The Korean Intercept (20 page)

Meiko set down her chopsticks. "I understand that some of my feelings are irrational, which is why I have not voiced them," she said in calm, measured tones. "You took my mother's place in my father's heart… and in his bed. I know that such resentment on a daughter's part is irrational and is, in fact, standard behavior, which infuriates me; a form of grieving my mother, even after the passage of time. I despair for this weakness in my character. But some of what I feel toward you is rational. Why was I not summoned home at once, if my father was so ill? I had no idea. Why was I not informed? Whose decision was that? Father and I spoke on the telephone at least once a week after I first went to America. They were brief conversations, but he sounded healthy enough to me."

"It was his wish that you not be told of his condition," said Sachito. "He wanted your career to come first. He did not want to burden you with his health problems."

"You could have told me," Meiko said plaintively, in the voice of a little girl enduring deep inner suffering; an unsettled mixture of regret, accusation, hurt and uncertainty, which Galt had never heard from her before.

Sachito remained seated stiff-backed at the head of the table. She too had set down her chopsticks beside her half-finished meal.

"It was his wish," she repeated. "I obeyed the wish of my husband, as a good wife should. And he wished until his last breath that you would take me into your heart."

"I cannot." She leapt to her feet, muttering the words more in shame than anything else, thought Galt. She whirled from the table and exited the dining room, leaving Galt and Mrs. Kurita alone in uncomfortable silence.

Galt finished the last of his sushi, set down his chopsticks and rose from the table. "I'm sorry. I'll talk to her. I'll do what I can."

Sachito's eyes were moist, unreadable. "My heart goes out to her." There was resignation in her words. "Tomorrow is… the day. It will be best, I think, if we attend the funeral together, the three of us. That is the only right way. It is what Mr. Kurita would have wanted."

"I'll do what I can."

"I shall now retire for the evening, Mr. Galt. Please accept my apologies for what can only have been an uncomfortable ordeal for you, listening to Meiko and me quarrel. And yet I want to thank you very much for being here… for Meiko."

"It's my privilege to help, if I can. I'll speak with her."

He rose from the table with her, and they exchanged another handshake. "From what her father told me about Meiko, my guess is that you will find her in the garden." Her grip was more fragile than before, and was more fleeting. "Good night, Mr. Galt."

 

A pair of stone lanterns framed the entrance to the mossy quiet of a formal Zen rock garden, which was surrounded on three sides by a low bamboo fence and sheltered by the sweeping overhang of the roof. Waxed paper screens on this side of the house made a fourth decorative wall. Galt followed a series of hexagonal stepping stones that led him between angular rocks and Japanese dwarf maple trees, twisted and gnarled, to where he found Meiko standing before a small arched bridge of red lacquered wood, and a Shinto shrine. He stepped up behind Meiko, making just enough of a scuffle upon the stepping stones for her to become aware of his presence. He slid his arms around her.

She leaned back against him. Her subtle musk perfume tantalized his nostrils like an invisible, scented feather. Exhaustion, spiritual and physical, emanated from her as he held her in his embrace.

"I'm sorry, Trev. I'm overwrought. It's jet lag. It's everything. Father's death. This place. That woman."

"You know your Zen Buddhist philosophy." He spoke softly through her hair, his lips close to her ear, with a lover's intimacy. "We study our lives. We master ourselves. We assume responsibility."

