A Tissue of Deception.

Part Three.

The Fifth Freedom.

A Novel by

David Mace.

Chapter One.

Tuesday, December 5, 1950.

Choksong. South of Highway Four.

South Hamgyong Province.

North Korea.

Two miles south of the Imjin River, Private First Class Robbie Sheffler of Alpha Company, 3rd Platoon, 1st Battalion-5th Marine Regiment; 1st Marine Division, was sitting in a shell crater with two of his platoon buddies apathetically eating the contents of the breakfast "K" ration can... which was the usual, unappetising chopped ham and what was alleged to be whole eggs. The can contained a mushy concoction of reconstituted powdered scrambled eggs and chunks of chopped, smoked ham. It tasted almost reasonable when it was heated; but cold like this, it was another matter. The best description for breakfast "K" rations came from Gunnery Sergeant Casey McKee, the "Old Man" of the platoon; who had once remarked,

"They only stop tastin' like shit when you're too fuckin' hungry to care."

Alpha Company was due to move on west towards Kaesŏng from just outside the little settlement of Choksong and cross the Imjin River to follow the RoK 6th and 8th Divisions up towards the Chŏrwon area which was known as "The Iron Triangle"... a key Communist Chinese and North Korean concentration area and communications junction in the central sector between Chŏrwon and Kumwha in the south, and Pyongyang in the north. It would be a hard day's slog to catch up with them.

Time to go. The platoon gathered its weapons and began to move out towards Highway Four, about one-and-a-half kilometres south of the Imjin River crossing point; which was bounded on the north side by extensive paddy fields, and a smelly little stream that the tactical maps identified as the Nullori River, to the south.

Approaching the stream, Robbie Sheffler grimaced at the sight of the large number of skeletal remains scattered about. The big black Korean ants didn't leave much for the other carrion scavengers. He jumped the stream, noticing another skeletal corpse half-submerged in the slimy water. He glanced down again, and something caught his eye. The remains had three bullet holes in its skull, and looked as though it had been burned. Flame-thrower?... or perhaps, a white-phosphorus grenade?... but it wasn't the charred skeleton that had attracted his attention.

He paused, and stared down into the depths of the turbid water. There! A flash of reflected light down on the bed of the stream next to the skeletal remains. He knelt on the bank of the steam and reached down into the water. His fingers touched something smooth and cold. Grasping the object, he brought it to the surface. He stared at it... a deep red, pigeon-egg-sized, Garnet gemstone.

As he stared at it, a tiny pinprick of light flickering briefly in the depths of its blood-red heart as it nestled in his hand. There was no way that he could know that this gemstone was, without doubt, the most dangerous object he would ever encounter. It was in fact, the notorious "Red Horseman" that Charlotte Mckenna had been searching for since 1945.

He tossed it in his hand, grinned, and slipped it into the spare ammo pouch he used to carry his extra goodies. This would be worth a good few bucks when he eventually got the chance to sell it on. Gunny McKee's voice cut across his thoughts.

'C'mon, let's cut-a-chogie! Two hundred-plus klicks to go; and the Gooks are waiting!'

And Alpha Company picked up the pace as they moved on up north towards the Chosin Valley.

Wednesday, May 25, 1960.

Pyongyang.

North Korea.

   CIA deep cover agent Captain Charlotte Mckenna sat in her office in the austere surroundings of the T17 sniper academy located in the P'yŏngch'ŏn district of Pyongyang and studied, perhaps for the hundredth time, the thick dossier containing the files of all the Soviet officers posted as missing in North Korea during the war. She sighed. So far, through months of searching she had not found even the most inconsequential reference to a "Polkovnik"... Colonel, Konstantin Sharansky of the Soviet Administration troops... the "Sovetskaia Voennaia Administratsia."

   Colonel Konstantin Sharansky was the cover identity that had been allocated to her lover, Max Segal, when he went into North Korea. His legend had been that he was a Soviet Military Attaché on rotation from the Russian Legation in Seoul to the Number 2 KPA Officers School. Nothing had been heard of him since. There was simply no way of establishing if he was still alive. There was no indication that he had ever been discovered… the North Koreans would have seized on the opportunity to mount a show trial for an exposed Imperialist spy in their midst, and, with the suspicion that the captured spy might well be a CIA operative; the Soviets would have moved him swiftly to the Lubyanka prison back in Moscow for extensive interrogation.

   Charlotte had now been in deep cover in Pyongyang for almost two years; fully accepted as an accredited member of the Soviet Embassy on Somun Street, and attached as an advanced marksmanship Instructor/Advisor at the sniper academy. When her daughter Stacey was eight, Charlotte had been called into the CIA Chief of Station's office on the U.S. Naval air station, Atsugi, Japan and instructed that she was being made operational once again. An Intelligence Information teletype message had been received from William Colby, the Chief of Station in Saigon, and Chief of the CIA's Far East Division, requiring that an officer was to be placed in the very heart of North Korea's Military environment. The obvious choice would be Pyongyang… the Kim Il Sung Military University on the western side of the city which had been virtually obliterated by American bombing raids and rebuilt.

