than five feet in front of her.”
“Then why’d she linger in front of the classified documents cage every day?”
“Do you talk to her?”
“No. But she stands outside.”
“Talking to the honor guard, I’ll bet.”
“Well, they do exchange a few words.”
“Even though neither one of those guys is supposed to talk.”
“They’re only human.”
“So’s she,” Ernie said. “And she’s got the hots for one of them, not you.”
Sometimes, I thought Ernie went too far with his needling. He didn’t have to crush Strange’s pipe dreams.
“You never know,” I said. “Maybe she likes the sophisticated type. After all, those Honor Guard soldiers do nothing but stand around all day.”
“Looking sharp,” Ernie added.
“That isn’t everything,” I said.
Ernie finally got the hint and shut up, carrying his empty plate back to the bus tray at the end of the serving line.
“What’s her name?” I asked Strange.
“Haven’t got that far yet.”
“You don’t want to push these things too fast,” I said.
“No. I’ll be careful.”
“You want some more chocolate?”
“No. Like I said, I’m on a diet.”
“It’s making a difference already.”
“You think so?”
“Sure.”
Ernie returned to the table. “You ready to go save the world?”
I stood up. As we left, Strange said, “Watch out for Sarkosian.”
I stopped and turned back to Strange. “How’d you know about that?”
He shrugged. “All his buddies are dead, your names and pictures showed up in the Overseas Observer. He’s toast and he knows it, facing thirty to life at Leavenworth. Why wouldn’t he try to take you down?”
“We’re gonna catch him first,” Ernie said.
“Everybody’s talking about it at the head shed,” Strange continued. “There’ve even been bets on how long you two are going to last.”
