Thunder in the Morning Calm (33 page)

“An airplane?”

“In Korea.”

“Korea?” Her face contorted. “Why would Gunner want an airplane? I never heard him say anything about wanting to fly.”

“I have no idea. Gunner’s always been more of a daredevil. He always came up with these harebrained ideas. Maybe he wanted to take flying lessons. Maybe he took thirty days off and decided to buy an airplane. And the plane goes down. I mean, what other explanation is there? The timing fits.”

Margaret wiped her eyes. “That makes no sense. I mean …” She buried her face in her hands and started weeping again.

East coast of North Korea
along the road between Iwon and Sinch’ang

T
he falling snow was much thicker now. Visibility was down to about a hundred yards, or the length of a football field. Jung-Hoon was almost to the parking lot of the petrol station.

He stopped at the edge of the parking lot to check the area. He saw one clerk inside, a young man who looked to be in his twenties. The clerk stood behind the counter, smoking a cigarette.

How strange, he thought, that the place remained open so late at night in such a remote area in a nation that does not embrace capitalism. Where there are no cars out this late.

Jung-Hoon walked across the snow-covered parking lot and pulled open the front door of the store.

“Ahn-yahng haseo,”
he said, the Korean greeting for “Hello.”

“Ahn-yahng haseo,”
the clerk replied with an expression of surprise.

“Are you open?”

“Do I know you?” the clerk asked. “You do not look familiar.”

“I am a loyal follower of Dear Leader,” Jung-Hoon said. “What else do you need to know?”

The clerk squinted his eyes and sucked on his cigarette. His black eyes danced nervously from the area outside the station, to the door, and to this unknown standing before him. “We are not normally open this late. In fact, I had closed and gone home for the night. But the local provincial leader called and ordered me to reopen in case military vehicles needed petrol. They are doing some kind of military exercise along the coast tonight.” Another drag on the cigarette. “So here I am. What are you looking for tonight? Soju? Beer? Can’t sell you petrol. Not tonight. That is for military vehicles only.”

“Actually, comrade, I am a political officer from Pyongyang, assigned to help oversee political control of the military operations for the night. One of our young privates stupidly cut his hand on a piece of metal. So I ventured out in the dark and in the snow to find some alcohol and perhaps a bandage. I would rather be out in the cold and snow than listen to the stupid private whine and squeal like a stuck pig. Do you know what I mean?”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Yes.”

Good. A laugh.

“I wish I could help you, comrade, but I am afraid that we have nothing here. No medical supplies. No bandages. No medicine. Mostly liquor, cigarettes, and petrol. The only place nearby with such supplies is Hongwon . Too far to walk. But, if you would like, I can sell you a bottle of soju. That has enough alcohol in it to help ‘til you can find medical alcohol.”

“Hmm.” Jung-Hoon mulled over the suggestion. “How much?”

“Fifty thousand won.”

“That’s expensive, isn’t it?” Fifty thousand won was equal to roughly twenty US dollars.

The clerk grinned. “Hey, it’s late. Not supposed to even be open.”

Twin beams of bright lights shown in through the window as Jung-Hoon heard the sound of heavy wheels against ice and gravel. Outside, a North Korean military jeep was pulling up to the single petrol pump.

“Here is fifty thousand won.” Jung-Hoon slipped the North Korean currency across the counter, keeping his eyes on the jeep through the glass.

“I will get your bottle.” The clerk walked into a back room.

As one of the soldiers pumped petrol into the jeep, two others stood outside talking, gesturing with their hands. One checked his watch, then started walking toward the store. His comrade turned and followed him.

Jung-Hoon stepped back from the counter, back away from the front door of the store. He felt for the gun stashed under the belt in the back of his pants.

He could take them all out. The three soldiers. The clerk. The jeep would come in handy.

The door was flung open. “Hey, comrade, we’re getting petrol and we need six bottles of soju,” the first soldier yelled out.

“Right away, Sergeant,” the clerk said nervously. He sheepishly proceeded to take multiple bottles off the shelf and cradle them in his arms.

As the clerk made his way around the end of the shelf with the bottles, the sergeant spotted Jung-Hoon.

“Hey, Comrade,” he said to the clerk, keeping his eyes on Jung-Hoon, “you have a new employee in here tonight?”

