"Dsao-shang," Lo Po told the women. "Good morning. We"re here for the fish."
"Yes," one of them replied. "You will be searched first, please."
She nodded to the other woman, who approached us with the metal detector. I frowned, but said nothing as she wanded me. I was clean, but the wand beeped twice as she waved it near Lo Po"s pocket.
"Metal detector?" he asked, reaching into his pocket. "It must have gotten my paint and car keys."
He held out the small spray can and keys.
"Why do you have paint?" asked the woman, examining the can.
"To mark the fish, if necessary. It doesn"t hurt them."
She gave it back.
"And the rope?"
"In case my father has to go into the water," explained Lo Po. "For his safety."
"What is in his box?" said the woman.
"My father"s medicine," explained Lo Po. "For the fish."
"We will inspect it."
"That"s not necessary."
"It is necessary. We will look in it."
"He is very sensitive," said Lo Po. "If he thinks you don"t trust him, he won"t do the work."
"Trust is not the issue. We will inspect the box," answered the woman.
Of course, they were doing all this talking in Chinese. I stood behind Lo Po, frowning as cantankerously as I could. Finally, Lo Po told the woman that he would smooth things over for her first.
"They want to look in your box," whispered Lo Po.
I grunted menacingly, then handed it over. Lo Po opened the box and let the woman look inside.
"These look like kitchen herbs," she said.
"They are ancient medicines that my father uses in his work," said Lo Po, bowing deeply as he mentioned me.
I think the bow was a nice touch. Maybe I"ll have everyone do it from now on.
"You can go," said the woman, handing it back. "Li will take you through the house."
The woman was right about the herbs-I"d grabbed them from the kitchen just before we came over. But that accounted for only about half of the bottles. The others were small grenades. Under them in the toolbox"s false bottom was a pair of PK pistols, one for Lo Po and one for yours truly, along with some explosive charges and a.s.sorted other goodies.
As we walked up the path, I spotted a woman in an upstairs bedroom covering us with an ancient Type 67 machine gun, a weapon I had first become acquainted with in Vietnam. There"s nothing like a belt of 7.62mm bullets to evoke the warm feeling of nostalgia in my chest, but at that moment at least I wasn"t thinking about the past or the future, just the immediate present.
The front door opened to a set of steps that took us down about two feet to a small vestibule. The main hallway opened directly opposite the door, and ran to the back of the house, through the room I had snuck into two nights before and from there out to the garden.
"You must save the fish," said the woman leading us through. "They are very precious."
"We"ll do what we can," said Lo Po.
Lo Po and I went to the pond, where no less than a dozen fish were floating belly-up. I knelt down slowly, staring at the water as if I were communicating with the souls of the departed.
Or carp, as the case may be.
"Two guards," whispered Lo Po. "Maybe more upstairs."
"At least one more. Probably two or three."
"Think they"re all women?"
I grunted noncommittally. Their s.e.x didn"t matter; I was interested in their competence and weapons, which seemed fairly formidable. We hadn"t seen the motorcyclists, but the only other building on the property large enough to house them was in the northwestern corner. Foliage blocked the satellite view of that part of the property, but it was likely there was a small path connecting it to the racetrack between the fences.
Lo Po bent over my box and took out the top tray. I swatted at his arm and we began a mock argument over which potions to use. Our backs were blocking the video cameras so they couldn"t see what we were really doing: pulling the guns out of the bottom of the case and hiding them under our long lab coats. Ready, Lo Po rose, shaking his head as if disgusted with his pigheaded father. He waved at me, then walked over toward the house, saying in a loud voice that he was going to check the electrical connections. He slipped his toolbox down and crouched next to the house, just out of view of the cameras, waiting for them to move so he could jump back out and over the wall.
Shaking my head, I rose slowly, using the net to help me balance. I went to the water and poked at one of the fish, taking its carca.s.s out of the pond. I leaned over and examined it-and caught a glimpse of one of the women watching me from inside the room.
She didn"t stay there for long. The door soon opened and she came out, speaking in rapid Chinese.
Guessing that she was asking where number one son had gone to wasn"t very hard. What was difficult was answering. I turned to her slowly, c.o.c.king my head at her as if I believed she was insane. This only increased the speed of the words flying from her mouth.
Obviously, some sort of response was required on my part. I rose slowly, shuffled to the toolbox, and retrieved two sticks of incense. These I brought to the water"s edge.
Even faster Chinese ensued.
"My father believes your water is not in balance," said Lo Po, slipping back over the wall. "His methods are old-fashioned."
"Where were you?"
"I am looking for the electrical conduit. We must check out the power supply."
"The wires are underground."
"Precisely." Lo Po held up a small volt meter. "It must be examined."
The volt meter would be about as much use checking for underground current as a flashlight, but the guard apparently didn"t know that. She turned back toward me.
"Why does he not answer me when I speak to him?"
Lo Po sidled up to her and lowered his voice.
"He"s a little deaf. Also, he-he is very old-fashioned. Women . . ." He shook his head. "He is not a modern man, my father. Very old-fashioned."
"Hmmmph."
"Also, he is very touchy. You should not question him."
"We are paying for his services!" said the woman.
Lo Po nodded solemnly. "I try to get him to change, but with the older generation . . ."
The woman frowned. Lo Po changed the subject, saying that while other causes would have to first be ruled out, he suspected that there was a very grave problem with her water owing to pollution. Pollutants were coming from somewhere on the property; until they were discovered, the fish would continue to die.