This covert operation had been allocated the code name "Similitude" due to the fact that Charlotte closely resembled a Russian Military Intelligence Colonel named Nadia Tolenkanovna who had been killed in an air attack whilst on her way to Pyongyang to be seconded as an advanced marksmanship Instructor/Advisor. According to intelligence sources, she was approximately the same age as Charlotte, and was very similar to her in her appearance. The Embassy officials in Pyongyang had never seen Tolenkanovna, and consequently, Charlotte would be accepted without question.

Relations with the Soviet Union had soured as the USSR de-Stalinised and sought better relations with the West. North Korea was caught in the middle of the Sino-Soviet split. Although Kim Il-sung hoped to remain neutral and play the two larger powers off against each other, the Soviets concluded that he favoured the Chinese, and cut off all support. North Korean troops were taking a much more aggressive stance toward U.S. forces in and around South Korea, engaging U.S. Army troops in fire-fights along the Demilitarized Zone. North Korea had all but re-ignited the Korean War.

   Believing that America would be slow to respond due to its increasing presence in Vietnam, North Korea had also initiated its infiltration campaign. Specially trained commandos were sent across the DMZ. Several commandos made it to the capital where they intended to assassinate the South Korean President. The plot failed however when the Commandos were killed in a shoot-out with the Seoul police. As the Great Cultural revolution in China began to gather momentum, Chinese Red Guards hurled insults at Kim through wall posters and blasted tirades from loudspeakers on the border, accusing North Koreans as being revisionist like Khrushchev, refusing to aid North Vietnam; and ignoring the Cultural Revolution.

   Something was about to happen. Washington was edgy. Would Kim make a move against the south as an appeasement to the Communist Chinese? Colby wanted someone on the inside of the North Korean Communist National organisation. Head of Station had decided that Charlotte, because of her multi-lingual skills, would be chosen for this mission. Her legend would be that she was the Soviet advisor Colonel Nadia Tolenkanovna. The Soviet embassy in Pyongyang had been observing the rise of Kim Il Sung's political process of the "Cult of Personality in the DPRK" with unease and alarm. Their misgiving had been revealed in a cable intercepted by the CIA Station in Seoul.

Colby had received a signal from the CIA Office of Special Operations that Washington wanted an officer placed in deep cover inside the Soviet Embassy in Pyongyang. The old landline from the Seoul telephone exchange that had been used during the war to connect between the Bureau and Kim Il Sung's intelligence headquarters in Pyongyang 's former No. 2 KPA Officers School was still serviceable. Seoul knew that it had been tapped by the Soviets when it was discovered during the post war reconstruction by Soviet engineers in the Government quarter of Pyongyang. A message would be sent notifying the North Korean Intelligence headquarters of the imminent arrival of a new Soviet advisor. The Embassy would intercept this message and, in view of the deteriorating relations between them and the North Koreans, would almost certainly extract the new "Advisor" before the Korean intelligence staff arrived to meet him or her. At least, that was the most likely scenario according to the available intelligence.

   Charlotte studied Head of Station.

   'You really think that I'm the one for this assignment? Don't forget, I'm no spring chicken… I am forty-six, and I have an eight-year old daughter.'

   Head of Station nodded.

   'Yeah, Charlotte, I know; but you don't look a day over thirty-five; and your blonde hair is typical of a Belorussian girl. You speak fluent Russian and know their customs and behaviours from your Pre-war Siberian assignment. You really are the best I have for this deployment. Stacey will be OK with us. Josie Pullen will look after her, and we'll see to it that she has the best education money can buy.'

   Charlotte nodded.

   'So what's the legend you're putting together for me?'

   Head of Station pushed a slim folder across the desk.

   'It's all in here. You are now "Polkovnik"… Colonel Nadia Tolenkanovna. You were born on March 18th, 1912, in a small rural farming community outside Smolensk. At the age of sixteen, your family moved to Moscow, and there you joined a youth marksman club. You excelled as a markswoman.

   You were twenty-nine, and a civilian firearms instructor when Germany invaded Russia in the June of 1941. You were allowed by the military commissariat to enrol in the Central Women’s School for Snipers at Veshnyaki near Moscow. Its graduates completed a regimented, eight-month training program of tactics, camouflage; fieldcraft and marksmanship. Upon successful completion, they were then posted to specific rifle regiments. You were selected for the Rezerv Verkhovnogo Glavnokomandovaniya... the Reserves of the Supreme High Command, and went operational as a sniper in the Autumn of 1943 with the 3rd Shock Army, 1st Belorussian Front, with the rank of Guards senior sergeant in the Nevel'-Gorodok offensive.'

'Through the Winter-Spring Campaign of 43-44, the Starorussa-Novorzhev offensive operation, and the Summer-Autumn Campaign of 1944, your score rapidly mounted, until, during the Riga Offensive and the Kurland peninsula blockade between September 1944 and May 1945, your score of confirmed kills topped one hundred, and you had been awarded the Order of the Red Star.'

