Chapter Thirty-Three.

The C-54 Skymaster came in over the Sŏkmo Sudo marine channel at the mouth of the Han River estuary and turned to the south-east over Kanghwa Island heading towards Kimpo Airfield. It began its approach over the Yom-ha channel that separated the island from the Kimpo Peninsula...a long tongue of land bounded by the Yellow Sea and the large island of Kanghwa to the west, and by the Han River to the north and east. The terrain here was a tapestry of wooded mountains and paddy fields. As the Skymaster began to descend, gazing out of the cabin window, Charlotte could plainly see the workers in the paddy fields below, pause and peer up from under the floppy brims of their wide straw hats as the big aeroplane thundered overhead. Almost all the scattered villages on the flight path were the same... closely-packed dwellings with earthen walls and thatched roofs, the dwellings bisected by narrow lanes leading out to the surrounding paddy fields and vegetable patches... a simple, if austere, utopian existence.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar hiss and whine of the landing flaps and undercarriage actuators operating as the pilot committed the big C-54 to her final approach. The racing shadow on the paddy fields grew darker and larger as she descended, until with a bump and squeal of tortured rubber the main wheels made contact with the concrete of Kimpo runway. Curiously, as the C-54 rolled down the runway, there were no aircraft to be seen, other than a couple of C47s parked up by the scattering of buildings on the northern edge of the airfield. The C-54 turned and came back along the runway, turning off onto the eastern taxiway, and stopped on the edge of the concrete in front of the buildings. The young airman-steward opened the passenger door and invited Charlotte and Max to leave their seats. A rudimentary set of loading stairs had been brought up, down which he guided Charlotte. He grinned apologetically.

'Sorry Ma'am, it's all kinda "Mickey Mouse City" here, right now. The local population stripped anything of value from the base after the Japs surrendered. All the metal was salvaged for resale and the pursuit squadrons based here left last month; so the guys left have to make do and mend.'

He was interrupted by a tall, fair-haired civilian wearing casual tropical clothing, who had appeared from an innocuous Ford sedan parked at the edge of the perforated steel planking temporary parking apron. He introduced himself as Everett Runck Jr, Assistant Case Officer of the Seoul Bureau. He settled Charlotte and Max in the Ford, had the young airman load their luggage, then, without another word, drove quickly away out onto the road that led from the Airfield down to the little town of Yongdungp'o, and accelerated the Ford sedan up to fifty.

Charlotte glanced at Max. This crew-cut American, Everett Runck Jr. gave the impression of being a very cold fish. Max gave her a wry grin and squeezed her hand. With luck, they wouldn't have to spend too much time in his company. After all, back in Washington, Washburn had said that there were few, if any officers who were multi-lingual in English, German, and Russian in the Korean bureau.

Yongdungp'o was quiet. Most of the storefronts were shuttered during the daytime. This area was one of the better known red-light districts of Seoul. Runck slowed at the intersection at the end of the main street of the Itaewono District, and turned left onto Highway Two which led down to the six Iron-truss arch Han River Bridge. Once across the bridge, it was a lengthy drive north, past Seoul station with its Byzantine-style central dome and adjacent goods yards, and on along Taipyung Road, turning right opposite the Museum onto Kogane-cho, in the Kyongsong District. Runck stopped outside the wide street canopy of the eight-storey Hotel Bando which vaguely resembled the architectural style of The Peninsula Hotel in Hong Kong... although its "U" shaped frontage was much shallower, and there was no forecourt to speak of. It did have a quasi-Colonial-Era style, but was much starker than its Hong Kong counterpart.

Everett Runck remarked that this was the U.S. Embassy and also the location of the bureau. In 1948, the U.S. obtained from the Korean government two plots of land, the old Bando Hotel, and land surrounding the plot which was then used to house the Special Representative of the President to Korea. On January 1st, 1949, the White House had issued a statement that announced the U.S. recognition of the Republic of Korea. Accordingly, the Mission of the United States Special Representative in Korea was raised to Embassy rank. The CIA occupied the entire fifth floor and had two semi-autonomous operations in Korea controlled from within the bureau in the Embassy. Leaving the car engine idling, he guided Charlotte and Max to the hotel entrance where another crew-cut man wearing sunglasses met them. Runck then returned to the car and drove away towards the centre of the city.

Park Yong Joon made good time on his old BSA motorcycle from Seoul on Highway One out along the Kyongan-ch'on valley up to the Imjin River ferry. When he arrived, he was dismayed to find that the old flat-bottomed ferry was crowded with the usual farmers with their handcarts. As he wheeled his motor-cycle on to the overloaded craft, he silently said a paritta... a prayer for protection. The Imjin River was also called "River of the Dead" due to large numbers of dead bodies that had, in the past, floated down it from the North due to floods, famine and other natural catastrophes, and the ferry was sitting far too low in the grey waters for his liking. The journey was little more than a quarter of a mile, but for Park Yong Joon it was a quarter of a mile of naked apprehension.

