DeSouza seemed uncertain as to what he should do. He shot a glance at his men. They had not raised their weapons at Remo's appearance this time. Many of them stood at a distance, faces curious. The colonel could give them the order to fire at any time.
Remo sensed the military man's internal conflict.
"You've been carrying their water for how long?" Remo asked. "And you see how they're treating you. Who are you going to believe, me or him?"
"As president of your host country, I demand you defend me against this crazy man," Kim Dae Jung insisted.
DeSouza glanced from the president to Remo. He then looked out across the Bridge of No Return.
"You'd better hurry," the colonel said to Remo, eyes flat. He backed away from the jeep. "Your driver's already working on the second tire."
THE GREAT LEADER FOR LIFE of North Korea, Kim Jong Il, stood on the freezing tarmac. Wind whipped the flaps of the fur-lined Red Army-issue hat that was pulled tightly down over his ears.
All around him, men stood protectively. There were generals and foot soldiers and men from the government. All freezing and huddled in on themselves, afraid to stamp their feet against the cold.
The jet had appeared a few minutes before. It faded up out of the milky white winter sky like a reverse dissolve in one of his precious Hollywood movies.
Korean Foxbat fighters remained at a respectful distance from the civilian craft.
It was humiliating. To have two planes violate North Korean airspace twice in the same day was unthinkable under almost any circumstances. Unpardonable under all but one.
Two, actually.
The first was gone, thank God. That white one always gave Kim Jong Il the screaming meemies.
The second had just touched down at the far end of the runway.
The premier thought it best to meet personally with the Master of Sinanju, considering the fact that it was he who was responsible for the deaths of some of the North Korean agents in New York. Although it was not authorized by Kim Jong Il's government, the dead agents had apparently gone off on some sort of murderous rampage that had put them in the path of the men from Sinanju. The premier wanted to make it absolutely clear that there was no animosity between his regime and Sinanju. That was why he was here.
There was also a part of him that thought a face-to-face meeting with the old one might help with the young one. The Reigning Master of Sinanju was frightening and quick to anger, but he was also occasionally deferential-at least on the surface. The young one was not like that at all, and was therefore all the more frightening. Kim Jong Il reasoned that if he got on the good side of the father, the son might like him more.
The premier's ruddy face was hopeful as he watched the cluster of aircraft swarming toward him.
As the MiGs soared off, the private jet raced over toward the premier's party, slowing quickly. It rolled to a stop near the Great and Wonderful Leader for Life.
Even as the engines were powering down, the rear door of the aircraft popped open. The short staircase descended, dropping neatly against the rough asphalt.
Kim Jong Il smiled so broadly he thought his frozen face would crack. He did not want to provoke even a hint of anger in the Master of Sinanju.
The soldiers and functionaries around him smiled, as well. They were one big, happy Communist reception party.
As the premier and his group watched, a man stepped down from the plane.
The Leader for Life blinked. For a moment, the frozen smile remained locked in place.
The man was not the Master of Sinanju. Even through his surprise, Kim Jong Il thought he recognized him. The face was from a time far away. He could not quite place...
His smile melted into a scowl of recognition.
Kim knew him all too well. He was a traitor to the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. The man's newspaper regularly insulted the Great Leader from the cowardly safety of the United States.
All thoughts of the Master of Sinanju were gone. Kim Jong Il turned to his troops, aiming a fat finger in the direction of the traitorous Man Hyung Sun.
His order crackled as clear as the frigid winter air around them.
"Shoot him!" screamed the Leader for Life of North Korea.
REMO HAD NO LUCK at the presidential palace. According to the premier's frightened underlings, Kim Jong Il had left suddenly for the airport. No one knew why.
He was forced to drag his untrustworthy little band back out into his borrowed North Korean army jeep. As they rode through the streets of Pyongyang to the airport, Kim Dae Jung hid behind the back of Remo's seat.
"It is not safe for me here," the president of South Korea said nervously.
"It's a hell of a lot safer here than in your own streets right now," Remo replied.
"No, this filth is correct," Soe said from behind the jeep's wheel. "Though he has a Korean face, he is no more than a capitalist running dog lackey of the pig West."
"Is that all with hyphens?" Remo asked.
"What?" asked Soe.
"Just shut up and drive," Remo suggested.
"I would kill him if I had the chance," Soe persisted.
"You won't get the chance." Remo sighed.
"I have to go to the bathroom," the president of South Korea whined.
"You should have thought of that before we crossed the Thirty-eighth Parallel," Remo said.
"I will kill you the first chance I get," Soe said over his shoulder to the president.
"What part of 'shut up' don't you understand?" Remo snapped.
They drove in silence for a few long moments.
"I am not saying that I will kill him," Soe said to Remo suddenly, "but if he were to die by accident-" Remo bounced Soe's head off the dashboard. After that, the security officer remained quiet.
They were still a good distance from the airport when Remo spied the private jet soaring in, attended by the squadron of North Korean fighters.
"There's a familiar sight," he said, brow furrowing in concern.
"That is not your lost plane," Soe pointed out.
"No, but it's the same setup. Why would a bunch of Korean jets follow another plane without shooting it down?"