She could not pretend, as he did, that they were not husband and wife.
"Cho, you think that you are following your conscience. They have stolen your soul."
He winced. His officiousness evaporated, and his eyes dropped from hers. He shuffled the papers before him and, when he returned her gaze, conveyed a plea.
"But you must try to understand," he said in a persuasive tone. "This business of soldiers harassing us, terrorizing us, concerns a thing that should have nothing to do with this collective." There were grumbled assents from those present. "We are but simple peasants," Cho continued. "The soldiers and Colonel Sung, an American space shuttle, these are not our problems. And yet the military terrorizes us because of your father and whatever he knows."
Anger and confusion swept through her, and took control. "I don't know where the space shuttle is." She whirled to face the assembled villagers. "And I want nothing to do with any of you!"
She stormed out of the hut, into the night.
The wind had picked up. Roiling black clouds blotted out the starlight. She sensed no one following her, perhaps because her action had been so unexpected, as it was even to herself. But she could not tolerate hearing her father maligned, or seeing the man she loved, poor Cho, become so corrupted by a soulless political machine. She had not lied. She did not know where their space shuttle was. But she suspected that they were right, that her father did know.
She darted around the communal hut and continued on into the gloom, leaving the village behind, avoiding the main path upon which she had last seen her father walking, yet following that same direction using a shortcut she'd learned as a child. Branches reached out from the darkness and scratched her, and the rocky ground made her lose her footing twice. She pushed on and rejoined the path about one-half kilometer farther on, after the village had disappeared behind her. She hurried on. The wind howled. She was quite certain that she knew where she would find her father.
The soles of her sandals crunched on the cold ground, the only human sound she heard. Her pace quickened as the path approached the crest of the hill where the path would lead down to her mother's gravesite.
She tripped over something and tumbled forward, breaking her fall with her hands. Human movement scurried toward her. She had tripped over someone's extended ankle. She started to twist around and rise from the ground, but before she could do so of her own volition, an arm snaked around her from behind and roughly dragged her to her feet. She was aware of an additional presence, moving toward her from the side, even as she recognized by touch the stocky build of the man whose forearm braced her throat, pressing her back to him.
Colonel Sung snickered lewdly, close to her ear, from behind. "Well then, my sweet, the sergeant and I welcome you. Do we not, Sergeant?"
A quiet voice from the darkness responded, "Yes, sir."
She could not discern the speaker, but recognized the voice of Sergeant Bol Rhee, the soldier from the airfield whose rawboned peasant features had reminded Toi of the people of her own village. His voice now was obedient, yet she heard reluctance, too. They seemed to be alone. Toi sensed no other movement in the darkness. She did not bother to struggle in Sung's grasp.
"Where's my father?"
Again, he snickered in her ear, thrusting his pelvis against her from behind. She could almost see the smirk on his pudgy face. He said, "Let's join him, shall we?"
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the small clearing, Ahn Chong knelt at the grave of his wife. Tonight, the tranquility of this place, and being immersed in Mai's presence, did not bring him comfort, did not soothe his soul.
This was where the recent horror had begun for him, when he had been kneeling in prayerful contemplation as he was now, when the heavens had been abruptly ripped asunder by a ferocious, thunderous whoosh! of the space shuttle flying over him before its crash landing. Tonight, the wind whipped the pines and twisted fruit trees on the hillside behind him.
He was startled by the appearance of the two soldiers and their captive—his daughter, Toi!—when they emerged into the circle of golden light from a lantern he'd brought tonight, because the stars were blocked by murky, surging clouds.
Ahn leapt to his feet, recognizing the sergeant who aimed a rifle at him, and Colonel Sung, commander of the airfield. Sung stood with Ahn's daughter, gripping one of Toi's wrists.
"Good evening, old man. A bit blustery for a graveside vigil."
Toi's eyes were sorrowful. "Forgive me, Father. I wanted to speak with you. I did not know they were following me."
