Paths of Courage (14 page)

An early afternoon breeze rippled through the narrow valley. The clear blue sky allowed the sun's rays to dance across the dense foliage that lined the steep slopes of the lower mountain. Frank Ryder and his team were now on the second day of searching for a way into the mountain, which rose massively before them, almost filling the whole horizon to their left. Nothing so far encountered had even remotely suggested an entry and they had all but given up hope of ever finding one. Food was running short and morale was low after several days in this foreign and dangerous environment. None of them wanted to enter the underground facility through the main entrance, but as each hour passed this option was looking more and more likely. Ryder worried about the captain; she had become moody and a little withdrawn since the lab was found and he wondered if the strain and privations of the operation were really beginning to tell. It was now that she needed every ounce of strength to successfully complete the task ahead; once inside, hers was the most dangerous and unforgiving. One mistake inside a Level 4 and it would be all over for her. He had totally changed his mind about this woman. She was courageous and uncomplaining. He wanted to comfort her somehow, give assurances that everything would be okay and that he would get her back to safety.

In a broad open patch of ground, a short distance ahead, Bom noticed a sudden movement amongst the tufted grass. He signalled the group to halt, pointed to the spot, then raised his silenced pistol – a hare was about to be placed in the larder. However, before he could pull the trigger, a big hawk swooped down from out of nowhere, talons bared, grabbed the hare and flew off into the trees a short way up the mountainside.

“Holy shit, look at that!” blurted Bom in amazement.

“Too slow, soldier, just too slow,” Song grinned.

“Fancy being beaten by a bird,” Chol joined in, grinning too.

“Hey, Greg, don't tell us you're losing it,” added Song, chuckling.

Bom shrugged off the jibes.

“Cut it!” shot Ryder, suddenly. “Down!”

All fell instantly, seeking cover wherever they could amongst the shrubs.

Ryder pointed to the other side of the clearing as a file of heavily armed soldiers emerged from the trees and headed straight towards them.

“Patrol. No dogs,” hissed Song.

“Thank God for small mercies.” Frank looked over at Grace, who appeared in pain holding her buttocks.

“You okay?”

She nodded.

“We have to move, now!” Ryder snapped, glancing desperately above him, and moments later, “Head up to where that bird flew. Let's go! Let's go!”

One by one they followed Ryder, keeping low, under the cover of the dense bush. They climbed the rapidly rising forest floor, hidden from view by the foliage and scattered rocky outcrops.

Grace struggled to keep up with the urgent pace and had to be helped by Song in the rear. It was obvious she had a problem with her side.

Soon they reached a rocky ledge above where the bird had flown. Here, breathless and in thick scrub, they rested. Between the trunks of the tall trees lining the slope, they could just make out the line of men now crossing the clearing below.

Suddenly the line stopped. The lead man raised his binoculars and looked straight up to where the group hid.

All, except Ryder, ducked below the ledge line. He remained still, focused on the line from behind the thickest bush; he wanted to know if, and when, they made their move.

“They seen us?” whispered Chol.

The others prepared for attack.

The hawk flew out from somewhere just below them, startling the group, adding to the adrenaline rush and diverting attention momentarily as it flew upwards through the canopy of leaves.

“If they radio out, we're in deep shit,” said Bom.

Without looking away from the man with the binoculars, Ryder quietly ordered Chol and Bom to give cover at the far end of the ledge. “Dan, you take the other. Grace, stay with me.”

“This could be fucking tough,” Bom whispered.

Ryder nodded. “Tougher down there if you'd shot that hare. That bird did us a favour.”

The ledge was not the best of defensive positions. If the worst happened, he hoped each would save the last bullet for themselves.

The three men split and crawled away to take up defensive positions at each end of the forty-foot long ledge.

Ryder watched and waited as the lead soldier swept the binoculars back and forth along the ledge. Then, to his surprise, the man dropped binoculars to his chest, turned and moved on, followed by the rest. The tension drained away. “They're moving out.”

The others joined him, visibly relieved.

“What the fuck interested him up here, if not us?” questioned Bom.

“Maybe a birdwatcher!” Song joked.

The rest chuckled, easing the tension even more.

“Okay, it's over. We move shortly,” Ryder said, then looked at the captain. “What's wrong, Grace?”

“I'm okay, just a bit sore that's all.”

“Sore?”

“It's nothing, I'll manage.”

“Where? I'll take a look.”

She threw Ryder a look that said: “Back off.”

“I said I'll manage.”

But Ryder was not prepared to back off. “Dan had to help you make it up here. Now, if you're in some sort of pain we need to check it out; otherwise, lady, you won't be going into that mountain. And that will be an order.”