'You then moved west, and by the time you arrived in Berlin you had increased your score to one hundred and fifty-two, of which twelve were German snipers. You were one of only six of your original class at Veshnyaki who survived. You returned to the Central Female Sniper Academy, which, in the autumn of 1943 had been relocated to Podolsk, as an instructor with the rank of Major in 1946. Whilst there, you were again promoted and awarded the Order of The Great Patriotic War (First Class.)

   'In 1952, the Soviet Union closed its national system of sniper schools and most women were demobilized and banned from attending military schools and academies. A common belief reasserted itself among the Politburo of the Central Committee that women should serve only when the country was endangered. Those who remained in the army were posted to women's traditional military occupations such as nursing, political work, communications, and administration.'

   Charlotte studied him.

   'So, what became of Colonel Tolenkanovna?'

   Head of Station smiled.

   'She was transferred to the Administration Directorate… which, as we all know, is actually Russian Military Intelligence. The Soviet Union and China trained and equipped North Korea’s snipers. The Communist regime went on to utilise snipers during the Korean War very effectively. A sniper was actually chosen to be a member of a sniper team. The many tunnels that North Korea had dug through to South Korean territory allowed their snipers to reach prime locations. Consequently, that, in addition to sniping skills led to the success of North Korean snipers, who eventually were reorganised into the DPRK Special Operations Forces Reconnaissance sniper brigades.

They were intensively trained at the T17 sniper academy in Pyongyang, which is where Major… now promoted to Colonel Tolenkanovna, and awarded the Order of Lenin for her services to the Motherland, was to be seconded as an advanced marksmanship Instructor/Advisor.'

   Charlotte raised an eyebrow. Head of Station gave a cold smile and continued.

   'Colonel Tolenkanovna is permanently out of the picture. The car bringing her to Pyongyang was accidentally targeted by a North Korean patrol last month, and shot up real good. There were no survivors. Pyongyang was never told of the incident; in fact, it was never reported at all. It was all hushed up because of the ongoing disintegration of the anti-Soviet pro-Maoist bloc which has been gathering pace. This has been due to the Cultural Revolution. The internal propaganda of North Korea has begun to criticize "dogmatism" and "superpower chauvinism," clearly directed at China.

Relations have now reached their lowest ebb, and the patrol commander would rather not admit that they'd accidentally killed a heroine of Russia's Great Patriotic War for fear of terminal reprisals from his superiors. Consequently, the blame was laid squarely at the door of some anonymous air attack. The bodies were never identified due to the fact that the car in which she was travelling exploded and incinerated the occupants; and the whole thing was written off as "Fortunes of War." We discovered the truth, almost by accident, when an unimportant North Korean officer who had been with the patrol was captured and routinely interrogated.

Colonel Nadia Tolenkanovna was the same age as you appear to be, and our intelligence sources in Russia say that she was very similar to you in her appearance. The Embassy officials in Pyongyang have never seen her, so you should fit in without any problem, with your reputation for tradecraft and security.'

   Charlotte nodded.

   'Impressive. So how do you propose to insert me into North Korea?'

   Head of Station studied her briefly, and then drew another slim file from his desk drawer.

   'The Seoul Bureau has utilised the old landline we had covertly re-routed from the Seoul telephone exchange during the War to connect between the Bureau and Kim Il Sung's Intelligence Headquarters in the old Pyongyang Number 2 KPA Officers School… now renamed the Korea Central Intelligence Agency. We used it very effectively for disinformation, and it was never discovered as being our "Trojan Horse."

   'A signal purporting to be from Moscow Central has been transmitted along this clandestine route informing them of the imminent arrival of a certain Colonel Nadia Tolenkanovna of the Administration Directorate, who has been appointed by Moscow as an advanced marksmanship Instructor/Advisor, seconded to the T17 sniper academy in Pyongyang. This information will have been forwarded by the Koreans to the Soviet Embassy in Pyongyang as a matter of diplomatic protocol, and thus, they will be expecting you.'

   He placed the sheet of paper to one side and removed another. This one bore the Seoul U.S. Consulate crest and was marked "Most Secret." He glanced up at Charlotte.

   'We have arranged to use the same method that the Bureau used to insert Max Segal. We'll sail the Yangtze River-type coal barge along the Taedong River to the old wharves at Sep'o, where they will off-load a Soviet staff car which you will use to drive into Pyongyangalong the main Pyongyang -Chinnamp'o highway. Once in the city, you are to report to the Soviet Embassy in Somun Street. They will make all the subsequent arrangements.'

   Charlotte studied him solemnly.

   'The same route? Will we get away with it twice?'

   Head of Station nodded.

   'Yes. They're far too busy rebuilding their country to worry too much about a grimy old Chinese coal barge... and besides which; it's the same crew: Chief Warrant Officer Jimmylee Chung and his men... the same guys who successfully inserted Max.'

   He closed the file and studied Charlotte. He then walked across to the safe in the corner of his office; opened it, and withdrew one more file; black-tabbed, and containing a single sheet of teletype paper. He motioned her to sit, and began to read the contents of the closely typed sheet.

