In a third-floor conference room at the National Intelligence Service headquarters at Naegok-dong, two men in shirtsleeves sat either side of a long table. Between them was a professional-quality reel-to-reel tape recorder hitched to an external amplifier and a pair of small speakers. A cassette player would have been far more convenient, but Bae Chang-Su – the autocratic head of the NIS – had insisted on the best possible audio quality, and that meant using the original tape and the Revox.
They’d played the recording four times already, and Bae knew they’d soon have to make a decision about what to tell the Americans.
‘What did his previous reports contain?’ he asked.
Kang Jang-Ho was Bae’s direct subordinate and also Yi Min-Ho’s briefing officer, since the infiltration of the NIS agent into North Korea had been sanctioned at the highest level. He now referred to his notes.
‘He only made two brief calls, and there was nothing particularly significant in either. Yi contacted us once to confirm that he’d landed, and again after he had established his observation point overlooking the airfield. His only concern was that he’d almost been caught by an army patrol near Ugom, and he had the feeling they were deliberately waiting for him. Their truck had been parked on the road without lights and drove straight towards him as he came into view.’
‘Do you give any credence to his suggestion that they knew in advance?’
‘No, sir, I don’t. There’s always a heavy military presence in that area, so I think he just ran into a regular patrol that spotted someone suspicious and gave chase. The other possibility is that North Korean radar detected the inflatable heading for the coast, but I think that’s unlikely.’
‘Perhaps,’ Bae grunted. ‘What’s your assessment of the situation now? Is Yi still alive?’
‘Probably not. His last message’ – Kang gestured at the tape recorder – ‘suggests that he’s been captured at the very least.’
He referred to his notes again. ‘I’ve had the recording analysed by our technical staff. First, it’s definitely Yi’s voice: the voice-print analysis is unambiguous. Second, he’s shouting and there are traces of panic in his voice, as he’s clearly desperate to pass on a message to us. That could mean he was on the run. Third, there are the six shots heard at the beginning of the tape. Because of the volume of these explosions, the technicians believe the weapon was fired close to the Kyocera, meaning they were fired from Yi’s own pistol, at whoever was pursuing him.’ Kang glanced at his superior before continuing.
‘And, at the very end you can hear the sound of other, more distant, shots, immediately before Yi’s transmission ends. They must have been fired by his pursuers, and we have to assume that one of the bullets damaged the satellite phone, because the signal disappears immediately afterwards. We tried calling the unit several times over the next hour, but each time the system reported the Kyocera unavailable. It was then, following COMSEC procedures, recorded as destroyed and the number barred. So we believe Yi must have seen something so important that he ignored standard operating procedure by breaking communications silence in an attempt to call us.’
‘And what about the message he tried to pass on?’ Bae demanded.
Kang lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘All he says is that the North Koreans have new aircraft – then he was cut off. We don’t know exactly what he meant by that, but must assume he saw something sufficiently unusual to risk calling us immediately.’
For a few moments Bae stared at the Revox as if willing it to supply the answer. Then he shifted his gaze back to his subordinate.
‘I’m not prepared to risk sending another agent across the border, so I think it’s time to involve the Americans formally. We’ll just report what little we have, and see what they can do with their technical assets. Perhaps one of their satellites will be able to identify whatever aircraft Yi observed at T’ae’tan, and then we’ll have a better idea what we’re up against.’
There are a lot of bars in the city of Perm, catering for everyone from the habitual drunk to the purely social drinkers who have a need to be seen in the right place, at the right time, and with the right people. The Bar Sputnik fell somewhere between these two extremes. It was located down by the Kama river, identified by an illuminated sign showing a silver ball with four trailing antennae – representing the first-ever Earth-orbiting satellite – and with its tinted windows further darkened by years of tobacco smoke. Most of its clientele were working men, but with a sprinkling of young professionals: administrators, accountants and lawyers in the main.
Stools topped with faded red leather faced the long wooden bar, booths with fixed wooden tables lining the walls opposite, and a handful of tables and chairs occupied the open space just to the left of the street door.
At one of these tables, four men sat talking and drinking. One was young, maybe twenty-five years of age, slim, with fair hair and blue eyes. Two of his companions were late middle-aged and, more typical of most of the population in the area, had dark hair, brown eyes, flat, almost Slavic, features and bulky physiques. The fourth man, short, thin and somewhat older, looked almost oriental by comparison.
To any interested observer, the elderly man would have seemed the dominant personality. His name was Ryu Chang-Ho and he’d arrived in Perm just over two weeks earlier. When he spoke, he was listened to in respectful silence, and was clearly used to conducting life on his own terms.
For the most part, their discussion appeared amicable, though when Ryu made a suggestion, the other three quickly nodded agreement. But then the atmosphere at the table suddenly changed. Ryu leant forward and addressed the young man in a low, determined voice, and for the first time Georgi Lenkov showed signs of dissent.
He shook his head firmly. ‘I will not do that,’ he replied in Russian. ‘I am not a traitor.’
Ryu leant even closer. ‘I’m not asking you to do anything that would compromise your country,’ he insisted. ‘All I’m doing is offering you a substantial reward in exchange for your professional services.’
Lenkov shook his head again. ‘No,’ he said loudly. ‘It’s more than that, and you know it.’
Some of the other drinkers in the bar had turned at the sound of Lenkov’s raised voice and were now looking towards the four men.
Ryu registered their interest, and motioned towards the door. ‘We’ll continue this outside,’ he said, then stood up and walked out of the bar, with the other three following.
They crossed the street to the embankment skirting the south side of the river. Ryu there produced a sheet of paper from his pocket and showed it to Lenkov. There were a number of figures scribbled on it, each prefixed by a US dollar sign, but no indication of what these sums were for.
‘That,’ Ryu said, pointing to a figure towards the bottom of the page, ‘is what I’m willing to pay if you agree to join us.’
Lenkov hesitated for a moment. The amount the man was suggesting equated to about five years’ salary for him but there was, the young Russian had already deduced, far more to this than just cash. For one thing, he had no guarantee of ever receiving the money. It’s one thing to be told what you’re going to be paid, but until the sum appears, it’s all just talk. And even if this odd little man did deliver on his promises, Lenkov could foresee other obstacles to prevent him ever spending it, like getting a bullet in the head once his usefulness was over.
There were too many risks involved here, so he shook his head again, decision made. ‘No, I won’t do it,’ he said firmly. ‘And I’ll have to report this to my superiors.’
Ryu’s eyes glittered dangerously in the fading daylight. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you won’t do that,’ he hissed.
‘I’m not taking any orders from you,’ Lenkov snapped, then turned and strode away.
The other two men looked at Ryu, awaiting instructions. ‘Follow him,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll go get the car.’
Fifty yards away, Lenkov glanced behind him. The two other Russians were following him, one on either side of the road, as if ready to anticipate any turn that he made, while Ryu was walking briskly away in the opposite direction. For the first time a feeling of real apprehension crossed the young man’s mind.
He began walking faster towards the centre of the city and away from the relative darkness of the embankment. But his pursuers merely speeded up as well, easily keeping pace with him.
Behind him, he heard a car engine start, its headlights shining across his back as the vehicle turned towards him. Perhaps he could thumb a lift, he considered briefly.