She gave in and reluctantly removed her backpack and then undid her trouser belt before turning over and lying on her stomach.

The men glanced at one another in surprise.

“Hey, some privacy here,” Ryder said. The others turned away.

Grace rolled down her trousers and pants to expose her buttocks.

Ryder glanced admiringly at what he saw, but winced when Grace removed a gauze patch from the side of her lower right buttock to expose an inflamed, swollen area with two pin-prick black puncture marks at the centre.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Bitten.”

“By what?”

“Snake.”

“Snake! – When?”

“Three days ago, squatting.”

“Why the hell didn't you say?” Ryder shot.

“Too embarrassed. Didn't want to hold things up.”

“You see it? You must've been right over it.”

“No; it was small, well camouflaged; I missed it amongst the leaves. Obviously not that venomous, otherwise I wouldn't be here now,” she mumbled.

“Looks septic.”

“I'm not in any pain; it's the stiffness that bothers me. I feel it around the lower back – real muscle tension – puts everything a little off balance… it slows me down.”

Ryder hoped she was right about the snake; they could not afford to lose her now. If it was more than mildly venomous, she would have been laid real low by now.

“Are you feeling okay? Has the swelling gone down?” he pressed, concerned more than he would have been if it had been a man.

“Yes, on both counts. The stiffness, however, will not go away.”

Ryder nodded and studied the punctures, keeping his eyes strictly on the swelling. “You still up to going into the mountain?” He prayed she was.

“I'll be okay once the stiffness eases.”

“Can you continue the search?”

“When I can catch my breath.”

“Grace, is this why you've been quiet lately?” he asked softly.

“You are full of questions,” she replied. “The answer to that is yes.”

He reached into his sack and removed a fresh dressing. “I'll clean you up, then we'll leave.”

Ryder gently swabbed the affected spot with a little water and applied the dressing. Satisfied with his handiwork he stood and said with a grin, “Be more careful when you take a leak. You're lucky the hit wasn't in a more sensitive place.” He then turned to the others. “Okay, move out.”

She grimaced at his last remark – it wasn't funny. Grace pulled up her pants and trousers and stood, somewhat coyly, but relieved she would not have to keep the problem to herself any longer. Shouldering her sack, she made her way stiffly to join the others. They were back in search mode and no time was to be lost.

As the last man left the ledge, they heard a sudden beating of wings, a screech and then saw it. The hawk still had its hare clutched firmly within its claws. It swept down from the leafy canopy, flew straight into the rock face below and vanished.

“Maybe we can have our hare after all,” said Bom, scrambling down the slope with the intention of shooting the bird and taking the hare for the larder.

Suddenly stopping in his tracks, Bom turned and stood staring at the rock overhang. Seconds later, he exclaimed, “Jesus! Hey, look what the fuck we have here!”

The others, except Grace, slid quickly down the slope.

When they reached where he stood, they too stared in amazement.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Song. “A vent! – Big one too.”

“Jeez, I'd given up hope,” added Chol.

“Second favour from the bird,” Ryder said, relieved. “Greg, let it live to enjoy the hare. Now, let's take a closer look at what we have here.”

They moved into the shadow of the overhang and looked up at a short, naturally formed shaft, curving upwards to meet the wall of the mountain about twelve feet back from the thick rocky edge of the outcrop. In the wall, several feet off the ground and midway along the forty-foot overhang, sat a ten-foot long by six-foot high metal grille. The bottom of the grille lined up with the outer edge of the outcrop, seen only from below and only if you were close up.

The bird of prey eyed them from its nest on a shelf at the top of the curve.

“Clever, this is definitely well hidden from the sats,” said Chol. “The infra-reds beaten too by that chunk of rock,” he pointed to the overhang. “No heat emission either, just a vent taking in air up the slope.”

“Now we know what that patrol was looking at: checking the grille right below us,” said Ryder.

“What now?” Bom asked, turning to Ryder.

“We go back to the ledge, rest up and go in at dawn.

Almost two weeks had passed since K267, commanded by Captain Vasily Denko, rounded the Cape of Good Hope and headed north along the African continent in search of the rogue compatriot submarine K449. The journey so far had been uneventful with no sign whatsoever of any submarines as they made their way cautiously between ten and fifteen knots, at a depth of 400 feet. They had crossed the Tropic of Capricorn, headed up past the equator, and turned westwards at the Gulf of Guinea. They were now on a course parallel with the Ivory Coast, which was twenty miles off the starboard beam.

