Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

The Captain’s obsidian eyes traced the jagged black line on his map again. It could be an admirable attack, one that would bring great prestige to him and his crew. Still, to flaunt the power of the American presence, to approach their fleet out of bravado or pride. Well, that way lay assured detection and destruction. No, the more daring move through the Korean Straits was actually safer, for all its inferred risks. But no risk was too great to ensure the delivery of his cargo and the continuation of his country. It was a move more worthy of a master, worthy of the Captain, his crew and his boat. He tapped the route he had marked out with his finger. Time to cast the die.

“Secure from charging stations. Send all communications,” he said.

The communications officer transmitted the burst message containing all the coded details of their progress to date. Their chances to inform higher command of their status, receive intelligence and ask for tactical support would be few, if any. The report also included crew commendations for bravery and ingenuity. If he and his boat failed to get through the American line, he wanted the families of his crew to know what their fathers, brothers and sons had done to further their great country and the Supreme Leader’s wishes.

They would move to periscope depth at a later, prearranged time to receive the coded reply. Remaining this close to the surface to wait for a reply was too dangerous.

“Take her down to three hundred meters, ahead one quarter, Mister Hyun. Torpedo room, prepare countermeasures. Load all four tubes. If we are forced to engage, the less they hear of us the better.” He paused. “And Gentlemen, we are now in silent running conditions.” He motioned over the navigator who had been waiting respectfully to one side while his Captain secured the course of their future.

“Study this well and make sure your number two is as familiar as yourself.” Captain Kil-Yon traced the route one more time. “It is a long road, Comrade, and a dangerous one. Sleep will be little. We will need bolt holes the entire length of our journey. Our country depends on us to deliver that which so many have died for.” He looked the navigator in the face. “Do you understand?”

The navigator gave a single sharp nod of his head and saluted, “Absolutely, Comrade Captain.”

“Good.”

The teardrop hull creaked and groaned as it took on the gradual pressure of the ever-increasing depth. The Captain knew that outside the Leader’s pressure hull lay the real foe, one the Americans would like to release inside the Leader. He would use all of his ability to stop that from happening.

Aidan Forest, accelerator almost to the mat, pushed his old and battered Ford sedan down the DC express beltway at speeds it had not seen in a decade. A voice in the back of his mind chided him for the lack of attention given his vehicle over the years. He silently promised it a tune-up and oil change as soon as was possible.

The phone call in the dead of the night summoning him to Langley resulted in a disturbing meeting with the Director of Operations. Forest had been briefed at length about the backroom dealings of the North Koreans in their quest to secure restricted weapons technologies. It had taken the Director over an hour to explain a whole new background in Korean history to a man who preferred the certainty of the past. The last chapter had been the most chilling of all.

It was an embarrassment that Chun Seng Kyun’s debriefing had been lost in the immense paper shuffle bureaucracy of Washington. Kyun was the only man who could fathom how his own deputy’s mind worked. Forest cursed himself, the debrief had focused mainly on Chun personally and it had only progressed as far as Kyun’s tour of observation and trade during the Vietnam War.

Forest knew he should have brought the focus of the debrief on the present and not the past, but Chun preferred to talk about his career. Forest, being a historian, was rapt by this new information and insight. Forest, as Chun’s controller, had established a good working relationship with the man. Unfortunately, Forest’s controller was not a strong or intelligent man. He was somebody who delegated more than dictated. Forest suspected after this latest screw up, the man’s career was over with no further advancement. In the CIA, only at the top were you allowed to screw up more than once.

Forest swerved to avoid colliding with a Hyundai that had cut him off. Not even time for a muttered obscenity or angry hand gesture. He squinted into the glare of oncoming headlights. The density of traffic was unbelievable. It was as if every idiot with a license in the DC area was out and about tonight and every other one had his high beams on.

Forest rarely ventured out of his apartment after nine o’clock on any night of the week. Most nights would find him engrossed in a new book, historical paper or surfing the web.

The drive to the safe house was dangerous for anyone who got in his way tonight. Twenty heart stopping minutes later, he shut off his lights and turned into the front driveway of the rundown building. His car was here so regularly that most of the neighbors just thought their new neighbor had a night job with a really weird shift. The agency prided itself on low profile. It was not the bungling group of incompetents that the movies and press had made it out to be. Not that the perceived image hurt them. In the intelligence community, a bungling image was almost better than a nonexistent one.

His electronic pass key got him through the myriad of discretely hidden and disguised motion and body heat sensors. With a soft click, the deadbolt slid back and Forest opened the door to step inside.

Chun was poised warily at the foot of the stairs, a kitchen knife held palm down, blade up, in his right hand. Chun’s shoulders relaxed when he saw it was Forest. The knife disappeared from view so quickly that Forest was not sure it had ever been there at all. He made a mental note to mention that Chun was to be regarded as armed at all times and then dismissed the thought as fast as it had come.

He had a sinking feeling that wherever Chun would be within a day or two, that being unarmed would be detrimental to his health. But the trick with the knife proved that the man was still what he had been all his life: a soldier. The question was, would he be willing to risk his life for his newfound country or would he continue to honor the North’s impossible iron dream?

Chun looked Forest over with a probing eye. “Mister Forest, you should have called and saved me some worry. Late night visits in my country rarely end well.”

Forest pulled off his overcoat and hung it on his usual hanger in the front hall closet. “I’m sorry Mister Kyun, but something has come up. I was just briefed at Langley. There was no time to call.”

“So this time, it is business and not reminiscing?”

“Yes.”

If Chun was bothered, he did not show it. “Very well. Come, let us go into the kitchen. I will make some coffee and you can tell me of this new world order I hear so much about, and where I stand in its scheme.”

Forest sat at the Kitchen table and watched Chun prepare the coffee. At least the agency wasn’t a big fan of instant. Chun set the steaming mug of black liquid in front of Forest. He sat back and lit a cigarette. His original store had run out weeks ago and he had taken to smoking lethal French Galois that Forest bought him at the corner store. He was courteous enough to direct his smoke away from the man handling his debrief.

“So tell me what my new masters have in store for me.”

“I can only give you the major details. A great deal of this contains blanks that we hope you can fill in.”