A Presidential Executive Order has been issued to grant a "Fifth Freedom" operation clearance for this mission, in view of its clandestine and perilous nature.

This "Fifth Freedom" is an additional freedom specifically allocated by The President to nominated CIA Officers - Paramilitary, or otherwise; engaged in highly covert missions to protect the four freedoms articulated by U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt in the State of the Union Address he delivered to the United States Congress on January 6, 1941. In the address; also known as the Four Freedoms speech, Roosevelt proposed four fundamental freedoms that humans "everywhere in the world" ought to enjoy, including:

Freedom of Speech and Expression, Freedom of Religion; Freedom from Want and Freedom from Fear.

This covert "Fifth Freedom" permits disregard to any law, agreement or framework of ethical behaviour in order for an operative to accomplish their designated mission and protect the original Four Freedoms of United States citizens. It's the right to defend our laws, by breaking them. To safeguard secrets, by stealing them. To save lives, by taking them. To do whatever it takes to protect our country. It is fundamentally covert to ensure plausible deniability... the new phrase circulating in Government circles in Washington; which is say that if you are discovered and/or captured, the Government can deny any knowledge of your existence.'

Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

'No change there, then.'

William Colby gave a wry grin, and nodded.

'OK. Here's the deal. You fly out from Tokyo International at the end of the week for Seoul. This time, you'll be flying on an ordinary Japan Airlines, civilian scheduled flight to Gimpo International Airport… that's the old K14 Kimpo Air Base which they've renamed this year by Presidential Order, and is being given a full-scale upgrade to international airport status.'

'We're doing it this way so that you will appear to be just another passenger, in case one of the many North Korean spies who are roaming the city is keeping watch on the airport.'

   The Japan Airlines DC-7 circled low over the city as the pilot joined the landing circuit to Gimpo International Airport. Gazing down from the cabin window, Charlotte was surprised how different it appeared to what she remembered of Seoul from her time with the Bureau. Following the war, Seoul had undergone an immense reconstruction and modernization effort due mainly to necessity, but also due in part to the symbolic nature of Seoul as the political and economic centre of Korea.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

   During the Korean War, the city had changed hands between the Chinese-backed North Korean forces and the UN-backed South Korean forces several times, leaving vast tracts of Seoul in ruins after the War ended in 1953, with at least half of the city laid waste by the fighting and bombing. In addition, a flood of refugees had entered the city during the war, swelling the population of Seoul and its metropolitan area to more than two million; more than half of them homeless.

The formerly bustling East Gate Market had become an empty wilderness of rubble, rusty galvanized iron, and silence. The stark ruins scattering across the once great city she remembered were still in plain view, seven years after the guns had fallen silent... gutted buildings, jagged walls without ceilings, and acres of desolation through which the breeze moaned and whimpered from off the Han River.

   As the DC-7 turned west to line up on its final approach, she noticed that the old, six-kilometre-long Cheonggyecheon stream which cut east to west across the city, effectively bisecting the northern and southern districts, was finally being covered over. She smiled to herself. Not before time! Neglected and highly polluted, it had been an eyesore for years… lined with a multitude of shabby, makeshift, shanty huts built by refugees, and the stench emitting from its dirty waters could be savoured across the entire city when the wind was in the right direction. During her time at the Seoul Bureau, the Cheonggyecheon was considered a symbol of the poverty and filth that were the legacy of a half-century of colonialism and war. The open sewer in the centre of the city was also a major obstacle to the redevelopment of Seoul. The war had sorted some of those problems out, but, somehow, Seoul would never be the same without the lingering aroma of the festering waterway that the Colonial Japanese occupational forces had christened the "Takgyecheon," which meant, "dirty water stream." This was supremely ironic, because the "Cheonggyecheon" had originally been known as the "clean stream," but following liberation in 1945 and the Korean War the area had become a large, seething slum. Soon, the "clean stream" was filled with human waste, rubbish, and rising sediment, until, as Seoul began its rapid industrialization, the stream was finally paved over, and the slums were destroyed. An elevated highway was now being constructed over the old stream-bed.

   The DC-7 began its descent. She heard the familiar shrill hydraulic whine of the flaps and the landing-wheels being lowered as they were crossing the Han River below, obscured by a candescent haze that hung over the flat, sluggish, eddying grey waters. She felt her ears began to block with the slow descent towards the pale concrete ribbon that was the main runway at Gimpo International. Then there came the hiss, and sickly smell of the insecticide bomb being deployed and the dip of the plane's nose; followed by the sharp squeal and the tearing bump of the tyres meeting the runway.

   The cabin was suddenly filled with an ugly roar as the pilot pulled the propeller pitch levers back through the reverse pitch "gate" and into reverse to slow the plane for the turn-off taxiway, followed by the rumbling progress over the grass towards the tarmac apron as the big airliner slowed with squealing brakes, and came to a standstill in front of the flight terminal which still showed the marks of war, with machine gun bullet holes in the walls. The roar of the engines faded as the pilot closed the throttles, and with a weary mechanical wheezing from the power recovery turbines, the propellers slowed, and finally came to rest with a faint haze of blueish smoke puffing fitfully from the exhaust stacks.