Captain Denko and his second in command, Lieutenant Sergio Alexander Nanovich, sat together in the small wardroom sipping coffee after handing control over to the duty officer.

“Where the fuck can K449 be?” asked Nanovich.

“Here in the Atlantic I hope. Otherwise we might as well head home right now.”

“You don't suppose those bastards kept Grosky on board?”

“No; I believe he went down with that freighter and we are up against a very good foreigner and his crew.”

Nanovich shrugged. “He was a good man. The thought of him dead at the bottom of the ocean saddens me.”

“The Koreans cannot do much real damage with only four
Stingrays
minus warheads. What the fuck are that Korean admiral's intentions? That's what I would like to know.”

“Maybe to sink American or English ships, perhaps even one of our own.”

“Warheads could've been obtained somewhere along the line.”

“True, they did appear to be loading things at that island,” Denko agreed. “Probably provisions, but it is difficult to see how without the Americans knowing from their many eyes in the sky.”

“I guess you're right. But the remoteness of that part of the ocean would cancel out that possibility.”

“Perhaps a carrier or maybe if she has acquired warheads – a city?” offered the XO.

“The order to destroy K449 tells me the intentions are far from good. As for the options, your guess is as good as mine. But what, Sergio, and where?”

“We know a big Battle Group is patrolling north of the Azores. Taking out a carrier would be a coup for the Koreans.”

“If you are right and the sub has warheads, and if you had one throw of the dice, what would be your target?” said Denko, more to himself than to his XO.

“The eastern seaboard – Washington or New York,” came the quick reply.

“Mmm,” Denko murmured thoughtfully, then asked, “Which course would you suggest we take then, Sergio Alexander?”

“Flip a coin, but my choice would be north to the Azores. They have torpedoes; we are only guessing they have warheads.”

Captain Denko remained silent for several seconds before speaking. “I think we should go west. A gut feeling is telling me so, although my head is telling me you are right. However, I have decided, we go west.”

With that decision, the two Russians worked out a course that would take them along the African coastline, past Liberia, Sierra Leone and Guinea, and up to Senegal where they would turn due west on latitude 15 degrees north and head out into the Atlantic. This course would take them south of the Cape Verdi Islands and 3,000 miles later, if all went well, they would arrive at the Windward Islands off Dominica and Martinique. Here they would turn northwest towards the Puerto Rico Trench, the Bahamas and on to the Florida coastline where Captain Denko hoped he would eventually find the elusive rogue submarine – the K449.

As dawn broke, the padlock to the vent grille was forced and opened, creating an entrance just wide enough for Captain Seymour, Ryder, Song and Bom to scramble through. Chol then secured the black, square-patterned metal frame back into position and concealed himself in a vantage point amongst the bush under the overhang to make sure he maintained a good view through the trees to the open ground below. Here he would stay until the others returned. Grace hoped she would cope with the unknown and was under no illusion; it was her time to shine and she knew it. From the moment they had discovered the subterranean laboratory, she had been beset by an almost uncontrollable fear that hitherto had not fully manifested itself. Fear that her courage would fail once inside the mountain; fear at what she might find; fear that she would let these men down, men who risked their lives to ensure she was allowed to do her job; but most of all fear that she would not be able to face death with honour and dignity should it come. These fears played heavily on her almost to the extent that everything else was pushed aside.

Once inside the shaft, following a downward slope, the group could feel the gentle rush of air from behind and hear the faint hum of machinery from somewhere deep below. The shaft, hewn from solid rock, was curved at a radius of about six feet, enough to walk upright in single file. The three men carried silenced pistols together with AK rifles, and wore uniforms taken from the dead soldiers in Sinhung. Grace carried a pistol in holster, strapped to calf, together with a metal container to protect any vaccine phials they should find. Soon she would be in a confined hostile environment with the possibility of confronting a deadly virus. The moment of truth had finally arrived.

The further the little group proceeded into the mountain, the louder the noise of machinery became. Not long after entering through the grille, they arrived in a square chamber with large intake fans on three walls and a single door on the fourth. Ryder checked for surveillance cameras, saw none in the dim light and went to the door. Thankfully, it was not locked. They slipped through and found themselves in a short, narrow corridor with another door at the end. This door too was unlocked and led into a noisy, high domed cavern, again hewn out of solid rock. It looked to the group like the main plant area housing an array of machinery. Checking that all was clear, they edged gingerly between the throbbing machinery until reaching a small office and ablution block. Through a window to the office, they could make out two men eating and a third standing, looking at a chart on the wall. All three wore the same drab-green uniforms as themselves.

“Could be the entrance,” Song said over the noise of the machinery, nodding towards a pair of large double doors in full view of the men in the office.

