“Better not,” Naoko said. “If we keep doing this we’re going to end up listening in on someone having phone sex or planning a murder or something.”
“So then we call the cops,” Mitch said. “Could you imagine that? Some desk sergeant picking up the phone and discovering Batman has moved from Gotham to the Big Apple?”
“I think that’s enough for now,” Heinz cut in. “I’d like to point out that as spectacular as this is, there are moral considerations here too.”
Mitch looked at Watkins, who nodded. “He’s right. We know it works now. There’s no need to invade the privacy of people we don’t even know.”
Mitch shrugged. “What about the privacy of people we
do
know?”
“That’s a different matter entirely,” Heinz said. “Anything we can do to help figure out what’s going on is obviously justified. I was merely pointing out that we need to maintain a moral perspective on all of this. Playing God just because we can is—well, it’s corrupting. In fact, I think we should all agree right now that no one will use this or any other capability we might discover for personal or frivolous ends.”
Watkins and Naoko both nodded their agreement and looked at Mitch.
“Yes, fine, okay, I promise,” Mitch said. “No spying on innocent people.”
“Or anyone who isn’t of immediate concern,” Heinz added.
“Or them,” Mitch said.
“Good,” Heinz said.
Newburg, Maryland
Monday 18 June 2007
1400 EDT
Despite some initial confusion owing to the excitability of the caller, it took less than half an hour for the reported spotting of Jasper Klein to reach the state police, who wasted no time putting the news out on the wire. A veteran Virginia Highway Patrolman by the name of John Koehrsen spotted the blue Chevy Cobalt turning onto Route 17 outside the town of Port Royal on the Rappahannock River and followed the car to the town of Champlain, where two of his colleagues were waiting.
Titov, suspecting nothing out of the ordinary until he saw the cruisers parked nose to nose in the middle of the road, cursed and moved his foot to the brake. He considered making a run for it, but only for a moment.
“Give me the ID documents,” Titov said.
When Jasper handed them over Titov opened his door a crack and dropped the passport and both cards onto the road. Jasper, who had made no mention of his short-lived mutiny, began to panic.
“Something you want to tell me?” Titov said.
“The man at reception,” Jasper said. “He must have seen me. There was a picture of me on the TV.”
“And it didn’t occur to you to let me know?”
“I’m sorry,” Jasper said. “I didn’t—I don’t—”
“Never mind. Just do me a favor and let me do the talking.”
But any hope that talking might still be an option was dashed when Titov saw both officers were now kneeling behind their cars, shotguns at the ready. Titov stopped the car and put both hands where they could be seen.
“I suggest you do the same,” he told Jasper.
A moment later the cruiser that had been following them arrived. Officer Koehrsen stepped out with a bullhorn and raised it to his mouth. “Step out of the car. I want your hands where I can see them.”
“Do it,” Titov said.
“What the hell am I supposed to say?” Jasper said.
“I suggest you start by asking for that lawyer. If you’re lucky you might just get the trial you wanted. Who knows?”
“And if I’m not?”
Titov didn’t reply. He opened his door, got out and held both hands above his head. The officer rushing toward him stopped when he saw how big he was.
“Relax,” Titov said. “You’ll get no trouble from me. If you hand me your cuffs I’ll put them on myself.”
If anything, this attempt at humor only seemed to make the officer even more nervous. He pumped the shotgun and turned to his colleague, who was already cuffing Jasper. “Dobbs, I’m gonna need some help with this one.”
Titov shook his head in disappointment. “Do I look like a meth head to you? You think I’m going to get myself killed resisting arrest?”
“Just take it easy, big guy,” the officer said. “Lay down on the ground and put your hands behind your back.”
Titov considered making another appeal for civility. One look at the unsteady finger on the trigger of the shotgun killed the idea. He got to his knees, then lay down and crossed his arms behind his back. A moment later he felt a knee sink into his back between his shoulder blades. Then he was being cuffed and raised to his feet. It took both officers to do it.
