the North Korean gunboat which had plucked him from the sea and paraded through the streets of Wonsan while civilians raised clenched fists and chanted unintelligible phrases in which the words 'imperialist' and 'American' were prominently featured. At some point in the festivities, he'd been tied and blindfolded, slung like a sack of grain into the back of a truck, and transported over rough roads winding up into the mountains which backed Wonsan against the sea.
He was being held in a military base of some sort. Even blindfolded yesterday afternoon, he'd recognized the growl of military trucks and other vehicles, the measured stamp of booted feet marching in formation, the bark of orders and the answering whisk-crash of weapons brought to order arms.
The blindfold had been removed during his first interrogation and his suspicions had been confirmed. This was an Army base, a compound consisting of the drab, utilitarian buildings so prevalent in progressive socialist societies. Many were stained, looking as though they dated back to the Second World War. One, a three-story apartment building, was a barracks, Coyote guessed. Beyond the chain-link fence that encircled the compound he could see the ocean, dazzling under a morning sun. He concluded that the base must be located somewhere in the hills south of the city.
Wonsan was squeezed in between the waters of the bay called Yonghung Man and the mountains of Korea's spine. East of the city, a narrow peninsula reached north from the mainland, almost cutting Wonsan off from the sea. Sprawled across the peninsula, only a few miles north of the camp, he could see a large air base; distant thunder echoed among the mountains and in the sky, MiGs on patrol.
Surrounding the city, crowded onto the narrow shelf of land between sea and mountain, was the tangled sprawl of Wonsan's industrial heart. Coyote could see factories, the cranes and smokestacks of shipyards and industrial plants, the wire-festooned masts of high-tension-line towers bringing hydroelectric power in from the north, and the squat, neatly ordered drums of oil storage tank farms. Wonsan was the second-largest city in the People's Democratic Republic of Korea and one of its most important industrial centers. The camp lay at the edge of Wonsan's southern industrial sprawl, near roads and factory chimneys which poked into the hazy air like fingers. Military traffic rumbled along a nearby highway beyond the compound's outer fence, trucks and flatbed trailers carrying antiaircraft cannon.
His inspection of the city and its surroundings was brutally interrupted as a guard knocked him down with an AK butt once more, then kicked him viciously several times in the ribs and thigh. 'Up, sonabichi dog! You up!'
Yanked to his feet again, he was dragged up the steps in front of the concrete building he'd tentatively identified as a security Headquarters of some sort, past a brace of unsmiling guards and into a low-ceilinged passageway that was all gray paint and naked light bulbs. The second office on the right was occupied by a hard- eyed little officer who smoked incessantly and who spoke almost perfect English.
He introduced himself as Colonel Li. The guards made Coyote kneel in the middle of the floor, while the officer rounded the desk and perched on the corner. 'Good morning, Lieutenant,' he said, taking a pull on his cigarette. 'I trust you slept well?'
Coyote did not answer. One of the guards standing unseen at his back kicked him in the hollow of his knee, knocking him to the floor. The other stepped in front of him and kicked him in the face, a light touch which left him blinking away stars. Coyote could taste the salty stickiness of blood in his mouth. He struggled against the ligatures which bound his wrists and elbows. Someone grabbed him by his hair and dragged him upright again.
Li took the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between two fingers. 'Name?'
'Willis E. Grant,' Coyote replied. He swallowed. The words were muffled through swollen lips and a spreading numbness in the side of his face. 'Lieutenant, United States Navy. Service number three-two-'
A rifle butt crashed into Coyote's skull, an explosion of pain which pitched him forward. One of the guards lashed out twice with his foot, catching Coyote in the thigh.
'There are some facts of which you should be made aware, Lieutenant,' the colonel said as the guard backed off. 'Your country has not declared war against the People's Democratic Republic of Korea. For this simple reason, the rules of war do not apply to you. In the eyes of my government, in the eyes of the world, you are a criminal, charged with various acts of aggression against the People's Democratic Republic, including an unprovoked attack against one of our aircraft.'
