Paths of Courage (4 page)

Ryder prodded the fire and put on more wood. Although the surroundings were not that dissimilar to what he had experienced elsewhere in the world, he could not shake the strangeness he felt – something about the land seemed so foreign.

“Sinhung is a large town, approximately twenty-five klicks to the northwest,” he continued. “It sits at the entrance to a long series of valleys heading the way we need to go, terminating at Changjin – another town situated at the south end of a lake of the same name. The lake is a regular klick wide and some ten long, curving towards the northwest where it splits. The top end is only twenty-five or so from the southeastern corner of the search area. If we can use the lake to our advantage we will; otherwise just keep heading northwest overland. If we find nothing in the box, then we work progressively north, south and west of Pyorha-ri until we find what we are looking for. If nothing found, we return to the beach the way we came.”

“The briefings didn't say anything about this bloody rain; it's hardly stopped since we arrived,” said Chol quietly, sitting by the entrance, keeping an eye on the surrounding woods, his strong London accent out of place with his features. “Supposed to be moderate, my arse. Let's hope they got the temperatures right and we don't freeze our balls off tonight. Oops. Sorry, Doc.”

Grace didn't take offence. “What about the fauna? Do we need to worry?”

“You mean dangerous animals, apart from man,” joked Ryder, attempting to lighten things.

“Yes, apart from man,” she shot back with a forced grin.

“Bear, wolf, wild boar and occasionally tiger roam the mountains,” he replied, stifling a smile.

“Tigers!”

“Yes, Siberian – but don't worry, they're all but extinct in this part of the world.”

“Tigers will be the least of our worries,” offered Bom, his London accent only slightly discernible. Frank agreed. He knew that if they found a lab, they would need a whole lot of luck to enter and get out alive.

Silence descended, then one-by-one, the group began to put away rations in preparation for an early start, come dawn. Selecting an area to bed down next to the entrance, Ryder studied the map, covering the ground they would travel the next day. To the northwest lay Sinhung and the Songchon River, which they would have to cross. Once over they would enter the desolate lower reaches of the southern Hamgyong Mountains. As for the terrain, they faced a myriad of narrow valleys, steep slopes and jagged crests, varying from 2,000 to 5,000 feet, covered mainly in broadleaf and conifer – very dense in places. That was good from the point of view of remaining undiscovered, but not from the arduous challenge it presented.

Ryder put the map away. “Okay, time to turn in.” He glanced at Song. “Dan, take first watch. I'll take second. Greg and Cam, take the last.”

Grace turned sharply to Ryder. “What about me? I'll take my watch.”

“Look, Doc,” he replied, irritably. “With respect, you got a big job ahead and it's our job to get you there to do it in a fit state; you'll need all the bloody rest you can get. As leader of this team I'm ordering you to stand down from watch duty until further notice. Is that clear?”

Reluctantly Grace acquiesced. What he said was true. At least he had bothered to explain.

With that, Song went outside and took up position close by in the bush where he would stay for the next two hours. The others made themselves as comfortable as they could in the confines of the hut.

The night passed without incident until dawn when Chol urgently entered the hut and shook Ryder awake, telling him a goat herder was approaching.

Ryder rushed outside followed by the rest. In the half-light the little goat herder had definitely seen them, but kept on coming. When he got closer, the man seemed pleased and waved; his kindly features creased in a toothless grin.

Ryder hesitated; the man was old and frail. Should he kill him? Would he tell someone? He knew he really had no choice. “We can't risk anyone knowing we're here. He has to be taken out.”

“Why?” shot Grace. “He's harmless – a goat herder for God's sake!”

He didn't need this shit. “Look, Captain, he's bloody well seen us, that's why, and you've just shot off in English.”

“That's no reason to kill; he's probably a father, grandfather and husband too. Why the hell kill him?” she spat back.

“Because, Captain Seymour, I am not prepared to take the risk. Being dead, he'll not let out what he's seen and heard.”

“Please,” Grace said in a softer tone.

He ignored her. “My job is to find out if a bio-lab exists in this bloody wilderness so that you can do yours; then I have to get us out safely. I'd appreciate it if you would allow me to get on with it.”

Chol came running up. “He's a mute.”

Ryder remained silent.

Grace looked hard at him with pleading eyes.

Seconds passed; he turned and looked intently at Seymour, then at Chol before striding towards the herder.

Ryder reached him and drew his knife. He did not want to kill this poor wretch, but he had to.

Eyes now wide with fear the herder recoiled in horror, attempting to turn and run; goats scattering at his feet in all directions.

Ryder grabbed the diminutive figure from behind and, without hesitation, plunged the knife deep into his bony frame.

The herder died instantly and fell to the ground in a tangled heap.

Ryder wiped the knife clean, sheathed it and, with a feeling of guilt, rejoined the others. “Bury him and let's get the fuck outta here – FAST!”

Without another word, they quickly buried the herder, gathered up their belongings and headed for the trees.

