A Northern Thunder (20 page)

T
he old man always knew when there was a buildup in the valley. At night, particularly when it rained, the trucks would rumble down the road. Sometimes at dawn, he would hear a deep, thundering noise above the valley to the west.

He also knew of a much smaller, higher valley, just above a sharp climb in elevation. It was actually more of a small plateau, about two hundred meters in length. A plateau in these rough and fragmented mountains was unusual, and at best was very small. The thunder always came from that direction.

During the old man’s lifetime, the valley had rarely been quiet. Not far from both Wonsan and the DMZ, it had been a battlefield many times over. The Japanese caused the death of his first child, a daughter, caught in the shelling when they tried to flee to the mountains in the east. Later, the armies of North Korea, the U.S., China, and again the U.S. ran through his small farm. Now, he sensed trouble coming again.

Off and on for several weeks, the rumbling had occurred nightly as the weather began to cool with the change of seasons. Often on cloudy nights, the old farmer was awakened by the rumble. At the same time, more and more vehicles passed down the road and through the trees at the other end of the valley. He heard the
thump-thump
of helicopters on a daily basis. He only wanted to be left alone, but this valley seemed determined to do otherwise.

The Mi-8 HIP helicopter flew lower than usual, barely clearing the tops of the pine trees near the hut, scattering the few chickens pecking in the yard. As the helicopter banked in a hard left turn, the smell of spent kerosene blew down on the old man, and as it tipped up into landing mode, a convoy of jeeps sped past on the road to the landing zone. Young Korean officers jumped out of the jeeps as a much older man walked from the helicopter to the lead jeep. The helicopter passengers met the others in brief conversation.

“General, welcome back.”

“Yes, yes, again I am here.” General Won had not expected to be back as early as the fall. He had been on a vacation retreat with his wife at an official villa near Beijing when Army headquarters called to dispatch him to Pyongyang.

“Where is Dr. Nampo, Captain Sang?” The general remembered meeting the young captain, now leading the entourage, during his last trip.

“With the launch imminent, he was detained, sir.”

“Well, let’s go.”

The lead Soviet UAZ469 jeep had a red and gold VIP plate on its front. Won could have done without such attention. He always thought it odd that the hardened combat veterans cared much less for pomp and circumstance than the less experienced ones, and that the younger generals seemed always to have something to prove. And those who abused power the most were those given it most easily, and often, after only a short time.

The short convoy circled around the landing pad as the helicopter lifted off again, banking over the old man’s hut. Again, Won glanced at the old man as the vehicles sped past. He remembered him from the last trip.

“Is that your security guard for this valley?”

Sang chuckled. “Yes, sir,” he joked.

“When is the launch?”

“Tonight at oh-one-hundred, sir.”

“I didn’t know you had a launch capability in this facility.” He was not amused by the fact that the last tour had omitted that fact. “Will this be its first launch?”

“Yes, sir.”

The existence of the launch facility could not be a surprise to most of the intelligence communities around the world
, Won thought,
but its size and capabilities would be
.

“Sir, Dr. Nampo and his staff will give you a further update,” said Sang.

“Yes.” Beijing had already been given substantial amounts of information. As a result, two Chinese satellites had been moved to a more westerly position. One that arched over the U.S. Pacific fleet in Hawaii had been shifted to the west, behind the protective curvature of the Earth.

The jeep convoy pulled into the short tunnel below the grove of trees. More pine trees were now evident—not that it would matter after tonight. A missile launch from the silo would confirm the launch pad’s existence, and by noon tomorrow, it would be on the newly revised target list of some American Trident submarine.

“You’ll be in the same room this time, sir.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Won.

Entering the facility, the general noticed a much different energy. Last time, the young men and women glanced at him constantly, aware of a stranger in their midst. This time, they were clearly too occupied. In the air was a sense of electricity, not unlike a military force in its final exercise before an invasion.

“Sir, I’ll come for you at midnight,” said Sang.

“Yes.” He paused. Before the captain left, he asked, “But when will your Doctor give us the update?”

“He’ll give the briefing at midnight.”

“Yes, again, thank you,” said Won.

The stainless steel door slid closed, and as he had done before, Comrade General Won used this opportunity to rest. He unbuttoned his tunic and draped it over the back of a chair. Midnight was not for several hours. As he lay down in the bedroom, he again thought of another Korea.

“General?”

“Yes?” He sat up, realizing his brief doze had turned into a deep sleep. The captain was awkwardly standing just inside the door to the apartment.

“They are ready, sir.”

“Let’s go then.” He quickly grabbed and buttoned his tunic, somewhat embarrassed that he had not been ready for the captain. The old man was starting to feel his age.

They walked up two flights to a tunnel just wide enough for two lanes of electric cars, similar to American golf carts, going in opposite directions. The carts were separated only by a steel divider the width of a chair arm. Won slid into the back of one cart, facing the rear, and Sang sat in the front, next to the driver, a teenage girl. As they moved forward, Won could see the short length of the tunnel, which opened a few meters away to another large hangar-sized room, where the cars could exit the tunnel and turn around.

“I don’t recall this from our last trip,” said Won.

“It was not quite open at the time, sir.”

“Yes, I imagine not.” He was being courteous. He imagined it would have taken much more than several months to construct this tunnel, yet no mention of it had been made on his last visit.

As the cart continued at high speed, the general felt the whoosh of other carts pass in the opposite direction. He made a point of pulling his arms in, as if sitting in the seat of a small fighter, for fear that another cart would slam into him. Each cart made a horrible
bleep
just before passing another, as if to warn of its approach, but the warning always came too late. The bleeps echoed through the tunnel.