   The stewardess opened the passenger door with a soft thud, and the passengers began disembarking down the passenger stairs which had been towed up to the port side of the airplane, just aft of the wing. Charlotte was about halfway back in the queue that formed as the passengers left their seats in the cabin. As she stepped out into the daylight, the old, familiar, hot, damp heat hit her. A young man in a civilian suit was waiting with the flight attendants at the foot of the passenger stairs. His whole appearance screamed "Spook"… even down to the obligatory quasi-military sunglasses.

   As she stepped onto the tarmac, he moved forward, hesitated, and spoke.

   'Captain Mckenna? Welcome to Seoul, Ma'am. I am Bradley Snyder…Brad, for short; under secretary at the Chancery. I have a car waiting for you.'

   Charlotte studied him discreetly. Under-secretary indeed! He couldn't have broadcast the fact that he was a rooky agent any plainer than if he had the letters "CIA" stencilled in big red letters across his forehead. She sighed under her breath. It wasn't really his fault… he had just read too many Matt Helm novels… and all the experienced agents were deployed in Vietnam and Laos. Best to get him out of the public view. Smoothly, she took charge of the situation.

   'OK, Brad. Pleased to meet you. Now, let's go get out of this damned heat.'

   Together, they walked across the tarmac to where a plain black Pontiac sedan that he had pointed out was waiting. The driver opened the rear door for her, whilst Snyder took the front passenger seat. Checking that she was comfortably settled, the man climbed into the driving seat, engaged gear, and swept away from the terminal building towards the main road. The driver turned left onto the road that led from the airfield down towards Yongdungp'o and accelerated up to sixty mph. Brad Snyder turned in his seat and spoke.

   'We're taking you down to K-55 Osan Air base on the orders of Head of station, Seoul. It's about sixty-five klicks down MSR1.The insertion will take place from there. The old coal barge trick is out, I'm afraid. The gooks sank her last month. You'll be flying into Pyongyang this time.'

   Charlotte gave him a quizzical glance.

   'MSR1? What's that?'

   He grinned.

   'Army slang... it's short for Military Supply Route One… the main road south to Pusan.'

   Yongdungp'o had undergone extensive rebuilding since Charlotte was last there. Most of the dingy shops and Chi-Chi clubs had long since vanished... either by war damage or urban clearance. At the intersection at the end of the main street of the Itaewono District, the driver turned left into what appeared to be a tree-lined, dusty dirt road heading south towards Anyang and Suwon. The trees were incongruous. Since she had returned to Korea, Charlotte had noticed that there were practically no trees left anywhere in South Korea. Snyder explained that the U.S. had given Korea millions of Dollars to pave MSR1. Instead they bought trees to "keep the pedestrians cool" and pocketed most of the money. Snyder added that the extensive road works along this route were the initial construction stages of what would become the Kyongbu Expressway, which was scheduled for completion from Seoul via Suwon to Osan by the end of the year.

   Osan Air base was not quite what she had expected. Immediately outside the perimeter fence, rice paddies were still being carefully tended as they had been for countless generations. Once through the main gate the base still retained its Korean War-vintage facilities and infrastructure and looked as though little had been spent to improve them. This was understandable considering Washington's focus on Cuba with the Missile Crisis and Europe in the new Cold War flare up. Korea… or at least, this part of it looked as though it had been quietly forgotten. On base, the barracks were still the corrugated iron Quonset huts of the Korean War period, and the base appeared to have simply stagnated. However, the flying infrastructure appeared sound. The nine thousand-foot runway and the hardstandings… which were occupied by a handful of apparently unmarked F4 Phantom jets appeared to be in good repair. The main structures looked sound, and well maintained, but it was a far cry from the other Military bases with which she was familiar.

   The car crossed the base to a remote Choga-chi... a traditional Korean country house with white-painted mud-wattle walls and a rice-thatch roof, and stopped in the open courtyard in front of the building. The entrance was guarded by two mean-looking MPs, each with an even meaner-looking German shepherd guard dog on a chain leash. Snyder escorted her inside where she was introduced to a youngish Lieutenant-colonel, the base's Director of intelligence. He smiled.

   'Pleased to meet you Captain. No names here if you please. What you don't know can't hurt you.'

   He waited until Snyder had left the room and invited her to sit.

   'Your papers and uniform are in the next room. We're only about seventy klicks south of the DMZ, so we'll fly you out over the Sea of Japan at low level in one of our covert ships, then turn, climb to altitude, and come in over the North Korean coast on a heading that will lead them to believe the airplane is approaching from the general direction of Vladivostok.'

   He then said that Operations base in Seoul had sent the signal up the clandestine landline to Pyongyang that Colonel Tolenkanovna would be arriving by airplane at a military airfield at Mirim, sited on the southern side of the Taedong River on the eastern edge of the city. The U.S. had used it as a base for P-51 Mustang fighters of the 18th U.S. Bomber Wing during the Korean War, but it was little-used these days according to the available intelligence. As such, it would be the destination of choice by the North Koreans for the confidential arrival of a high-profile Soviet Advisor… there would be minimal security risk.