Officer Koehrsen lowered his shotgun and nodded toward his own car. “I’ll take them in. You guys follow me.”
Jangdan-myeon, North Korea
Tuesday 19 June 2007
0700 KST
General Rhee’s second trip to the Jangdan-myeon mine was considerably less traumatic than the first. Part of the reason was the good news received from Duan, but more importantly, the trip no longer needed to be made by road.
The Russian Mi-26, the largest military helicopter in production, had arrived from the Chinese mainland that morning, complete with North Korean markings and two trained pilots; a sign, if any were needed, that Beijing was now fully committed to seeing the project through. In the large cargo hold were several boxes of replacement blades for the German-made drilling platform, which, if all went well, would soon be finishing what several thousand political prisoners had started over five decades earlier.
As soon as the helicopter touched down Rhee was met by the commander of the Project 38 security platoon, a middle-aged captain named Lee Chan-sook whose lack of imagination was matched only by his equally non-existent sense of humor. Colonel Ji, Lee’s senior by three ranks, followed him like an obedient dog and kept several yards back. In his amusement at this absurdity Rhee asked Lee if his colonel was behaving, but the attempt at humor was lost on the captain, who only nodded somberly.
“I trust everything is in order?” Rhee said.
“Yes, sir,” Lee said. “So far only two men have had to be—”
Rhee held up a hand, “I’m sure you’ve got everything under control, Captain. I’m more interested to know how we’re getting on with the tunnel.”
To this the captain appeared to have no answer, and he stepped aside, indicating for the colonel to come forward.
“Well?” Rhee said.
“General, I’m happy to report that we are still on schedule,” Colonel Ji said.
“Good,” Rhee said. “And the tunnel?”
“All is well with the tunnel, sir.”
When the colonel made no move to elaborate further, Rhee prompted, “And?”
“Sir?”
“The tunnel,” Rhee said. “How long is the damn tunnel now?”
The colonel produced a small notebook from his breast pocket, flipped through several pages and said, “Nineteen thousand, two hundred and thirty meters, sir. As of eight o’clock this morning.”
“How far can we proceed without the calculations?” Rhee said.
As if summoned by the sheer force of Rhee’s curiosity, a man came running out of the building towards them. When he spotted Rhee he stopped, suddenly unsure what to do.
“Well?” Rhee said, “What’s so urgent?”
“Sir,” the man said, “we’ve reached the cutoff. I’ve ordered the men to shut down the drill.”
“Very well,” Ji said. “Have your men finish pouring the shell and get them back.”
When the man was gone Rhee said, “I’m afraid the man responsible for completing the calculations is not yet with us. Out of curiosity, colonel, should he fail to appear, how confident are you that we could proceed without him?”
Ji looked as if the general had just asked him what he thought his chances would be of walking away from a game of Russian roulette with a fully loaded revolver.
“Never mind,” Rhee said. “You’ll get the information you need. In the meantime I’m afraid you’ll just have to do what you can.”
His suggestion at the exercise of initiative was met with a blank stare from both Colonel Ji and the captain. Rhee considered pointing out that both men were officers, then realized how little this meant in an army where free thought was more often than not a one-way ticket to oblivion.
“Just keep them busy,” Rhee said. “Perhaps Captain Chan-sook could drill the men. I hear he’s quite the instructor.”
“It would be my pleasure, sir. I was awarded the order of the red star at the academy for my—”
Rhee walked away before he could finish.
Rhee did not return to the helicopter, but made his way along the edge of the clearing instead. When he was alone he took out the picture Song had given him and stood looking at it for a long time, his features quickly souring.
Rhee had no clear memories of his mother and sister. He had been only four when the war against the South broke out and his father, then a sergeant in one of the newly formed infantry regiments, had sent them to live with relatives near the Chinese border, while Rhee himself was placed in the care of an uncle on the outskirts of the capital. His father had been killed in September 1950 during the UN counter-offensive at Incheon.
