The President hadn’t thought of that. “Some of them, yes. Others… no, I don’t think so.”
“Then you let them do their jobs and hope for the best. A lot of being President is like that.”
Eisenhower chuckled. “All right. Thanks for that, Harry. Give my best to Bess.”
“If you need another opinion, reach out to Roscoe Hillenkoetter. I think he’s still up in New York, Third Naval District HQ.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
Eisenhower hung up the phone and downed his lukewarm coffee with one gulp. He’d need more before his day was done.
22
Danny was beginning to second-guess not having Frank around, now that he was staring down the barrel of a dozen Chinese rifles.
They’d left the U.S. base just after midnight and made for the border — and for once, forward intel was right about a potential entry point between the lines. There was a crappy little road — little more than a wide deer trail — through no-man’s-land that snaked through forests and mountains and was generally undetectable from above. They’d driven for maybe ten minutes at a time, then stopped for at least a half hour so Sorensen could invisibly scout ahead for signs of trouble. Sorensen had encountered a patrol about two miles in, but used a few grenades and a well-placed fire on a nearby hillside to distract them long enough for the jeep to get by unnoticed.
Dawn had made things more difficult, at least for Danny and Katie. They’d parked the jeep under a few low trees by the side of the road while Sorensen had scouted ahead at around 5 a.m., but Sorensen had failed to report back in time for them to hide from another patrol, commanded by a grim-looking Chinese officer who looked as hardened and battle-tested as Frank.
Danny had thought to hide, but there’d been no time, so their ruse was on. Once the scout had seen their jeep and rushed back to his companions — all on foot, likely a rear-guard patrol — Danny and Katie had gotten out of the jeep and placed their weapons on the ground far from their feet. The patrol had rushed up, weapons at the ready. As expected, communication was a major problem.
“W
shì sūlián jūnguān! W shì sūlián jūnguān!” Danny repeated, his hands still up. I am a Soviet officer. It made sense, of course, that a Russian speaker might not know a lot of Chinese, and Danny had memorized a few key phrases before they left. But it was still a tough row to hoe.
The officer — a lieutenant from his insignia — kept shouting in Chinese, a barrage of angry syllables that made zero sense to Danny. “Wmen yào qù kāi chéng. W shì sūlián jūnguān. Ràng wmen tōngguò,” he said, just about exhausting his vocabulary. We are going to Kaesong. I am a Soviet officer. Let us pass.
That’s when the Chinese officer got on the radio, something Danny had fervently hoped to avoid. But before he could transmit, the group’s sergeant stopped him, and another rapid-fire exchange took place. Finally, the sergeant turned to Danny. “I study engineering in Vladivostok,” the sergeant said in halting Russian. “I talk Russian. You not be here.”
Thank God. “Yes, Comrade, we know. We were part of the group that came in the other day and we were separated from the rest. We are heading toward Kaesong. Perhaps you can show us the way?” Danny asked in his best Russian.
The sergeant and lieutenant conferred again. “Papers, Comrade,” the sergeant said finally.
“Of course, Comrade,” Danny replied, handing over their forged documents, including a fake teletype from Beria himself authorizing their entry.
This prompted more conferring — the sergeant could read well enough. “This girl. Young. Why here?” the Chinese asked.
Danny put on his best smile. “Yes, she is a cadet in our academy. She is our best student, and is being given the opportunity to learn in the field this summer.”
Danny turned to Katie, who gave the Chinese her best — and somewhat unconvincing — smile. She really needs a break after this one, Danny thought. Maybe get her into school in Boise or something. Let her live a little.
More discussion followed, and Danny wished he’d decided to throw in Chinese and Korean translations of their fake identities and orders. But if they were separated from their comrades, as Danny claimed, it would be a little too convenient for them to have a full suite of documents ready to go.
Finally, the lieutenant stared hard at them, then barked a single word. “Xiūxí!” Danny winced, expecting to be shot, but immediately the Chinese lowered their weapons and relaxed.
The sergeant handed their papers back, and unfolded a map. “You. Here. Kaesong there. Road.” He traced a winding path across the map — the city was just ten miles away, give or take.
Danny smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant. You have been most helpful.”
“Do you have food?”
This took Danny by surprise, and he looked at the squad of men around him with new eyes, seeing their sallow faces and baggy uniforms. “I’m sorry, Sergeant. We don’t. Where are you based?”
“Kagok-ri. Here,” the sergeant said, pointing to a dot on the map to the north. “No food. One week.”
Christ. “When we get to Kaesong, I will personally make sure you’re resupplied, Comrade,” Danny said.
The sergeant translated, and several of the men broke out into smiles. Even the lieutenant seemed to relax slightly. They took a moment to shake hands and exchange comradely greetings, and then Danny and Katie hopped back in the jeep and took off down the road.
“Where’s Tim?” Katie asked when they were out of earshot.
“Right here,” came a disembodied voice from the back of the jeep. “I was up a tree just down the road from you. Nearly went with a bit of a distraction before you went and made friends.”
“Glad you held off,” Danny said. “Really don’t want to leave a trail of bodies between here and Kaesong.”
“Are you sure they are there?” Katie asked. “In Kaesong?”
Danny closed his eyes a moment and concentrated. “Yeah. They haven’t moved since last night. Huge concentration there — fifteen in total. I’m hoping our people are with ’em.”
“That’s a long shot, boss,” Sorensen said. “We’ve had no word from Cal and Rick.”
Danny shrugged. “I don’t sense any other Variants in the area. If they’re alive, I think they’ll be there.”
Cal woke up to a swift kick in the ribs, courtesy of Maria Savrova, the Soviet Variant whom he met long ago in some godforsaken forest outside Prague. Savrova had already given Cal a demeaning pat on the head the other day, which meant she could now easily track his whereabouts — that was her Enhancement, the ability to track anybody in the world.
The kick was just for kicks.
“Get up,” she said in Russian. “Let’s go.”
Cal knew enough of the language by now to catch her meaning, so he slowly, painfully got up off the cool concrete factory floor and nudged Yamato, who was still asleep. Padilla didn’t seem to sleep much; he was already up, wide-eyed and worried. Hei Feng was slumped in a corner, and received another kick from Savrova to get him to his feet.
“How we doing, old man?” Yamato muttered as he stood, warily eyeing the North Korean guards nearby, their rifles at the ready — but not, at least, pointed at them.
Cal stretched and felt his bones shift a little. He was damn sure by now that he was getting worse, older than he should be. Back before he discovered he could harm, and not simply heal himself or others, Cal would age himself greatly in order to work his miracle. And after that, his body would eventually regress back to his real age. This, though, this was bad. “I’ve been better, you little whippersnapper,” Cal joked. “Gonna need me a fix if I’m gonna do anything useful.”