“No employee,” the clerk said. “He’s with the officers’ group.” He stood the bottles up on the counter, one through six. The bottle for Jung-Hoon stood alone.

“Hey, Comrade,” the North Korean sergeant said, clearly speaking to Jung-Hoon. “Where are you from?”

“From Hongwon,” Jung-Hoon replied.

“Interesting.” The soldier picked up one of the bottles from the counter, unscrewed it, and took a sip. “What are you doing all the way out here so late at night?”

“I am here to purchase soju, just like you, Comrade Soldier,” Jung-Hoon said.

“Special rate for Korean Army tonight!” the clerk said, sounding as if he was trying to defuse trouble before it started.

“Interesting, Comrade. I am from Hongwon .” He stared at Jung-Hoon. “I have never seen you there.”

The front door again swung open. The third soldier, the driver, walked in. “Don’t you have soju yet? We must get moving.”

Jung-Hoon’s fingers itched to reach for the gun hidden under his jacket. Control. He needed to hide his hatred of the swaggering soldiers. It would be so easy to pull his gun and squeeze the trigger — easy as shooting baby ducks in a pond.

He halfway hoped that the bantam rooster would dare to push the issue, to give him an excuse to blow his brains out. He snapped back at the solider. “In my line of work, Sergeant, there would be no reason for you to ever see me.”

“Is that a fact, old man?” the interrogator continued, swigging his soju. “Well, since there would be no reason for me to have seen you before, it would seem to me that now would be the perfect time for us to get acquainted.” He sported a cheesy grin, then his face went stern. “Show me your papers!”

“What did you say to me?”

“I said, Show me your papers.”

“You do realize that you are speaking to an officer of the National Security Agency who reports directly to Kim Jong-un, the son of Dear Leader himself?”

The sergeant’s face took on a pale look of stunned bewilderment. “If you are with the National Security Agency, then why would you be here?” The voice had lost its prosecutorial edge.

Too bad.

Jung-Hoon thought about his brother. Then he remembered why he had agreed to come on this trip — to kill North Koreans for killing his brother.

“Why I am here is none of your business, Sergeant. But know this. Both Kim Jong-un and Dear Leader himself have an interest in knowing how Dear Leader’s military performs on domestic missions in guarding the coast. Tonight I, and others like me, am the eyes and ears of Dear Leader to watch and report back on the performance of soldiers like you. Now” — he paused — “do you have any other questions?”

The soldiers exchanged confused glances. Then the original interrogator seemed to regain his bearings.

“I still need to see identification papers.”

“You want to see papers, do you?”
Now!
He whipped the .45 out from his belt. “My papers, soldier, are pointed between your eyes! Would you like a closer look? Perhaps at the ink on my papers? I will give you a hint! The ink on my papers is made of lead!” He stepped forward, closer to the swine.

“I am Inspector Jung-Hoon of the National Security Agency. No member of the National Security Agency must produce papers to anyone in the Democratic People’s Republic, Comrade Soldier, and, no offense, but especially not to an enlisted member of the armed forces. Now what is your name, soldier?”

No response.

“I am speaking to you, Comrade Soldier!” he screamed and walked closer, pistol straight out, gripped in both hands. “Your name … and place your military identification on the counter! Now!”

The big he-man soldier raised both hands in the air. His hands and arms were shaking. His mouth hung open and a glaze of shock had set into his eyes. The he-man had morphed from a cocky swashbuckling piece of Communist trash to a scared snow dog. His two young Army colleagues did not look much better.

“Do you have a problem hearing, Comrade Soldier?” Jung-Hoon screamed at the top of his lungs. “I am going to count to five. And if your military identification card is not on that counter by then, I will blow your head off! One … two …”

“Wait … wait, Comrade.” The bantam cowered. “I will do as you say.”

“Then do it!”

The dog-wimp removed his military badge and, like a compliant sheep, laid it on the counter.

“Clerk! Read this man’s name.”

“Kim. Sergeant Kim. Kim Wong-sai.”

“Well now, Sergeant Kim Wong-sai, what are you doing out here in the dead of night? Away from your duty station? Do you think Dear Leader will be happy to learn that you are out getting drunk on soju rather than attending to your military responsibilities?”

The sergeant stared back, speechless.