It was not until his promotion to general, and subsequent elevation to the stewardship of Project 38, that Rhee had finally gained access to the facts surrounding the death of his mother and sister. The report had been filed by a liaison officer attached to the Chinese 39
th
Army Group who had found the bodies and drawn the only plausible conclusion. His report had been dismissed out of hand.
The sheer brutality of the detailed account had affected Rhee like nothing he’d ever experienced. Try as he might to glean only the facts, his mind had rebelled and turned the words into images that refused to go away no matter how many times he suffered through them.
What had brought Rhee back to himself was the realization that any hope he would ever have of retribution lay in maintaining his position of influence and power.
When Rhee opened his eyes, he saw his hand had become a fist. He opened it and did his best to straighten the crumpled picture before returning it to his pocket.
The Isle of Dragons
Tuesday 19 June 2007
0800 EEST
The trek across the jagged, rocky terrain of the island had taken considerably longer than anyone had expected. On more than one occasion Heinz—at least three decades beyond his prime—had insisted they stop for a rest. At one point Richelle had lost her footing on a particularly steep slope. Only the quick reflexes of Erik had saved her from what could easily have been a few broken bones, or worse. But all of this was soon forgotten when they finally reached the eastern tip of the island and saw what was waiting for them.
Mitch had been right about one thing; the area was free from trees. But in every other respect it offered little to be optimistic about. What had looked from above like flat ground was in reality a sharp slope of uneven rock that ran from the place they now stood all the way into the sea. In several places the slope leveled off a little, but none of these shelves were anywhere near big enough. To make matters worse most of the rock was covered in a thick layer of green slime, an invitation to anyone brave enough to try walking down there to test both their courage and their luck.
“I’m not going to say I didn’t warn you,” Erik said.
“You just did,” Richelle said. “But it doesn’t change anything.”
“It doesn’t?” Erik replied. “I think it changes everything. There is no way in hell we could prepare this site in time even if we had the resources to do it.”
“Like…?” Richelle prompted.
“Dynamite,” Francis said.
Erik nodded. “Yeah, a lot of it. Not to mention the machinery to clear everything away. You’re looking at a month, maybe more.”
“So?” Richelle said. “What do you suggest?”
“I suggest we call the whole thing off and come up with a plan that’s going to work. One I’ll have time to implement.”
Heinz, still clearly exhausted, shook his head. “We can’t wait for another opportunity. We may not even get one.”
“I don’t really see how you can think of it as an opportunity when we have no practical way of taking advantage of it,” Erik said.
In the long silence that followed none of them noticed Francis peel away. It was only when Richelle gave up her attempts to mediate the escalating argument between Heinz and Erik that she saw he was gone. By the time he returned almost fifteen minutes later the debate had given way to collective anxiety.
“Where the hell have you been?” Richelle demanded.
Francis smiled and pointed up the hill. “I didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation. Besides, I may have found a solution to our little problem.”
They followed him, Heinz and Erik under a ceasefire which saw them taking up positions to either side of Richelle. When Francis steered them off into a thick forest of pines Erik stopped and said, “I don’t want to dampen your hopes, guys, but this terrain is even less suitable.”
“Just wait,” Francis said. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am.”
Ten minutes later they all came to a stop as the trees ended and the ground disappeared in front of them.
“I don’t get it,” Richelle began. “You’ve taken us to the end of the island.”
Francis smiled. “Look down.”
Erik stepped forward and leaned over the edge, holding on to the branch of a tree to steady himself. About fifty feet below the cliff edge there was a large semi-circular plateau, the outer edge of which dropped off sharply to the sea only a few meters below.
“Looks pretty flat to me,” Francis said.
They all expected Erik to discount the find as soon as he stepped back, but he didn’t.
“Well?” Richelle said.
“I’ll need to go down and have a look,” Erik said. “But it might work.”
This time it was Heinz who made the objection. “And how is anyone supposed to get down there?”
Francis pointed out at the sea, “From the water. If you ask me, it makes a lot more sense than trying to drag things back the way we came.”
“And how do we hide it?” Heinz asked. “It would be completely exposed to anyone passing by.”