   Having fully briefed Charlotte, the Director of intelligence invited her to avail herself of his private suite where she could change into her uniform that had been provided by his department. He rose from behind his desk and escorted her to the far side of the Choga-chi. She entered a comfortable-looking bedroom suite and he closed the door firmly behind her. The venetian blinds at the windows were closed, and the uniform was laid out on the single bed. She undressed and put on the uniform. It fitted perfectly. This was no great surprise. The Bureau was very efficient in these matters… and her measurements were in her personal file, after all. She studied herself in the mirror on the dresser. Not bad… not bad at all. Her Prussian good looks… blonde, and high cheek-boned, had always served her well. She smiled quietly. Forty-six years old, and she could still get away with people thinking she was in her mid-to-late thirties.

She had been afraid that the stern elegance of the Soviet uniform would cause her to end up resembling something like the repulsive Colonel Rosa Klebb; the character in the recently-published James Bond spy novel by the English author, Ian Fleming, titled "From Russia, with Love"… but the olive green wool tunic jacket with matching red piped shoulder boards bearing two red stripes and three stars, and gold-coloured metal oak leaf collar tabs; the dove-green shirt, olive tie, and Military black skirt for female Officers actually flattered her still-trim figure.

By the side of the bed was a well-travelled, mushroom-brown leather suitcase with white metal locks and corners and a leather-bound handle. Opening it, she saw that it contained a dress uniform and greatcoat, spare shirts, and underclothes. Next to it were a pair of high, black chrome leather Officer's boots. As she sat on the bed and pulled the boots on, there was a soft tapping on the door. She walked across the room and opened it to be faced by the Director of intelligence who held out a light olive, trenchcoat-style, U.S. Army issue raincoat to her. The larger of the two mean-looking MPs stood behind him. The Director nodded.

'Every inch a Russian Officer. Time to go, "Comrade Colonel." You'd better slip this on… just in case.'

She nodded, put on the raincoat, and followed him out to the courtyard in front of the building where an MP jeep was waiting with its engine idling. The large MP followed them, carrying the suitcase, which he put on the rear seat. Climbing aboard he checked his passengers were safely seated; banged the jeep into gear, and accelerated away out to the parallel concrete track that ran the length of the runway. At a fairly high speed, the jeep travelled the length of the airfield to the far western end of the runway where there stood two large, and secluded, curved-roof hangars. The MP brought the jeep to a squealing halt on the wide concrete hardstanding in front of the most westerly of the pair of hangars. The front of the hangar was shrouded in a substantial weather curtain that obscured whatever lurked within, and was guarded by two more heavily-armed MPs.

Getting out of the jeep, the party walked towards the front of the hangar. One of the MPs pulled the edge of the weather curtain to one side in order that they might enter. The interior was brightly lit with overhead sodium lamps; from which, the light glittered on the large silver, twin-engined airplane that sat in menacing isolation under the wide arched roof. The Red Star glared down impassively from its wings and tail fin. The only other marking it bore was a large red "42" painted on the rear fuselage sides.

Director of intelligence gave Charlotte a wry grin.

   'Your magic carpet. She's the real deal… A Lisunov Li-2, compliments of the Korean People's Army Air Force. She's a Russian, license-built version of the DC-3 Skytrain. She was captured after her crew had engine trouble, strayed over the DMZ, and force-landed at Kimpo. We flew her down here; re-engined, and repainted her for covert operations.

   He turned and beckoned to the MP who held out a brown leather belt and holster to Charlotte. The Director smiled.

   'Your weapon. A Makarov semi-automatic pistol. It's been the Soviet standard military side arm since 1951. Basically, it's a scaled-up Walther PP, with a straight blowback action. It fires a 9x18mm cartridge which is incompatible with all other NATO 9mm rounds, so you'd better take these…'

   He held out a box of ammunition and continued.

   'This weapon is widely regarded as being particularly well balanced in spite of its weight, and is easy to field strip and reassemble… including removing the firing pin… without any tools.'

   Charlotte took the holster belt and box of ammunition and the Director walked her to the boarding ladder at the rear port side of the airplane. The whine of the inverters winding up broke the silence. The Director shook her hand.

   'Good luck, "Colonel." See you around.'

   He stepped back and saluted her as she climbed the access ladder and entered the fuselage. The MP placed her suitcase on board as she made her way forward to one of the seats in the cabin. The flight attendant… a young man wearing a Soviet Air Force uniform, pulled the passenger door shut as the pilot pressed the start button and the starboard engine began running up… followed by the port engine. The weather curtains were pulled back by the ground crew, and with a slight jolt, the brakes were released and the airplane rolled gently out into the sunlight. The pilot held on the brakes while the pressures and temperatures built up on his instruments, then eased the throttles forward, released the brakes, and, with another slight jolt, taxied out to the active runway.

   Turning into the wind, he waited for clearance from the tower, and ran up the engines. Charlotte saw a green lamp flash from the observation windows of the control tower. The engine noise rose to a crescendo, and with yet one more jolt, the airplane began to move. She watched the scorched grass at the edge of the runway begin to flatten as it sped past below the wing; the tail lifted, and the shadow of the wing began falling away as the airplane rose into the sky.