She sighed, observing the Torii gate with its unusual carvings in wood of dragons and dogs. "I know what you're telling me. Oh, Trev. I don't know what to think. I can't control the memories that flood through me, being here. This is where I grew up with my mother and father. Such happy days for me. I wish you had known them. I was lucky to have them both." A bittersweet, nostalgic melancholy softened her tone. "Mother never taught me very much about housework. Even when I was a young girl, she always let me know that she respected my goals. She let me feel that I could be whatever I wanted to be. That is so important to a young girl in any culture, at any time. When I came of age and announced an interest in pursuing a career in journalism, my father at first vehemently opposed the idea. He was against any alternative except marriage, opposed to any education beyond high school. I do not judge him harshly for this. My father was a man of tradition, of a different time. And he did acquiesce after considerable lobbying on the part of my mother. Once he had accepted the notion of his daughter pursuing a higher education, Father naturally favored a proper girl's school. I wanted to go to Tokyo University. It's the best in Japan, and my father had gone there. I knew it would offer the best education for the work I wanted. He stringently resisted me attending a coeducational university. Again Mother helped me, in her own ways, to overcome his resistance. She had married young and it wasn't always easy for her, despite my father's wealth and position. She ingrained in me early the notion that a woman should be independent. I was made strong by her support. My father's opposition also toughened me. And in the end, he was fair. He told me that if I could pass the exam, if they would take me, then I could attend Tokyo University. That is what happened, and is but one of many reasons, from the tapestry of my life, why I love and cherish his memory so and why my emotions run deep." Her voice thickened with a sob. "I miss him so."

Galt turned her in his arms, his lips remaining near her ear. "Tomorrow is the funeral. Your father wanted you to be there with the woman he married. You know it's what you're going to do."

Her forehead leaned against his shoulder, and the scent of her raven's-wing black hair tantalized his nostrils again, more than before. With her head on his shoulder, she nodded.

"I will go to the funeral with Sachito and…" she raised her moist eyes to him,"… with you?"

"Of course. That's why I'm here."

That made her body stiffen somewhat. She drew back, not from his embrace but to sniffle back another sob and use the palm of one hand to brusquely wipe away a tear that had beaded in the corner of one of her eyes. "I know that you care for me, Trev. But my father's death and what I'm going through… you came here with me to exploit my situation for your own ends."

"Honey, we had this conversation in Washington before we left."

Her green eyes softened with still another mood shift. "I am sorry, Trev. My mood seems to change every half-second. I am glad you're here." And she lifted her face to deliver him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Focus," he suggested. "Get through tomorrow. After that, your healing will begin. I know you're that strong, Meiko."

"Thank you for saying that. Right now I feel like the most fragile person on earth. And the most selfish. What you're doing, your real reason for coming to Japan… it's for Kate, to find her and the crew of the
Liberty
. You're an incredible and noble man, and I do want you to succeed."

"Thanks for saying that, and for the vote of confidence. I know that in your heart, Meiko, you understand. Now, how about some sack time?"

Her eyes twinkled weakly. Her lips curved feebly. "My, aren't you the devil."

"Not really. Not this time, anyway. Even if we had adjoining bedrooms, which we don't… well, you're not the only one who's dragging, kiddo, believe me."

They returned to the house, holding hands.

There was no sign of anyone when they re-entered the home. The traditional music had ceased, although tendrils of incense still wafted through the air. The servants had cleared away the table in the dining room, and disappeared. When they were stepping lightly past the closed partition to Sachito Kurita's bedroom on their way to their bedrooms, they could hear her muffled sobbing, as if she were clutching and wailing into a pillow; an aching moan of torment audible enough to cause a wince to pass between Galt and Meiko as they hurried past.

The sounds had faded by the time they reached the partition of Meiko's bedroom.

"Good night, Trev. I'm sorry I'm so confused and emotional. It isn't like me."

"I know that. Good night, Meiko."

She stood on her tiptoes, kissed him quickly, warmly, on the lips, then disappeared into the bedroom.

Minutes later, Galt was stretched out on his futon, willing his senses into a restful state. But his rational mind kept pecking away at any attempt to relax. Come tomorrow, everything would be kicking one way or another. There was so much to be done. But first, of course, a target had to be ascertained: the space shuttle's location. That's where General Tuttle came in.

His subconscious prevailed, with the help of applied yoga meditation technique, and his conscious mind temporarily put conflict to rest and he yielded to a mild, restful sleep-like replenishment of his mind, spirit and body. But one recurring conscious ripple did make his slumber a fitful one. Tomorrow could not come fast enough. He had come to this part of the world to find Kate and
Liberty
, and nothing short of death would stop him.

