The Korean Intercept (15 page)

In the wake of the terrorist attack on the twin towers of the World Trade Center, after the military actions in Afghanistan and Iraq, the U.S. had expanded its war on terrorism in a number of ways: sending special forces to the Philippines, increasing military surveillance in Somalia, training special forces on the ground in Yemen and branding North Korea a "terrorist state" for its support of terrorist actions in South Korea, and against American interests in that part of the world: "a regime," in the words of the their president, "arming with missiles and weapons of mass destruction." America had served notice that it had no intention of permitting dangerous regimes to develop weapons of mass destruction that were intended for use against America or its allies. In other words, America reserved the right to take pre-emptive action. With regard to the Korean situation, from the West's point of view, the best-case scenario was that eventually the "Bamboo Curtain" separating North and South Korea would collapse peacefully, with the two Koreas then unifying along the German post-Cold War model. However, on the diplomatic front, leverage was limited. Since North Korea was one of the most isolated countries in the world, America had no diplomatic linkage with its government. The current administration was hoping that China and Japan might be persuaded to wield influence.

The "glue" holding together this famine-ravaged society of 22 million was Kim's son, Kim Jong II. The elder Kim had mentored his son to succeed him. Nearing sixty, the son was among the world's most shadowy figures. As head of his country's armed forces, Kim was described as running the day-to-day machinery of his government, but he altogether lacked his father's charisma and authority. It was the conclusion of intel psyche analysts from more than one agency, whose job it was to profile international leaders who were strategically important to American policy-making, that the guy was nuttier than a pecan pie. One piece of evidence that he lived in a cocoon of his own delusions was his by-any-standard abominable hairstyles, usually an awkwardly-sculpted coif, unflattering in the extreme. The reason for this was that, rather than flying in the best hairstylists from the salons of Paris or New York as he could easily have afforded to do, this leader of a nation with nuclear capabilities, narcissistically fixated on his appearance, instead chose to have his hair done by male political prisoners dragged up from the interrogation cells if they professed any ability whatsoever to cut hair. Such claims often proved to be nothing more than desperate ploys to stay alive, and many a "former barber" went to the firing squad primarily for the crime of having given his president a bad haircut. Kim's sexual preference was said to be for young men and boys, and so he was able to pander to his vanity while being supplied with a steady stream of young men and boys willing to do anything to survive, including servicing his private predilections. The only downside for Kim was that some hair days were better than others. This then was the "playboy" dictator of North Korea: head of a government riddled with corruption from the local commune level to Kim Jong II's private chambers, where he preened in pampered decadence while the famine worsened critically with each passing year despite international aid from nations, including the United States.

Without a paramount leader, North Korea was effectively a headless beast and, as such, represented a far greater potential threat to America than ever be fore.

 

Pyongyang, North Korea

 

Kim Jong II was getting a haircut in his private office, located on the top floor of the central government building. The office walls were a drab gray, barren except for a single photograph of Kim and his father standing formally side-by-side at some long-forgotten occasion of state. A metal desk, behind which Kim sat, matched the walls. The day itself was gray. Rain clouds gathered beyond the single window. Kim was overweight and pudgy. His complexion had an unhealthy pallor. His thinning hair was coifed in a pompadour.

The young man in prisoner garb administering the haircut was a slim-hipped teenager with girlish good looks: pouty lips and a delicate build. The youth held a comb in one hand, hair-clippers in the other, and was cautiously snipping near Kim's sideburns. Occasionally he would stop snipping and stand back to allow his hands to stop shaking. Having known enough to volunteer to his interrogators downstairs that he was proficient in cutting hair, he must surely have also known of the fate of so many "former barbers" before him. The prisoner clearly understood that his life depended on the haircut he was administering.

Kim, not wearing his thick eyeglasses, had to squint at the pair of men standing before him. His hair was tended to on a daily basis, often during work hours. "We find ourselves at an impasse," he said. "The Americans will not relent in their insistence that they be allowed access to Hamgyong Province, where they say their shuttle has gone down. Their position is that they are entitled to search for their precious shuttle. They cite our inability to secure our own borders against the Chinese in that region."