"Your father believes this?"
"My father uses ancient methods," said Lo Po. "I have science. I must take more tests. Do you have water inside? I will examine your drinking water first."
Though puzzled by the request, the woman showed Lo Po inside. As soon as she was gone, I reached inside the toolbox and took out a shortwave radio unit disguised to look like an Apple iPod. Lo Po checked in a few minutes later, saying he was downstairs.
"Three of them, one in front of the stairs," he whispered. "Haven"t gone upstairs. They say it"s not possible. So that must be where he is."
"Very perceptive, honorable son."
I glanced at my watch: H hour was five minutes away. I looped the rope around my shoulder, then picked up the can of spray paint Lo Po had left behind. Slowly, I began to shuffle over to the house, right under one of the video cameras. I went slowly, gesturing and pretending to talk to myself. When I got there, it was H hour minus thirty seconds.
I pulled a small straw from my pocket and attached it to the nozzle on the spray paint. Then I removed the stiff belt I"d been wearing, removed the small bolts that held it together, and refashioned it as a carbon-fiber grappling hook.
Twenty seconds. The alarm was set on the watch; I could see the tiny little indicator blinking, telling me to get ready.
The plan was simple. At five seconds to H hour, I"d reach up and spray paint the video lens. Then I"d hit the second one. While Lo and I had already been videoed, the less of the operation on tape the better. Lenses blocked, I"d step back and toss the rope up into the window, haul myself upstairs PK in hand, and start looking for Yong Shin Jong.
Outside, Trace would lead a small team through the front of the building, rendezvousing with me upstairs. Doc and Lo Po"s men would take care of the motorcycle people and any reinforcements, while Mongoose and Shotgun watched the road. You can"t keep Mr. Murphy from inviting himself to a party, but the plan was flexible enough to accommodate him if and when he showed up.
Fifteen seconds. An eternity when you"re waiting for something to happen, especially since the only thing that can happen in those fifteen seconds is a visit from Mr. Murphy.
At about nine seconds, the back door flew open and a tall, pudgy man with a remarkably bad haircut came out of the building. He walked out the door to the pond where I had left the toolbox, stopped, then turned and looked at me in astonishment.
It was Yong Shin Jong. Which wouldn"t have been a bad thing, except that the toolbox was about to explode.
[ V ].
THE HUMAN BODY is not really designed for flight. We don"t have wings, and our muscles are not strong enough to flap any of the limbs that we do have quickly enough to supply lift. Our bone structure is altogether too heavy to overcome the most basic law on earth: gravity.
And yet, under the proper circ.u.mstances and with the proper motivation, flight is indeed possible for the human body, as I proved at that instant, throwing myself toward the box with the rigged grenades and hoping to knock it into the pond. But Yong Shin Jong inadvertently ducked into my path, diverting me toward the water rather than the box.
I grabbed him as I fell. We tumbled together into the pond, and his weight combined with my momentum was enough to take us to the bottom of the shallow pool as the tool case exploded. By the time we surfaced, there had been plenty more explosions, and a heavy cover of smoke was wafting around the building. At the front, Doc and the road workers-actually men who worked for Lo Po-had used smoke grenades to temporarily defeat the machine-gun nest on the top story and make a rush at the building. (Since Yong Shin Jong was supposed to be upstairs, a real grenade would have been too dangerous.) There were shouts and screams, punctuated by the lively music of gunfire.
Yong Shin Jong coughed, then started to sink back into the pond. I grabbed hold of him and hauled him out of the water.
"Yong Shin Jong, I am here to rescue you," I said, using the Korean I had carefully rehea.r.s.ed. "My name is d.i.c.k Marcinko. I am your friend."
Yong Shin Jong shook his head.
"Do you speak English?" I asked. "I am your friend."
"Who are you? You"re Chinese? You speak English?"
"I"m American. Your father wanted you rescued, and he hired me."
Yong Shin Jong shook his head again. He started to say something, but a series of loud explosions coming from the northwest drowned him out: the motorcyclists had discovered the grenades and trip wire Lo Po had set.
The back door to the house flew open. I wheeled around and pumped two slugs into the female guard just before she could demonstrate how easily her submachine gun carved up the human torso.
"We"re getting out of here!" I told Yong Shin Jong.
"What?"
"Listen." I held up my hand, then pointed in the direction of the thump of the approaching helicopters.
"We"re rescuing you," I told Yong Shin Jong. "We have everything planned."
"Why are you rescuing me?"
"Because I"m a nice guy."
"I don"t need to be rescued," said Yong Shin Jong. "What is going on?"
"You are Yong Shin Jong, aren"t you? The son of Kim Jong Il, North Korea"s leader."
"Don"t say that name in my presence."
"Your father"s?"
Yong Shin Jong spat. "I hate that son of a b.i.t.c.h."
Technically, that would have made him a grandson of a b.i.t.c.h, but this wasn"t the time for exploring the family tree.
"I"m not going," insisted Yong.
"You"re a prisoner here. At least come with me and we"ll find a place where you can be safe."
"I"m not a prisoner. I came here for my own safety. My father and his people want to kill me."
One of the helicopters popped over the hill, skimming low over the courtyard and spraying the building with machine-gun fire. The other came in to pick us up. I wasn"t inclined to argue with Yong Shin Jong, but as I took a step to grab him and toss him into the helo, he reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a pistol.