by David Barker
Wardle was about to reply when he heard a scuffle at the other end of the line. “What’s going on there?”
“Sorry, Mr Director, we had to get out of sight. We left the government building in rather a hurry. Hiding in a damned ugly part of the city. Rabten is just dealing with some muggers.”
“Stop messing about and get on with the mission. Get yourselves to the export agency – they’ve been instructed to offer you every assistance in transporting you to the North Korean border.”
“What about Freda, sir?”
“She’s heading back to Britain.”
“So just Rabten and me? To find this missing warhead and take out the terrorists? Isn’t it a job for the Hereford mob?”
“Can’t risk the SAS. If they get spotted, the North Koreans will think it’s an invasion. They have plenty of warheads left. Start lobbing them around Asia, maybe even across the whole world if their missile technology’s up to it.”
“Should we try to get some help from the Chinese, instead of sneaking around?”
“Not sure I trust them. They might try the invasion option if they think there’s a warhead on the loose. Besides, you two are not exactly popular with the Chinese authorities after what you did six years ago. Let’s hope the MSS haven’t cracked our codes, eavesdropping on this.”
“So where do you suggest we start looking?”
“Just get near the border. Somewhere full of tourists. And wait for further instructions.”
CHAPTER 25
South Korean Civilian Control Line
A truck pulled up at barriers that marked the entrance to the last few kilometres of South Korea. The pick-up had big off-road tyres and an open bed behind the cabin. The driver was Park Shi-woo. He lowered the window and reached inside his dusty windproof jacket. The passenger handed over his document too. The uniformed guard inspected the ID cards while a colleague checked the equipment visible at the back of the truck. A grunt and a nod were all the driver got as the guard handed back the IDs. The barrier was raised. A man with stripes on his sleeve came out of the control office next to the barrier.
“They employing school kids these days?” He shook his head and bent down towards the driver’s window. “Don’t forget to check in with us every four hours. And you need to be back here by sunset.”
Shi-woo nodded and closed the truck window. He looked across to the east. The dark blue sky had faded to milky white towards the horizon. Clouds were tinged with pink. He smiled as he slid down into a lazy driving position and stamped on the accelerator. In the rear-view mirror, the fence and gate disappeared behind the dust kicked up by the tyres.
“This is pretty cool,” said Ryu Min-jun, the man in the passenger seat, as he slurped from a battered aluminium camping bottle. Unspoiled countryside stretched away on either side of the road. Before long, it felt like they were the only two people on the planet.
“When was the last time you got this close to the DMZ?” asked Shi-woo.
“Huh, can’t remember. About ten years ago, some big school trip. Barely allowed out of the bus. Not like this.”
“There must be dozens of teams all along the border doing the same thing as us.”
Min-jun grinned. “Imagine if it was us that found one…”
“A tunnel? No chance. Last one of those was in 1990. Fifty years of looking and only four ever found.”
“Yeah, but the North is acting really weird right now. Maybe they’ve started a new one.”
The driver shook his head. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“If you’re so sceptical, why bother volunteering?”
“Ahh.” Shi-woo smiled and wiggled his eyebrows. “Got me a camera hidden under the spare tyre.”
“You what? You’re going to photograph the DMZ? You know that’s illegal. And potentially lethal. If the North have any snipers watching—”
“I’m not photographing that. I’m here to capture the wildlife.”
“Yeah, right.” The truck bounced on its suspension as they went over a large pothole in the crumbling road. Some water spilled out of Min-jun’s drink bottle and dribbled down his leg. “Watch it.”
“Think about it. The DMZ has had virtually no human contact for decades now. Nature reclaims its own. Endangered species. Red-crowned cranes, moon bears, even Amur leopards.” Shi-woo was counting off species on his left hand. The steering wheel slipped as they went around a bend in the gravel and the car slid momentarily.
“We’ll be an endangered species if you don’t keep your eyes on the road.”
The truck stopped in a clearing next to a hill. Thick forest surrounded them. Shi-woo wondered what they would look like if he could launch a video drone from here. Like ants on a bare patch in a dark green rug, maybe. The men went to the back of the vehicle and lowered the tail gate. A selection of digging tools, camping gear and some more unusual items waited for them, under a tarpaulin covered in fine dust from the journey. Shi-woo reached for something that looked like a metal detector, with an extra-large head, and clipped a foldable spade onto his belt. Min-jun grabbed a box that had headphones and two pads attached via wires.
“Right, here’s our grid,” said Shi-woo, spreading out a map on the bonnet of the truck. “I’ll do geo-phys on A1-A4, while you listen in B1-B3.”
“OK.” Min-jun started walking into the trees, heading for the brow of a low hill.
“See you back here in a couple of hours,” Shi-woo shouted. A couple of birds broke cover from the woods behind him. He watched as they climbed into the pale dawn sky. Shi-woo bent down to unscrew the spare tyre and fetched his camera from a hidden recess. Slinging it around his neck, he set off for his sectors.