In London, the evening sunlight softly bathed the high-tech headquarters of the SIS on the Thames embankment at Vauxhall Cross. The sandstone and green cascading building, home of the Secret Intelligence Service, otherwise known as MI6, and affectionately called ‘Legoland', dominated the junction of Vauxhall Bridge and the Albert Embankment on the southern side of the river. From his spacious office on the fourth floor, Sir Jeffery Powell, KCMG, OBE, Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service, gazed down at Vauxhall train station and the busy traffic below. To those in the Service he was known as ‘C' after the original chief, Captain Mansfield Cummings. Eventually he turned and strode back to his large desk. Of medium height, with strong features, and wavy brown hair, slightly greyed at the temples, he looked immaculate in his dark pinstripe suit and Cambridge tie.

John Green, Head of MI6's Operations, sat at the opposite side of the desk.

‘C' removed his horn-rimmed glasses, looked intently at the head and asked. “What do you make of it, John?” Sir Jeffery was referring to the typescripts of the latest tapes received from their intelligence network in Seoul. What they revealed this time were the most disturbing received so far.

The MI6 Operations head was dressed in a navy-blue Savile Row suit and brogue shoes. His brown hair was smoothed down and parted to one side. He looked distinguished to say the least.

“Difficult to judge. Can we be sure the man they have is the North Korean we were monitoring in Beirut?” Green questioned.

“More than likely. What he's told them appears to correspond with conversations we monitored. Abu Hasan is a known al-Qaeda agent, a legit businessman operating out of the city. Park Kyong Su is a North Korean businessman working for the DPRK, selling whatever he can to keep Pyongyang's coffers topped up. Yes, I believe the man they have is Park Kyong Su.” Then after a short pause, Sir Jeffery added, “Intriguing situation, wouldn't you say? North Korean defector to the Russians, North Korean agent and a North Korean general assassinated. I wonder: is there a connection?”

“I think we were right to assume that was the case when we first received the intel,” Green replied. “The defector tells the Russians about a virus; the agent attempting to set up a deal to sell a virus; the general eliminated because he was probably about to tell the world about both – indeed feasible.”

Sir Jeffery nodded. “Two hundred million is considerably more than the earlier figure and being caught trying to transfer the money illegally from a Seoul bank into Pyongyang – it's surprisingly uncharacteristic to use only one bank for that amount of transfer. Not like the Koreans at all.”

“He would have to do it illegally; transferring a large sum like that would generate awkward questions.”

“Fortunately for us, the South Koreans picked him up.”

“No doubt they worked him over real good, confessing the way he did,” said Green. “As the interrogator on the tape said, and I quote: ‘His soul will be laid bare by the time we finish and he'll squeal like a stuck pig.' I think, however, they already have everything he knows about the deal. After all, we know he was only effectively the go-between.”

“A missile launched from a nuclear sub, I can hardly believe it. Where the hell did they get them from?” questioned Powell.

“Anybody's guess,” shrugged Green. “What we need to know now is the payload. Have the Koreans told the Americans yet, I wonder?”

“This is serious intelligence, John; they might well have, but it is common knowledge there's growing anti-American sentiment amongst the political fraternity in the South, now that Kim Jong Un is in charge. Reunification could be back at the top of the list, so I suspect not yet anyway. If they haven't, we certainly will very shortly,” said Sir Jeffery, firmly.

“With that young hothead at the helm I doubt if any thoughts of reunification is on his list – more like total subjugation of the entire peninsula.” Green paused, then changed the subject. “The assassination of a high-ranking North Korean general in Seoul – yet no media coverage. Strange Pyongyang has said nothing. One can only assume they're using it – by keeping quiet that is – to extract something of value from Seoul.”

“General Yang, the North's chief negotiator, assassinated by his own people? If what's on that tape is genuine, the South should be concerned. It now seems probable that Yang was killed because he intended to defect and spill out plans to attack Western targets. Unfortunately for us, we don't know when or where,” said Sir Jeffery. Then, seemingly as an after thought, “Suxamethonium, isn't that a sedative?” He was referring to the post-mortem report obtained by the network detailing the cause of the general's death.

“Yes, muscle relaxant, starves the heart of oxygen if not properly administered causing cardiac arrest. It metabolizes after a short period making it almost undetectable post-mortem.”

“Cunning,” Sir Jeffery said, shaking his head. “You wouldn't have thought the miniscule dart used to administer the stuff could be so effective. Must've been extremely concentrated.”

Green nodded in agreement. Sir Jeffery continued. “If the South is responsible and the North retaliates with force, the Americans will use it as an excuse to strike. China would no doubt back Pyongyang and then it would all be on. Many South Koreans want the Americans out. They are rejecting the ‘Cold War' mentality and the confrontational aspect of the Demilitarized Zone; they would much prefer the U.S. negotiate with Pyongyang over their nuclear policy. Maybe this killing was done to ensure that the Americans stay; it'll deter them from contemplating withdrawal of the thirty-odd thousand troops from the DMZ – indeed, from the entire peninsula.”

