Fires of War (42 page)

She got up to leave.

“Yeah,” said Slott, not bothering to get up. “Thanks.”

~ * ~

29

NORTH OF SUNG HO, NORTH KOREA

Korean breakfasts were traditionally skimpy, and when the party was roused at seven-thirty the morning following the reception, all that was available was a large metal pot of weak tea. Ferguson downed two cups, and was on his third when his “translator” Chonjin appeared.

Ferguson’s pretend hangover amused Chonjin greatly, and the North Korean quickly suggested a cure: an ill-smelling concoction mixed with goat’s milk from the kitchen.

Ferguson wouldn’t have trusted the remedy even if he’d had a
real
hangover. But with Chonjin watching, he decided he had to take at least a sip. His stomach revolted; he ran to the nearby washroom as Chonjin nearly doubled over laughing.

Another man came in as Ferguson wiped his face at the sink. He was a North Korean soldier in full uniform.

“Captain Ganji,” said Ferguson. “
Annyeonghaseyo.”

The man, a corporal, looked at him and shook his head, explaining in Korean that he was not a captain and certainly not Ganji. Ferguson apologized, then switched to Russian, saying that he admired Ganji, a very shrewd thinker and a good drinker.

The soldier shook his head, and told him in Korean that he didn’t understand.

“English?” tried Ferguson.

That didn’t work either. The man rattled off something far too rapidly for Ferguson to understand.

“Mworago hasyeosseoyo?”
said Ferguson. “I’m sorry, I missed what you were saying.”

“He was explaining that the captain is an aide to General Namgung,” said Chonjin, coming inside the room. “He spends all of his time at the capital, at headquarters.”

“Oh, very good,” said Ferguson in Russian. He laughed. “And did I meet the captain last night?”

“He wasn’t here.” Chonjin turned to the other Korean and began quizzing him. “He says you thought he was Captain Ganji,” Chonjin told Ferguson when he was finished.

“Oh. I was actually trying to say good morning.”

“Annyeonghaseyo.”

“Annyeonghaseyo,”
repeated Ferguson. “Doesn’t sound like Captain Ganji or General Nagtum to me.”

“Namgung,” said Chonjin curtly. There was no longer any trace of amusement in his voice. “He is a very important man.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ferguson. He turned to the other man, who had a very worried expression on his face. “I am very sorry.”

“Joesonghaeyo,
” prompted Chonjin.

“Joesonghaeyo,
” said Ferguson.

“You speak English very well for a Russian,” said Chonjin as the other man slipped past them.

“Thank you.”

“You know more Korean than you let on.”

“I keep trying.”

Chonjin told him in Korean that he was the bastard son of a three-legged pig.

Ferguson got the bastard but missed the rest.

“You may be right,” said Ferguson in Russian. “My mother was rather loose.”

“Come,” said Chonjin, switching to English. “Let’s go hunting, if your head has cleared.”

“
Dah
,” said Ferguson, staying in Russian. “My head feels much better.”

“Wait,” said Chonjin as they got to the door. He reached into his jacket, and for a moment Ferguson thought he was going to pull out a gun. Instead he presented him with a small package. “Your business cards,” he said in English.

“Спасибо,”
said Ferguson. “Thank you.”

~ * ~

ickup trucks with benches mounted on the sides of the beds were lined up at the front of the lodge. When all the guests had boarded, the trucks set off, following the dirt road and passing the house where Park had met with General Namgung. They continued along the stream for about a half mile before coming to the edge of an overgrown field. Two other trucks were there already, waiting. These had shotguns for the men to use.

“What are we hunting?” Ferguson asked his escort in Russian.

“Grouse,” said Chonjin in English.

“I didn’t know there were grouse in Korea,” said Ferguson, sticking to Russian.

Chonjin shrugged, and led him toward the truck with the shotguns. Ferguson examined one. It was a Chinese pump design similar to a Winchester Model 12, with an inlaid pearl pattern in the highly polished stock.

“They loaded?” Ferguson asked.

“They will hand out ammunition when we reach the starting line for the hunt,” said Chonjin.

Ferguson checked the magazine anyway. As he did, he saw Li approaching out of the corner of his eye.

