A Northern Thunder (37 page)

T
he conference room of the Nuclear and Chemical Defense Bureau was filled with military men of the highest rank, as well as the top leaders of the civilian government. Choe Hak-son, science chairman, sat on the far end, beside the vice prime minister. Also near Choe were Admiral Myong and General Hokoma, the army’s chief of staff, whose scowl bespoke his contempt for the others in the room.

On the other end, near an empty chair, Comrade General Jo-Si, chief of the air force, smoked his French Guittards, one after another. Several other comrade generals of artillery and logistics had chairs near his. The bright, shiny gold insignias of their respective branches of service stood out on their red shoulder epaulets. Several others sat in chairs away from the main table. One, dressed in a dark-olive, Mao-styled jacket, was Sin Tae-sam. He, along with the others, sat in silence, as if this were a wake.

The military and government leaders were joined by a balding, aged man in a brown, western-style suit. His pug nose dominated an ashen white face, alongside a blackened mole on the right of his forehead. Ambassador Vershinof was no stranger to anyone in the room.

“Attention.” The young orderly sharply kicked his heels, then swung the door open for the Supreme Leader.

The short, frazzle-haired man with huge, black-framed glasses always appeared more comic than deadly. It was only by his pedigree that Kim Jong Il ruled the most dangerous country in the world.

Kim’s chair was oversized and raised, allowing him to look down at the others. His fingers, held together tip-to-tip, touched his chin, like a Buddhist monk contemplating a prayer. The gloss of polished and manicured fingers reflected off the chandelier.

“It’s been assumed that the assassin of Peter Nampo was a Soviet Spetsnaz, perhaps from a submarine out of Vladivostok. A source in Moscow suggested that Russian arms manufacturers had been growing frustrated with Nampo’s success in developing new weapons,” said Kim Jong Il.

“That’s what you were meant to think,” said Vershinof. “But it was not a Soviet Spetsnaz.” Vershinof spoke loudly to ensure there was no confusion on this point.

“And I’m told you have more,” said Kim Jong Il.

“I do, Comrade General Secretary.” Vershinof pulled a large manila folder from a beaten leather satchel. “I’ve brought copies. These are prints from one of our satellites taken over the Americans’ Pearl Harbor only a few weeks ago. Moored to the backside of what they call Ford Island is a Trident submarine modified for special operations.”

The clarity of the photo showed several men on the deck of the submarine. Three in the conning tower wore baseball caps. Several on the deck carried rifles.

“You’ll notice the fittings behind the submarine’s sail or tower,” said Vershinof.

The North Koreans circulated the photos around both sides of the room like schoolboys receiving assignments from their teacher.

“I have another photograph taken with sensitive, low-light film by one of our people nearby.” He referred to a KGB agent, a Hawaiian importer who conveniently lived in a house on Halawa Heights Road with a hilltop view of all Pearl Harbor.

The submarine appeared to be crossing back from the other side of the harbor. A cigar-shaped object was affixed to its back.

“This is a new ASDS mini-submarine used for SEAL team deliveries. Their navy let it be rumored that the submarine was at Pearl for testing, but it left late at night with the ASDS attached.”

“Go on,” said Kim.

“It has not returned to either Pearl or their West Coast harbors, and. . .”

“Yes, Ambassador?”

“As we compute things, like speed and sail time, it could easily have been along your coastline three days ago.”

“So it’s the Americans,” said Kim. “But how did they do it?”

“Our scientists would appreciate any opportunity to help investigate. In fact, we—” Andrei Vershinof ’s comments were cut short when the young, uniformed orderly at the door approached the general secretary, bowed deeply, and handed him a note. Kim Jong Il appeared astonished at what he read. He quickly folded the note and laid it down below his hands. “Thank you, Ambassador. I’m sure we’ll have further discussions on the matter.”

From many years spent in the Foreign Service, Vershinof knew when not to press a point. He was also a colonel in the KGB. He would know the contents of the note before nightfall. To persuade any in doubt, he left the photographs behind for further examination. Then he gathered up his old, tattered satchel and left the room.

“The body parts of the corpse our patrols found contained frozen tissue,” said Kim Jong Il once Vershinof was gone. “Our man may still be out there.”

A
deep cold swept through the valley as the sun’s last light started to fade. The SSC Natick Laboratory suit had kept Will well-camouflaged and relatively warm so far, but it was not designed for extreme cold weather, and the temperatures were dropping.

He began to shiver in the pitch-black culvert, seeing only faint gray light at each end. The suit, adjusting to the environment, was now a coal black that matched the interior of the culvert. Only a small patch of white around his eyes gave any hint the shape might be something human. And if he turned away and looked down, he would have been undetectable even to someone with a flashlight.

Well after dark, Will slowly moved out, beyond the culvert, to a low, snow-covered ravine, where he again adjusted the suit color. The miniature computer on the forearm scanned the white and gray surfaces in the low light, and in a few seconds, the suit acted like a chameleon, changing to a mixed pattern of gray and white.

The stars lit up the sky, clearly illuminating the valley. Will did not like this level of light. It might allow his pursuers to detect his movement.

But they won’t be looking north
, he thought, referring to the hundreds of DPRK soldiers sitting in their bunkers only a few hundred meters away. It was their preoccupation with the south that gave him an advantage.