Sung chuckled. "Do not fret, my dear. The sergeant and I had your father under surveillance and were about to confront him when you chose to arrive. And might I ask what you wished to speak to your father about?"
Fury coursed through Ahn Chong. He felt his years fade away. He felt young again, mad enough to kill. He wanted to attack.
Sung snarled. "Sergeant, I want you to kill this old man if he so much as moves."
Sergeant Bol Rhee aimed his rifle at Ahn Chong. "Yes, sir."
Ahn chose the voice of reason. "Colonel, my daughter and her husband, a loyal Party member, are in harm's way because of what I know. Toi came here tonight to plead with me to divulge to you what I know. Is that not so, daughter?"
Toi's eyes became downcast. She said nothing.
"I demand the same, that you tell me what you know." Sung's pig-like eyes never left Ahn. "We are finished with polite conversation." Sung's eyes narrowed. "Take me to the shuttle, old man, or I will have your daughter executed. That is the tack I should have taken today at your village."
Ahn felt the weight of the world squeezing at him, and the rage within him crumbled. He, a humble old peasant, had by the strangest set of circumstances been placed in a pivotal role in an international drama with the most personal of implications in the world to him, for the life of his daughter was in his hands. His shoulders sagged. He felt every one of his sixty-seven years.
"Very well," he said. "I will take you there."
The shuttle loomed in the clearing it had created upon impact, having left a wide swath of smashed trees and sheared-off limbs. The wind had died down and, through a break in the clouds, starlight and moonlight illuminated the spacecraft's awesome, towering shape. The camouflage netting that had been draped across it could not conceal its heavily damaged fuselage. The shuttle cast an aura of muzzled majesty, as if the camouflage netting was entangling and impeding the escape flight of a giant, graceful, free bird.
It was the most impressive sight Bol Rhee had ever seen. He crouched, with Colonel Sung and their prisoners, in the inky shadows of trees overlooking the shuttle. Sung held Toi by her right arm, his pistol held in his free hand. Bol's rifle remained aimed at the old man, as it had during their short hike here from the gravesite. Bol would always remember the sight of this spacecraft lumbering by overhead when it had been expected to land at the airfield, but he could only imagine what this old man must have experienced. The impact of the crash must have been enormous.
Beholding such a sight, Bol wondered anew at what intrigues his simple soldier's life had led him to. He was but a lowly noncommissioned officer in the North Korean People's Army, and yet he had been charged with the security of a mysterious, remote airfield, and his commander's only outside contact with any discernible chain of command had seemed to be a mysterious midnight visitor flown to the airfield in a helicopter with Japanese civilian markings. And now, this.
There were three men, in mismatched military fatigues, seated around a small fire that had been built in the windbreak created by the shuttle, at the foot of a tall ladder that went up to what appeared to be the closed main entry hatch to the shuttle. The three figures were leaning forward to bask in the fire's warmth, conversing amongst themselves, their rifles close at hand.
Sung emitted a whispered, contemptuous snort. Thai Bin himself would kill those bandits if he could see how lax his security is. Sergeant Bol, you know what to do."
"Yes,
sir."
Bol shifted his attention completely from the old man, and flattened himself to the frosty ground, steadying his elbows and selecting his first target. And for a moment, a memory touched him. He was a boy of twelve in these mountains, stalking wild game, being taught by his long-deceased father whom he still thought of at least once a day. He wished, as he had often but more now than ever before, that he had never grown up to become a soldier. Sighting in on each man in turn around the fire, he reminded himself that these human targets were predators who preyed on civilians. He squeezed off three rounds, expertly riding the AK-47's recoil. His father had taught him well.
The three men around the fire seemed to leap sideways off their seats, arms flailing one after another in rapid succession, and tumbling to the ground, where their forms did not move.
"Very good, Sergeant," said Sung quietly. "We advance. But be wary. There may be more of them lurking about. And, you two." He glared at Toi and Ahn Chong. "If either of you cries out an alarm, you will die instantly. Is that understood?" He took their lack of response as an affirmative. "Let us go then and see this prize."
