Homefront: The Voice of Freedom (29 page)

Salmusa bowed slightly and said, “Good day to you, Brilliant Comrade.”

“And to you, Salmusa.”

“I hope you are well.”

“I am fine. I understand you’ve had a difficult week.”

Salmusa shook his head. “It’s never too difficult to serve the Greater Korean Republic and the New Juche Revolution.”

“You are a loyal servant, Dae-Hyun. Still, there were several uprisings and protests yesterday.”

“Yes. We took care of every situation. The Americans will think twice before staging demonstrations in the future.”

“But we lost some units?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But not many. Compared to the damage we inflicted on the Resistance and the general population, it was a worthwhile sacrifice.”

“Very well. However, while I agree with your sentiments regarding the American people, the Greater Korean Republic must take care with regard to the international community and its perception of our treatment of the population. Our propaganda campaign is powerful and reaches every country in the world, but these resistance cells are managing to spread stories of our … work. We cannot allow it.”

“No, sir.”

“The so-called Voice of Freedom is a thorn in my foot, Salmusa. We have discussed him before.”

“Yes, Brilliant Comrade. I am focusing all my energy in attempting to locate this infidel, the instigator of the radio network.”

“Recordings of his broadcasts were delivered to me. We conducted an analysis of his voice and determined the Voice of Freedom is the same man who once went by the name ‘DJ Ben.’ ”

Salmusa stiffened. “I was under the impression that DJ Ben was dead. After Las Vegas—”

“He continued to make broadcasts as DJ Ben following the strike on Las Vegas, so obviously he escaped prior to the bombing. Then—he was silent for a while. But he returned as the Voice of Freedom. And now he has a nationwide network of followers and collaborators. He is single-handedly the best recruitment vehicle for the American Resistance. He must be stopped.”

“I understand, my Brilliant Comrade.”

“I place you in charge, Salmusa. I trust no one else to find him and eliminate this threat.”

“I will see to it that he is hung by the neck in public, my Brilliant Comrade.”

“You are to suspend your other activities and concentrate solely on this task. I have the utmost faith in your abilities.”

“Thank you, sir. It is my duty and pleasure to serve.”

   Salmusa spent the rest of the afternoon with his communications analysts and technicians. While they didn’t possess recordings of every transmission the Voice of Freedom had made, there were enough to establish a pattern of physical movement across the American landscape. The first broadcast, as they all knew, was made on April 10 in Montrose, Colorado, the same day a battalion of troops arrived in the
town to begin the shale oil mining operations. KPA security forces confirmed that the radio speech was made in an abandoned radio station—now destroyed. Subsequent transmissions occurred in a variety of locations around Montrose.

Salmusa trembled with anger.
Why did the security forces not find him then? How difficult could it be? Idiots!

Other broadcasts were made along Interstate-70 in Colorado, moving in an easterly direction. The most recent was in Kansas. Where was the man headed? Surely not the Mississippi River. Did he not know it was certain death to get near it?

Salmusa studied the U.S. map on the wall in front of him. It was possible the Voice of Freedom might head south toward Oklahoma City or Dallas, Texas. There were reports of strong resistance cells in those cities. However, Kansas City was also a hub to various points. From there, the insurgent could travel to Arkansas or eastern Texas, or perhaps to Des Moines, Iowa. He could disrupt GKR activities in those areas with his despicable, radical commentaries. The man was obviously moving with some purpose in mind.

The operative made a decision. Salmusa returned to his office and began assembling a small team. They would fly as soon as possible to Kansas City. If that was where the Voice of Freedom was going, then Salmusa would be there to snare him in a trap.

JULY 21, 2026

Walker and Wilcox sat with the man known only as “Derby” in a coffee shop located near Blue Valley Park, not far from the Truman Sports Complex in Kansas City. After having arrived in the city a week earlier, the couple found the Korean presence in town to be more frightening than what they’d seen so far. Kansas City was a large, sprawling city, and it took a great number of troops to regulate it. An entire brigade of an estimated four thousand men policed the metropolis, although Walker wasn’t entirely clear why. Kansas was known for its agricultural resources, for which the Koreans demonstrated a desire—but the city itself held no strategic value. Or did it?