The mountains to the east stood black and jagged against the sky, like a broken pane of glass. They went from his left to his far right. But their direct ascent and sharp topography gave him both protection and camouflage. Few hardened artillery bunkers were on this side of the Kumgang peaks. This he remembered from reviewing the three-dimensional holograms.

Will moved in the bottom of the ravine, again at a runner’s pace, quickly building up heat as he kept low. Gradually, the terrain changed until he was climbing up a staircase of rocks and boulders. He picked his course to the far right of one peak where, well in the distance, a faint yellow light indicated an observation or listening post. Will stayed low, stopping only briefly throughout the night, as he climbed up over a small jagged line into the next gully and again up over more jagged rocks.

It was well after midnight when Will realized how thirsty he had become. His power fuel packs had given him a continuous surge of adrenaline, but his mouth was now dry and parched. He followed the line of rocks, spotting a turn and drop to the south, indicative of a possible streambed.

Beyond an outcrop of rocks, Will heard the movement of water. It was a small stream coming down from the last peaks to the east. The water did not have the smell of the lowlands.

Will stuck the fingers of his gloved hand into the icy pool, using the other hand to again open the velcro covering on his forearm. The LED screen of the uniform’s computer displayed a code of letters in a light blue light. The computer confirmed that the water was untainted and drinkable.

So Will drank. His thirst seemed minor until he first tasted the clean, melted snow water. Then he sat on his knees and gulped through his cupped hands.

After a lengthy replenishing, Will began again, heading east over the final range of the Kumgang peaks. It would soon be the beginning of his fourth day in-country, and he knew he was short on time. He had perhaps one opportunity for escape, but even then, his timing would have to be perfect.

It was shortly before dawn when Will crossed the last line of peaks, spotting both the shoreline and surf crashing into the rocky shoals of the Kumgang. The craggy rocks shot the icy blue water of the Sea of Japan high into the air. As he crossed the last line of rocks, the cold current of wind from the water struck his face. It smelled of the sea.

The ocean seemed in turmoil, but it wasn’t the surface of the water that caught Will’s eye. The roadway to the north seemed like a disturbed ant bed, covered with small black dots moving back and forth on the ground. And they appeared to be expanding to the south.

I don’t have much time at all
, he thought, realizing that the North Koreans hadn’t abandoned their search. He couldn’t head north—the searchers wouldn’t be satisfied until someone was found. Heading south would likewise be futile. The layers of men, equipment, weapons, and minefields would be impenetrable. Now, with so many on the lookout for him, Will’s odds were drastically reduced. The water’s currents would not allow him to swim past the patrol boats in the ocean to the south. And heading east would only postpone his problems. There was no refuge in this country. Every man, woman, and child was trained from birth to report the unusual.

But Will had considered all this before arriving. Both the date and time had been carefully coordinated for an exit strategy, but he could escape only if he kept moving.

Just to the south, he saw another washout heading down below another bridge, to the water. Will moved quickly, retreating south a few hundred meters across the rock-covered peaks to a position that protected him from sight. There, he crossed back over, again checking his suit to ensure that it matched well with the rocks, broken snow, and gully. Closer to shore now, he found the added humidity from ocean and snow made traction much more difficult. Occasionally, Will stopped, looking south. The first troops were less than half a kilometer away and moving rapidly up the coast toward him.

As he headed under the unmanned bridge, fortune smiled on Will. The closer one got to the DMZ, the more sentries and observation posts one encountered. Yet, the bridge was unmanned. He kept moving, knowing speed gave him the best chance of not being caught.

It felt strangely good to him to feel the sand under his feet as he moved behind one rock, and then another, until he was within reach of the water’s edge.

The backpack contained one last set of items for his survival. It took only a short time for him to don the black dry suit, the rebreather mask, and short fins. Over the dry suit, made for more frigid waters, he slipped into a harness. Velcroed to his chest was a black, round metal disc tethered to the harness, bearing, like everything else, the small markings of the Natick military research laboratory. His source at Natick had provided Will with the best of advanced equipment.

It was well past midday when Will slid into the frigid ocean. The cold front had brought a cloudless blue sky, though that was of little benefit to him. As he began to swim below the surf, his North Korean pursuers moved into the gully. Will had made every effort to keep to the bottom of the gully, where a small stream of water protected him from leaving any prints. And in his quest for the water’s edge, he struggled to move from snowless rock to snowless rock, leaving only a few prints quickly washed away by the surf.

Several hundred meters offshore, Will surfaced, twisting around in a 360-degree arc, spotting the North Koreans as they swarmed along the shoreline. Far up the rocks, near where he crossed over the peaks, Will saw a commotion—they’d discovered a print. But Will continued to pull around, until he saw the faint outline of a small torpedo-like boat to the south. With the surge of water, he was lifted higher, where he saw the faint outline of another boat near the first. The North Korean military drew near. Will looked at both his watch and the GPS locator on his wrist.

Another kilometer and a half to go.
Will began swimming on the surface, feeling the sway of the sea water as he headed farther and farther out. It took most of the early afternoon, but he was surprised at how efficiently the suit kept him warm. Only an exposed part of Will’s face below the mask felt the cold. Occasionally, he adjusted his hood to cover the spot.

But he would not stay warm forever. The suit gave him twelve hours of protection. After that, the frigid waters would have the upper hand.