Chapter Thirty-Four.

The marble reception area of the Hotel Bando in Seoul was deserted except for the Marine Corps Staff Sergeant at the reception desk. The young, crew-cut American escorted Charlotte and Max across the checkerboard marble floor to the desk and introduced them. The Marine Corps Sergeant logged their arrival, saluted, and directed them to the three elevators located at the far end of the reception hall. The crew-cut young man pressed the call button of the central elevator. Entering, Charlotte noticed that there was only one floor button and an emergency button in the flush control panel.

The young man removed his sunglasses and smiled.

'Yeah, Ma'am. This is the Bureau elevator. The other two are for Embassy staff use. This one only goes to our floor. All the other floor accesses are sealed off. My name's Brett Nicholls. I'll be looking after both of you until you settle in.'

The elevator hummed to a stop. The doors slid open to reveal a brightly lit corridor occupied by two Marine Corps corporals sitting opposite the elevator entrance. They were both armed. As Nicholls stepped out into the long, quiet, neutral-smelling corridor, they both stood and presented arms. Nicholls nodded, and led Charlotte and Max along the corridor to an anonymous-looking solid teak door. The young man knocked, and opened the door; stepped back, and invited them to enter. They entered a spacious office which looked as though it had formerly been one of the Bando's guest suites. The room was dominated by a large desk, behind which, sat a middle-aged man wearing a tropical linen suit. Behind him, in the corner was placed an artistically draped Stars and Stripes flag.

He invited them to sit, and opened a buff file on the desk.

'Welcome to Seoul, Captain Mckenna... Colonel Segal. I am Andrew Thompson of the Korean Liaison Office. As a result of the budget cuts since the end of the War, South Korea has been considered an incidental priority for US intelligence. Since the withdrawal of the bulk of our troops, KLO has been established as a secret intelligence office in Seoul. Our responsibility is to monitor troop movements in the North and the activities of Communist guerrillas operating in the South.

We also maintain an Army intelligence outpost in Manchuria, just across the border from Korea. Your brief will be to translate and assimilate such intelligences that our agents gather and submit. It is expected that many of the reports will be in Russian, seeing as how Kim Il Sung has gotten into bed with Moscow; and this is where your translation skills will become indispensable.'

He closed the file.

'I am very pleased that you are with us. We are, of course, subject to the operational requirements of the CIA Field Research Unit at Yokosuka, Japan; however; we are pretty well autonomous in the day to day workings of the Bureau.'

He rose and shook hands,

'Now, I'll let Brett Nicholls give you the tour.'

Brett Nicholls guided them through the extensive fifth floor of the old Hotel Bando, pointing out the various offices and rooms. As they walked down the web of neutral corridors, Nicholls explained that the KLO agents were reporting that the Communist guerrillas represented a serious threat to the Republic of Korea It was also noted that many of the guerrillas were originally from the South, and thus were able to slip back into their villages when hiding from local security forces. The Army intelligence outpost in Manchuria reported that they had sixteen agents operating in the North on intelligence-gathering assignment. Their instructions were to join the Communist Korean military and government, and to obtain information on the Communists' plans and intentions; but KLO officers in Seoul, however, were suspicious regarding the loyalty and reporting of these agents. They were sending reports of road improvements towards the border and troop movements in that area, but due to the mistrust of these agents, little was being done to confirm these reports.

Intelligence analysis from Washington was firmly focussed on the Soviet Union as "the" Communist state, and this had become the accepted perception within US Government's political and military leadership circles. Ignoring the analysis from Seoul that the Soviets controlled North Korean decision making was, in his opinion, a grave error of judgement, not improved by the Senate being distracted by the boat rocking back in Washington by the State of Wisconsin Republican U.S. Senator McCarthy.

Brett Nicholls gave a wry grin.

So, you see, we have a problem here. The Hawks in Washington are far more interested in us providing "strategic guidance," but not "tactical warning," which is far more specific and relevant to what is happening in the North at the moment.'

Max glanced at Charlotte.

'So, how many US troops are still here?'

Brett Nicholls sighed.

'When the US and Soviet troops withdrew from their respective parts of Korea, the Soviets left behind a well-equipped and trained North Korean Army, while the United States had provided its Korean military forces with only light weapons and little training. A small contingent of five hundred soldiers remains as a training/advisory force for the new Korean military. All the intelligence agencies and the Korean intelligence network have been warning of a large build-up in the North, whilst Washington has generally ignored the reports. That's why you two are important. If we can properly analyse the Soviet intentions, perhaps we can shake Washington awake before it's too late.'

Charlotte studied him.

'Too Late? Too late for what?'

He shrugged resignedly.