Min-jun had just finished studying civil engineering at university. Soon he would be applying for jobs. Not soon enough, according to his parents. Final exams had been tough. He was going to enjoy the summer before stepping onto the corporate ladder. The call for volunteers – to help look for new ‘tunnels of aggression’ – had been too exciting to turn down. Min-jun knew his way around a listening device and had been paired up with a bossy archaeologist. Min-jun wished he’d been allowed to drive the jeep. But still. Getting this close to the De-Militarized Zone… the stuff of legends.
He had covered sector B1 already and had descended from the hillock. There was a stream that ran through B2 and Min-jun headed there next to taste the water. He took off his headphones and enjoyed the near-silence of the surrounding trees. A gentle breeze played across the leaves and a fish broke the surface of the stream with a pop. The air smelt so fresh, it was like somebody had given him a third lung.
As Min-jun bent down to drink at the water’s edge, he heard something that made him freeze. There it was again. A deep snuffling noise, and a sound like claws raking the ground.
“OK, Shi-woo, very funny. You can come out now.”
The snuffling and scraping stopped.
“You can’t have finished your sectors yet.”
Something in the trees on the other side of the stream growled. A low, lingering snarl.
Min-jun stood up and backed away from the water. “I’m not scared, you know.”
A shadow emerged from the trees opposite Min-jun and solidified into a black bear. It sniffed the air and reared up on its hind legs. There was a crescent of white fur on the bear’s chest. Min-jun’s bladder emptied itself, soaking into his trousers and socks. He screamed and ran for the truck.
Park Shi-woo took a sip of beer from his bottle and shook his head.
“I can’t believe you got that close to a moon bear. Lucky so and so.”
Min-jun shuffled in his spare trousers, looking down. His face reddened slightly. “Didn’t feel that lucky at the time.”
Shi-woo leant in closer to his colleague. “I got some nice pictures of two different cranes. Red crowned and white naped. Pretty pleased with that.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. At the various tables there was excited chatter from other teams that had been
out that day, searching for tunnels. The room fell quiet suddenly as somebody turned up the volume on the vid screen. The news was showing on the far wall. Everybody turned to watch.
The main story was of their neighbours. The North Koreans were whipping themselves into a fervour, apparently. The authorities there claimed that some outside forces had stolen a treasured relic of the Democratic People’s Republic. There were pictures of crowds in Pyongyang’s squares, weeping, pulling their hair, burning images of western leaders. The news story switched to blurry, distant pictures of the village Kijong-dong, just beyond the DMZ in North Korea. Loudspeakers were blaring out messages. ‘The thieves will be punished severely.’ ‘Retribution is upon any who desecrate our beautiful, peaceful country.’
Min-jun took a sip of beer. “Told you they’re mad. I reckon there’s a tunnel being dug right now, ready to launch a new invasion force.”
“So, the bear hasn’t put you off the hunt?”
“No way. But I’m definitely packing some heat tomorrow. Any bear comes sniffing around will be sorry it messed with me.”
Shi-woo muttered something under his breath as he drank and then looked up. “If you meet another one, please just fire into the air. Don’t kill it. OK?”
Two people circled each other across a wooden floor. Each had a long bamboo sword grasped with both hands. A metal grid on their helmets hid their faces from each other. Heavy shoulder pads, a chest plate and thick gloves added further protection. One set of armour was coloured red, the other black. Without warning the person in red took a quick step forward, shouted and smashed their sword down towards their opponent’s head. The other person parried with a perpendicular sword then stepped sideways and tapped the other person on the shoulder.
“Don’t over commit.”
The person in red lunged and shouted again. This time it was a fake attack. When their opponent had raised their sword in defence, a follow-up swipe narrowly missed their ducking head.
“Better attack. Good. Now defend.”
The person in black danced sideways then forwards. Their sword blurred as it was raised, lowered, slashed and lunged. Each blow accompanied by an exhorting cry. The first three blows were parried. But the fourth found its mark and the red person fell backwards. Landing heavily, their breath escaped in a hurry. They scrambled to their feet and barged into the person in black, sending them sprawling across the wooden tiles. Before they could get up, red brought their bamboo sword crashing down time and again, until the bamboo split. Then they threw the sword away and took off the grille. It was Mattias Larsson.
The person in black lay there for a moment, recovering from the assault on her body armour. Precious removed her helmet slowly and got to her feet. “You must learn control.”
“Huh,” he snorted.
“Look, I know you’re mad about losing our mole.”
“That imbecile in Overseas Division? He’s expendable.”
“But what if they get him to talk?” asked Precious.
Mattias walked over to a small table in the corner of the hall. “He knows little.” He gulped down a glass of water. “They sell themselves so cheaply these days.”
“So… What’s wrong?”
“The Heaven Mission. It’s taking too long. They’re going to get caught.”
“They’re making progress. Slow, admittedly, but the terrain is tough. Especially during the rainy season. And all the roads are in virtual lock-down. They’re travelling by foot now, you know this. Hiking all that way, with the equipment they have to carry.”
“Yes, I know. And you know how much is resting on this.”
Precious began unlacing Mattias’ armour. “I have to admit, I do find the logic behind this mission a bit… fuzzy. I know the oil companies will love it when all the solar panels stop working. But remind me why that’s helpful to us.”
