Fires of War (19 page)

“You like, yes,” added one of the other men. “North Korean cigarettes number one.”

Thera felt herself flushing. “I—”

“You mentioned to the guard at the door that you needed a cigarette,” said Ch’o.

“Oh,” said Thera. “It was just an expression.”

By now other members of the team, including Dr. Norkelus, had come over to see what the fuss was about. More North Koreans joined them, and Thera found herself at the center of a small crowd. She held up the package; Norkelus rolled his eyes. Julie Svenson shook her head. Evora and some of the others laughed.

“I guess I should try one,” said Thera.

She took two of the cigarettes from the pack, then held the cigarettes out to the Koreans. They all shook their heads furiously. Finally, Dr. Ch’o, his lips gritted together firmly, stepped up and took one.

“I will try just a puff with you, out of hospitality. We cannot let a guest be alone.”

He turned and repeated what he had said in Korean, in effect scolding them for their bad manners. The others grinned sheepishly.

Thera took a drag and immediately began coughing. Horror flooded onto the faces of the Koreans nearby.

Then Ch’o laughed, and the others laughed, and Thera laughed as well.

“It’s good but very strong,” she said.

The translator, squeezing through the knot around her, explained in Korean. Everyone laughed again, nodding and saying in Korean that their cigarettes were good but took some getting used to.

“I’m afraid we should all get back to work,” said Norkelus finally. “We should continue.”

“Yes, we must continue and be perfect hosts,” said Ch’o.

He walked off very proud of himself, Thera thought.

She took a short draw on the cigarette as the others left. It tasted just as terrible as before, though this time she managed to keep herself from coughing.

Thera put her finger into the top of the package to pull the flap closed. When she did, she noticed there was writing on the margin of the paper. At first glance, it looked like a trademark notice, but of course that couldn’t be right.

The letters were so small she had to hold the package right in front of her face.

She nearly dropped it as she read the words:
Help me.

~ * ~

8

OFF THE COAST OF NORTH KOREA

Rankin took the binoculars from the lookout and panned them across the sea to the south. The small fishing vessel was just under a mile away. It had been sailing toward them for more than an hour, moving so slowly that it was hard to tell if it was being propelled by anything other than the current.

“I say we grab them if they get any closer,” said Michael Barren. Barren was the assault team’s first sergeant, the ranking noncommissioned officer on the atoll.

Grabbing the people in the boat was the safe thing to do, unless, of course, they botched it, or the people in the boat were expected somewhere else or managed to get a radio message off.

“No,” said Rankin. “We wait. They’ll pass by.”

“What if they don’t?” asked Barren.

The others moved a little closer, interested not only in finding out what they were going to do but also in seeing who was going to get his way

“If they don’t, we deal with that then,” said Rankin, handing the binoculars back.

The boat kept coming. Fifteen minutes later, it was a hundred yards offshore. Rankin, Barren, and two other soldiers crouched behind a fallen tree trunk on the island’s high point overlooking the beach. The helicopters were about a hundred yards behind them, down the hill. The rest of the assault team was spread out in hidden positions around the atoll.

“We gonna let them come ashore before we kill them?” asked Barren.

“We ain’t gonna kill them,” said Rankin.

“What?”

“We’re going to stay down, hidden, unless it’s absolutely necessary to grab them. Then we grab them. We don’t kill them.”

Barren thought this was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“Can we talk, Sarge?” asked Barren.

“We are talking.”

Barren glanced at the two other soldiers nearby. “We might want to make this private.”

“Nothing I say is private.”

“All right,” said Barren. “Why won’t we shoot them?”

“Because we don’t have to.”

“Jesus, Sarge. They’re North Koreans. The enemy.”

“Look, you can call me Stephen or Skip if you want,” Rankin told him. “Not Sergeant.”

“You’re not a sergeant?”

Rankin ignored the challenging, almost mocking tone. “This is my call,” he told Barren. “We leave these people be if we can. They come on the island, they see anything, we grab them. We don’t kill them.”

Frustrated, Barren turned away.

“Looks like they’re landing,” said the lookout.

Rankin moved to the end of the tree trunk, watching through his glasses as two men jumped from the front of the small vessel and pulled it onto the beach. A third man stayed with the boat.

If he gave the order to fire, they’d be dead inside of thirty seconds.

If he delayed, it was possible they might alert someone via radio.

But the best thing, the right thing, was to wait. It was much better for the mission that these people leave without seeing them. Kill them, and maybe someone would come looking for them.