'Too late to stop that crazy Gook bastard Kim Il Sung from initiating a full-scale invasion of South Korea.'

His face split into a wide grin.

'So, now I've completely unnerved you, perhaps I should show you to your accommodation. We use the hotel for our staff quarters; it's a damn sight more secure than out there in Seoul.'

He led them through the main lateral corridor to the right wing of the building, and along the corridor to the end door on the right.

Opening the door, he said that their luggage had already been brought up, and they should settle themselves in. He smiled, and handed Charlotte the key.

The room had originally been one of the hotel's suites. It was divided into two separate main areas; the main living accommodation which contained four comfortable-looking armchairs placed around a small occasional table; lamp standards, potted plants and all the other accoutrements one would expect in a top hotel suite. The sleeping area was divided from the main room by sliding full-width doors, and contained a substantial Colonial-style double bed, bedside cabinets, wardrobes, and a dressing table. Another door led to a small but well-appointed bathroom and toilet.

Charlotte sat on the bed and gazed at Max.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

'What the hell has Washburn dropped us into?'

Max grinned.

D'you want the English, German, or Russian version?'

She smiled.

'See if there's anything to drink in that cabinet. I think we both need a good stiff drink.'

Max returned with a bottle of Russian Vodka and two glasses. He poured about three fingers into each glass and handed one to her.

'Do you want anything in it?'

Charlotte smiled flirtatiously.

'Perhaps... after I’ve had my drink.'

The old farmer, Chong Doo Hwan shuffled into the Hanok of the village leader, ducking under the low eaves of the plaited rice straw thatched roof. He stood before Yo Chin-Hong and brought the little velvet pouch out of his shirt. Yo Chin-Hong invited him to sit. Although he was at least ten years younger than the old farmer, settlement protocol demanded that the older man stand in the presence of his settlement leader; but Yo Chin-Hong still preserved his beliefs of veneration of his elders.

He poured Chong Doo Hwan a beaker of arak-ju...a rice spirit comparable to Russian Vodka; poured a beaker for himself, and raised it in toast to the old man. The old farmer took a sip and handed the pouch to Yo Chin-Hong, explaining what had occurred out on the track by the far south pasture. Yo Chin-Hong tipped the Garnet out into his lap, picked it up, and studied it by the hissing light of the old British Tilley lamp that had been salvaged from the abandoned Salvation Army Mission across in the next valley.

He studied it for some time; turning it in the bright light of the lamp, watching the reflections dancing around the walls. At last, he spoke.

This is indeed a prize beyond belief, Chong Doo Hwan. It must be worth many thousands of Won... more than enough to make our settlement rich. I shall send the fourth son of my brother to sell it to a dealer I know of in Yonch'on, when he takes the grain he is due to sell. You have reaped a fine fortune for us this day, my old friend. Now, what of the Northern "Dwoi ji" who possessed this treasure?'

Chong Doo Hwan grinned; a wide, toothless grin.

He is spread about the fields like so much manure. There will be a fine harvest next season provided the carrion birds leave something for the soil.'

Yo Chin-Hong chuckled, and drained his beaker. He reached for the bottle and refilled both of them. Then, by the hissing light of the lamp they settled down for a night of serious drinking; but, had they looked outside, they would have seen that the Western skies were painted with an unusually ominous, blood-red sunset... perhaps, a portent of things to come.

The New Year dawned with exasperation stalking the fifth floor of the Bando Hotel in downtown Seoul. Washington was just not listening to the reports being issued by the Bureau on an almost daily basis. The informations contained in these reports had been gleaned north of the Thirty-eighth parallel at huge and frequently fatal risk by the network of KLO agents operating out of Manchuria. The informations had been painstakingly analysed by the Bureau, and all pointed to the same ominous conclusion... a full-scale invasion by the Korean People's Army was being planned in Pyongyang.

Documents intercepted from Soviet sources clearly showed that in March, August, and September 1949, Kim Il Sung had petitioned Stalin and his diplomats repeatedly to authorise an invasion of the South to "Unite the country". Stalin had rejected Kim Il Sung's requests, but the documents established that in the last few days, his stance had changed and he now approved of the war plan due to the "changed international situation."

Charlotte was translating a signal flimsy that implied that that Kim Il Sung had shown Stalin an invasion plan for June, arguing he could call on thousands of guerrillas already in the south. The close-typed Cyrillic characters revealed many more tell-tale signs. As a result of the Chinese Communists defeating the Nationalists and establishing the People's Republic in 1949; the Soviets had agreed to relinquish their control over Manchuria, thus losing the railways and ports of Dairen and Port Arthur. Stalin had reconsidered Kim Il Sung's intentions for South Korea because of its useful ports of Pusan and Inchon, which could well be used by him if Kim Il Sung succeeded in his aspirations.

