Thunder in the Morning Calm (34 page)

He walked around to the driver’s side of the van. The old man had rolled his window halfway down. “You are kind, Inspector.”

“How much will you make tomorrow, Eun Ji-won?”

When the old man told him, Jung-Hoon asked, “How would you like it if tonight you were paid a whole year’s wages and I were to purchase your van for twice what it is worth?”

The old man raised an eyebrow. His wrinkles became more pronounced. “I am afraid I do not understand, Inspector.”

“As you heard, there is a military operation going on tonight in the area. Dear Leader is in need of every vehicle available tonight. I can pay you cash now. An entire year’s wages and twice the value of your van. Are you interested in serving Dear Leader? Are you willing to accept this token of cash gratitude from Pyongyang?”

The old man’s eyes lit up and sparkled like stars on a clear night. “I am happy to serve Dear Leader in any way I can, Comrade Inspector.”

“Very well. I will report your cooperation to Dear Leader. But there is one caveat.”

“A caveat? What is that?”

“I will pay you now, but I need your van immediately for the state’s business. Are you able to make it home?”

“Ha, ha! For that kind of money, I would walk in the dark and snow to Pyongyang! Besides, my house is only two kilometers from here.”

“Good.” Jung-Hoon pulled out a wad of cash, flipped through it, and handed it to the old man. A wide smile crossed his wrinkled face, revealing a toothless gumline.

“That enough?” Jung-Hoon asked.

“Yes, this will be perfect.” The old plumber looked from the money in his hand to Jung-Hoon and smiled.

“Then I ask you to step out of the van now.”

“Of course, Inspector.” He got out. The limp in his step had almost become a spring. “Thank you again, Inspector,” he said, still counting the wad of cash as he headed away from the station, as if he wanted to take the money and run before Jung-Hoon changed his mind.

Jung-Hoon smiled. He got into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and put the van in first gear.

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

T
he snowfall had turned into a near blizzard, filling the night air with huge snowflakes. And while the thick snowfall would temporarily help hide their position from the North Korean military, it also obstructed their view of the petrol store.

“I don’t like this,” Jackrabbit snarled. “Not being able to see. He’s been gone twenty minutes.”

“I’ll bet you’ll like it less if that arm of yours develops gangrene,” Gunner said.

“Gangrene in this weather? It could wait till tomorrow,” Jackrabbit argued. “Besides, Jung-Hoon said he had a pharmacist contact in Hongwon. The last thing we need is to get stuck in this God-forsaken place without a translator.”

“I thought you spoke Korean, Jackrabbit.”

“Yeah, I do, but my Korean sticks out like the color of my skin up here. Enough of a sore thumb to get us both shot.”

“Maybe we should go look for him.”

Bright headlights flashed through the snowfall from the direction of the store. “Back up, Commander. Got a vehicle coming this way. Get your gun.”

“Roger that.”

The vehicle moved slowly toward them, its windshield wipers flapping and squeaking, its motor whining. Just before it reached their position, it pulled over and stopped on their side of the road.

His heart pounding, Gunner aimed the M-16 at the van and adjusted his eyes through the night scope. He worked the action —
cha-chink —
bringing a .223-caliber bullet into firing position. A couple of trees over to his right, Jackrabbit aimed his rifle at the same target.

With the motor still running, the headlights went dark. A second passed. The headlights flashed on again. Gunner held his rifle on the driver’s door. A few more seconds passed and the signal was repeated. Lights off. Lights on. Lights off.

A creaking noise cut through the night. The driver’s door opened. Gunner tightened his finger on the trigger, waiting.

A figure emerged, hands straight up in the air. “Do not shoot! It is Jung-Hoon.”

Gunner brought his night scope on the man’s face, then smiled and lowered his rifle.

“I’ll be,” Jackrabbit said.

“We have a ride!” the Korean shouted through the snow. “Get in the van! Fast, before another Army jeep drives by.”

“I don’t know how he pulled it off, but let’s take him up on it, Commander.”

“Right,” Gunner said. He picked up his backpack and, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, emerged from the treeline and crossed the shallow ditch to the van on the side of the road.