What didn't help was that he was on a particularly risky assignment for his master... Kim Jonghyun; the most powerful mob boss in Seoul. Failure was unthinkable. At the very least, he would certainly lose both index fingers as a consequence. As if that wasn't enough motivation; the errand required him to breach the Thirty-eighth parallel north... in reality, the international border between North and South Korea, and one of the most tense fronts in the Cold War. He was carrying a gift... a very special gift; a gift from Kim Jonghyun to Kim Il Sung, the President of North Korea.

The ferry succeeding in crossing the river without mishap and Park Yong Joon breathed a sigh of relief. Starting the old motorcycle he rode up the rough track from the ferry and onto the continuation of Highway One, turning left, and heading west for Kaesŏng. About eight miles west of the ferry, a little to the east of the small town of Chandan, he found the country road he was looking for. Turning off Highway One, he accelerated away, heading for the dangerous border a little over ten kilometres to the north.

According to the rudimentary map with which he had been provided; the actual border line would be about eight kilometres along this road. He had been told that it would be some kind of manned road block. The border was effectively sealed. The map indicated that there was a track off to the right seven hundred metres from the border just beyond the village of Chinung-Dong. The track ran parallel to the supposed borderline, and disappeared into the tree line of the thick woodland to the east, and, according to his instructions, was unwatched. Once inside the cover of the woods, he could breach the border unobserved, and meet with a North Korean contact at a pre-arranged location. He had no idea what the contact would look like, or whether it would be a man or woman. The only thing he had been told was that the contact's name was "Gga chi"... "Raven." If he was apprehended, he could always say he was out hunting and had wandered over the border by mistake.

The first dwellings of the village were approaching swiftly. The main street was very short... just a few dwellings. He could plainly see the sharp left-hand bend at the end of the village. According to the map, that was where the track began. He kicked the motorcycle out of gear, switched off the engine and coasted through the village. Now, at least, the border guards... if any, would not be alerted quite so soon, and this could give him precious minutes to get into the woods.

The North Korean Chŏnsa... Private, Kim Tae-Gyun heard the distant motorcycle and peered down the stretch of Highway One that led south from the border. It was unusual to hear motorised movement in that part of Kyonggi Province. Nothing appeared down the road, and the engine sound stopped. Kim Tae-Gyun waited another minute, or so, and then ran to report to his superior.

Sowi... Ensign, Choi Kyung-Soo was writing up the daily report when Kim Tae-Gyun burst in to the thatched shack they used as a Command post for this sector of the border. Breathlessly, he gave his report concerning the engine noise. Sowi Choi Kyung-Soo nodded.

'Thank you, Chŏnsa Kim Tae-Gyun. Stand easy. We shall investigate later when, and if, the woods snare their prey.'

The woods to the east and south had not been cleared after the War. There had been no necessity to do so, seeing as now they were south of the Thirty-eighth parallel. There had been no purpose to risk good Communist troops to clear the many boob- traps that the Japanese had left strewn about the area as they retreated in the face of the American and RoKA troops. The whole woodland area south of the border was randomly sown with rusty trip wires attached to decaying, and horribly unstable explosives, stumble pits studded with rusty bayonets; stake springs held under tension by rotting ropes, and all manner of vicious mantraps; their variations limited only by the ingenuity of their Japanese creators.

No-one ventured into those woods without a thoroughly accurate knowledge of the pathways and clearings; and of course, seeing as how it was outside the North's influence; not many did know.

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Sowi Choi Kyung-Soo, however, did know. The woods to the south were his own private playground. He was methodically working his way through the young women of the surrounding settlements. The woods were perfect for his conquests... usually under duress. No one would come to investigate any screams... and, if any male relatives objected, they would be picked up and dumped in the woods to find their own way out. The frequent explosions as some hapless father or brother, husband or lover tripped one of the traps could easily be written off as "A wild animal detonating an old Japanese trap."

Choi Kyung-Soo lifted his binoculars and scanned the border to the west. Nothing moved. He turned, and swung the binoculars along the eastern section... again nothing... then, as he was about to lower the binoculars, he caught a furtive movement out towards the little settlement of Sasi, about a kilometre to the south-east. He peered through the binocular lenses at full magnification... there! A dark figure moving along a long grassy clearing between the trees, sneaking furtively down towards the border.