She paused, and pensively chewed the end of her ballpoint pen. This all tied in with a previous signal that reported that Stalin also had intimated that if the Americans were going to dominate Japan then he wanted the whole Korean peninsula to adjust the balance of power. She bent again to the flimsy she was working on. This intelligence needed to be quickly analysed and verified, and passed to Andrew Thompson.

There were many more signs which were meticulously analysed and reported by the Bureau... and Charlotte's translation section in particular; but in Washington, on January 12th, the U.S. Secretary of State Dean Acheson had delivered a speech at the National Press Club in which he had failed to include South Korea in America's defence perimeter in the Pacific. The Seoul Bureau had immediately warned Washington that this statement would imply that the United States would not defend the RoK from communist attack. Washington again ignored the warning, seemingly more concerned with Senator McCarthy and his inflammatory demagoguery... which the CIA suspected was, at this stage, merely a smokescreen by McCarthy to divert attention away from the fact that that he was being investigated for tax offences and for taking bribes from a soft drinks Company.

It appeared that there was nothing that the Seoul Bureau could say that would shake Washington... and President Truman in particular; out of acceptance of the Military strategists mindset that the security of Europe against the Soviet Union was far more important than East Asia. Unfortunately, at the same time, the Administration was apprehensive that a war in Korea could quickly deteriorate into another world war should the Chinese or Soviets decide to become involved.

Working under the guise of the "Korean Liaison Office Co-ordinator"... Andrew Thompson, who was actually Head of the Seoul CIA Bureau, was acutely aware of the frustrations stalking his staff. He had attempted, almost on a daily basis, to get some response out of the Field Research Unit at Yokosuka, Japan; but the answer was always the same... "No dice with Washington... just tough it out." On the morning of Thursday, February 2nd, he came to his inevitable conclusion. For months, he had expressed suspicion regarding the loyalty and reporting of the agents sending in the intelligences. The only way to gather accurate intelligence was to send one of his officers into North Korea... but how? And which one?

In Andrew Thompson's opinion, there could only be one choice. The officer he sent would have to be faultlessly fluent in Russian. His legend would be that he was a Soviet Military Attaché on rotation from the Russian Legation in Seoul to the No. 2 KPA Officers School in Pyongyang... provided that he could pass convincingly as being a Russian. Only one man in the Seoul Bureau fitted the profile... Colonel Max Segal.

Charlotte was mid-way through translating another cryptically-worded Moscow-Pyongyang Cyrillic document, when Max came into her office. She looked up from the signal flimsy and smiled. His response was a thin, tight smile. She could tell that this was not a simple social call by his expression. Instinctively, she knew what this was about, but willed herself to keep the warm, welcoming smile on her face.

He came and sat on the edge of her desk, looked steadily into her eyes, and said,

'Milaya Moya, I have some news. Thompson is sending me out on an assignment to...'

She finished his sentence before he could form the final words.

...'To the North. Yes, I thought he would.'

Max stared at her with a troubled frown.

'But how could you possibly know that? He only briefed me ten minutes ago.'

She waved her hand at the pile of signal flimsies on her desk.

'With what we are finding in these; it doesn't take a genius to work out that we desperately need someone on the ground up there to give us accurate intelligence. The only way to gather this information is for us to infiltrate them, and the only possible way a Caucasian could do this is if he is a Russian linguist... or actually Russian.

There are only three of us in the Bureau who speak Russian fluently enough to get away with it. I am not trained as an undercover agent; Casey Hamilton could never carry it off with his Texas accent, so that just leaves you. When do you start?'

Max gazed at her silently. She could see the sadness in his eyes. Eventually, he replied.

'I leave tonight, and I can't say when I'll be back.'

She nodded. That was the way it was in the Bureau. Perhaps this would not be the time to tell him that she had, this very morning, paid a visit to the Bureau M.O. and had been given confirmation that she was pregnant. Knowing this, could very well cloud his judgement in the dangerous game he was about to embark upon. She smiled.

'Just be careful out there, Miliy moy. Come back to me in one piece. Ya Lublu Tebya... I Love You.'

He smiled... his sweet, gentle smile.

'You may depend upon it. I Love You too.'

Max left the Bureau at seven o'clock that evening. Charlotte stood at the window of their suite, and waved him goodbye as the black Plymouth drove out of the parking area at the rear of the Bando Hotel. She sighed, and gazed across the city. The sunset was beautiful; painting the skies to the west in glorious golden and violet hues. But as the sun settled the skies turned blood-red. Curiously, this would be just the first of many future closing of the days when the skies were of an ominously deeper red.