A moment later, his cart came to a quick stop. Won felt the back of the seat as he was pushed into it. The cart was perfectly aligned with another tunnel perpendicular to the main one. Appearing almost like a large bank vault, a massive round steel door opened to the next long tunnel, smaller than the main one, for pedestrians only.

“This way, General,” said Sang.

“Yes.” The general turned and bowed slightly to acknowledge his young driver. She smiled. With age, Won had learned how important his little gestures were to a young, impressionable soldier. It was one of the few benefits of being a general—to be able to make another’s life special for a brief time.

As they walked down the tunnel, the floor slanted downward slightly, then opened into another area and another vaulted door. In front of this one were two armed sentries. “This is our most honorable guest, General Won.” The captain almost shouted the words. Both sentries came to quick attention.

Stepping in through the door, Won realized he was entering another long control room like the one he had visited several months ago, with one wall built from the natural gray stone of the nearby mountains, the other of thick, green-tinted glass looking out over a large bay cut into the rock. In the center of the open bay was a tall, gleaming white, multi-staged rocket with a bright red star a quarter of the way from the top. The letters “DPRK,” boldly printed on the rocket’s uppermost stage, appeared in white, blue, and red.

Surrounding the rocket, which sat on a stainless steel pedestal with a massive round opening in the rock above and below, were dozens of men and women, all dressed in white. All wore caps, and some wore masks, like surgeons preparing for transplant operations.

“Welcome again, Comrade General.” Dr. Nampo was also dressed in a long white surgeon’s coat.

“Thank you, Comrade Doctor,” said Won. “I never cease to be amazed at your resources and capabilities.”

“Yes, well. . .” Nampo was at a loss for words. He could never accept a compliment. He bent his head down like a beaten puppy, but then turned to his other associates.

“Let us begin.”

“What are we doing here, Doctor?” said Won.

The doctor pointed to three large seats at a panel of television monitors above the main floor of scientists.

“We will launch the Taepo Dong-3X tonight to a target some six thousand nautical miles away, near the path of a west coast GPS satellite in GEO orbit.”

“Yes, impressive.”

“It will be absolutely clear, General,” said Nampo, “that even with conventional explosives, we will be able to reach, intercept, and destroy any satellite in space, whether military or civilian.”

He was not sure this was a power he wanted unleashed, even by a so-called ally. But, he thought, there was little that could be done, or should be done, to stop it.

C
ongratulations, Colonel.” Gunny Punaros sounded like a teacher who had given his star student all A’s on his report card.

The last sniper, however, grimaced as he picked up his rifle and camouflage. He knew for certain that the colonel had not stayed within the lines, but he couldn’t complain because he had covered the red target with his entire frame. Someday, the sergeant would smile, acknowledging that he had been outfoxed.

“What’s next?” asked Will.

“That’s it, sir. You’re ready.”

Mi came up to the small group, gathered near the sniper’s final position. It was getting dark and cold as clouds moved in at a rapid pace. She pulled the collar of her black Polartek jacket up to block the chilly wind.

“How far out are we, Gunny?” Will said.

“I’d say about nine to ten miles back to the Academy, sir.”

“Okay, we’re gone.”

With that, Will took off. Mi smiled briefly at Punaros, then followed Will down the graveled road.

Punaros smiled as the two Agency men raced to the black Suburban in pursuit of two runners already a football field’s distance down the road.

Sometimes, during these runs, Will would talk, and after several weeks, Mi began to talk, too. At this point, they were both in such good physical shape that conversation, even while running, was effortless. But neither spoke now.

Will came to the paved road and turned right, heading back. As he did, snow began to fall—not a driving snowstorm, but a steady flow. He could feel the cold flakes as they struck his warm face and eyes. Then a dull flash of light lit a cloud, and they heard a rumble far in the distance. This was that rare storm—thunder, lightning, and falling snow as the temperature dropped.

They ran on in the lights of the Suburban, with Mi nearly in step with each of his long strides. His movement was a constant rhythm.

As darkness fell and they neared the final road that turned to the Academy, Will crossed a bridge over a small, bending creek—one they had passed over nearly every day.

Suddenly, he jumped right just beyond the bridge, down the embankment, onto a trail heading back into the deep, dark woods. Mi jumped, staying in his trace, as the snow began to stick to the cold ground. She tried to stay within his steps, but his long, fluid stride caused her to be short every third or fourth step. When this would happen, she would feel her foot slip slightly, dashing through the newly fallen snow.

The black Suburban slammed on its brakes, then slid off the road to the other side and down the embankment. Mi could hear the slamming of doors and men cursing as she followed along the trail, deeper into the woods. Mi didn’t remember this trail, but Will apparently did—he didn’t hesitate. He ran in the dim light, with an occasional dull flicker of thunder illuminating the sky. The light reflected through the tree limbs and off the new, white snow, allowing Mi to see well into the woods. It would have been a lonely, scary view but for the fact that she could spot a cloud of hot air from Will’s breath.

Will dashed down the trail until he came to a sharp bend in the creek running parallel to their path. He suddenly turned right, leaping up on the large outcropping of rocks the stream flowed over.

She kept pace, determined more than ever to stay in his footprints.

Is he trying to lose me?
she thought, beginning to feel both angry and exhilarated. Branches slapped her in the face and arms as he picked up the pace.

Another crashing boom of thunder and light struck nearby as the storm continued to build. The lightning was getting dangerously near, but Will continued up a hill.