Act of War

CHAPTER 53

The checkpoint seemed to be manned by an unnecessarily large detachment of six heavily armed police officers.

Everyone in North Korea was on the take. And while it was likely a shakedown operation meant to solicit bribes from smugglers who plied the country’s rural roads, Tang didn’t like it. Their presence, on this road of all roads, could easily represent something else. Had the dead Chinese officer been discovered already? Had the camp finally noticed Jin-Sang’s disappearance? Did the police know that their truck had been stolen?

As Hyun Su brought the vehicle to a stop, Tang reminded him to keep his eyes down and remain deferential. They had been through these kinds of “checkpoints” together before and they knew how they operated.

The senior officer, a man about Tang’s age, stood with a pistol in a leather holster and his hand out in an officious stop gesture. The North Korean police reminded Tang of the Gestapo. The ones in the countryside seemed more prone to the spit and polish, rules and regs, than those in the city, who were a lot more lax about their duties. For some reason, police in the countryside were quasi royalty and they lorded it over all of the rural inhabitants.

Bowing obsequiously, Tang stepped out of the truck, canvas bag in hand. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he repeated in Korean.

“What are you thanking me for, you moron?” the officer demanded.

“The roads are safe,” he said, bowing again to the officer and then to his men. They all carried AK-47s and shared the same bored look. “You and your men have done a very good job. Very good.”

“What’s in your truck?” the officer demanded.

“Goose feathers!”

“Goose feathers,” the policeman repeated. “You must think we’re stupid.”

“No, sir. No, sir. Very intelligent indeed. And a man of good taste!”

A grin appeared on the cop’s face. “What makes you say that?”

“You look like a whiskey man to me,” said Tang.

As he reached into his bag, several officers brought their rifles up. They weren’t as blasé as they originally appeared.

Slowly, he removed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and held it up for the police commander to see.

The cop stepped forward, accepted the bottle, and addressing his men, said, “There seems to be a very good living to be made in goose feathers.”

Several of the men chuckled. The ones with their weapons raised remained expressionless. Tang was starting to get the feeling that this crew was more than a little dangerous.

“What else do you have in that magic bag of yours?” the policeman asked.

The CIA operative smiled and fished out three Playboys, but kept them clasped to his chest. “Something only real men, refined men, could appreciate.”

Slowly, Tang turned them around and showed him. There was a chorus of approval from the policemen who had just been chuckling.

The commander accepted the magazines and tucked them under his arm.

Tang smiled.

The commander looked at him. “That’s it? That’s all you have? A bottle of whiskey and a few magazines?”

“Please, sir. We are just trying to get home.”

“Sure you are,” the police officer said with a smile. “So are we. What else do you have?”

Tang produced the cigarettes.

“Aha!” the commander cheered. “I knew it! Hand them over.”

Tang did as he was told.

“Now, if only you could pull a hot meal from that bag, our evening would be complete.”

“If I could,” Tang said, “what kind of meal would you want?”

The police commander was suddenly frozen in thought. When he spoke, it was with an entirely different tone. “You have an unusual accent,” he said. “Where are you from?”

The CIA operative had worked hard on his dialects, but he knew they weren’t perfect.

Tang cited an obscure province near the border with China and said, “I know, I speak strangely. I was deaf for most of my childhood. Measles. At sixteen, some of my hearing returned, but not enough. I was unable to join our illustrious military because of it or become a fine police officer like you gentlemen.”

The man looked at him, unable to decide whether he believed his story.

Tang returned to the subject of food, something every North Korean fantasized about, even policemen.

“What hot meal would you like to see me remove from my bag?” he asked again. “Please, be creative.”

The police commander smiled once more and after thinking for a moment replied, “Duck. And barbecued pork.”

“Excellent choice,” said Tang. “How about grilled beef with vegetables, too?”

“And rice.”

“Of course. Lots and lots of rice.”

Never losing his smile, the police commander stated, “I’m now hungry, very hungry. I hope for your sake, as well as your colleague’s, that you have all of these things and more remaining in that very little bag.”