"The Americans are entitled to nothing." General Yang was nearing seventy. He had been a young lieutenant in the war against the Americans fifty years ago, and was presently supreme commander of the North Korean military. His aged body was in good condition, but at the moment he shivered as if with chills. "They have consistently pursued a policy against us. It is my considered opinion, sir, that the Americans' encroachment of our borders be considered an act of war."

The man beside him, General Tog, the military's second-in-command, was generations younger than Yang, but his eyes burned with the same conviction. "The military stands ready to defend our nation. The launch of missiles at U.S. positions along the DMZ awaits your approval, sir."

"I understand." Kim nodded. "But not yet, gentlemen, not yet." His lips curled into the semblance of a smile. "We hold in our hand the potential of turning this to our considerable advantage." He winced as the hair-clippers nipped too closely to his scalp. The prisoner ceased snipping, an expression of terror on his face. Kim touched his scalp, satisfied himself that there was no wound and snapped his fingers peevishly, gesturing for the prisoner to continue, which he did. Kim continued, to the men before him, "If our military were to find the shuttle first, we could use that to negotiate more economic aid from the Americans as a show of their gratitude… after our scientists have helped themselves to whatever they choose aboard the shuttle. With this much at stake, the Americans will not quibble. Need I remind you, gentlemen, that the famine relief provided by America lines our pockets?"

Yang's posture grew ramrod straight. "It makes my blood run as ice to think of them invading our soil."

"I concur," said Kim. "That is why pressure must be exerted on our troops in the region. Do you suppose the Americans suspect us of culpability in this matter?"

"Unfortunately," said Tog, "it's too soon to tell. I do believe that, if that were the case, they would first approach us privately with such an accusation, and demand their shuttle be returned. This they have not done."

"And we have no idea where that shuttle is?" Kim's tone was petulant.

"A Colonel Sung is our regional commander in Hamgyong Province," said Yang, "where the shuttle is believed to have gone down. Colonel Sung reports that he has been directing a search of his sector since dawn, thus far with no positive results."

"Colonel Sung is a most competent officer," said Yang, "and he is ruthless. He has been made to understand the grave urgency of this. A space shuttle has crashed in his sector. Someone will have seen something, and they will divulge what they know to him. I assure you, sir, we will see results."

"Enough," said Kim. "The mirror and my glasses." He was speaking to the prisoner, and holding each hand out, palm up. "I now wish to see the results of this haircut."

The prisoner obeyed. His trembling intensified, and he repeatedly licked his lips, awaiting the verdict on his work… reprieve, or execution.

 

Hamgyong Province, North Korea

 

Ahn Chong sat at a rough-hewn wood table. He was watching his daughter, Toi, prepare a lunch of pulgogi, thinly sliced beef with various spices, and makkolli, a beer made of rice. The tangy scents of spices in the kitchen area mingled with the faint wood smell from a low fire in the stove.

It was Ann's daily custom, at his daughter's request, to join Toi and her husband for their midday meal, ever since the passing of Mai. The interior of the one-room home of Toi and her husband had a low ceiling and bare timber walls. The furnishings were simple and rudimentary. A row of windows faced south, away from the village. Sunlight flowing in through these windows, combined with the wood fire in the stove, made the atmosphere warm and comfortable.

At thirty-seven years, Ahn's daughter had the stocky, thick-boned physique of the North Korean peasant woman, yet there was a delicacy to the line of her mouth, the form of her lips, that reminded him of Mai.