“Stick the supplies in back, Commander. I bought this … excuse me … you bought this from a North Korean plumber. We have all types of tools in the back that might be helpful. Shovels, wire cutters.”

“No windows in the back. I like it,” Gunner said. He opened the back door of the van and started slinging supplies inside. “Good work, Jung-Hoon.”

“One more pack,” Jackrabbit said. “I’ll get it.”

Gunner got into the back of the van. A moment later, Jackrabbit returned with the rest of the supplies, tossed them in the back, and slammed the door. Jung-Hoon got into the driver’s seat and Jackrabbit sat in the passenger seat.

“Okay,” Jung-Hoon said. “We must get turned around. Hongwin is back that way.”

“Let’s go!” Gunner said.

Jung-Hoon flipped on the headlights. The snowfall was now so thick that the high beams created a near-blinding reflection. Jung-Hoon dimmed the high beams, then began executing a three-point turn
in the road. A moment later, they drove slowly back in the direction of the store.

“How far to Hongwon?” Gunner asked.

“Thirty miles,” Jung-Hoon replied. “In this weather, that could take a while. At least the road is relatively flat.”

“The road may be flat, but the road is not straight,” Jackrabbit said. “And the Sea of Japan is over that ledge to our left. I don’t want to go back in the water tonight.”

“Do not worry,” Jung-Hoon said. “No more swimming tonight.” They passed the store on their right and continued along the winding, snowy coastal road, their headlights piercing the dark.

“This would be a great time to alternate getting some shut-eye,” Jackrabbit said. “We’ll go in shifts. Commander, you go first. I’ll wake you in two hours. When we get closer to Hongwon, we’ll pull over on some back road and let Jung-Hoon catch a couple.”

“Sounds great,” Gunner said. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and listened to the roar of the engine and the sound of a wiper against the snow.

Ten minutes later, they approached another parked military jeep on the left. Two soldiers were looking out to sea with binoculars. As the van approached, one soldier turned.

“Guns ready, gentlemen,” Jackrabbit said. “If they stop us, we’re gonna have to take ‘em out.”

Gunner held his breath, clutched his gun, and prayed.

East coast of North Korea
on the road to Hongwon

T
he van rolled past the jeep. The soldier who had turned and seen them coming just watched as they drove by. He made no attempt to stop the van. He didn’t even alert the other soldier.

Two minutes later, they rounded another curve and were beyond the military observation post, once again alone on the winding, snowy road overlooking the sea.

“That was a break,” Gunner said. He leaned his head back again. He needed sleep. They all needed sleep. Two hours. He could sleep for two hours. He closed his eyes.

H
ey, Commander. Wake up, sleepin’ beauty.” Jackrabbit’s voice interrupted the rhythmic back-forth, back-forth tranquility of the lone working wiper against the windshield.

Gunner looked out and saw a light snowfall and a dark two-lane road in front of them. “What happened to the snow?”

“Still getting a little bit,” Jackrabbit said. “But it’s died down.”

“What time is it?”

“Three twenty.”

“Three twenty? I thought we were taking two-hour shifts.”

“We were,” Jackrabbit said, “but then we came through the first little town, and then the second little town, and I decided that if anyone
needed to take a shot for any reason, it’d be better if I were awake and you were asleep.”

“Oh.” Gunner rubbed his eyes. “You trying to say I’m not good with a gun? Hey, I’m an ex-NRA junior shooting champ. How do you think I got my nickname? I nailed every bull’s-eye they put out in front of me on the range. After that, the name ‘Gunner’ stuck.”

“Impressive, Commander. I’ve got a feeling that before this trip’s over, we’ll find out just how good a shooter you are.”

“Bring it on. Where are we?”

“A few miles from Hongwon,” Jung-Hoon said.

“We’re going to pull off on the next road,” Jackrabbit said, “and wait until dawn. Your turn to carry the watch, Commander. Up to it?”

“Since you let me sleep all night, I should be.”

“Up there.” Jackrabbit pointed to a side road. “That looks isolated.”

“Let’s check it.” Jung-Hoon turned the van onto the narrow gravel road and drove about a hundred yards.