Rankin knew in his gut he was doing the right thing, balancing the different chances in the mission’s favor. But it wasn’t like he could put it into a mathematical formula. The others would just have to trust him.

The Koreans took a large barrel from the boat. Rankin was baffled, until he realized they were making dinner.

He rolled back behind the log and told the others what was going on. Smoke was already starting to curl from the fire.

“What do we do?” Barren demanded.

“We hang loose and let them eat. If they get frisky and go exploring, then we grab them. Otherwise we wait and hide. It’s already getting dark. It won’t be hard.”

Barren shook his head, but said nothing.

“Relax,” said Rankin. “Food smells kind of rancid anyway.”

Only later, when the North Koreans had pulled out without seeing anyone, did Rankin realize that what he’d said was exactly the sort of line Ferguson would use to put him off.

“Ferg’s still a jerk,” he mumbled to himself, going to get some meals-ready-to-eat for dinner.

~ * ~

9

SOUTH CHUNGCHONG PROVINCE, SOUTH KOREA

With the fader still in place on the security camera at Blessed Peak, Ferguson and Guns didn’t have to make another night jump—which was fine with Guns, since he hated parachuting during the day, let alone at night. They hiked into the nature preserve around four in the afternoon, getting their bearings before the sun set. They hid and waited until dark, when they hiked up the trail near the mountain that backed into the waste site, then headed in the direction of the fence. Between the sliver of moon and the clear night sky, there was enough light to see without using their night-vision gear, though every so often Ferguson stopped and put his on while he scouted to make sure no one was lurking nearby.

It took roughly two hours for them to reach the clearing in front of the fence. Ferguson led Guns through the pine trees to a rock outcropping that stood almost directly across from the video camera.

“You got clips?” Ferguson asked.

Guns nodded. The clips were large clothespins that were used to hold down the barbed wire at the top of the fence. He also had a Teflon “towel” tied around his shoulder to throw on top of the wire and keep it from snagging them as they went over. Because of the camera angle, they could leave the gear in place until they came back.

Ferguson took the remote from his backpack and sent the signal to the camera to move to the right. It didn’t budge.

Ferguson cursed and tried again. Still nothing.

“What’s going on?” Guns asked.

“Not sure. Let’s see if the fader’s working.”

The screen turned white, then grayed. Ferguson let it come back to full.

“I don’t know why the camera’s not moving,” he told Guns, “but the fader is.”

“You sure?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“All right.”

“If I yell retreat, retreat. OK?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, I thought marines never retreated,” said Ferguson, hitting the fader button and jumping to his feet.

Laughing, Guns scrambled to the fence, leaping about halfway up and climbing hand over hand to the top in about two seconds flat. He clamped down the wires, untied his towel, and twirled himself over and down to the ground.

Ferguson, several steps ahead, ran straight to the camera. Dropping down behind it, he saw the problem: One of his clips had fallen off the wire. He fixed it, made sure it worked, then went with Guns in the direction of the plant.

~ * ~

hey had more than a mile and a half to go when Ferguson noticed a glow he hadn’t seen the other night.

“What’s up?” asked Guns.

“Looks like there’s a used-car lot down there, doesn’t it?”

Guns peered through the trees.

“What do you mean?”

“Place wasn’t lit up like this the other night. There are spotlights down there.”

“They going to see us coming?”

“I don’t know.”

Ferguson started walking again. About a half mile from the low-level waste area, he emerged from the ravine he and Rankin had used the other night, circling above and around the cavelike entrance. The rise in terrain gave them a better view of the area, though the brush and rocks were fairly low and they had to stay close to the ground to avoid casting shadows.

A dozen security guards stood near the reception building, warming themselves around large burn barrels. Another four or five stood around a barrel near the tracks, about a hundred yards from the low-level waste site but within full view of it. The train cars had been moved.

“This is new,” Ferguson told Guns.

“You think they saw something with the video camera?”

“No. They’d’ve sent somebody up to fix it. Or shoot us.”

“I mean when we went over.”

Ferguson studied the compound. It was
possible
that there had been an alert, but surely the response would have been more emphatic. This looked more generic, like something you might do if you heard bank robbers were over at the saloon having a drink.

Or if word had leaked out of the Seoul office that something was up.

A pickup truck swung around the compound. It was the same truck that had been used for patrols the other night, only this time there were men in the back. The pickup stopped in front of the low-level waste area, and the men got out, took a look around, then hopped back in.