“Mr. Manski,” said Li, nodding to Chonjin. “Perhaps you would like to hunt with Mr. Park.”

“Love to.”

“Come with me then.”

Chonjin took a step to follow but stopped when Li shook his head.

“You have recovered from last night?” said Li, leading him around the trucks and back up the road.

“Yes,” said Ferguson.

“Remarkable.”

“No more remarkable than anyone else.”

“Tell me, Mr. Manski, how did you come to be locked out of your room?”

“I was locked out of my room?
ПраВда?
I guess I don’t remember much of anything.”

“Where did you get a key?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

Li made a kind of humphing sound, but said nothing else, continuing in the direction of the house. As they rounded the first curve, a military-style jeep drove down the road. Ferguson stepped to the side, making room for it to pass.

The jeep stopped in front of them. Park sat in the front, next to a driver.

Li took Ferguson’s shotgun, then gestured for him to get in the back of the vehicle.

“Mr. Manski, again we talk,” said Park. He used English and stared out the front of the jeep, not looking at Ferguson. Li remained on the road.

“Happy to have the opportunity.”

“Why would you come to me? What could you possibly have that might be of use to me?”

“That’s for you to decide.”

“Yes. I am a businessman, Mr. Manski, not a general or a politician. Not a terrorist.”

“Of course not.”

“But you deal with terrorists.”

“I deal with businessmen,” Ferguson replied. “And I am discreet.”

“Some of your customers are not. You have a reputation.”

“I can get things done when they need to be done. I can make arrangements that a man like yourself . . . You could certainly do what you want, but others might question it. It might look embarrassing.”

Ferguson expected that Park would stop the conversation soon, handing him back to Li to do the dirty work.

That was really all he needed. He’d spend the rest of the day hunting, drinking. Get back, make his report.

Probably be told to come home. Play it by ear then.

“I have a vision for Korea,” Park said. “We will be reunited. We will resume our historic place in the world.”

Park twisted back to look at him.

“Do you know any Korean history, Mr. Manski?”

“Not much,” said Ferguson. “I know the Japanese raped your country.”

“That doesn’t begin to describe what they did.” Anger flashed in Park’s eyes, but he quickly controlled himself. “The history I refer to goes much deeper. Koreans ruled Asia. A small nation ruled the larger ones.”

The Chinese had actually done most of the ruling in Asia, but Ferguson didn’t think it politic to interrupt.

“Korean intelligence, work ethic, tradition . . . We are a great people,” continued Park. “Your country, Russia, it is large, too varied, and corrupt. There are many thieves in Russia.”

“I have to agree.”

“America . . . earnest but a mongrel nation.”

“At best.”

“Mongrels and thieves have no place in Korea.”

“Of course not,” said Ferguson.

Park smiled, then turned back to the front. “Mr. Li will speak with you now.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Park,” said Ferguson, leaning to get out. “Pleasure.”

The jeep jerked into motion before Ferguson was completely out. He had to do a little twist to regain his balance. When he did, he looked up and saw that Li was holding a pistol on him.

“Problem?” said Ferguson.

“There is no place for mongrels or thieves in Korea, Mr. Manski.” An SUV drove up. Li nodded toward the truck as it stopped behind him. “You will get in.”

“I don’t think so.”

“For myself, I don’t care; killing you here would be very easy. But Mr. Park fears that our hosts would not like to offend your government and desire a little time to contemplate the arrangements. So I advise you to get in, before I decide that their feelings are not worthy of consideration.”

~ * ~

~ * ~

1

NEAR THE DEMILITARIZED ZONE, KOREA

Corporal Wanju stared at the figure, disbelieving as it seemed to rise directly from the ground. He was manning a guard post about seventy yards south of the Demilitarized Zone separating the two Koreas.

How had he appeared there? A tunnel?

The man ran toward the roll of barbed wire to the corporal’s left.

“An enemy!” hissed the private who shared the corporal’s observation post. “Corporal, look.”

Corporal Wanju had served in the army for more than three years, and had been stationed at this post for more than five months. He had seen North Korean soldiers before, but always at a distance, through binoculars.

What was the man doing? Attacking? He didn’t seem to have a rifle.