“But of course I—”

The commander held his hand back up in the stop position, interrupting him.

“Because if you don’t,” he said, “then there had better only be goose feathers in the back of your truck and they had better be going to someone very, very important.”

Tang bowed, respectfully conceding the point. And from his bag he produced a small roll of currency, secured with a rubber band.

“Make sure to buy your men dessert as well,” the CIA operative said as he handed over the money.

The commander removed the rubber band and thumbed the currency. “You certainly travel well-prepared.”

“And as I said, you and your men do an excellent job of keeping the roads safe.”

“It is our duty and we strive to do our best.”

Tang’s nervousness was beginning to abate. He had gone through these kinds of checkpoints before. The transaction was almost complete. A little more chitchat and then he and Hyun Su would be sent on their way.

“Before you go,” the police commander continued, “I think we should inspect your cargo. I have never stopped a truck full of goose feathers before.”

The CIA operative maintained his cool. Nodding at the items the commander had been given, he said, “You already have the best parts of the goose, sir. Please leave me the feathers so that my family will be able to have food in their bellies tonight as well.”

The commander was done being flattered. With a quick jerk of his head, he sent his men to conduct the inspection. Pointing at Hyun Su, he ordered, “Out of the truck. Now.”

The smuggler complied, but slammed his door as he climbed down.

The policeman took it as an act of disrespect. “You’re angry. Am I keeping you from something?”

Hyun Su bowed to the commander and then turned to Tang and exploded at him. “You idiot! I told you we should not take this road. I told you! I told you!”

“Quiet!” the police commander bellowed.

Tang doubted the SEALs needed any further warning that trouble was at hand. But if they did, Hyun Su’s slamming of his door and yelling would have done the trick.

“Let’s go,” the commander said, directing everyone to the rear of the vehicle.

When they arrived at the back of the truck, Tang implored the police officer one more time.

“Enough!” the man ordered. “Open it up!”

Tang bowed and grabbed one of the doors, as Hyun Su grabbed the other. Then, throwing the lever, he and Hyun Su stepped back and opened the truck.

The shooting started instantly.

Fordyce, Johnson, and Tucker fired in fast, controlled bursts. Head, chest. Head, chest. Head, chest. Brass shell casings rained down and bounced onto the floor around them.

Only two officers were able to return fire. One drilled a hole through the roof of the truck. The other drilled a hole through the head of the officer in front of him.

When the shooting stopped, it was Navy SEALs six, North Korean police zero.

The SEALs leaped out of the truck to examine the carnage.

Picking up the unbroken bottle of Jack Daniel’s, Johnson handed it to Tang. “Like they say — pigs get fed, but hogs get slaughtered.”

Tang accepted the bottle and then retrieved the Playboy magazines, his cigarettes, and his currency. “What are we going to do about this mess?”

Fordyce studied the landscape. “We can’t leave them here. Not on the road like this. We’ve got to find someplace to get rid of them.”

Tang spoke with Hyun Su, who suggested a smaller road about five kilometers ahead that wound into the forest. Fordyce agreed.

They backed up the van the policemen had been driving and loaded their bodies inside. Then the SEALs climbed back into their truck.

Tang drove the van and monitored the radio. No one was looking for the officers, and probably no one would for some time.

When they reached the turnoff, Hyun Su drove about a mile and a half up the winding road, pulled onto the shoulder, and stopped. With the van already filled with blood, it was pointless to try to stage something. By the time it was found, the team planned to be long gone anyway.

That didn’t mean, though, that they wanted to leave it looking like a military-style assault. After taking the officers’ watches, wallets, and weapons, they tossed the Playboys in the van, poured Jack Daniel’s on the corpses, and left the bottle near the commander.

Whether the North Koreans would ever figure out what had really happened didn’t matter. Six well-armed police officers had been killed. That story would spread far and wide, and would scare the hell out of every cop, soldier, and government official in the country.

Piling back into the truck, everyone was on edge, especially Fordyce. Trouble had a way of compounding itself, and they had a lot of ground yet to cover.