"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.
He was still crying when someone rattled the doorknob. The door lock turned. And before Sammy Kee could even begin to register hope or fear, Colonel Viktor Ditko stood in the room, regarding him with a single cold eye.
"Uggh!" Colonel Ditko said, reacting to the wafting stench. "Out, quickly."
And Sammy came running.
Colonel Ditko hustled him into a corner of the basement, beside a creaky roaring furnace.
"I was longer than I expected," the colonel said. Sammy Kee nodded wordlessly, noting but not asking about the colonel's eyepatch.
"You were not found."
"No," said Sammy Kee.
"Good. Listen to me, Sammy Kee. I have been to Moscow. I have spoken to a great man, perhaps the greatest leader in the world. He has seen your tape and he says it is not enough. Not enough to give you asylum, nor to pay you money."
Sammy Kee gave out a great racking sob.
"I have betrayed my country for nothing," he blubbered.
"Do not fold on me now. This is not over. You are a brave man, Sammy Kee."
But Sammy Kee was not listening. He seemed about to faint.
Colonel Ditko shook Sammy's shoulder violently. "Listen to me. You are a brave man. You entered this fortress country on your own initiative. And when you were discovered you had the presence of mind to seek the only safe haven open to a Westerner trapped in North Korea. Dig down into yourself and dredge up that bravery again. It, and only it, will save you now."
"I will do anything you ask," said Sammy Kee at last.
"Good. Where is your video equipment?"
"I buried it in the sand. Near Sinanju."
"With extra tapes?"
"Yes."
"I am sending you back to Sinanju. Today. Now. I will see that you have safe conduct to the closest place. From there, you can get back to the village, nyet?"
"I don't want to go back there."
"Choice does not enter into it," Ditko said coldly. "I am sending you back to Sinanju. There you will obtain further proof of the Master of Sinanju and his American connection, if you have to steal the very records of Sinanju. You will bring them back to me. Do you understand? Do you?"
"Yes," said Sammy Kee dully.
"You will bring back to me all the secrets of the Master of Sinanju. All of them. And when you do this, you shall be rewarded."
"I will live in Moscow?"
"If you wish. Or we can send you back to America."
"I can't go back there. I've betrayed my country."
"Fool. Do not let your guilt confuse you. No one knows this. And even if word of your perfidy should leak out, it will not matter. You have stumbled upon a secret so embarrassing to the American government that they would not dare prosecute you."
And for the first time, Sammy Kee smiled. It was all going to work out. He could almost see the Golden Gate Bridge in his mind's eye.
Chapter 8
When the last of the Darter's crew had paddled their rafts back out into the forbidding coldness of Sinanju harbor, Remo Williams stood on the rocky shore between the Horns of Welcome, which were also recorded in the history of the House of Sinanju as the Horns of Warning.