“It’s the gateway into Missouri,” Derby explained. “And because Missouri butts up against the Mississippi River, it’s important.”

Connecting with a member of the Voice of Freedom Network proved to be a challenging prospect. Walker and Wilcox were well aware the Koreans listened to the VoF broadcasts. Other resistance cells also made transmissions; it was the only way Americans could communicate with each other. Cellphone service was still nonexistent and landlines had never been repaired. Therefore, a code was
established that had to be intuitive to American listeners and bewildering to the enemy. Walker figured most people knew the works of the Beatles so he tried preceding any meet-up information with a reference to a Beatles song, which he hoped would make no sense to the North Koreans. A little later in the broadcast, Walker cited a different Beatles allusion and another piece of the rendezvous information. For example, he might say, “Good evening, my fellow Americans. This is Mean Mr. Mustard looking for a Ticket to Ride with Derby. In today’s news …” Then, after his report, he’d say, “They got a crazy way of loving there, and I’m gonna get me some. Coffee at Blue Valley Park.” The first part was a lyric from the Wilbert Harrison tune called “Kansas City,” which the Beatles covered on an early album. This meant the meeting would take place in Kansas City. Later in the broadcast, Walker would say, “Goo-goo-ka-choo, Tuesday at three,” which quoted the nonsensical lyric in “I Am the Walrus,” followed by the day and time of the rendezvous. It took awhile for resistance members to catch on; but like a lightbulb snapping on in one’s head, once the connection was made there didn’t seem to be a problem.

Derby was a thin and diminutive middle-aged man who appeared extremely nervous to be meeting in public with the Voice of Freedom himself. Walker knew him at once because Derby wore a faded Beatles T-shirt. The shop, a former Starbucks, specialized in coffee made with homegrown coffee beans and boiled rainwater. They did a brisk business.

The threesome sat at a table on the sidewalk in plain view of Korean soldiers who stood across the street eyeing every pedestrian. Walker figured the less suspiciously one behaved, the better the chances of the guards not noticing.

“What’s your real name?” Derby asked. “Mine is—”

Walker held up his hand. “Best not to reveal our real names. If one of us were to be caught and tortured, well … you know.”

“Oh, right. I hadn’t thought of that. By the way, that was very clever of you to come up with the Beatles code. At first I didn’t know what the hell you were saying, but I finally figured it out. I was a huge fan when I was younger. It was like—
duh!
—when it hit me. Very cool.”

“Thanks.”

“So how can I be of help?”

“We want to start broadcasting while we’re here. Do you know of any old radio stations we could use? Our portable unit is fine, but we’d prefer more power so we can reach more people. On our way here we passed one in Topeka that had a huge antenna, so we went back the other night and broke in. It’s still operational. I think it’s still being used as a religious-talk station.”

Derby laughed. “I know which one you mean. That Family Radio station’s been around forever, it seems. Yeah, they’re still broadcasting. They must have a huge generator and a lot of gas. I guess the Lord provides when His message is being told.”

“They did have a big mother of a generator. And the place was easy to break into. I hate doing that, but as you know, the Voice of Freedom messages need to get out. They’re as important as God’s.”

“You said it. Well, I’m not sure about radio stations in Kansas City, but I know a college with its own station. The school is in session, too. The Koreans allow most people to live their lives as best they can, even without cars or electricity or running water. However, the kids at the college repaired the
equipment and use a generator to play music in the afternoons after classes.”

Wilcox nodded. “Sure, lots of colleges had radio stations. My high school had a radio club, too. I think a lot did, at least the ones that had money for one. I’m surprised the Koreans let them use it.”

“Oh, the Norks checked it out, all right. As long as the students just broadcast music and school news, they don’t care. However, all radio transmissions are closely monitored these days. I guess you know that. It’s become very dangerous for the Resistance.”

“That’s why we move around and never broadcast from the same place,” Walker said. “So how would we do it? Get into the school at night, that is.”