“Nobody up here, no tracks,” Jackrabbit said. “Looks like we’re in the back forty.”

Jung-Hoon executed a three-point turn very carefully, for the road had a layer of fresh snow on it and deep ditches. He then pulled onto the side of the road. The van was facing east, toward the Sea of Japan, headed in the direction of the main road they had just been on.

“Looks good to me,” Jackrabbit said. “We’ve got a long day ahead. You ready to take the watch, Commander?”

Gunner picked up his rifle and moved to the front of the van. “You boys get some shut-eye back there. You’re in good hands.”

Kim Yong-nam Prison Camp

T
he body of his dearest friend was wrapped in a blanket just a few feet from where Keith was digging his grave. He’d been told to dig in a spot where a grave had already been started but not used. He needed to dig deeper. He slammed the shovel down again and got the tip to cut in. He stepped on the shovel with his foot, and it dug in more. He picked up a small clod of earth and slung it out of the hole. He kept working, promising his friend that he’d have a proper grave.

The thick clouds that had brought the snow had departed. The sky was a rich blue.

Perhaps it was never true, Keith thought as he worked. That saying that was pounded into his head all those years ago during that sweltering sand-gnat-infested summer in the salt marshes around Parris Island, South Carolina. He was but a teenager back then. A young boot camp recruit. Boys on the verge of manhood are prone to believe anything they are told. The words came back to him, as if playing on some unstoppable mental tape.

Once a Marine always a Marine.

Marines don’t let themselves get captured — especially not Marine Corps officers.

Marines don’t cry.

If all that was really true, he thought, as he slammed the shovel into the ground again, if Marines don’t cry, then why were tears dripping from his eyes, falling in the grave?

Either the saying was a lie — and he had been fooled in boot camp — or he was never a true Marine to begin with.

Keith slammed the shovel in the ground again and threw the chunk of earth he broke loose out of the hole. His knees ached and his arms burned as he worked. Again and again he slammed the shovel down, breaking through small clods of ground, picking them up, heaving them out of the grave, sometimes with his bare hands. A knifing pain shot through his back as he chucked more dirt out of the grave.

But no matter how much pain he suffered, no matter how much burning, no matter how many tears dropped to the ground, Keith knew he would not give up. Robert was his friend, his best friend, and Robert would be laid to rest among their comrades here on this mountain with all the honor and dignity that a United States Marine deserved.

Hongwon
North Korea

G
unner looked through the windshield of the moving van and got his first view of the downtown area of a North Korean city. If not for the snow piled along the sidewalks and the snow-covered mountains to
the west, Hongwon could have passed for a ghost town in the West. The streets were nearly empty. Only a few small cars were moving. Empty parking places abounded in front of empty and abandoned buildings. Most of the storefronts were boarded up, barred up, empty.

The town’s main drag, Kim-Il-sung Boulevard, had only a few people milling about. A couple were ambling in and out of the business establishments. Gunner watched one man walk down the street aimlessly, as if he had nowhere to go. Several came out of a building and headed toward the van. The faces were expressionless, like stone. The number of civilians seemed matched by an equal number of green-jacketed Army personnel and a matching number of blue-jacketed police officers walking along the street.

“If GPS is correct, the pharmacy should be on the right,” Jung-Hoon said. “I will pull over here.” He parked the van on the right side of the street and turned off the key. “Here, take the keys, Jackrabbit. If something goes wrong, drive to the spot where we spent the night. I will find you. I will be back in a few minutes.”

“Good luck, Jung-Hoon,” Gunner said.

Jung-Hoon got out of the van, slammed the door, and headed down the sidewalk.

J
ung-Hoon looked up, trying to find the sign for the pharmacy that he thought should be about three doors down. He almost collided with two policemen who stepped from a storefront just a few feet ahead of him, but he moved out of their way just in time. Each wore a black service belt with a pistol holster on one side and a riot stick on the other. They were deep in conversation, talking and gesturing with their hands, when suddenly they saw him and stopped talking.

“
Ahn yang haseo
, officers,” Jung-Hoon said, dipping his head slightly.