“What do you mean?”
“Place wasn’t lit up like this the other night. There are spotlights down there.”
“They going to see us coming?”
“I don’t know.”
Ferguson started walking again. About a half mile from the low-level waste area, he emerged from the ravine he and Rankin had used the other night, circling above and around the cavelike entrance. The rise in terrain gave them a better view of the area, though the brush and rocks were fairly low and they had to stay close to the ground to avoid casting shadows.
A dozen security guards stood near the reception building, warming themselves around large burn barrels. Another four or five stood around a barrel near the tracks, about a hundred yards from the low-level waste site but within full view of it. The train cars had been moved.
“This is new,” Ferguson told Guns.
“You think they saw something with the video camera?”
“No. They’d’ve sent somebody up to fix it. Or shoot us.”
“I mean when we went over.”
Ferguson studied the compound. It was
Or if word had leaked out of the Seoul office that something was up.
A pickup truck swung around the compound. It was the same truck that had been used for patrols the other night, only this time there were men in the back. The pickup stopped in front of the low-level waste area, and the men got out, took a look around, then hopped back in.
Ferguson and Guns lay on the cold ground for another hour and a half, timing the patrols. There were seven during that time, almost nonstop. The men varied their patrol route as well.
“Something tipped them off,” Ferguson told Guns. “There’s no way we’re getting where we want to go without being seen.”
“What do we do?”
“Follow me.”
“We leaving?”
“Not yet.”
Ferguson retreated about a hundred yards up the hill, then began circling toward the far side of the entrance to the underground waste depository. He had to move slowly, trying not to kick too much dirt or rocks downhill. And every time the pickup truck came in the direction, he and Guns had to flatten themselves to make absolutely sure they weren’t seen.
Nearly two hours passed before they had reached the other side. Ferguson stripped off his pack and took out his small shovel and baggies.
“Chill for me here, Guns.”
“Hey, don’t get lost, man.”
“You’re getting a sense of humor. That’s dangerous in a marine.”
Ferguson got down on all fours and crawled out in the dirt toward the entrance to the low-level waste area. After roughly fifty yards, he reached the edge of a macadam parking area that sat off the loop road used by the pickup patrol. He was just about to get up and run across it when the security patrol swung in his direction.
Ferguson flattened his body in the dirt, nudging his face against the pebbles. His nose and mouth filled with the fine, claylike dust as he waited for the truck to pass.
Guns, standing in the shadows, watched helplessly as the truck veered in Ferguson’s direction. He had a smoke grenade in his hand, but what good was that? He reached for his pistol, even though Ferguson had told him they weren’t supposed to shoot anyone.
Ferguson heard the engine, then the staccato rhythm of the Koreans’ voices. The wheels crunched the gravel, spraying it to the sides. The truck jerked to the left, then sped up. They’d just missed seeing him.
Ferguson waited a full minute, then scrambled across the lot and the road, throwing himself down in the dirt. Two shovelfuls later, he had the bag filled.
“I thought they were going to spot you,” said Guns when he got back. “They were like, ten feet away.”
“Eleven at least,” Ferg told him. “Let’s get the hell out of Dodge.”
10
Thera lay on her cot, staring at the bottom of the empty bunk above her. Lada Rahn snored a few feet away. The sound rattled all of the metal in the room, like a kind of counterpoint to the hum of the fluorescent light fixtures from the hall.
Thera had destroyed the message in the cigarette box, but the words had been seared into her brain.
Dr. Tak Ch’o wanted to defect.
Why had he picked her? Was it a trap? A trick?
Thera wasn’t sure what to do. The scientist might be a big prize, but was he worth jeopardizing her mission for?
And even if he was, how would she go about arranging for his defection?
If there were answers, they weren’t in the dark gray light around her. But Thera continued to stare, unable to sleep.
11
Ferguson picked his way slowly across the rocks, crossing the hill behind the entrance to the underground low-level waste area. The whole night had been pretty much a waste — the soil samples were the lowest priority on the wish list the specialists had given him — but he had to contain his bile until they were out.
Ferguson stopped as he came to a deep crevice. He didn’t remember the fissure, which was about three feet wide and extended at least twenty. Unsure where he had gone off course, he stopped and took off his night-vision glasses to get his bearings.
“What’s wrong, Ferg?” asked Guns, tagging along behind him.
“You remember this hole here?”
“No.”
Ferguson reached into his pocket and took out his satellite photos. They’d gone farther up the hill on the way back than they had on the way in. It wasn’t a big difference, but if they kept going they’d end up at a cliff.
“We need to angle down this way,” he told Guns, pointing.
Within a few yards, the soil became extremely loose. Afraid that they were going to send enough down to alert the patrols, they backtracked again and looked for sturdier ground. They went over a steep stretch, finding handholds in the thin vegetation, finally arriving at a ledge about thirty feet from the ground.
Once again, Ferguson consulted the photos. They hadn’t made enough of a correction and were a good five hundred yards farther east of the spot where he thought they would come out. But that wasn’t necessarily bad. The ledge was out of sight from the compound, and though the ledge was narrow — maybe eight inches — following it would save them considerable time. Ferguson eased out slowly, keeping himself flat against the wall. After what seemed like forever, he reached a large boulder. He hugged it, spun his legs around, and landed on the side of the hill.
“Downhill from here,” he whispered to Guns, who was just starting across.
The marine grunted. He kept fighting the temptation to look down, narrowing his view to the rocks in front of