“I know one of the janitors. He’s in the cell I’m in. Should be no problem. Can you be on the air tonight at ten o’clock?”

“We can try.”

“I’ll send you a message regarding the day and time.” He wrote down the university’s name and address on his napkin. “It’s over the state line in Parkville, Missouri, but it’s really still part of the Kansas City metropolis. There’s a loading dock in the back of the main building. I’ll meet you there at the appointed time. We’ll do it after dark, because it’s pitch black there without outdoor lighting.”

“That sounds good.”

“So what do you think of those garbled transmissions that have been coming through lately?”

Walker looked at Wilcox and she shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean,” he answered.

“You haven’t heard them? They come on every night at midnight. Someone’s speaking, but the signal is really bad. Goes in and out, full of static, and difficult to make out.”

“No, I haven’t heard them. When did this start?”

“Eight days ago.”

“Oh, well we’ve been on the air only once in that time. It took us a while to get settled here.”

“Where are you staying? Did you hook up with a resistance cell?”

“We’re in a trailer park with a lot of other transient folks. I’m thinking we need to move, though, ’cause the Koreans were there yesterday searching the vehicles and checking everyone’s IDs. We were out when it happened, but I’m sure they’ll be back. They’re looking for someone or something. Probably me.”

Derby nodded. “You may be right. They’re cracking down on the Resistance, big time. I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard your broadcast. What night was it?”

“Three nights ago. We found a six-floor apartment building where squatters lived. We used the top floor. So tell me more about these garbled messages.”

“Here, I wrote some of them down, at least what I could make out.” He dug into his pocket and removed scraps of paper. “This was part of the first one. ‘Something something something … persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished … something something …’ and that’s all I got.” Derby slid it over to Walker for him to study. It made no sense to him. “Here’s another. ‘After supper she got out her book and learned me about Moses … something something something …’ and then the transmission died.”

Walker frowned. “Now
that
sounds familiar.” He rubbed his chin. “Keep going.”

“ ‘Something something … he got stuck up on account of having seen the devil and been rode by witches.’ ”

Wilcox made a face. “
What?
” She shook her head. “It’s nonsense.”

“I’m not so sure,” Walker said. “You have more?”

“One more, this was last night’s. ‘Something something … and cussed everything and everybody he could think of, and then cussed them all over again … something something … polished off with a kind of general cuss all around … something something.’ ”

“Can I take these?”

“Sure. I hope you can figure ’em out. Either it’s some kind of code or someone’s just plain nuts and using up valuable air space.”

“It could be Korean probing,” Wilcox ventured. “Maybe they’re trying to get one of us to respond.”

“I thought of that, too,” Walker said. “I’m gonna listen tonight, like we agreed.”

“The thing is,” Derby whispered, “we’re pretty sure these transmissions are coming from somewhere
east
of the Mississippi River!”

   Salmusa, flanked by ten Light Infantry men, stormed into the Family Radio station on 10th Street in Topeka, Kansas, where three nights earlier, Walker and Wilcox made a Voice of Freedom transmission. It was true, the facility possessed a tower over five hundred feet tall, providing it with a strong signal throughout the state and beyond.

The place was manned with a skeleton crew—just a DJ in the booth and an engineer at the mixing board. When the soldiers burst into the control room, the announcer was in the middle of quoting scripture and urging his listeners to pray several times a day for “deliverance from evil.”

“Turn off the radio!” Salmusa snapped. “Now!”

The engineer stood. “Wait a minute. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

Salmusa drew his Daewoo, grasped it by the barrel, and pistol-whipped the man across the face. The DJ
rushed into the control room, knelt by his companion, and shouted, “Why did you do that? What’s wrong? What do you want?”

The engineer was able to sit up, but there was a nasty, bleeding gash across his right cheek.

“The Voice of Freedom made a broadcast from this station three nights ago. Where is he?”

The announcer wrinkled his brow. “Who?”

“You can’t tell me you don’t know who the Voice of Freedom is.”

The two men shook their heads. “No, we don’t know. But you’re right, someone broke in here the other night. We found the back door jimmied open. Someone was in the control room. But nothing was stolen.”