“Taking a shit!”
“Ha,” the guard said. “You were gone too long. What were you doing? Laying an egg?”
“Yeah,” Sun-Hee's brother replied, relaxing and laughing with the guard.
“Don't leave your route, you big fat hen!” the guard said, extending his metaphor. He laughed at his own wit, adding, “Un-Yong will have you cleaning the latrine if he catches you slacking off.”
“I know,” the brother replied as the guard continued past him, his boots falling with an almost hypnotic rhythm on the gravel, grinding and crunching at a leisurely pace.
Lee crept forward beneath the building, working with his elbows and his knees. He could see the motor-pool across the driveway.
Sun-Hee's brother rounded the corner. He crouched beside them as Lee wriggled out of the shadows.
“Stay here.”
“No,” Lee whispered under his breath. “This isn't going to work. If that guy sees the guard inside the admin building is gone, he's going to investigate and raise hell. Besides, as soon as you start one of these vehicles, you're going to wake the camp.”
“Stay,” the brother repeated, thrusting out his hand.
“But—“ Lee began as the brother ignored him, jogging away on the noisy gravel.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Lee swore under his breath.
Memories of being caught and savagely beaten in the village haunted him. The concrete support pillars and wooden floor above felt claustrophobic around him, as though they were closing in on him, forcing him out into the night. He wanted to crawl out and run, even though he knew he wouldn't get far on foot.
There had to be a perimeter fence out there somewhere hidden in the darkness.
Lee wouldn't put it past the North Koreans to have lined the perimeter with mines, they had certainly built plenty and were paranoid about being attacked.
The front gate was the only way in or out, but getting out in a car or a truck was suicide. They'd be cut down by machine gun fire. Hollywood might make cars out to be bulletproof, but Lee knew better. Rounds from an AK-47 would punch through sheet metal without losing any of their lethal momentum. They'd pass through a car door like a scrap of paper.
“Shit!” he swore, louder this time, no longer talking in a whisper.
“It's OK,” the boy said, resting his hand on Lee's shoulder. “You make it! You escape from here, I know you do.”
Lee took a deep breath, drawing in the cold, damp air. The child's use of the past tense to describe the future was creepy. How could a boy of three or four know that? He couldn't.
“Who are you? Where are you from?”
“It's me, professor,” the boy said. “It's me, Jason!”
“Professor?”
Lee was perturbed. He was sure Jason had confused him with someone else. Lying there with the cold, wet mud soaking through his clothes, Lee couldn't help but wish he was caught in a dream. For him, it was a nightmare, but for this young boy, the night seemed to hold a mythical, magical quality. The boy should have been afraid, terrified, but his eyes were peaceful, his voice was calm.
“My name is John Lee, Captain John Lee of the South Korean Coast Guard. I'm going to get you out of here, but I need you to work with me, OK? I need you to do exactly what I say, OK?”
The boy nodded. And what exactly is it you are going to do? Lee wondered, keeping that thought to himself.
“I trust you, professor.”
“I'm not,” Lee began, but the innocence of childhood in Jason's eyes made him pause. If a case of mistaken identity could help the young boy through this without freaking out, then so be it. What the hell did the Americans and the North Koreans want with such a young child anyway? Lee noticed the child still had his crayon and paper, clutching it to his chest like a talisman.
The boy spoke matter of factly, as though he were talking to another child, saying, “You are Professor Lachlan. I remember you.”
Lachlan. That was his mother's maiden name. His mother was a Korean-American. She had been a lieutenant in the US Army, working as a triage nurse in Seoul. She'd met his father while on joint exercises and they'd settled in South Korea after they married. Like most married women, his mother had taken his father's surname, Lee. Why was this child calling him by his mother's maiden name?
Curious, Lee asked, “How old are you, Jason?”
“I don't know.”
“We're in danger. You need to understand that.”
The boy nodded, saying, “But you will find a way out. You always do.”