Desperation clawed at Coyote's reason. 'That's bull-'
Another kick silenced him. Colonel Li continued as though Coyote had not spoken. 'Your recitation of name, rank, serial number, and date of birth means nothing. Such civilized rules govern the actions of men and officers at war, but this is not war. You are here, you live at my pleasure. No one can help you. No one even knows you are here. We could keep you locked away or working at hard labor for the rest of your life, or take you out this minute and have you shot… and your people would never know.' He paused, drawing a long puff on the cigarette. Coyote watched the tip glow bright orange with a kind of helpless fascination.
'So,' Li said after a moment. 'You will answer my questions. You will not give me more than what I ask for. You will not give me less.' He nodded, and rough hands grabbed at Coyote's hair and hauled him upright into a kneeling position once more. 'Now then. Once again. Your name.'
'Willis E. Grant.'
'Willis E. Grant, you have been charged with acts of sabotage, espionage, murder, and reckless provocation against the People's Democratic Republic. You will describe those activities, and the parts played by ships and aircraft of the United States Navy, in full and complete detail.'
'Willis E. Grant. Lieutenant, U.S.N. Service-'
The wooden stock of an AK snapped into the back of his head. Pain jolted through him, leaving him sick and retching on the floor.
'Perhaps,' the colonel said, 'we are being too lenient with you. We know that your CIA employs thugs and gangsters of the very worst stripe for their espionage activities. Men such as yourself are far too tough to break under mild questioning such as this. I wonder what sterner measures we could employ in your case.'
'You can go-' This time the rifle butt struck his spine just above the thongs which pinned his elbows.
When he was dragged back to his knees, Li made a show of studying a stack of papers in his hand. 'You are a spy, a saboteur, and a provocateur. You have been hired by the CIA. to spy on the peace-loving People's Democratic Republic. You are also a murderer, having shot down one of our aircraft inside the People's sovereign airspace.'
'Screw you!'
This time, he almost didn't feel the pain as they pulled his face off the wooden floor. He felt dizzy, light- headed. He wondered if the goon with the rifle would miscalculate and kill him by mistake.
'Lieutenant Grant, you show an annoying lack of sincerity in these proceedings. I think we shall all be better off if we simply take you out and shoot you.' The officer barked something at the guards in Korean. Hands closed around his elbows, yanked him to his feet, and held him upright as a soldier opened the door. His flight boots scraped on the floor as they dragged him out.
In daylight once again, Coyote found himself looking up into blue sky. The cloud deck which had covered the area the day before had broken up. The wind, sharp and biting off the sea, burned like flame through his wet flight suit.
There was a parade ground not far from the headquarters building, a clearing of red clay ringed in by storage sheds and the back of a motor pool garage. One of the sheds had a wall of sandbags stacked up ten feet high facing the courtyard, a lone, head-high stake driven into the mud just in front of it.
They were going to shoot him. The reality of the situation was like a black cloud which overrode the pain, the shock of the interrogator's words, the harsh laughter of the guards as they shoved him upright against the stake, looped a leather strap nailed to the wood around his neck, and pulled it snug.
Coyote had made it through the long and sleepless night before by thinking about Julie, calling to mind her face, her voice, remembering in loving detail each moment he'd shared with her during his all-too-brief leave before reporting to VF-95 at the North Island Naval Air Station at Coronado and flying out to the Jefferson. With death a few seconds away, he struggled now to recapture those memories, to hold Julie in his mind as a last conscious thought.
They'd arranged to meet Tombstone in Balboa Park and had a picnic on the grass. Then the three of them had gone to the San Diego Zoo and taken Polaroid photographs of one another mugging in front of the ape house as the yammering howl of a gibbon floated down from the trees behind them.
Later, they'd dropped Tombstone off at the base, then driven north up Highway 5. They'd stopped at a motel
