Op-Center

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Donald knew there was a point at which the body no longer supported the will of even the strongest spirit, and he was rapidly approaching that point.

Still breathing heavily from the run, Donald was perspiring madly and coughing dryly as he wormed his way through the tunnel, his elbows at his sides, chafed and bleeding inside his jacket— which he'd kept on in an effort to prevent just that from happening. The heat was oppressive, sweat and sand stung his eyes, and there was no light; each turn in the seemingly endless tunnel was discovered by his shoulder colliding hard with a dirt wall.

Yet all the while there were the sounds of Major Lee ahead, and that kept him going. And when there were no more sounds, he continued because he knew that Lee was free of the tunnel and the end was near.

Finally, with his body crying to rest, his arms and legs cramped from exertion, he saw the light and reached the passage that would take him from this hateful pit.

Standing with pain and difficulty, his lower back stabbing him as he tried to straighten up, Donald took a moment to suck down the cooler air— and then saw that there was no way out. If there had been a ladder, Lee had withdrawn it.

He looked around him. The passage was narrow, and putting his back against one side, his arms and legs stiff against the opposite wall, he began ascending crablike. Twice during the nine-foot climb he had to stop to keep from falling back down. He was carrying Lee's knife in his teeth and would dig it into the wall to use as a handhold, resting and collecting his strength before continuing. When he finally made it to the top, the sun was rising and he knew where he was; he'd seen the terrain from the other side of the fence. He was in North Korea.

Donald was in the middle of a crater that had obviously been caused by artillery practice. The exit was in a wall of the southwest side of the crater, where it was invisible from the base, approximately a quarter of a mile to the west, or the fence, some two hundred yards south. This had to be a new tunnel dug by Lee and his men; the North would have placed their entrance closer to the facilities, where people could come and go unseen from the South.

Lying flat against the wall of the crater, Donald looked over the lip. Lee was nowhere to be seen. There were low-lying hills to the north, with trees and plenty of rises and depressions for someone to hide. The hard, dry ground held no footprints, and Donald had no idea whether Lee had gone into the hills or to the base.

Not that it mattered, he told himself. It was more important to find the poison gas. Whether it went to the base or to the north— to Pyongyang, as a counterpoint to the blast in Seoul? — he had to go to General Hong-koo and tell him what was happening.

Donald started out, walking briskly, feeling better now that he was out of the tunnel and his muscles had had a chance to relax. He peered ahead, hoping to catch sight of Lee, but there was only stillness on this side of the base. To the south of the facility, patrols were coming in and fresh ones had begun to take their place.

Of course, Donald thought. That was why Lee had selected this time. Guards were always the most lax when a shift neared its end.

He looked toward the back of the barracks again, thought he saw something glint in the rising sun, behind a low hill. He stopped, squinted ahead. He saw it again, something metallic, and he ran a few yards to the south to get a better look at it.

There was a man crouching behind one of the barracks, deep in the shadows. There was something in the wall beside him— it might have been a small generator. His eyes on the man, Donald began running toward him, realized that it wasn't a generator but an air conditioner, and that what he'd seen glinting was the back of the unit. He also saw what looked like a box beneath it.

A box… or a drum. Donald started running slowly. Gas in the air-conditioning system would be fast and horribly effective. The patrols returning to the barracks would be tired, they'd fall asleep immediately, and they'd never know anything was wrong. He started running faster. As he approached, Donald saw that the back of the air conditioner was off. The object was a drum, and it was being lifted to the top of the unit.

Donald was running as fast as he could.

"Stop him!" he shouted. "Someone stop that man— behind the barracks!"

The man looked in his direction, then sank deeper into the shadows.

"Saram sallyo!" he shouted in Korean. "Somebody help! Don't let him get away!"

A searchlight flared on a tower in the South, and another came on in the North. The Southern light picked Donald out immediately; it was a moment longer before the Northern light had him.

Soldiers just heading out on patrol came from around the barracks. Donald waved his arms over his head.

"Get everyone out of the barracks! There's gas— poison gas…"

The dozen men were animated, appeared confused. Several of them unshouldered their AKM assault rifles, and a few were aimed in Donald's direction.

"Dammit, no! Not me! I'm trying to help—"

The men were shouting among each other; Donald couldn't quite make out what they were saying. And then he heard one man yell that the General was coming and this man had naifu.

The knife. He was still holding the knife.

"No!" Donald shouted. "This isn't mine!" He raised it above his head where they could see and cocked his wrist to throw it down.

Two rifle shots tore through the early morning, the reports echoing through the hills long after Donald's pounding footsteps had stopped.