A Northern Thunder (38 page)

A
s the late afternoon sun began to settle down towards the horizon, the GPS indicator showed Will was on-spot. There, he inflated a small buoyancy flotation device on the harness and leaned back into the water. He would try to rest as much as possible, saving his energy for one last push. And there he stayed, floating in the water, waiting, constantly looking at his watch and the setting sun.

Come on.
The watch showed sixteen-hundred hours local time.

Again, he did a 360-degree scan of the horizon. And again, he saw the military boats to the south. He still saw nothing from the north. Occasionally, a very low-level team of Mi-8 helicopters crisscrossed the water at levels so low their props churned up the water. When one came close, Will slid below the surface, releasing the air in his device.

The rest of the time, he waited, floating in the cold water as the sun moved toward the coastal mountains in the west. The frigid water numbed his face, which he occasionally rubbed to keep the circulation moving.

Finally, on another search of the horizon, he saw a faint dot to the north. Immediately, Will judged the distance and resumed swimming out to sea. Like a marathon swimmer, he matched the pace, looking to the north as the object became clearer and larger.

Will would have only one opportunity, and he had to aim for dead center. As it got closer, he noted the distance, and finally submerged with the re-breather. He still did not want to be seen.

First, Will heard the churning, rhythmic noise of the propellers. He tried to determine their location. The noise, which grew increasingly loud, let him know this ship was far bigger than any military patrol boat.

Will surfaced one last time to get his final bearing. The boat was close, churning up the water from its bow, but to the far right.

He submerged and began kicking rapidly. From his chest, Will pulled the round black disc and held it forward with both hands, kicking quicker and harder.

The noise became louder as he surged forward. He could now feel displaced water pushing him backwards, but Will fought it with all the power gained from months of training. He kicked feverishly, until a metal-sounding clank made one of the forward crew members of the
Solbong
stopand look over the edge. The mate saw nothing and assumed the bow had merely hit a floating piece of debris.

The passenger ship was returning to the eastern South Korean port of Tonghae from Changjon, a North Korean port just south of Wonsan. Following protracted negotiations, the head of the Hyundai Corporation had agreed to pay millions of dollars to the Pyongyang government, so it was the only vessel allowed to travel back and forth across the border. Its ostensible purpose was to allow passengers to visit the Taeback Mountains. Because it ran, millions of tourist dollars were poured into the north. North Korea had stopped the tours and then allowed them to be restarted. The rumor was that they would be stopped again soon.

Will’s magnet had locked onto the hull just at the water line and yanked him forward like a large hooked fish. He adjusted the harness and moved just below the surface. The re-breather allowed him to breathe as he deflated the buoyancy device and slid out of sight. If he tried to board the ship, one of the many North Korean spies on board would either alert others or disable the ship. He was far safer riding the hull, bouncing against its side. Will again tried to relax.

The
Solbong
was delayed departing Wonsan because it was searched from end to end. The South Korean captain had never seen this intense a search, and his vessel wasn’t released until well after every space, every bag, and every passenger was checked and rechecked several times.

Even that seemed not to be enough. “Sir, three patrol boats from the DMZ are approaching.” The voice of the first mate usually sounded far calmer. The repeated inspections had shocked the entire crew.

“Yes,” said the captain.

The three patrol boats, lights flashing, approached, two on the port side and one on the starboard.

“They intend to board,” the first mate said.

“That’s not agreed upon.”

The North Koreans had the right to conduct whatever searches they wished upon entry into Wonsan and prior to departure. However, when the ship left, the North Koreans had agreed it was to be left alone so long as it kept to a specific route, exactly 6.5 kilometers offshore.

A spray of machine gunfire cut through the water just in front of the bow.

“All stop,” said the captain.

“Aye, sir.”

As the vessel slowed down, a water surge sent it rocking back and forth. A North Korean captain climbed up onto the deck, followed by several soldiers carrying machine guns.

“This is not allowed.”

The North Korean slapped the vessel’s captain across the face with his Type-64 pistol. The old man sank to one knee. “We’ll determine what is allowed,” said the North Korean.

A new spate of machine gun fire erupted at the fantail and two bloodstained bodies were thrown over the port side.

“Under what authority is this outrage?” said the captain, rising from his knee.

The North Korean struck him again. “You’ll muster everyone to the bow.” He signaled to the first mate, frozen in shock, with a wave of the pistol. “Now!”

In short order, the few crewmembers and passengers were huddled together on the cold bow. Most of the passengers were elderly South Koreans visiting the Diamond Mountain they remembered from their youth.

“We have someone on board who has done our republic a great wrong, and we’ll shoot each of you until we find him.”

“We have no idea who you are seeking,” the captain said.

“Thirty minutes.”

As the ship came to a stop, Will sank lower and released the electronic magnet. Using a re-breather, he could stay there, without any signs of bubbles, for hours. Having only one choice, he remained submerged.

When the thirty minutes expired, the North Korean pointed to a young woman dressed in the uniform of a crewmember.

“Take her there.” He pointed to the port side of the bow, and two soldiers leaned the sobbing woman over the edge. “I warned you.” He chambered a round and aimed the pistol to the rear of her head. The others remained still, stunned.

An instant before he squeezed the trigger, the
Solbong
shifted to its starboard side, a move so sudden and so violent that everyone on deck fell over, like bowling pins, and slid against the other bulwark. The North Korean fell backwards, and as he did, a pistol shot rang out into the air.

The vessel rocked back again violently to the port side.