Bol noted that though Sung was willing enough to command, he hesitated, waiting for Bol to stand and take the lead position, and they walked single file down the gradual slope toward the shuttle. Bol advanced with the AK-47, fanning the darkness around the fire like an antenna seeking targets, but finding none. He heard old Ahn Chong ambling along behind him, then Sung with Toi. Bol drew up near the fire. He had no desire to expose himself as a target in the firelight.
Sung asked, "Are you afraid, Sergeant?" in a chiding tone.
"Prudent," said Bol. He reached to the pack upon his back, which, among other things, contained a handheld radio transceiver. "I will instruct our forces to close in."
"You will instruct our forces that are presently waiting at the airfield," Sung corrected, "and those alone."
"But, sir, what of the elite troops sent to us from Pyongyang?"
"I will use them when the time is right," said Sung. "It is not your place to question me."
"I have every reason to believe that Chai Bin has already taken whatever equipment could be carried from the shuttle. There will be much damage inside, and much missing. It remains for our elderly friend," Sung nodded in Ahn Chong's direction, "to next reveal the location of Chai Bin's base. Those forces from Pyongyang will then be ordered to attack Chai Bin, and we shall support them in that action. Our primary objective is to retrieve what has been taken, Sergeant. But what if Chai Bin's bandit scum have not yet looted Liberty? What if those sentries you killed were to guard this treasure, and the removal is done tomorrow? In such a case, there would be no reason to attack Chai Bin, and I could deal directly with my, er, superiors, now that this spacecraft is in our possession, and all will return to plan. Hand me the hammer and crowbar in your pack, Sergeant." Sung was studying the ladder leading up to the main hatch on the fuselage, located between the nose and the wing. The crackling campfire flames danced in Sung's eyes. "I will be the first person of our government to claim this shuttle for our country."
Bol's eyes were filled with the enormity of the space shuttle. "Yes sir." He did as he was told.
Sung holstered his pistol and took the tools.
"Very good, Sergeant. Now do as I've instructed and call in our force from the airfield." His eyes moved to Ahn Chong and Toi, standing side by side. "And if either of these two attempts to escape, you know what to do."
"Yes, sir."
"Very well." Sung puffed out his chest beneath his starched tunic. "I go to claim the space shuttle Liberty for the People's Republic of North Korea."
He moved past the fire, stepping around the fallen bodies, and began climbing the ladder, hammer and crowbar secured beneath his gunbelt.
Bol remained with his rifle aimed at Ahn Chong and Toi, but they all watched the man determinedly climbing the ladder, up the side of the fuselage.
When he gained the top step, Sung did not hesitate. He wedged the crowbar against the lip of the hatch. He reached for the hammer. Bol could see Colonel Sung swing the hammer.
The world exploded.
A scorching fireball mushroom spewed from the side of the spacecraft, its blast shattering the senses, the concussion knocking Bol and the civilians from their feet. Bol hugged the ground, covering his head with his arms, feeling the heat of the blast pressing him to the ground. The explosion seemed to go on forever. Pieces of debris were dropping to the ground around him. Finally the roaring blast became a rumble, as if the ancient gods of these mountains were awakening, displeased. The vibrations of the explosion then became a low rumble, echoing off into the mountains. Bol cautiously lifted his eyes, at first without removing his arms from covering his head.
The first things he saw were the prone figures of Ahn Chong and his daughter, who were also now deeming it safe to look. Bol commanded himself to act. He grasped the AK-47 and leapt to his feet, starting to track his rifle at them. But something peculiar, on the ground near the three of them, caught his attention, and when he paused to look, he gasped in such horror at what he saw.
A human leg, severed at mid-thigh, was clad in a freshly pressed trouser leg, the starched crease still evident. A spit-polished boot reflected small fires, started nearby, crackling weakly amid the tree limbs. The top of the severed leg was a charred, smoking mess.
"Sergeant," said Ahn Chong in a droll tone, "I believe that is all that remains of your commanding officer."