Lee was tired. He was cold and he was hungry. He was exasperated. Nothing was as simple as this boy assumed. He knew the boy meant well, but Lee was frustrated. Life had stopped being kind to him. Life was cruel. His injured hand throbbed. Deep down, he wanted nothing more than to scream in anguish.
If only life could be relived with different choices.
If only life came with several options available in advance, or allowed for mistakes to be undone.
What would he have done differently?
Should he have pulled out of the mission earlier?
Would the North Korean aircraft have stood down if they'd responded immediately instead of trying to sneak closer?
Should he have broken left instead of right in the Sea King?
And what about Sun-Hee? Should he have left her there?
Someone would have found her in the morning. She might have survived until then. Perhaps someone else would have rescued her and he could have slipped away in the dark of night.
And what if they were caught now?
Would he regret freeing the child? Freeing? Hah, he thought, some freedom. Free to wallow in the mud like an animal. Pig! Swine! That's what the North Korean soldiers had called him as they kicked him in the back of the truck. Irony, he chuckled mirthlessly.
Lying there shivering, he looked at the boy. The trust in Jason's eyes radiated absolute confidence. He shouldn't trust me, Lee thought. I'm going to get us both killed.
“You will think of something,” the boy said softly, perhaps reading the heartache and anguish written on Lee's face.
Tears came to Lee's eyes. He reached out to touch the child's hair only to realize he was reaching with his wounded hand. Blood had soaked through the bandages. Jolts of pain shrieked through the torn nerve endings, but he couldn't pull back.
With his index finger and thumb, he touched gently at the boy's forehead, brushing loose strands of hair to one side. He expected the boy to be repelled by the grotesque bloody ball of rags wrapped around his hand, but the boy smiled. It was almost as though he knew what would happen all along, and somehow already knew about Lee's brutal wound.
Tears rolled down Lee's cheeks as he whispered. “I wish I could believe you. I wish I deserved your faith, your confidence.”
They were never going to escape, Lee knew that. As soon as Sun-Hee's brother found a vehicle he could start, the noise of a diesel engine turning over would shatter the silence like an air raid siren. Within minutes, the camp would be crawling with soldiers.
Sniffing, Lee added, “If only I had wings to fly, I'd take you away from here. I'd take you somewhere you could be safe.”
Lying there, Lee felt helpless.
The pain surging through his hand was too much. He cradled his arm.
After all he'd been through, this was the lowest he'd fallen. Being captured, beaten, tortured, humiliated and deceived had been heartbreaking, but he'd never given up hope. Now, though, he felt defeated.
Being free from his cage beneath the barracks had raised his spirits, but now the impossibility of escaping the camp struck him like a physical blow. What could he do? There was nothing he could do to escape this military base, let alone North Korea. With all he'd endured, the sudden, overwhelming realization of his helplessness was crippling. Lee wanted to curl up into a ball and die quietly in his sleep, but there was the boy. The boy demanded that he be brave.
A moth flew past, fluttering on the breeze. Its wings
beat at the air, allowing it to defy gravity as the tiny insect danced among the moonbeams just a few feet away from where they lay.
Lee watched as the moth settled on one of the outer support pillars for a few seconds before darting back into the air and flittering out of sight.
Moonlight glistened on the cars and trucks in the motor pool.
Ropes led from the rotor blades of the imitation Bell helicopter beyond the trucks, holding the blades in place so they wouldn't turn with the wind.
Lee was about to crawl out of hiding when the soft crunch of boots on pebbles marked the return of Sun-Hee's brother. He and Jason pulled themselves out from beneath the administration hut as the brother came over. He had his rifle slung over his shoulder and his head bowed as if in defeat.
“The quartermaster's office is locked,” the brother began. “It was unlocked when I last checked not more than an hour ago. We are trapped. We have no way to escape. One of the other guards must have checked the door and locked it behind me.”
“And he may have just saved our lives,” Lee replied, getting to his feet. “We were never going to be able to drive out of here. They'd catch us before we'd gone a quarter of a mile. But we just might be able to fly out of here.”
