The note read: General Secretary,
This tape contains information of global import. I beg you to watch it in solitude. Enclosed is a transcript of the person speaking on the tape, first in his native language, then in English, and again in Russian. The Russian transcript is mine. If you wish to speak to me on this serious matter, I am in the Military Ward of the Kremlin Clinic.
Yours faithfully, Viktor Ditko, Colonel, Committee of State Security
The General Secretary buzzed his personal secretary-"Do not disturb me for the next hour"-and went into the adjoining conference room where there was an American-made video cassette recorder. He watched the tape in deep silence, transcript in hand. When he was done, his face was two degrees paler. His cranial birthmark, by contrast, was livid. He grabbed for the intercom like an alcoholic.
"I wish to know the status of a KGB colonel currently being treated at the Kremlin Clinic."
The secretary came back with a verbal report: "Comrade General Secretary, Colonel Viktor Ditko is awaiting an eye operation, and is considered under arrest for possible dereliction of duty."
"The specific charge?"
"That he deliberately caused severe injury to his eye in order to avoid duty." The secretary wore a disapproving expression when she gave the report.
"His station?"
"Head of security, Soviet embassy, Pyongyang, People's Democratic Republic of Korea."
"I will see him in this office, within the hour."
"He has a history of shirking his responsibilities," the secretary added.
"He will not shirk this appointment, I assure you."
"As you wish, General Secretary."
* * *
Colonel Viktor Ditko smiled as he was ushered into the baroque office of the General Secretary. He looked pale. His uniform was not fully pressed. The General Secretary took his measure. Ditko appeared to be a dull, studious sort, not very personable in appearance, but there was a hint of cunning in his eyes. Or rather, in the one eye that was not covered by a black eyepatch. The rakish look that eyepatches normally give a man was undercut and made incongruous by the horn-rimmed glasses he wore.
The General Secretary waved him to a chair without a word.
"Thank you, Comrade General Secretary," said Colonel Ditko. He looked overimpressed by his surroundings. The General Secretary thought for a moment that he was going to do something stupid, like bowing from the waist.
"I have watched the tape," the General Secretary said after a long pause.
"It is important, da?"
The General Secretary nodded. "It may be. Who has seen this tape aside from you?"
"The person who recorded it. He also prepared the transcripts."
"No one else?"
"I swear. I understand its importance."
"You came by this how?"
And Colonel Viktor Ditko let the story spill out, the words tumbling from his prim mouth so swiftly they ran together and the General Secretary was forced to ask him to slow down.
When it was over, Colonel Ditko said, "I knew I had to get this to you. I dared not send it by diplomatic pouch. I had to inflict an injury upon myself to facilitate my return. My superiors believe I was derelict in my duty. But of course, you know differently."
The General Secretary dismissed the subject of Colonel Ditko's superiors with an impatient wave. "Your eye. What did the doctors say?"
"Repair is possible. We have excellent eye surgeons in Moscow."
"I will see that you get the best. What do you want from me?"
"Sir?"
"Your reward," asked the General Secretary.
"A better post. One in Moscow."
"You have something in mind?"
Colonel Viktor Ditko hesitated, and the General Secretary began to suspect that the colonel was merely a clever fool. When Colonel Ditko forced the trembling answer out, the General Secretary knew he was a fool.
"The Ninth Directorate. Possibly?"
The General Secretary stifled a laugh. It came out as a explosive grunt and Colonel Ditko wondered if he'd overreached himself.
The Ninth Directorate was responsible for guarding members of the Politburo. The General Secretary could not believe it. The man had risked his career and maimed himself to deliver a secret of such immense import that it promised to tip the balance of power between East and West, and he asked nothing more than to be appointed glorified bodyguard to the Politburo. The man could have had an appointment that would have led, in the course of a half-decent career, to a position on the Politburo itself. Here was a fool.
But the General Secretary did not say that. Instead, he said, "It is possible. Where is the person who taped this?"
"He is a prisoner in our Pyongyang embassy."
"And he is half-Korean. Good. Do you think you can undertake an important mission for your country?"
"At your service, Comrade General Secretary."
"Return to Korea. Send this Sammy Kee back to Sinanju. Get more proof. Better proof. Any proof. Perhaps some of the records in Sinanju, especially any records having to do with America. Bring them to me. I will act on this when I know exactly what cards I am holding. I do not wish to be trumped."
"I will return to Pyongyang directly," said Colonel Viktor Ditko as he got to his feet. "And I promise you success, Comrade General Secretary."
"I expect no less," said the General Secretary dismissively.
As he watched Colonel Viktor Ditko give a crisp salute and turn on his heel, the General Secretary of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics wondered where in the Ninth Directorate he could bury this fool of a career colonel. He was too much a buffoon to trust with guarding anyone of importance. Perhaps he would assign him to one of his political rivals.
Sammy Kee was more frightened than he'd ever been.
He huddled in a corner of the interrogation room in the basement of the Russian embassy in Pyongyang and breathed through his mouth to keep the stench out of his nostrils. Sometimes he retched. Only by sticking his mouth and nose down into his peasant blouse could he stop the gagging reflex caused by the odor emanating from the big wooden bowl in the far corner.
It had been four days since Colonel Viktor Ditko had locked the door on Sammy Kee. Ditko had said he would be gone only three days. Had something happened? Had Ditko gotten into an accident while driving to the airport? Had his plane crashed? A thousand possibilities ran through Sammy Kee's frightened mind.
Sammy Kee didn't know what to do. He was out of canned food. There was no more water. The room was empty except for the plain table and two old hardwood chairs. He wondered if it was possible to chew wood so that it was digestible. He had never believed a Russian could be so cruel. He wanted to write Peter, Paul, and Mary to tell them.
Heavy footsteps sounded outside the door, and Sammy's heart leapt at the sound. He crawled to the door, as he had at every noise for three days, and pressed his ear to the panel. But no scrape of a key in the lock came. No rattle of a doorknob. Sammy wanted to cry out for someone, anyone. But he didn't. He never did. He wanted to live. More than anything, he wanted to live.
And he knew that, in his position, Colonel Viktor Ditko meant life itself.
As if it would help his predicament, Sammy Kee cursed the day he heard the name of Sinanju. He cursed his grandfather, but he knew it was not his grandfather's fault. His grandfather had been an old broken man. One who should have stayed in Korea. Maybe all of Sammy Kee's family should have stayed in Korea. He cried when he thought of that.
Maybe it would be better in Moscow, Sammy Kee thought. He toyed with the idea, even though deep in his heart he doubted he would ever leave Korea alive. But the human spirit is an unconquerable thing. And so Sammy imagined what it would be like to drink in the bitter cold air of Red Square, to shop at the big Moscow department store, GUM. Or maybe they would let him shop at the Intourist stores, where he could get Western goods at cheaper prices. And then Sammy thought again of San Francisco, and he broke down.