Shouting for Kim Tae-Gyun to join him; Choi Kyung-Soo jumped into their old Russian GAZ jeep and pressed the starter button. As usual, the engine took an annoyingly long time to fire up. With Kim Tae-Gyun hanging on for dear life, Choi Kyung-Soo sent the clapped-out old wreck bouncing and jarring along the rough track towards the figure who saw them, and began running towards the woodlands.

The jeep lurched to a halt. Kim Tae-Gyun jumped out and unslung his sub-machine gun intending to follow the fugitive who, by now, had disappeared amongst the trees. Choi Kyung-Soo stopped him.

'Just wait. Let us see if he attains enlightenment.'

Kim Tae-Gyun glanced at his senior officer, shrugged, walked back, and leaned against the jeep's radiator grille.

The explosion was dull and insubstantial; followed by an anguished cry that echoed through the trees; then another explosion seemingly more distant... but it might well have been a secondary detonation caused by the first. The majority of Imperial Japan's munitions were grossly unstable after a few years exposure to the elements. Wartime Japanese military ordnance manufacturers had used a picric acid-based explosive which, with time, had degraded into a kind of salts known as "picrates." These salts were extremely sensitive. The slightest jar or vibration could be enough to set them off.

Choi Kyung-Soo grinned.

'He did not attain enlightenment. Come; let us see what's left of him.

He strode off down the clearing to the tree line, followed by a very apprehensive Kim Tae-Gyun. At the edge of the trees he paused, drew his pistol, and turned to Kim Tae-Gyun

'Follow my footsteps exactly, or you too, may find yourself seeking enlightenment.'

Kim Tae-Gyun nodded nervously, and cocked his sub-machine gun. He had heard the stories of the evil little surprises the Japanese had left in the woods for the unwary traveller.

They found the fugitive two hundred yards along the path... or rather, they found what was left of him. The shattered corpse lay sprawled in a gouged out-crater in the woodland floor. Wisps of smoke still curled into the air, and the place stank with an acrid odour of explosives. The victim's face was the parchment colour of death, except around the eyes, which were deep black holes. He was almost up to his waist in a great pool of blood. Both his legs had gone. From his waist down, he was nothing but a mush of pulped and bloody flesh, over which fat, metallic-green blowflies were already swarming.

Choi Kyung-Soo grinned coldly.

'Well, this one has missed the boat for Nirvana. Come on! Let's find what caused the other explosion.'

He strode away along the path as though there was no danger anywhere in the woodland. Kim Tae-Gyun stared at the ruin of what had been a human being less than ten minutes previously. He fought to stop his gorge rising in his throat, and then almost ran after Choi Kyung-Soo.

Park Yong Joon leaned against the trunk of the big magnolia tree and tried to staunch the flow of blood from his left leg. He had stumbled over a rusty trip wire buried in leaf debris and set off a Japanese fragmentation grenade concealed at knee height in the undergrowth bordering the pathway. Several shards of shrapnel had torn open his leg from knee to ankle. Now, he was straining on his belt which he had wrapped around his thigh as a makeshift tourniquet.

Suddenly, he heard a rustle along the path. He looked up and found himself staring at two men in mustard-brown coloured uniforms with a large red star on the front of each of their hats. The man with a star on his shoulder boards was obviously the ranking officer. The other one had plain shoulder boards and looked almost as frightened as Park Yong Joon. The officer grabbed Park Yong Joon and hauled him to his feet. With an evil glitter in his eyes, the office slapped him across the face and hissed,

'Imperialist Lap-dog spying for your masters. You are a poison that destroys our Party and the working class movement in Korea.'

He dragged Park Yong Joon a little way along the path, stopped, and went through the injured man's pockets. Kim Tae-Gyun saw a wallet and what appeared to be a little black cloth pouch disappear into Choi Kyung-Soo's uniform pocket. His eyes widened in disbelief as Choi Kyung-Soo dragged a lattice of sticks and leaf spoil aside to reveal a deep pit at the edge of the overgrown path. The officer said nothing; merely grabbed the injured man by his collar, lifted him bodily off his feet and threw him face-down into the pit. A terrible scream shattered the woodland and a frantic scrabbling noise came from the pit. Choi Kyung-Soo stood there, legs braced, looking impassively down into the pit. He snapped his fingers at Kim Tae-Gyun and beckoned.

Fearfully, the young private approached, glanced down, and drew back in horror. The man's body lay face-down at the bottom of the pit, twitching convulsively. A faint, screaming whimper still emanated from the almost-dead body. It lay there with six rusty bayonet blade points protruding haphazardly from neck to buttocks, and its fingers still scrabbling weakly at the blood-stained earth. Choi Kyung-Soo nodded, drew his pistol, and fired one shot into the back of the head. The skull broke up like an eggshell. He turned to the white-faced Kim Tae-Gyun.