Lee pointed at the dark outline of the Bell helicopter beyond the trucks. Sun-Hee's brother followed his gaze.
“Are you mad?”
“Aren't you?” Lee replied, taking Jason's hand and creeping across the gravel road. They slipped into the shadow of a truck as Sun-Hee's brother came up behind them.
“You can fly a helicopter?”
“Yes. I'm a pilot.”
The three of them jogged lightly down between a row of trucks and halftracks, rusting howitzers and broken trailers. Most of the trucks had flat tires. From what Lee could see, they'd been stationary so long the air must have long since leaked away, leaving them stranded on their rims. Several of the trucks had been cannibalized for parts.
The chopper was a two seater Bell helicopter. Lee hoped it was in better condition than the trucks or they weren't going anywhere.
“Get the ropes,” he said to the soldier.
Lee crept up to the cockpit, staying in the shadows of the helicopter. He pulled on the stiff handle and opened the plexiglas door.
Jason clambered in.
Lee left him there, turning and pulling the covers off the engine seated behind the bubble shaped cockpit.
Oil had dripped on the ground directly beneath the engine. Fresh grease was visible on the metal nipples of the flywheel. That was a good sign. Someone had been maintaining the helicopter.
With his good hand, Lee ran his fingers over the copper piping and steel tubes, tracing the fuel line, pushing his mind to remember his training flights a decade before. He twisted a small butterfly valve below the fuel tank and primed the engine, wondering how much fuel there was in the thin sheet metal tank.
Sun-Hee's brother ran to the other side of the helicopter, pulling the ropes and releasing another rotor blade.
Lee hopped into the pilot's seat and familiarized himself with the controls, quickly identifying the various toggle switches and warning lights. He worked the pedals, feeling how stiff and sluggish they were. As he expected, there was no ignition key, just a master switch. He pumped the throttle to get fuel flowing and flicked the master switch. The hum of an electric pump was a good sign, bringing a smile to his face.
“Jump over the back,” Lee said to Jason as Sun-Hee's brother ran over to the cockpit. There wasn't much room behind the seats, but there was enough space for Jason to crouch down, sitting on a toolkit.
Lee flicked several toggle switches and brought the engine slowly to life. The exhaust spluttered and coughed. He kept the clutch engaged, disabling the rotors while the engine came up to speed.
“Halt!” came a cry from the motor pool.
One of the guards had a rifle leveled at them.
Lee worked with the cyclical control, revving the engine. He engaged the rotors. Slowly, reluctantly, the rotor blades began to turn.
A shot rang out.
Sun-Hee's brother had his door open, with one foot resting on the chopper skids. He fired his rifle in response. The guard took cover behind one of the trucks.
“Shoot through the metal,” Lee cried and Sun-Hee's brother responded, firing at the wheel arch. A body slumped to the ground, sprawling on the gravel.
Several other guards came running over from the barracks.
The rotor blades wound up to speed and began thrashing at the air.
White cracks appeared in the plastic dome of the chopper. It took Lee a moment to realize they were bullet holes. With the deafening roar of the engine, he couldn't hear the shots being fired.
He pulled back on the cyclic control stick with his injured right hand and his face contorted in agony. With his left hand, Lee worked the collective, adjusting the pitch of the blades as he increased the throttle. His heart leaped with joy as the chopper lifted off from the motor pool. A soft touch on the right foot pedal corrected some yaw, while a nudge of the cyclic counteracted a slight pitch to the right. For a moment, he was back in basic training. The sensation of hanging in the air, even if only a foot above the ground, had never felt so good. The artificial cyclone thrown out by the helicopter forced the soldiers back, kicking fine stones and debris into their eyes. Several kept firing, but Lee could see they were firing wide.
The helicopter gained height, clearing the huts and then the trees as they raced away from the camp heading due north.
“You are going the wrong way,” Sun-Hee's brother yelled over the noise as he fought to close his door. He pointed behind them, back to one side at the gates of the camp slowly receding into the darkness.
“I know,” Lee cried over the sound of the rotor blades beating at the air. “Believe me, I know!”
