A humble fishing boat slowly motors north up a winding river dividing the estranged nations of West and East Joseon, leaving behind the wide estuary spilling into the Yellow Sea.
Winter, nearly unrecognizable dressed in a traditional Joseon hanbok, pays the deaf boatman the fee to ferry the crew to their destination. (Nearly unrecognizable, that is, because she still wears her trademark dark sunglasses.)
“I feel ridiculous,” Chase mutters, fidgeting uncomfortably in his outfit.
The four pilots are in disguise, dressed in traditional Joseon or religious garments.
“You don’t look THAT bad,” Reo offers encouragingly.
With his exquisite man bun and large wooden prayer beads hanging around his neck, Reo almost pulls off the look of an austere monk, if that monk were a selectable character in a badass fighting videogame. Chase pouts and slaps at a mosquito.
Kora leans over the edge of the boat. She looks at the murky river and wrinkles her nose.
“This river smells a little funky, ay?”
“Fish. Algae. Lots of pollution,” Hanami comments, eyes fixed ahead toward their destination.
“Is that why it’s named the River of Death?”
“River of the Dead,” Winter corrects. “That’s merely a nickname. West and East each call the river something different in a language that none of you speak.”
Sheesh, thinks Kora.
“I’ll go over this one last time, so listen carefully,” Winter says, handing out a colorful array of passports. “We are going to the Gangmyo shrine and royal tomb complex where the two tributaries that feed this river converge. It is in the heart of the Joseon Demilitarized Zone. As this place holds significant religious and historical value to both sides, and is even a recognized UNESCO World Heritage Site, it has been allowed to remain mostly autonomous and undisturbed. They say the monks there have been keeping the same flame burning for over a thousand years. Visitors are only allowed if granted religious or ‘cultural’ exemption by both governments.”
“And we have that permission?” Kora asks.
“Not at all. But the fake stamps in your fake passports indicate otherwise. We now know that Reginald Cook somehow ended up in the custody of the Yakuza clan known as the Path of Shi after his crash landing. Recognizing that he was a military officer and target of value from an A-PAC country, they reached out to West Joseon to make an arrangement—my guess is cash, lots of it, in exchange for Cook.”
Hanami said that Shi means ‘death.’ Now we’re sailin’ up the River of the Dead, Reo thinks. I’m not the superstitious type, but…
“And the deal is goin’ down today, at this shrine?” asks Reo.
“That is what my source told me. The so-called Hermit Kingdom is famously paranoid and closed off to outsiders; they hardly trust their closest allies. My guess is it took some time to establish contact, and this is the only neutral site where a foreign criminal organization can pass off their prisoner and get him across the border.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
But is this source of yours trustworthy? Kora thinks.
“There will be lots of visitors: both religious pilgrims and tourists,” Winter continues. “Your job will be to identify the Yakuza and West Joseon operatives, find out when and where the exchange is happening. Then we move to intercept.”
“You know, I feel a bit naked goin’ into a mission without my Mech,” says Reo.
“Stick to the plan. You have been provided with a personal, portable Comms unit. Use channel six to reach me once you have eyes on the target. I will create a diversion and make sure the boat is ready for a rapid departure. Hanami has a nonlethal taser; subdue the hostiles and escort Cook back to the boat—carry him if you have to. Kora will be ready with a shot of adrenaline, smelling salts, and whatever else is in her med kit if we find Cook the worse for wear. Remember, West Joseon doesn’t want to draw attention to this exchange either. We go in clean, no body count, and get out. Surgical.”
“As a mathematician once said, ‘whatever can happen will happen, with enough trials.’ What is the backup plan if proceedings are not as clean and surgical as is ideal?” Hanami asks.
“Channel seven will reach the modified container ship currently idling in the Yellow Sea. Your Mechs can be launched on an autopilot course to this location, per Commander Carver’s orders. Your disguises are fitted with neural netting. Of course, that is only for a worst-case scenario. I cannot urge you strongly enough against this course of action. As I said, there will be many people at the shrine, including tourists. Tourists mean cameras. Cameras mean that Mechs are revealed to the whole world.”
Winter shoves a stick of nicotine gum into her mouth.
---
The fishing boat docks where the river splits, and the pilots disembark. Winter stands stoically with one leg propped up at the bow as the boatman motors further up the eastern tributary, clearing the dock for other arrivals.
Straight ahead is the impressive shrine, a long rectangular building on a hill with slanted tile roofs and red wooden pillars. A decent number of pilgrims and gawkers ascend a wide, ancient stone stairway leading to the shrine. Visitors snap pictures of round burial mounds of long-dead kings flanking the historic site.
Closer to the dock there is a wooden booth for hailing boat rides. There is also a small welcome center with historical information and what looks like a partially enclosed picnic / dining area serviced by a few traditional food vendors.
Reo stands, solemnly regarding the shrine while the others take in their surroundings.
“No joke, that smells AMAZING,” Kora says, mouth watering over the scents wafting from the food stalls.
“That would be a good position from which to surveille the location,” Hanami adds.
They start walking to the dining hall. All except for Reo.
“I’ll catch up with you guys,” he says. “I’m goin’ to go pay my respects.”
And with that, Reo, in his monk attire, slowly strides to the stairway leading up to the shrine. Chase’s jaw drops.
“If you had bet me a hundred bucks that Reo would go to the temple instead of the food court, I’d be a poorer man right now,” Chase says.
Hanami and Chase take their seats on a bench at a wooden table under the roofed dining area. It is partially open-air, with walls that can be slid shut to protect against the elements as needed. Kora goes to order food for them.
Hanami and Chase sit across from but look beyond each other, vigilant. The river curls past through an open window on one side, but Chase does not see their fishing boat or any sign of Winter from this angle. Hanami watches the religious pilgrims and tourists milling about the large site. The dining hall is about half full with visitors. Overweight guests in tropical floral-print shirts and fanny packs gobble down the local cuisine.
How did these people get special permission to come here? Chase wonders. Somebody’s gotta be making a buck from all these tourists. I wonder if they have a gift shop…
Kora sits down, distributing small cardboard containers with a wide variety of food.
“I… ordered one of everything,” she says, grinning sheepishly.
“Fried stuff on sticks. Pancake-things. Noodle tubes. Is that sushi?” Chase asks, looking from dish to dish.
“That is NOT sushi,” Hanami says with a hint of menace in her voice. “That is kimbap.”
“Wow, that’s the first time I think I’ve heard you uh… what’s the word, EMOTE, before,” Chase says.
Hanami doesn’t respond. But when Kora and Chase aren’t paying attention, she snatches a roll of not-sushi with her chopsticks and pops it in her mouth.