“Again I ask. What are your duties? I demand an answer!”

“My mission is to form a lookout for three US Navy SEALs believed to be coming ashore from the sea!”

“At last! Now do you believe that you can leave here and focus on your mission and cease harassing citizens and dignitaries whose concern is not part of your mission?”

“Yes, Comrade Inspector!”

“Very well,” Jung-Hoon said. “The only reason I did not blow your head off is because of the grave importance of your mission to the national security. But hear this! My eyes are on you the rest of the night, Comrade Sergeant Kim! I will be invisible. I am your worst nightmare. Now if you think you can behave yourself and get to your duty station, I might even let this incident pass without mentioning your bumbling incompetence to your superiors. But one slipup, Comrade, and I will be delivering your brains to your mother for breakfast in the morning. Am I clear on this?”

“Yes, very clear, Comrade Inspector. Thank you, Comrade Inspector.”

“Good. Now get out before I change my mind!”

The three hurried out the door, jumped into their jeep, and rolled out of the parking lot, their taillights soon swallowed by the thickening snowfall.

The clerk stood there, wide-eyed. “I just now remember that we do have one bottle of alcohol left, Inspector.”

“Excellent!” Jung-Hoon stuck the pistol back inside his belt. “I am pleased to see that your memory has suddenly improved.”

The clerk hurried to a back room and returned with the bottle of alcohol.

Just then, another set of headlights flashed into the building from the parking lot. Jung-Hoon reached back for the .45, but as the headlights dimmed, he saw an elderly white-headed man, wrinkles clearly visible from inside the store, get out of the van. The old man closed the door of the van behind him, then limped slowly through the snow toward the store.

“You know him?” Jung-Hoon asked, removing his hand from the pistol.

“He is Eun Ji-won,” the clerk said. “A local plumber. Regular customer. Comes for petrol and soju.”

The door opened. “Comrade. Comrade.” The older man waved and spoke in a friendly tone. He reminded Jung-Hoon of an uncle who had long since passed away. “You are working late tonight, Comrade Clerk.”

“A special occasion tonight, Eun Ji-won,” the clerk said.

“Perhaps you could sell an old man some soju so he can get to sleep and petrol so he can get up early in the morning and go fix broken toilets in a Hongwon apartment building.” The old man’s voice whined from age and cracked a couple of times.

“I have soju, Eun Ji-won,” the clerk said, “but I can only provide petrol to military vehicles until further notice.”

“Until further notice?” The man looked perplexed. “What does that mean? I have job in Hongwon. I need the money.”

“Sorry, old friend,” the clerk said. “Perhaps in the morning. Perhaps not. You come back then and I will let you know.”

“Old man,” Jung-Hoon said, “there is good news for you tonight.”

The old man turned and looked at Jung-Hoon.

“I am Inspector Jung-Hoon of the National Security Agency in Pyongyang. I am instructing the clerk that your request for petrol is approved as a special-needs exception to tonight’s military-only rule.” He looked at the clerk. “Do not worry, Comrade Clerk. I have verbal authority directly from Kim Jong-un personally to override the policy by special exception on a case-by-case basis, and I believe this to be such a case. This man’s work is of high importance. Unsanitary conditions in an apartment complex due to malfunctioning toilets are a danger to public health. Do not worry. I will pay you cash immediately from a special government fund.” Jung-Hoon whipped out enough won to pay for two tanks of petrol and put it on the counter. “You are authorized to keep the excess for your personal use, to spend as you see fit. However, you are not authorized to tell anyone about this, or the consequences will be grave.”

The clerk’s eyes widened as he counted the won. “Yes. Thank you, Comrade Inspector.”

“Very well,” Jung-Hoon said. “I will help our friend here pump his petrol. I will check in on you soon. Remember, you are not to speak to anyone concerning anything that you have seen and heard this night.”

“Yes, Inspector!”

Jung-Hoon opened the front door and held it for the old man, who
stepped back out into the falling snow. “Does the heater work in your van?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Good, then go start the engine and sit in the van and turn the heater on. Get warm. I will pump your petrol.”

“Thank you, Inspector.”

Jung-Hoon walked the old man back to the van and began pumping his petrol. After the petrol topped off, Jung-Hoon put the nozzle back onto the pump.