“Sinhung is a large town, approximately twenty-five klicks to the northwest,” he continued. “It sits at the entrance to a long series of valleys heading the way we need to go, terminating at Changjin – another town situated at the south end of a lake of the same name. The lake is a regular klick wide and some ten long, curving towards the northwest where it splits. The top end is only twenty-five or so from the southeastern corner of the search area. If we can use the lake to our advantage we will; otherwise just keep heading northwest overland. If we find nothing in the box, then we work progressively north, south and west of Pyorha-ri until we find what we are looking for. If nothing found, we return to the beach the way we came.”
“The briefings didn’t say anything about this bloody rain; it’s hardly stopped since we arrived,” said Chol quietly, sitting by the entrance, keeping an eye on the surrounding woods, his strong London accent out of place with his features. “Supposed to be moderate, my arse. Let’s hope they got the temperatures right and we don’t freeze our balls off tonight. Oops. Sorry, Doc.”
Grace didn’t take offence. “What about the fauna? Do we need to worry?”
“You mean dangerous animals, apart from man,” joked Ryder, attempting to lighten things.
“Yes, apart from man,” she shot back with a forced grin.
“Bear, wolf, wild boar and occasionally tiger roam the mountains,” he replied, stifling a smile.
“Tigers!”
“Yes, Siberian – but don’t worry, they’re all but extinct in this part of the world.”
“Tigers will be the least of our worries,” offered Bom, his London accent only slightly discernible. Frank agreed. He knew that if they found a lab, they would need a whole lot of luck to enter and get out alive.
Silence descended, then one-by-one, the group began to put away rations in preparation for an early start, come dawn. Selecting an area to bed down next to the entrance, Ryder studied the map, covering the ground they would travel the next day. To the northwest lay Sinhung and the Songchon River, which they would have to cross. Once over they would enter the desolate lower reaches of the southern Hamgyong Mountains. As for the terrain, they faced a myriad of narrow valleys, steep slopes and jagged crests, varying from 2,000 to 5,000 feet, covered mainly in broadleaf and conifer – very dense in places. That was good from the point of view of remaining undiscovered, but not from the arduous challenge it presented.
Ryder put the map away. “Okay, time to turn in.” He glanced at Song. “Dan, take first watch. I’ll take second. Greg and Cam, take the last.”
Grace turned sharply to Ryder. “What about me? I’ll take my watch.”
“Look, Doc,” he replied, irritably. “With respect, you got a big job ahead and it’s our job to get you there to do it in a fit state; you’ll need all the bloody rest you can get. As leader of this team I’m ordering you to stand down from watch duty until further notice. Is that clear?”
Reluctantly Grace acquiesced. What he said was true. At least he had bothered to explain.
With that, Song went outside and took up position close by in the bush where he would stay for the next two hours. The others made themselves as comfortable as they could in the confines of the hut.
The night passed without incident until dawn when Chol urgently entered the hut and shook Ryder awake, telling him a goat herder was approaching.
Ryder rushed outside followed by the rest. In the half-light the little goat herder had definitely seen them, but kept on coming. When he got closer, the man seemed pleased and waved; his kindly features creased in a toothless grin.
Ryder hesitated; the man was old and frail. Should he kill him? Would he tell someone? He knew he really had no choice. “We can’t risk anyone knowing we’re here. He has to be taken out.”
“Why?” shot Grace. “He’s harmless – a goat herder for God’s sake!”
He didn’t need this shit. “Look, Captain, he’s bloody well seen us, that’s why, and you’ve just shot off in English.”
“That’s no reason to kill; he’s probably a father, grandfather and husband too. Why the hell kill him?” she spat back.
“Because, Captain Seymour, I am not prepared to take the risk. Being dead, he’ll not let out what he’s seen and heard.”
“Please,” Grace said in a softer tone.
He ignored her. “My job is to find out if a bio-lab exists in this bloody wilderness so that you can do yours; then I have to get us out safely. I’d appreciate it if you would allow me to get on with it.”
Chol came running up. “He’s a mute.”
Ryder remained silent.
Grace looked hard at him with pleading eyes.
Seconds passed; he turned and looked intently at Seymour, then at Chol before striding towards the herder.
Ryder reached him and drew his knife. He did not want to kill this poor wretch, but he had to.
Eyes now wide with fear the herder recoiled in horror, attempting to turn and run; goats scattering at his feet in all directions.
Ryder grabbed the diminutive figure from behind and, without hesitation, plunged the knife deep into his bony frame.
The herder died instantly and fell to the ground in a tangled heap.
Ryder wiped the knife clean, sheathed it and, with a feeling of guilt, rejoined the others. “Bury him and let’s get the fuck outta here – FAST!”
Without another word, they quickly buried the herder, gathered up their belongings and headed for the trees.
4
In London, the evening sunlight softly bathed the high-tech headquarters of the SIS on the Thames embankment at Vauxhall Cross. The sandstone and green cascading building, home of the Secret Intelligence Service, otherwise known as MI6, and affectionately called ‘Legoland’, dominated the junction of Vauxhall Bridge and the Albert Embankment on the southern side of the river. From his spacious office on the fourth floor, Sir Jeffery Powell, KCMG, OBE, Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service, gazed down at Vauxhall train station and the busy traffic below. To those in the Service he was known as ‘C’ after the original chief, Captain Mansfield Cummings. Eventually he turned and strode back to his large desk. Of medium height, with strong features, and wavy brown hair, slightly greyed at the temples, he looked immaculate in his dark pinstripe suit and Cambridge tie.
John Green, Head of MI6’s Operations, sat at the opposite side of the desk.
‘C’ removed his horn-rimmed glasses, looked intently at the head and asked. “What do you make of it, John?” Sir Jeffery was referring to the typescripts of the latest tapes received from their intelligence network in Seoul. What they revealed this time were the most disturbing received so far.
The MI6 Operations head was dressed in a navy-blue Savile Row suit and brogue shoes. His brown hair was smoothed down and parted to one side. He looked distinguished to say the least.
“Difficult to judge. Can we be sure the man they have is the North Korean we were monitoring in Beirut?” Green questioned.
“More than likely. What he’s told them appears to correspond with conversations we monitored. Abu Hasan is a known al-Qaeda agent, a legit businessman operating out of the city. Park Kyong Su is a North Korean businessman working for the DPRK, selling whatever he can to keep Pyongyang’s coffers topped up. Yes, I believe the man they have is Park Kyong Su.” Then after a short pause, Sir Jeffery added, “Intriguing situation, wouldn’t you say? North Korean defector to the Russians, North Korean agent and a North Korean general assassinated. I wonder: is there a connection?”
“I think we were right to assume that was the case when we first received the intel,” Green replied. “The defector tells the Russians about a virus; the agent attempting to set up a deal to sell a virus; the general eliminated because he was probably about to tell the world about both – indeed feasible.”