"Since when are you the Commie court stenographer?" Remo complained.
"I heard what I heard," Soe said. "If you wish to steal a plane from here, I would be pleased. If only to get you out of my company and to get my own execution over with faster."
"No deal," Remo said. "If your planes are built like everything else around here, it'd crash and burn before we even taxied from the terminal. The only plane in this country I trust is Kim Jong Il's and that jet's gotten too many miles on it for my liking lately." He frowned.
"Then you stay," Soe said.
"Not very bloody likely. How far a drive is it to Seoul?" Remo asked wearily.
"Approximately 130 miles. Through heavily fortified zones."
Remo sank back into his seat. "So what are you waiting for? Start driving," he ordered, crossing his arms.
Though it was suicidal for them to try to breach the security of both Koreas, Soe knew better than to argue. With a jounce of tires, the jeep took off across the vacant, windswept runway.
U.S. ARMY FORCES along the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea had been on high alert ever since the Tomahawk incident two days before.
Tensions were higher than at any time in Colonel Nick DeSouza's entire military career. And that was saying a lot. Since before Colonel DeSouza was born, the two Koreas had always seemed poised on the verge of war. Sometimes things were better; sometimes they were worse. But it was always a very real threat.
In recent years, the student demonstrators in the South had upped the ante for the Americans stationed along the DMZ. There had been protests-many violent-from the young in the lower half of the Korean Peninsula. Their press for a unified Korea would effectively push out foreign troops from the region, allowing the entire nation to be swept away in a tidal wave of soldiers from the North.
Almost fifty years of efforts to keep the Communists at bay would be for naught if the idiot students had their way. And after the bombing of the college in Seoul, things had only gotten worse.
Colonel DeSouza had no idea what that had been all about. The United States government had apologized for the mishap. The South Korean government had been understandably unforgiving. Given the circumstances, DeSouza didn't think he'd be very forgiving, either.
Yes, sorry about blowing up your university, and all. Hope you're not too upset.
Upset? Us? Not at all. It'd take more than one measly little cruise missile to bother us. A dozen, maybe. One? Forget about it.
DeSouza thought they were lucky that the whole damned population south of the DMZ hadn't overrun their position by now.
So there it was. Hostiles to the north. More hostiles to the south. And the United States Army plopped down right in the middle.
"Par for the course," DeSouza muttered as he ambled along the craggy southern lip of the Bridge of No Return.
The bridge was a narrow iron affair that separated the two Koreas. If there was ever a ground invasion from the north, it would start through this slender corridor.
As DeSouza sipped tepid coffee from a tin mug, he thought wryly that the assault they had always anticipated might come from a direction none of them had ever expected. The south.
Even as he thought it, he heard the sound of an engine whining somewhere distant.
He looked over his shoulder.
In the distance, he saw the encampment where the latest student demonstrators from the South had parked themselves after the bombing. There was activity around the camp, but no vehicles moving out of it. With a sick feeling, he realized that the sound was coming from the other side of the bridge.
"Perfect," Colonel DeSouza complained, flinging his coffee away.
A truck was parked in perpetuity in the middle of the Bridge of No Return. Its engine was left running so that if an invasion from the north ever materialized, it could be used to bottle up the bridge so that enemy forces would have a harder time in their push south.
DeSouza jogged partway out on the bridge, listening to the sound he had heard over the rumble of the big truck.
Jeep. Definitely a jeep. But if it was an invasion force, Kim Jong Il would have to have packed a couple of thousand troops onto that one jeep, because as far as Colonel DeSouza could tell, there was just the one vehicle.
A moment later, he realized that he had been right. A lone jeep bounced into view. Two men in the front seat. That was all that was visible from this end of the bridge.
Colonel DeSouza had been ready to shout orders to his men, thinking that the North was using the opportunity of crisis with the South to drive a wedge between the U.S. and its host nation. But as the jeep slowed to a stop on the far side of the bridge, he wasn't sure what to do.
A lone man got out of the passenger's side. DeSouza saw instantly that he wasn't Asian.
Tall. Thin. Dark hair. Possibly Mediterranean features. Definitely not Korean.
The man crouched down on the far side of the jeep, out of sight of DeSouza. After only a moment, the jeep tipped over to that side. The man reappeared. Under his arms, he carried two fat black objects. Whistling, he hustled across the bridge, leaving his jeep and driver behind. When he was close enough, DeSouza saw that he was carrying two of the jeep's tires.
The stranger hurried past the parked American truck with its running engine and over to DeSouza. Suspicious soldiers leveled their weapons but held their fire, awaiting orders from their commanding officer.
"I don't trust that bugger Soe not to run off," Remo complained as he marched up to DeSouza.
"You're an American," the colonel said, unable to mask his surprise.
"As an IRS audit," Remo replied with a tight smile. "Where can I put these? The idiot Koreans already lost a 747 on me. I don't want to lose a jeep, too."
He held aloft the two tires. DeSouza could see that he was unarmed.
"Who are you?" the colonel asked. Suspicion finally overcame surprise. His hand felt for his side arm.
"Do you mind, MacArthur?" Remo groused. In spite of a hundred weapons aimed in his direction, Remo looked around for a place to put the tires. He found a nice spot near the side of the bridge. He dropped the two of them there, turning back to DeSouza.
"I asked you a question," the colonel stressed. The gun was now drawn. His face was serious.
"Listen, I've had a lousy day," Remo explained. "I had to meet with one of the last Communists in the world outside of Washington and I feel like I need a week-long shower to clean off. Mind if I borrow a jeep?"
That was it. He'd had it with this wacko. Let someone else deal with it. "I'm going to have to detain you," DeSouza said firmly.
The colonel was about to gesture to a few of his men with his gun when he suddenly realized that the gun was no longer there. He was waving with an empty hand. Quickly, he looked to the stranger, thinking that he must have disarmed him somehow.
Remo shook his head. "Check your holster," he said.
DeSouza did. His gun was back where he had gotten it. The snap was even attached.
"The way things are going around here, you may need it later," Remo said. "I might be able to stop things from getting any worse if you'll just get me a jeep."
Colonel DeSouza considered for a moment. Finally, he glanced back at his nervous men. "Get this man a jeep!" he shouted. Turning to face Remo, he said, "Are you some kind of spook or something?"
"Or something," Remo said.
The jeep was brought forward. A soldier was even offered as a driver. Remo declined.