'And that is how you deal with Imperialist spies and Wall Street lackeys. Learn this lesson well, for soon, the time will come when we shall all be doing this.'

He turned, and jamming his pistol back into its holster, nodded.

'Come. Let us get back to the jeep.'

Kim Tae-Gyun followed; aghast at Choi Kyung-Soo's callous indifference to human life. He was still in a shocked, mute state when they returned to the command post.

Choi Kyung-Soo sent him straight back out on patrol of the western reaches of their sector. The young private needed to toughen up for what Soo fervently hoped would come to pass within the next year or so... the complete invasion and communisation of the south. Alone in the command post; he leaned back in his chair, put his booted feet up on the desk, and lit a cigarette. Pulling out the wallet he had taken from the man he had cold-bloodedly executed, He flipped it open and pulled out a thick wad of thousand-Won notes. He grinned. This would keep him in alcohol and women for quite a while.

He replaced the notes and tossed the wallet into the drawer of his old desk. He pulled out the little velvet pouch. It felt almost solid. Loosening the draw-string around its top, he tipped the contents out onto the desk. A large, garnet... about the size of a pigeons' egg, fell onto the desk with a soft thud. Choi Kyung-Soo stared at it open-mouthed. He had imagined that the pouch contained something fairly valuable... but this... this was far beyond just "valuable." This was his ticket out of this God-forsaken shithole back to the North... maybe even a nice, easy little Staff number in Pyongyang. Some superstitious old fool of a General or Politician would give his eye teeth for such a gem. He slipped the pouch into his briefcase. He would drive up there tonight.

Two hours later, Choi Kyung-Soo drove the old jeep jolting and bouncing along the track towards the river. His mind was filled with the thoughts of which staff position he would accept when he finally got his transfer to Pyongyang.

It was the pressure of the nearside front wheel of the jeep that set off the old Japanese Model 93 Anti-tank mine that exploded directly beneath Choi Kyung-Soo's driving seat. The explosion lifted the jeep into the air; shattering the floor pan, and driving jagged shards of rusty metal up through the seat and into Choi Kyung-Soo's lower body. He didn't even have time to scream before the ferocious blast punched him out of the driving seat and tore his body to pieces, scattering his body parts across the track and surrounding pastures.

The old farmer was about to come out from his field and begin the long walk back to his settlement of Kulchon, when he heard a deep, rolling crash, almost like a tropical thunderclap. Startled he scanned the skies... No clouds... then, he saw a great mushroom of smoke burgeoning into the sky from behind the hills at the northern border of his field.

With an agility that belied his great age, the old farmer hurried around the shoulder of the hill to see what had happened. A scene of utter carnage greeted him. The jeep lay twisted into an unrecognisable burning hulk; a huge smoking crater had torn out fifty yards of track and surrounding pasture, and glistening red strands dangled and dripped from the tree branches.

The old man grimaced as he picked his way amongst the lumps of mangled flesh, upon which the fat, metallic-green, and blue blowflies were already beginning to swarm. He spotted a smouldering object over to his right. Upon closer inspection, he saw it was a singed and battered leather briefcase. He stooped to pick it up. The leather was still hot... almost hot enough to cause him to jerk his hand away. He searched around and found a long stick, with which he hooked the briefcase away from the blazing remains of the jeep. He then squatted on his heels, lit his pipe, and sagely contemplated the scene before him. He nodded to himself. This man... this soldier had obviously gathered much bad karma about himself, as a result of his negative actions... and this was the consequence. This fool would never now attain enlightenment of any sort... scattered as he was, to infinity.

He waited in his contemplation for perhaps half-an-hour, whilst the jeep wreckage flared and popped and the carrion birds began to gather in the surrounding trees. At last, the briefcase was cool enough to handle. The old farmer cautiously raised the flap and peered inside. The interior contained a few papers which were slightly charred at their edges, and a small velvet pouch. He lifted it and weighed it in his hand. For such a small pouch it was heavy. A grin split his wrinkled, weather-beaten old face. Might it be Gold? Carefully, he loosened the drawstring around its top, and tipped the contents into his hand. The big Garnet dropped into his lined, and calloused palm, and lay there glittering and shimmering in the light of the dancing flames.

The old man stared at the gemstone for some minutes. He had never seen anything like it. What should he do with it? He pondered as to the best course of action and decided to take it to his settlement's Leader. He slipped the stone back into its pouch and tucked it into his shirt; then, with a last look around the scene of desolation, set off on the long walk back to Kulchon.