Ryder acknowledged and hoped another existed. He told him and Bom to take a look whilst he and Grace hid amongst the boilers and mass of pipework. The two Koreans slunk away to return a short while later shaking their heads; no other doors, apart from storage areas and the one they had entered through.

Ryder nodded and glanced towards the office
.
No choice now but to take the men out if they were to leave through the double doors. He signalled this to the others and told Grace to remain hidden. The three then skirted the machinery until they were outside the office door.

Backs now hard up against the wall, pistols drawn, Ryder stepped away and kicked open the door with one violent move. All three sprang into the room.

‘Phut', ‘phut', ‘phut', and the three guards died instantly, a single bullet to each of their heads.

Upon entering the changing area, the group found a uniform for the captain and then dragged the dead guards to one of the stores. Inside, Grace hurriedly changed into the uniform without concern for modesty, whilst the men concealed the bodies behind racking. Leaving the store, they made directly for the entrance doors hoping the dead men would not be found until they were safely out of the mountain.

The group entered a long corridor outside the plant room, busy with people milling between maintenance areas lining both sides. Striding confidently down the grimy corridor bathed in yellow light, they entered into a similar corridor. Here they saw, through glazed screens, small, dingy laboratories occupied by white-coated medical personnel. They were all hunched over desks, test tubes and microscopes. Grace could see from the equipment being used that they were chemical tests only. Martial music played in the background and pictures of Kim Jong Il and his son, Kim Jong Un, hung side by side on almost every wall. Grace's first priority now was to locate the medical personnel changing areas and dress appropriately allowing her to move more freely around the laboratories.

She found what she was looking for near the end of the corridor. Grace entered the female changing area whilst the men lingered outside. A number of women occupied the big room between the lines of lockers, making it extremely difficult for Grace to break into one without attracting attention. She mingled, walking up and down the lines, awaiting an opportunity. Unfortunately, it never came; there was always someone nearby. None of the women she encountered wore any form of ID. Mouth dry, Grace felt her fear increase as she reluctantly left to join the men back in the corridor.

“We'll have to wait,” she said quietly to Ryder.

“We don't have the time,” he shot back, voice edgy. “We take out one your size and be done with it.” Grace understood. With no game plan and feeling somewhat trapped herself in this labyrinth of corridors, he had the right to be on edge. She eyed the flow of women passing by and reluctantly agreed.

A little later they found an unlocked, empty store off the main corridor. Ryder entered, the others remained outside. Grace nervously waited for a suitable victim. Thank God the discomfort caused by the snake bite had gone away.

She did not have long to wait. A woman, about her size and age, dressed in white medical gown, white cap and white mask dangling around her neck, came out of a lab further down and approached. With some apprehension, using the authority of her uniform, Grace pulled the woman to one side and told her she was required to enter the store to determine if the contents of a medical kit were correct. Slightly bewildered, the woman reluctantly agreed and was ushered into the store.

Minutes later, Ryder stepped out from the store and Grace entered. The woman lay dead on the floor with a broken neck. Guilt grabbed Grace, but it was quickly pushed aside as she removed the woman's gown, cap and mask, put them on and hurried out, steeling herself for what was to come.

Boldly, she strode down to the end of the corridor in a turmoil of uncertainty, followed at a discrete distance by the other three. Her priority now: to locate the hot zones. It weighed heavily on her knowing basically that she was on her own from now on and would need to keep calm. She focused on getting out of this place alive.

The corridor led into a huge cavernous area where prisoners from the camp were being unloaded from trucks and herded into several wire cages at the rear. This was where the men were separated from the women. The cages each held ten to fifteen prisoners, had dirty mattresses strewn about the floor and buckets for bodily functions lining the back walls. This was obviously the holding area before the poor unfortunates were taken to the labs. She hung around unobtrusively with the group of medical personnel supervising the unloading, hoping to establish where the labs were located.

Ryder and the other two kept to the periphery, watching her carefully. Grace was thankful that security inside the complex appeared minimal; not one surveillance camera had been spotted so far and they had not once been challenged. It seemed the North Koreans thought the complex secure enough from hostile intrusion and the guards were there only to ensure that the prisoners were kept under control. Once the unloading was complete and all the prisoners safely inside the cages, the medical personnel began to disperse, most heading for an opening alongside the far cage. Grace followed and the others did the same.

The opening led into another corridor, shorter and narrower than the first, and in the dim yellow light she could make out the international bio-hazard sign above the double doors at the far end. The knot in her stomach tightened; this could be it: bio labs and the hot zone. She increased pace and soon reached the doors with Ryder not far behind. Those up front had gone through quickly, so this must be the entrance to bio safety Level 0.