   The perimeter fence and main road passed beneath them, then they were out over the paddy fields and scattered villages, heading east towards the Han River, and on towards the coast and the Sea of Japan.0

Friday, June 30, 1950. 11.45 Hrs.

Highway One,

Twenty-two kilometres south of Pyongyang.

North Korea.

   Nineteen-year-old Jo Mi Ryung had been working in the rice fields when she heard the rising howl of a diving airplane, out of sight, but coming from the general direction of the main Highway One that led out towards Kaesŏng. As she stared out across the tree line bordering the rice field she heard the deep, staccato clatter of its guns as it opened fire at something… or someone.

   Jo Mi Ryung dropped her basket of rice seedlings and ran towards the bund on the south side of the paddy. Was it someone from her village? The South Korean pilots were notorious for shooting up anything that moved on the roads… villagers, water buffalo, farm carts; and especially any vehicles that might be remotely Military. As she ran through the trees towards the road, she felt the apprehension of what she might find out there on the road rising around her like a shroud.

   The GAZ saloon lay on its side in the ditch, with smoke and fumes rising from its engine. Jo Mi Ryung stared at the bullet-riddled vehicle with wide, frightened eyes, not knowing quite what she should do. It was painted olive green… a military vehicle… a Russian military vehicle. Gathering her courage, she approached. The car was empty. Biting her lip, she looked around. There was no sign of a body anywhere near to the wreck. Then she saw the smears of blood on the long grasses. The tell-tale trail led off into the woods. Cautiously, she began to follow the sprinkles of blood shining brightly against the deep emerald green of the blades of grass.

   She found him twenty-metres in from the tree line. He lay sprawled on the pathway, face-down and unmoving. Timidly, she approached. He wore a khaki-coloured military uniform and high black boots. Nervously, she reached down and turned him over, wincing at the sight of the great tear in his right temple and the bloodstained rents in the right side of the waist and shoulder of his uniform tunic. He was still breathing, and looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties. He was a Russian officer.

   Jo Mi Ryung stared down at him. Although his face was covered in blood from the head wound, she could easily discern that he was very handsome. What should she do? They would be bound to come searching for him when he failed to arrive at wherever he was going. If he died here, there would be reprisals on her village of Kwan-ni. It was the nearest one to the scene of the wreck, and the Ministry of Public Security investigators from Pyongyang would automatically assume that her villagers were responsible.

   The safest thing to do would to be to get him back to the village where the local doctor could attend to him. But how? She couldn't carry him bodily… he was at least, one-point-eight-metres tall and must have weighed at least seventy-five-kilogrammes. She was slender, just one-point-five-metres tall; and weighed a mere forty-five-kilogrammes. She would have to find some way to try to waken him. She knelt beside him and fretted for a while. Then, she had an idea. Rising to her feet, she hurried into the woods.

   She searched for ten minutes, and eventually found what she was looking for. Under the shade of a large Daimyo Oak tree grew a cluster of fungi with reddish, cylindrical fluted stems capped with several "arms" that formed a spire with an olive-green slimy spore mass covering the outer surface of the arms... a fungus that she knew of as being called the "Ribbed lizard claw." She could smell it from almost a metre's distance... the smell of rotting flesh. Pulling a face, she carefully plucked two of the disgusting-smelling fungi and turned back towards the pathway. If the stench of these didn't waken him… nothing would.

   He was still lying where she had found him. Bending down, she squeezed the slimy fungi close to his nose. The stench was overpowering. As the foul smell assailed his nostrils, he convulsed and regained consciousness. He retched, and vomited into the grass, then gazed blankly at her with the glazed eyes of a sleepwalker. She helped him to sit up. He turned vaguely towards her and spoke.

   'Who are you? How did I get here? What is this place?'

   His Korean was halting and awkward. Jo Mi Ryung studied him; a gentle expression on her pretty face.

   'You cannot remember anything? You do not remember who you are, and where you came from?'

   He touched his forehead, wiped away some blood, and squeezed his eyes.

   'Nothing; nothing at all.'

   He said wearily;

   'Nothing; except the world turning upside down and the smell of smoke and cordite.'

   He struggled to get to his feet, staggered and nearly lost his balance. The pain in his head and side almost caused him to lose consciousness again. Her arms were around him, holding him steady. She spoke again. Her voice was soft and comforting.

   You have been in a car accident. Can you walk a little? I must take you to my village and get you some food and the doctor to see you. You have a terrible wound on the side of your head and there are deep wounds in your right side and shoulder.'

   She held him firmly, and gently guided him along the pathway through the woods towards the village.

   Zhang Jae-Sun had been the physician in the village of Kwan-ni for many years. He had delivered Jo Mi Ryung into this world, and had tended to her childhood illnesses. Now, she stood before him in his "L"-shaped Hanok which also served as his surgery and operating theatre and begged him to apply his skills to this "Waegookin"… this foreigner that she had found in the woods. He studied Jo Mi Ryung who returned his gaze with large, beseeching eyes.