“Besides the enormous pay check? Look, climatologists reckon global warming has gone runaway, right? Feedback loops multiplying, speeding up the process. Our only chance is to stop the vicious circle.”
“And the millions, or even billions, who could die in the chaos?”
Mattias shrugged. “The planet is over-populated anyway, using too many resources. If this pares humanity back to a more manageable size, all the better. If the team succeed.”
“Relax,” said Precious. “Ivan knows what he’s doing.”
“Tell him to get a move on. And to go to radio silence. We don’t want to risk any intercepts.”
Precious sighed. She adored Mattias. The man was a visionary. But he had his moods, she wouldn’t deny that. He seemed like a petulant teenager at times, even now with all this power and the fate of the world at his fingertips. Precious still remembered the tales of the old kings of Calabar that her mother used to tell her. They had seemed so commanding at the time, Precious couldn’t ever have imagined meeting somebody even more powerful in real life. It was worth putting up with the occasional tantrum.
The villager was standing on the edge of an open-sided hut, watching his stream of piss merge with the rain that ran off the bamboo roof. He finished long before the rain would stop and returned to the group huddled around a small fire. The flames cast a flickering light on the faces of his family and on the ceiling of the hut, chasing away the dark jungle outside.
The meat would be ready soon, his wife had told him. Go get some rice. The man groaned. The rice store was in a different hut and that meant running through the rain and the mud. He looked at his wife and knew better than to refuse.
Soaking wet and sandals caked in thick brown goo, the man bent down to pick up a small sack of rice. A noise from the corner of the hut made him pause. He hated rats and he hated losing precious food to those vermin even more. He slowly reached for the beating stick next to the bags of rice and moved towards the back of the store. He raised the stick above his head and never saw the blade slip between his ribs as a hand was clamped over his mouth. The man slumped to the floor and the killer slipped out into the storm with a bag of rice in each hand.
The rest of the mercenaries were waiting for Julio. They were trying to stay dry under a tarpaulin covered in camouflage netting. As he ducked into the bivouac, Julio shook the rain off his hair and the sacks.
“Watch what you’re doing,” said the woman nearest him.
The man at the back of the tent, Ivan Jenkins, looked up. “Any trouble?”
“A little.”
“How little?”
“Some guy came into the store at exactly the wrong time. I thought they were staying dry in the other hut.”
“And?” asked the leader.
“He was going to find me, so I silenced him. No problem.” Julio made a stabbing motion with his right hand.
“Yes, it is a problem. Because the family will report the death and the authorities will be under instruction to investigate anything unusual right now.”
“Oh.”
Ivan shook his head and pointed to the woman. “Tomkins, take Julio back and finish the job. Then hide the bodies, OK?”
“All of them?”
“What do you think?”
“Yes, sir.” She pulled out her pistol and fitted a silencer to it. “Come on, Jules. And don’t forget your spade.”
Ivan went back to studying his map. Hurry up, the last message had said. As if he wasn’t pushing them hard already. And radio silence from now on. So, they were on their own. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about what he would do with his share of the prize. And then shook himself out of the dream. Not yet. Not until the job is done. Heaven Lake awaited them.
CHAPTER 26
Kiruna, Sweden
Sim Atkins had arrived in the new town earlier that morning and had already spent a couple of hours just wandering the streets near the centre. His backpack was starting to weigh heavily on his shoulders as the temperature rose. He caught his reflection in a shop window. Sweat was glistening in patches on a face that still looked alien. The pores on his remoulded c
ontours were not yet open. Sim was about to head to the house where he would be staying when he noticed the old red church and its unusual bell tower.
At first, he thought it was rust, but as he drew closer Sim realised that they were wooden buildings, painted red. And the sun was accentuating the dramatic hue. The bell tower sat in front of the church. Its base was a pyramid, and sitting on top was a cube, supported by stilts that reached halfway down the sides of the pyramid. The walls of the cube consisted of a series of pillars with lattice work between them. Sim could just make out the bells and the wooden beams inside. On top of the cube, the bell tower continued upwards with an onion-shaped minaret.
Sim stood for a moment admiring the craftmanship. It dawned on him that the town must have dismantled this old monument, moved it a few of miles down the road and rebuilt it in new Kiruna. Were the locals especially religious? Or was it just a deep respect for tradition and heritage? Moving home was unsettling. Sim smiled at the perfect aptness of the word for a community whose faith in the very ground beneath them had been taken away.
The church clock clicked onto midday and the bells in the tower played a short tune before sounding out twelve strikes. Only a few hundred yards beyond the church was the house where Sim would be renting a room for the month. There was a carport to one side of the building, occupied by a modest vehicle that had been plugged into a power socket. The front yard was covered in gravel, with a variety of potted plants scattered at random. It reminded him of his parent’s passion for pottery. Sim felt his boots scrunch on the gravel and then climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell.
A lady with silver hair and reading glasses halfway down her nose answered the door. She peered at Sim over the glasses and beckoned him to enter. Sim couldn’t help noticing that while the left arm holding the door open looked normal, the arm she had used to guide him inside was half the width and shorter, like the withered branch of a tree. She tucked it behind her torso as she saw Sim staring.