She passed through the double doors, which opened into a large rectangular space that housed rooms on either side holding small groups of prisoners. Ignoring the personnel, she continued on purposefully, unopposed, towards the only other pair of doors at the opposite side. When through, she entered another corridor that was lined on each side by much brighter and cleaner laboratories than those first encountered and occupied by numerous medical personnel. Again pictures of Kim Jong Il and his son dotted the walls and martial music played in the background. She decided to enter a lab mid-way down to determine the kind of experiments taking place. Ryder and the others waited outside, trying hard not to look conspicuous. She entered and strolled between the work benches laden with Bunsen burners, glass phials, petri dishes and other experimental equipment. No one looked up from what they were doing and as far as she could tell from cursory observation, the experiments appeared low-level and routine. It was too risky to lean over someone's shoulder to read notes and ask them exactly what they were doing. The walls held charts showing the process of experimenting with various pathological and virological diseases. Grace spent a few more minutes taking in what was going on, then left.

Back in the corridor, she observed a number of personnel moving between the laboratories, but only a few ventured down the corridor and entered the doors at the end. The double doors were sliding stainless-steel, operated by a wall pad – the only concession to modern technology so far encountered in this grimy subterranean complex. If a Level 4 did exist, it had to be through those doors. The question: how could she enter without the lock combination? She decided to wait and attempt to enter with the next group to go through. If that was not possible, she would linger by the key pad and memorize the numbers as they were punched in.

Signalling to Ryder and the others to follow, she made her way slowly towards the doors, engaging in animated conversation with the three men, at the same time keeping an eye on the movement of people in the corridor, praying a group would head for the doors.

Her prayers were soon answered. Three women and a man emerged from the last lab, just as Grace was passing, almost colliding with her, before heading for the sliding doors. Ryder and the other two dropped back slightly, leaving Grace to merge with the group, immersed in conversation and ignoring her presence. At the doors, all pulled up face masks and Grace did the same. She moved next to the man near the wall pad when it became clear that he intended to punch in the numbers. He did, she memorized them and the doors slid apart. Grace boldly followed them into an air-lock. The doors closed quickly, denying Ryder, Song and Bom entry. Grace, startled, looked at the concern on their faces and suddenly an overwhelming feeling of isolation gripped her. She was now truly on her own. Her mouth went dry and the knot in her stomach tightened.

Ryder cursed himself for the setback, but would go through with the next group, hoping the captain would be waiting on the other side.

For Chol, guarding the grille, it was a different story. Not long after the others had entered the mountain, a six-man patrol passed within yards of the overhang, luckily without dogs and without closely checking the grille. The hawks too were giving him some grief, dive-bombing and screeching loudly, seemingly resentful of his presence below their nest.

Stepping out of the airlock, a totally different world presented itself to Grace, more like the one she was familiar with – sterile, bright and professional-looking. No rundown third-world feel here, no rock surfaces; only flat white walls and ceilings with hardly a surface to collect dust. This was definitely a Level 1 and she was confident, yet fearful, she would find the hot zone soon, along with the dreaded viruses it would no doubt contain and thus the resultant horrors of possible experiments carried out on humans instead of monkeys.

The area contained several compact laboratories full of personnel, together with a small number of offices all leading off a central corridor. A minority of personnel wore yellow badges on their lapels. A few guards glanced at Grace and appeared somewhat conspicuous by their absence. Uncertain whether or not to wait to see if the others came through, she was in no doubt that they would attract attention – although from Grace's point of view, without them guarding her back, she now felt very vulnerable indeed. She noticed only those wearing the badges entered another set of sliding doors at the end of the corridor and knew instinctively this was the entrance to a Level 2. She decided not to wait and take a closer look. Again the doors were lined in stainless-steel, set in a seamless frame. There was no key pad this time and she guessed the badges might be the key. This shortly proved correct when a staff member went through pointing her badge at the head of the doors. How could she get hold of one? Only two choices: steal or take by force. She hoped it would not be the latter. Subsequently, after a fruitless excursion around the laboratories to find a badge and steal it, she finally gave up; now forced to adopt the alternative. A big risk, but one she had to take. Fear increased at the prospect.

Meanwhile, Ryder, still in Level 0, worried at what was happening while waiting for his chance to enter Level 1. Observing only medical staff and very few guards here it made him think that maybe he could compromise the situation if he went through. The captain should, he reasoned, be able to handle herself having only medical staff to contend with. Reluctantly, he decided it would be better to await her return – at least for now.