Chapter 14: Learjet
“Am I the only one that thinks irradiating the West Coast is a really bad idea?” Jason asked as the RV pulled up roughly fifty feet from the Learjet. He wondered how much sway he could have over a decision that had clearly already been made. “We're talking about millions of people being exposed to radioactive fallout!”
“Ah,” Lachlan said, getting up from opposite them at the table. “What we're proposing is more theatrical than actual. The jet has been modified so it can be piloted by remote control using the same technology found in drones. Think — Hollywood special effects! Big bang! Lots of flames! No actual damage.”
Bellum opened the RV door and stepped outside. Immediately, Jason could hear the high-pitched whine of the jet engines on the Learjet warming up. Lachlan and Stegmeyer were quick to follow, as was the driver.
Against his better judgement, Jason followed Lily out the door, making him the last person to leave the RV.
There was no hint of compulsion, no pressure on him to follow. The others walked away from him as though there weren't a doubt in the world that he'd join them. If it's reverse psychology, it's working, he thought. Whether he liked it or not, he was in too deep to back out now. Perhaps by going with them he could steer things in a more rational direction. And if this was all true, he had to see it. The chance to lay eyes on a craft from another world was a prize beyond compare. The implications were profound: there was another intelligent species in outer space, and it had made contact with Earth. Granted, this wasn't the First Contact he'd ever hoped for, but if they were right, it was First Contact nonetheless, and that was overwhelming to contemplate. First Contact represented a seismic shift for humanity. First Contact was a significant turning point in the 3.8 billion years life had existed on Earth.
Jason jogged over behind Lily and Lachlan, catching up to them. Bellum was already on board. Jason climbed the stairs of the Learjet with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. He'd never been on a private jet before and was intrigued by the lavish appointments in the small cabin. There was plenty of room for the six of them.
Jason and Lily sat in plush leather s
eats facing each other on the same side of the aisle. There was a small, low table between them. Lachlan sat across from them, clipping his seatbelt in place as the pilot closed the cabin door. Bellum went to the cockpit with the pilot.
As they began taxiing for takeoff, Lachlan said, “This plane makes the run to Portland twice a week for a mining corporation executive operating out of Albany. It's important that we blend in with routine activities. The NSA will be trawling public records for any anomalies that might tip our hand, so it's critical we stay in the shadows.”
The Learjet accelerated down the runway, lifting smoothly into the air.
Once they reached cruising altitude, Lachlan made some coffee in the galley as Jason and Lily talked idly. Jason found it strange to talk about mundane things, like the shape of a cloud or the small farming communities dotted across the countryside beneath them, but Lily was chatty.
“Latte?” Lachlan said, holding two cups and offering them to Jason and Lily.
“Thanks,” Jason said, taking the cup and sipping at the coffee.
Lachlan returned with a cup of coffee for himself and Stegmeyer, sitting down across the aisle from Jason and Lily.
Jason wanted to say something, but he waited as Lachlan sipped some coffee. Lachlan picked up on his anguish, and continued the conversation they'd started in the RV. Jason smiled. Lachlan picked up almost exactly where he'd left off, with little or nothing in the way of segue, as if there had been no interruption.
“Don't worry about the reactor complex. The main building is designed to withstand precisely this kind of attack. We'll be flying an unmanned Learjet into a twelve foot thick wall built out of reinforced concrete and steel. Nothing short of a fully laden 747 is going to make anything more than a scratch on the outside of that thing. That structure will outlast the pyramids!
“Now, if we were to hit the old dome that would be a different story. We'd punch straight through the shell, but the main building has been hardened on three separate occasions over the past fifteen years. We'll leave a nasty, ugly black scar, but not much else.
“The plane is carrying 1500 gallons of avgas in addition to the 900 gallons in the fuel pods. It's going to create a fireball a thousand feet high and bring emergency services pouring in from all across the city, and that's what we want. We want the world's attention on North Bend. We want federal investigators crawling all over that site, asking all kinds of uncomfortable questions.”
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