“Those who want the Americans out do so at their peril,” Green offered. “They don't see Kim Jong Un as dangerous – not like his father – although his latest provocative antics belies that. Those who hate everything Pyongyang stands for, knowing their present freedom and liberty will be at risk if unification takes place, firmly believe, and I'm inclined to agree, the only thing that's been stopping the North from invading the South since day one has been the presence of good ol' Uncle Sam. Since the North pulled out of the Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty, the IAEA has had no show of getting their monitors back in and never will in my opinion.

“Following the diplomatic crackdown in Pyongyang, our humint is sadly lacking. We now have only a few officers working out of the Swedish Embassy controlling low-level assets and they have heard nothing to confirm what we're hearing from our other networks. I don't see that likely to improve in the foreseeable future.”

“Pity,” Sir Jeffery cut in.

Green continued. “If the team we sent into the North verifies the Koreans have a lethal super virus, that's bad enough, but if they're intending to use this sub to fire a missile at a Western city with a bio-warhead, or nuclear, we'll all be in real trouble. Pyongyang could well achieve their long-held objective.”

“If it's a bio, no one would escape the effects unless they had a deterrent. Until that happens, no country or individual in their right minds would even contemplate that.”

“But if they have, and the defector said they have, you can see my point, John. Whoever does create a vaccine first will, by default, become the world power simply because they will have huge leverage. If the defector is telling the truth and the North Koreans are maybe near to developing a really deadly virus, we must hope our team finds it and returns with a vaccine.”

Green nodded. “Just what did Yang know that he had to be eliminated? Did he know of attacks that were about to be placed on Western targets?”

“We'll probably never know.” Sir Jeffery stood and went to the drinks cabinet. “Scotch?”

“With a little water.”

“Sacrilege.”

“I agree, but there's no accounting for taste, Sir Jeffery. Where would we all be if we felt the same about the amber liquid?” Green countered.

“Quite,” replied the spy chief, coming back to his desk and handing Green his drink. “Back to business.” He raised his glass as he sat down. “Cheers!”

Green acknowledged, savouring the single malt. “South Korean Intelligence seems to be convinced that sources in Pyongyang have the truth that General Yang was killed because he knew too much and was about to defect. They all but confirmed that the North is somehow involved with a missile attack – either on us, or on America – within two to three months, which at least narrows it down to when. However, not knowing the launch location, the target, or what type of warhead will be used remains quite frustrating.”

Sir Jeffery looked at his operations head thoughtfully. “Could be anywhere with a sub involved. The target: London, New York, Washington – your guess is as good as mine. As for the missile warhead, there really are only two choices: nuclear or biological. Bearing in mind the defector stated his government would use the super virus against its enemies, I am of the opinion a bio threat, not nuclear, is the more likely, initiated by the North and carried out possibly by al-Qaeda.” The chief removed his glasses and pinched the top of his nose; he was beginning to feel the pressure. He replaced the glasses after a few moments and looked intently at Green. “I am finding it difficult to accept al-Qaeda would be capable of having the technical ability to crew a nuclear submarine and fire missiles.”

Green agreed and added, “If the Americans were not sure who was responsible, they would not risk a nuclear war. If al-Qaeda, or some other terrorist organization, carried out the attack, a lot of people would die unnecessarily. And for what? A bunch of crazy fanatics. No, I don't think the Americans would risk the human race for that. Nor would we, but they would certainly strive to get even some other way.”

“Recent satellite flyovers revealed nothing unusual happening in the Hamgyong Mountain area. The Americans don't seem to be too concerned either about the intel we have or its implications.”

“What area exactly did the sats cover?”

“Ninety-mile radius around Pyorha-ri right up to the Russian border using infra-red, ultra-sonic and heat probes – all negative. If an underground plant exists, it's deep or beneath very thick concrete lined with lead.”

“And GCHQ?” asked Green, referring to the British Communication Centre at Cheltenham, responsible for monitoring all telecommunications around the globe.

“Usual traffic,” replied Sir Jeffery, peering over his glasses. “No chatter to suggest a clandestine bio plant.” He paused to take a sip from his glass, then changed the subject. “What is the latest on the North's nuclear capability?”

“Since reopening Yongbyon and closing down some of the outdated facilities, uranium enrichment has not stopped. The stockpile of spent fuel rods could yield enough plutonium to produce maybe six to twelve warheads a year.”

“They could then have more than thirty?” queried Sir Jeffery.

“Correct. Selling to other countries too. Maybe the deal with Abu Hasan is for a ‘dirty bomb'. What devastation that would cause if one was to go off in Hyde Park! A hundred lbs of enriched uranium would be all you'd need to make a full-scale nuclear bomb and only nine for one fuelled by plutonium. The North would have that amount to offer buyers.”

Silence descended for several seconds, then Sir Jeffery spoke. “The intel from Moscow, and to some extent Seoul, was enough for us to send a team into the North to verify. The PM needs to be informed again of this latest situation.” He finished his drink and stood, indicating the meeting was over. “I will inform the JIC. John, let our people in Seoul know they're doing a fine job. Thank you.”

The meeting ended.

John Green returned to his office three floors below, hoping the team sent into North Korea would find nothing and the nuclear submarine situation was a false alarm.