The captain looked over to that side, spying the black fins of a massive structure passing by. One of the smaller North Korean patrol boats pitched up in the air at the sound of a machine gun firing aimlessly, then flipped over like a child’s bathtub toy.

The Trident submarine broke through the surface just to the stern of the last patrol boat, and the North Koreans scrambled into their vessels in chase.

“All ahead, full, now!” The captain’s order sent all
Solbong
crewmembers scrambling back to their stations. In short order, Will could hear the propellers winding up as he reattached the magnet to the hull.

As darkness began to fall, the cruise liner
Solbong
entered the waters of South Korea protected by a slew of South Korean destroyers. CNN’s lead story that day was of another international incident caused by North Korea. The following week, North Korea ceased the ship’s access to the ancient Diamond Mountain. The government’s official statement was that another outbreak of SARS had created concern. It apparently did not matter that no SARS case had ever been reported in either North or South Korea.

As she docked in Tonghae, South Korean investigators swarmed over the ship, but no one noticed a ripple of water near the ship’s hull. The afternoon’s bloodshed attracted all the attention.

On the other side of the port, near a breakfront, a dark figure pulled up on one of the rocks and removed what looked like fins and a mask. Only one person was watching, however, as he walked up the dirt road.

“Thank you,” said Will, soaking the overcoat of Mi Yong as he pulled her close.

“I
just don’t know.”

Will smiled as he leaned back into his seat at the hotel restaurant in downtown Seoul. The Western breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee saturated his senses after three days of super fuel patches and adrenaline. He still felt a bit groggy—doubtless the result of recent sleep deprivation. They had traveled by rental car through much of the night to cross the peninsula of Korea. She had rented the car, thus eliminating all evidence that he’d arrived in Korea or was traveling in it. The heightened alert from the shooting of the
Solbong
crew members made this especially important. All through the journey, the radio reported various accounts of the shootings. All appeared senseless, because North Korea never acknowledged that anything had happened to any of its people.

One report from Pyongyang accused the capitalist United States of violating its territorial waters with a Trident submarine, thus raising fears of a possible nuclear attack. The U.S. Navy acknowledged that a navigational error had caused one of its vessels to travel just north of the DMZ, but went on to explain that it surfaced only to lend potential rescue and aid to a South Korean vessel under attack.

In the restaurant, Will swallowed another long gulp of coffee as he took in her presence. It had been a long time since Quantico.

“You obviously got the backpack in Hawaii,” Mi said.

“Yes, thank you again.”

“Your friend from the Natick lab said he wanted feedback on all the equipment on your list.”

“I’ll be happy to do that,” said Will.

She smiled at him. It was dangerous for her to be in Korea—she knew that all too well. But for once, Mi felt right.

“What about the flight?” said Will.

“We have two tickets on a KAL flight to Los Angeles at fifteen-hundred hours.”

“How about Immigrations?”

“You have a Marine Corps uniform and endorsed orders.”

“Charlies?” He referred to the relaxed Marine Corps dress of khaki sweater, shirt, and gabardine pants.

“Yes,” said Mi, “you’ll be traveling as a gunny.”

Will smiled. He liked impersonating a Marine gunnery sergeant, though he knew one gunnery sergeant on a submarine right now who’d be chagrined to find out.

“It seemed less obvious,” said Mi.

“Yes, a colonel going through customs on both ends might stand out.”

“Because you’re on endorsed orders, you need no passport, and none would be entered into the system on either end. It wasn’t too hard getting an identification card.” She handed him a wallet, a white military identification card, and several hundred-dollar bills.

The United States military was allowed to travel through customs in South Korea solely on proof of orders. It required only an ordinary word processor to print out orders showing temporary additional duty at a military conference held at the Marine Corps expeditionary base in Pohang, Korea. She handed him the papers.

“Orders for a conference on Ulchi Focus Lens?”

She smiled.

“Ironic,” he murmured. She had him attending a conference on the annual joint military exercise that trained forces to stop a North Korean invasion.

“UFL” involved thousands of South Korean and American soldiers. They “gamed” the movement of troops in response to a North Korean attack. Numerous such conferences occurred between December and August every year.

“We need to get to the airport,” said Mi.

Will had grown to care greatly for this woman, and not just because of her bravery. He wanted Krowl to pay as much for what he’d tried to do to her as for what he’d done to Will.

“I’ll go change,” he said.

It wasn’t at all unusual for a Marine Corps gunnery sergeant in Seoul to check out of the high-rise Seoul Lotte hotel, especially in the company of an Asian woman presumed to be his wife. American forces had stayed in Korea now for more than five decades. When the two checked in at Inchon International Airport, many similar couples were already there.

So Mi was traveling as Will’s wife, and her passport under that name had been accurately stamped upon her arrival a week earlier. In addition, her passports and visas were correctly listed in the Immigrations computer, so there was no suspicion at all when Gunnery Sergeant Donald Ruskell’s orders were reviewed.

“Here on UFL?” said the Customs official.

“Yes, sir,” said Will, alias Donald.

“I guess we’ll see you back in a few months.”

“Probably several times.” The exercise was well known at Immigrations.

From there, Will and Mi passed through to the third floor departure concourse. “We’re flying business class,” she told him.

“I knew there was something I liked about you.”

“The business class lounge is on the fourth floor.” Mi led him across the Inchon air terminal to a steel-doored elevator, identified by a black-lettered sign marked “Lounges.”

“We’ve got about an hour until boarding,” Mi said.