   Zhang Jae-Sun spoke gently, but firmly to her.

   'Why should you care for this Russian, child? He is gravely wounded, but he will eventually recover. It is certain that he is one of the Eternal President's advisers, and as such, has no time for a simple country girl… save perhaps, to take you as a concubine.'

   Jo Mi Ryung lowered her eyes, and blushed scarlet.

   'Zhang-Ssi; I wish to keep him here and care for him. He remembers nothing of the past. I wish it to remain so, so that he can stay here in Kwan-ni with me.'

   Zhang Jae-Sun smiled gently.

   'That will not be possible Jo Mi Ryung. In due course, he will recover and go off across the world from where he came. There will certainly be official inquiries for him, from Pyongyang; perhaps even from his Russian homeland; for he is an officer, and most certainly a man of substance in his own country.'

   She raised her eyes to his.

   'But, Zhang-Ssi; if you advise the elders of Kwan-ni; they will show these people the blank face. They will say they know nothing, and then the people will go away.'

   Zhang Jae-Sun studied her pleading face.

   'Very well, Jo Mi Ryung; I will speak with the elders. But for many weeks you-must be very discreet and the Waegookin must be kept hidden. Now, let us mend his wounds.'

   He knelt beside the Russian and spread out a large, ancient vellum map of the human head with sections divided up and marked with figures and ideograms. He gently probed the Russian's head wound for signs of fracture, then bent and lifted the eyelids one by one, gazing deeply into the glazed eyes through a large magnifying glass. Jo Mi Ryung brought boiling water and Zhang Jae-Sun proceeded to clean the head wound. Then he tapped finely ground garlic powder into the wound and bound up the head neatly and expertly.

   He then began cleaning the deep gashes in the Russian's side and shoulder; tapped more garlic powder over the wounds, and, having established that there were no broken ribs or bones other than a cracked collarbone; bandaged the waist and shoulder area firmly. He studied Jo Mi Ryung thoughtfully, and then spoke.

   'He will live, but it may be months, perhaps even years before he regains his memory. The injury has probably damaged the part of his brain where his memory is stored. It is what we physicians call a temporal lesion, but the damage is not severe, seeing as how he can speak and understand what you say to him. However; much education will be necessary. You must endeavour all the time to remind him about past things and places. If you are resolute in this undertaking… which will be no easy matter… then isolated facts that he will recognise may become chains of association and his memory may well return. On the other hand, it is entirely possible that he will never regain any memory of his past life.'

   Zhang Jae-Sun's diagnosis was entirely accurate. Over the next three months, under the gentle care of Jo Mi Ryung, the Russian officer regained his health, but his memory remained blank. He occasionally experienced flashbacks, but these were vague and incohesive. As time progressed, Jo Mi Ryung taught him the practicalities of rice cultivation and the traditions and customs of rural Korean life in her tiny community. He was diligent and hard-working, and was eventually accepted into the community by the village elders. The first indication of this was when they began addressing him as "Ku-da Chingu"…"tall friend;" and not the usual "Waegookin"… "Foreigner."

   As the days passed and turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months; Jo Mi Ryung held a secret wish that, one day, he would take her as his "anae"… his wife; but he showed no interest in this. His relationship with her was more akin to sister and brother. Jo Mi Ryung remained philosophical. Perhaps, one day it would happen. The men from the Ministry of Public Security in Pyongyang came to the village in search of him… just as Zhang Jae-Sun had predicted, but the elders had shown them the blank face and denied all knowledge of the occupants of the wrecked car out on the highway. They said that some villagers had heard gunfire and seen a fighter airplane low in the skies, but no trace had ever been found of the car's occupants. The men from the Ministry of Public Security had searched the village, but found no trace of anything that might disprove the elders' story.

   "Ku-da Chingu" was out in the north paddy with two of the villagers shoring up a slump in the far bund. All that the men from the Ministry of Public Security saw were three workers in the paddy wearing traditional conical hats… the "satgat," and light-coloured smocks. The men were too far away to recognise and were bent over the damaged bund with their backs towards the officials… a stance which gave no clue to their individual heights. The men from the Ministry of Public Security didn't relish trudging a thousand metres through muddy rice fields on the off-chance that one of the peasants might be their unaccounted-for Russian officer. They shrugged and turned back towards the village. The Russian, Colonel Konstantin Sharansky was not here. They would have to widen the search.

   Taewi… Captain Kim Hyang-soon, ranking officer of the search party retained an impassive face, but cursed vehemently under his breath. This missing Russian was rapidly becoming a real pain in the ass. His superiors in Pyongyang had made it perfectly clear that, unless the Russian was found… or substantive evidence was found that he had been killed; the next assignment that Kim Hyang-soon could be looking forward to would be in a bunker in the Joint Security Area of the North Korean DMZ border. Yelling to his men to get a move on, he stomped irritably back down the woodland path towards the highway, whilst the village elders bowed respectfully with the merest hint of wry smiles on their otherwise impassive faces.