He considered this to be a sacred time of each day, seated like this at the kitchen table in his daughter's modest home, not far from his own. Sharing these meals with Toi brought back to him sweet memories of the meals he shared with his beloved Mai before the hideous ravages of her cancer had taken her from him. He had returned directly to the village from the cave, encountering neither army patrols nor anyone else along the way. He arrived early at his daughter's home for lunch. Her husband, Cho, had not yet returned from the fields for the midday repast. The conversation with Toi, as she prepared their lunch, was pleasant as always, about those mundane aspects of village life that they always discussed. A certain villager was reported to be a slacker in the fields. A village in the next valley was rumored to be willing to barter services in exchange for produce. They spoke of such things. Although he engaged her about the subjects she brought up this day, Ann's concerns were elsewhere. His world had been turned upside down, and he could tell no one. His biggest concern was those he should tell. He thought of the compact radio transceiver hidden nearby. And he thought of the jeopardy that he had placed his daughter in by his actions from the very beginning. There had never before been anything this big, which is why he had hesitated in using the radio to make his report. He must let nothing happen to Toi.

Midway through preparing their meal, she suddenly said, "Father, what is it? We've been talking, but your thoughts are somewhere else. Please tell me what it is that troubles you."

He reached his bony hand across the table to pat her arm reassuringly. "It's nothing, child. I have but the wandering mind of an old man in his dotage."

"You are more of a man than most of the younger fellows I see in the village," she said. "Despite your years, Father, you grow ever stronger: toughened, not weakened, by adversity."

He sighed and lowered his eyes from hers. "Toi, even the strong grow old and infirm."

"Not you, Father. You hike to visit Mother's grave every day, and yes, I know, sometimes late in the cold darkness of the night."

He frowned. "How do you know this?"

She sensed his flaring of concern, and said hurriedly, "Father, I have told no one."

"Not even your husband?"

"No, not even Cho. And I will tell nothing. Please, Father, tell me. What is it?"

It was her intelligence, and her intuition, regarding him, which most reminded him of her mother. Yet he could not in good conscience involve Toi in the extraordinary events he had witnessed, and been drawn into.

The outside door was abruptly flung inward.

Toi's husband entered the house. Ahn's son-in-law was squat, but proportionately muscular. Ten years older than Toi, Cho wore work denims, the knees dirt-stained from the morning's work. His expression was of severe consternation. Before Cho could utter a word, someone behind him propelled Cho into the house.

The man who had shoved, a rifle-carrying soldier, appeared in the doorway. He scanned their faces. "I am Sergeant Bol Rhee. You will join the others outside, at once."

Toi leaped to her feet, angrily. Another way she reminded Ahn of his Mai was the manner in which she did not gracefully accept personal affronts. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "How dare you—"

Ahn saw in the soldier's eyes that this could escalate out of control without warning. He knew the reason for the soldier's presence. He placed himself between the sergeant's rifle and his daughter. He then brazenly turned his back on the soldier, to rest both of his hands on Toi's shoulders. "Daughter, no. We will cooperate. We will do as he says."

She started to speak, and then interrupted herself. She whirled on her husband. "Cho, are you a party to this?"

Cho's expression shifted from consternation to the hint of outrage. "What foolishness to suggest such a thing! Of course not!"

To Ann's ears, the young man's denial sounded hollow and insincere.

The soldier snorted in frustration and disgust, apparently somewhat unwilling to gun down three civilians in their own home. Instead, he shoulder-slung his rifle and stepped forward. The thudding clump of his combat boots sounded radically out of place in the kitchen. He grasped both father and daughter, each in a firm grip above the elbow. "Listen, both of you." He shook them roughly for emphasis. "It is not I that you should fear. I suggest that you do as you're told. My commander is here. Be advised he is a man without mercy or sentimentality. You have been warned."

He gave neither of them an opportunity to respond. He dragged them through the doorway, outside. Cho trailed several steps behind, voicing what sounded to Ahn like half-hearted protests. They were taken through the bracing midday sunshine to the center of the village, where about thirty villagers had been herded into a group, huddled together under the watchful eye of soldiers with rifles. Bol released Ahn and Toi with a shove that sent them jostling into the huddled mass of frightened people.

Bol turned to an officer of severe demeanor and posture. The threat of violence was palpable in the air. "Sir, all of the adult males and their spouses are accounted for."