Toi turned to study Bol. "You seem like a good man. What are you going to do now?"
Bol fought to gain control of his senses. He took a step back and raised his rifle in their direction. She was voicing the very question rioting in his mind. Something struck him in his lower back, and he knew it was the muzzle of a rifle pressed to the base of his spine.
A new voice intoned solemnly, "If anyone dies, it will be the sergeant."
Bol heard an implicit command in the voice. He dropped his rifle to the ground, and raised both hands. The pressure of the gun against the base of his spine subsided.
A man eased around from behind him, positioning himself next to the old man and his daughter. Bol had recognized the voice, having heard it during the "interrogation" in the village. It was Cho, Ahn Chong's son-in-law, Toi's husband, who now aimed his rifle at Bol Rhee's head.
Toi studied her husband. "Did you follow me here to protect me, or to spy on me for the Party?"
In the scant illumination of the dwindling nearby fires, Cho's eyes burned with fury.
"You are my wife. As a man, am to allow soldiers of my government to manhandle you, to threaten you with death, twice in one day?" He addressed Ahn Chong without taking his eyes from Bol. "Father-in-law, I have learned to see you with new eyes. Toi's mother, your wife, died because she could not receive proper medical attention from our government." He sneered, "Our government of the people! And today they would threaten to kill my wife? This is not my government, and I will prove it by eliminating their ranks by one more."
Bol saw Cho tighten his body for the recoil of his rifle. Bol braced himself for death.
"No!" Toi cried out. "My husband, I beg of you: do not add to the madness with more killing! Spare this man."
Ahn Chong rested a hand lightly on Cho's shoulder.
"Listen to your woman." He nodded at Bol. "This man was a good soldier following orders. I sensed his personal repulsion at what he had been ordered to do." He nodded to indicate the grisly sight of the smoldering leg upon the ground nearby. "There is what remains of the man who has brought the taint of violence to our village. And I strongly suspect that he was deluding his commanders in Pyongyang, not obeying them. Otherwise, he would have had no need of such heightened security measures at the airfield."
Bol nodded. He must grasp at this chance of survival. Cho's rifle had not wavered from being aimed at a point between his eyes. "That is true," he heard himself say. "A helicopter, with Japanese markings, brought the one from whom Colone
l Sung took his orders."
Ahn Chong nodded. "A powerful organization in Japan bought off Colonel Sung. They financed construction of the airfield with every intention of downing the space shuttle. But everything went wrong for the colonel after the shuttle crew crash-landed instead of landing at the airfield, as was intended."
Bol was further surprised to hear himself say in a quiet voice to Ahn Chong, "You remind me of my father." To Cho, he pleaded, "Spare me. My pay as a soldier is not much, but it supports my mother and sisters in the village where I come from."
Time again seemed to stop, suspended.
Cho lowered his rifle. "And we just want to be left alone to be farmers."
"Return to your lives," said Bol. "Since central headquarters in Pyongyang knows nothing of what Colonel Sung had undertaken here, I will be a hero of the People's Army when I step forward to report everything that I know."
Toi nodded, but her eyes were doubtful. "What of Colonel Sung's death? Who will be made to answer?"
"The shuttle crew," said Ahn Chong. "They set an explosive charge to counteract tampering. The colonel was undone by his own design. The sergeant's superiors in Pyongyang will accept the truth. At present, the North Korean government has far too much to concern itself with than one rogue field commander. Colonel Sung has lost relevance in death." The old man's expression grew reflective. "As do we all, I suspect."
Cho emitted a strange snort that might have been a laugh. "Father-in-law, I see you with new eyes and hear you with new ears. You have been right all along, since this began. In the future, sir, I will heed your wisdom." He held his rifle in one hand, and slipped his other arm around Toi's waist. "A man's first loyalty must be to wife and family."
"It would be best," Ahn nodded, "if we would listen to each other."
Cho indicated Bol with his rifle. "As for you, soldier, be gone! Consider this the luckiest day of your life. Go."
Korean Intercept Page 23