 

North Korea

 

Ahn Chong topped the hill and walked slowly into the graveyard.

The night air was heavy with the dampness of dead leaves, mingled with the scent of the pine. The mountain breeze whispering through the pines was normally a comfort to him when he came to this spot, but not tonight. He might find solitude here, but there was no place on this night where he would find comfort. When he would walk here to visit Mai's grave, his thoughts were most often of his loss, his grief. Not tonight. Tonight he walked slowly along the winding path through the trees that led to the wilderness clearing, the misshapen quadrangle of land where his village buried its dead. Tonight, as he walked along, he tried to project the appearance of a man lost in thought. But his eyes were busy, scanning the forested surroundings like a hunter. He did not see or hear anything unusual by the time he reached the graveyard. He sensed no other human presence but his own.

This time of year, the twisted fruit trees lining the small hillside clearing were bare. He knelt at Mai's grave, to lean over and kiss the crudely wrought, simple headstone. During daylight visits, the stone was most often warm to the touch, even during the winter months, warmed by the sunshine though he would tell himself that it was the warmth of Mai's spirit.

Not tonight. Tonight he could not forget the worries that consumed him even now, even at this most sacred of places to him. His wife's name passed his lips and he remained kneeling at her graveside, gazing upon her headstone as if it might provide him with answers and comfort.

Neither came to him.

It was at this exact spot that the extraordinary chain of events had begun; a series of incredible occurrences still unfolding at an alarming rate, the stakes rising and scope broadening with every passing minute from his humble village to the large world beyond his small and insignificant world. Something of this magnitude was surely creating a world crisis, and it was numbing for him to think that he was at the center of it. The space shuttle's overflight had taken it far enough into the valley, away from the village, to allow the acoustics of the mountainous terrain to mute the sounds of the crash from his village. But because he had been here at his wife's gravesite, he had certainly heard, and his life had changed in the instant when he had chosen to investigate and had beheld the awesome, snow-swept sight of the enormous spacecraft, and had made the acquaintance of the American crew. Because of this, he had endured watching his daughter have a gun pointed at her head, and the longstanding animosity between himself and his son-in-law had resurfaced at the worst time, especially considering the other secret held by Ann; a deep, old, dirty secret that would get Ahn killed in an instant, were anyone else to learn of it. Events had overtaken and were overwhelming him.

He whispered again to the headstone before which he knelt, his hands folded as a man praying to a shrine.

"Mai…"

A male voice behind him said, in a snide, mocking tone, "How very touching."

The voice broke the stillness, and Ahn's contemplation, like a gunshot. He leapt to his feet, realizing that he had been so lost in his reverie that he, the reputed best hunter in his village, had been surprised like the dumbest of animals.

A pair of men had soundlessly approached the clearing from behind, and they now stood facing him. They were not soldiers, but they were not civilians. They wore camouflage fatigues, and each was heavily armed with a pistol, a sheathed knife and a rifle.

One of them had the finely-boned physique of the Chinese, but was of muscular build. An old knife scar bisected one side of his face. A headband held back greasy hair that glistened.

He demanded, "Do you know who I am, old man?"

"Yes, I know who you are. You are Chai Bin." He saw no reason to add that his wanderings through these mountains had taken him to their base, which he'd observed more than once from afar.

Chai smiled an unpleasant smile. "And I know who you are, Ahn Chong."

Ahn had regained his composure after having been startled. He drew himself to full stature.

"Everyone seems to know everything about old Ahn Chong, from the military commander of the airfield to common hill bandits."

The man who stood next to Chai took a menacing step forward. He reeked of foul body odor. He drew a hand back, about to strike Ahn.

"Curb your insolence, peasant—"

Chai raised his hand in a gesture that stayed the other. "Han, no. I do not want this old man injured. I seek his cooperation."

Han drew back, glowering. "As you wish." His hand rested on the handle of his knife as if he would like nothing better than to step forward and slit Ahn Chong's throat.