16.
THE ESCAPE
Maurice Northcot was trying to do several things at once.
The first was to become invisible. He had to avoid detection and possible capture at all costs if he was to stand any chance of completing his mission.
The second was to try to work out what the hell could have gone wrong.
He knew the souvenir peddler at the Museum was one of the top men in the admittedly rather shaky organisation in North Korea run by his MI6 colleagues. For that reason, the man could well have been under surveillance already, and picked up by the authorities. If so, it should have been possible – just – for London to get word through to Maurice. If the man had been picked up, then so had the vital package of secrets which Maurice was supposed to collect. If that was the scenario which had unfolded, then was it really worth trying to track down Dr. Choi? Of course it was – Northcot knew better that to make so many assumptions, or to give up so early into his operation.
Nevertheless, it would be nice to know where the package was, and what had happened to the guy who was supposed to ‘sell’ it to him.
In all honesty, he wasn’t used to working while almost totally out of touch with HQ.
He could understand the reason – most communications networks in North Korean were routed through China, and as it was some of China’s nuclear secrets he had come to collect – well, he could understand why.
But he wasn’t totally out of touch. He was able to send pre-coded and very short messages, like the one he had just sent -‘No Drop’- although he had hoped to be able to send ‘Collected’. Perhaps later. And he knew that HQ was able to keep in touch with him in terms of knowing where he was. Always providing, of course, that he was where he was supposed to be. But as he was about to set off out of range, they wouldn’t have a clue where he was, and he couldn’t tell them, like he usually could when he was ‘travelling’ abroad.
Not that it mattered particularly.
He had a job to do, so would get on and do it. But it would be nice to tell someone where he was and what he was doing.
As it was, he was blessing the day that he had met Kang Soo at Bourleywood House before he left. Soo had been able to give him a complete debrief on his own experience in North Korea from the time he and his now murdered colleague Park Yon had got ashore, to the time he had left. They had been able to pour over maps together, and it was now essential that Maurice was able to recall the details of the way the two SAS men made their way to Yongbyon.
He planned to follow the same route, as best he could, in the remote chance that one of the people who had helped Kang Soo may be able to help him as well. There was an outside chance that the internal network could be alerted to the fact that Northcot was there, and look out for him. If not, he could remember enough of the detail to enable him to make his way to Yongbyon, although he thought he would mostly have to travel at night. He headed west towards the coast where the two men had been put ashore, and then turned north, skirting Pyongyang. But nobody made contact with him, and he appeared not to have aroused any suspicion on his journey.
He made a brave decision some miles from Pyongyang. At a bus stop. He noticed there was a service of sorts to the town centre – two a day.
After all, he had all the right papers, so why not take a chance, even if he would be immediately identified as a foreigner – and a westerner at that.
He decided to catch the next bus to Yongbyon, although he had no clear idea what he might do when he arrived. Find Dr. Choi’s flat, he supposed, and hope that the man would be at home.
He paid his fare, and decided to sit near the front of the bus in case he needed to leave it in a hurry. Apart from one or two strange looks from other passengers, nobody took any notice of him.
He got off in a small village just outside the town, where the two SAS men Kang and Park had met their first contact. Northcot remembered the place from the satellite maps and Kang’s description, and headed to the small street market with its half-empty stalls in the village square.
He sat at a stall selling tea, and drank a thin but warm concoction, which tasted of nothing much, and slowly ate a small bowl of vegetable stew, which tasted much the same as the tea. He remembered that if you are hungry and thirsty, it is best to eat and drink slowly to stave off the worse pangs. He was both hungry and thirsty.
He could see the nuclear research power complex in the near distance, but thankfully did not have to make his way to it. He knew that Dr.Choi’s flat was not far from the village square, and decided to wait until dusk before looking for it.
Suddenly, Maurice was startled to find a man standing beside him. He should have been more vigilant and noticed him approach, but he was immediately alerted to the possibility that the man represented danger of some sort.
Instead, he produced a crumpled piece of paper, and thrust it at Northcot.
“Keep this. I shall not want it again. Dr Choi is in hospital, very sick. Visit him and ask to see his surgeon, called Ramsay. You are expected.”
At last, some form of communication. Somebody friendly knew where he was, and had made contact of sorts.
The man disappeared into the gathering gloom as silently as he had arrived.
He was the farmer, and the piece of paper was the photograph taken at Aldermaston.
***
Northcot thrust the now dog-eared picture into his pocket, and looked about him.
People were too concerned about their own life to bother about his, it seemed.
He racked his brains to remember, from his briefings, whereabouts the Hospital was in Yongbyon. The man had indicated with a jerk of his thumb that it was away from the nuclear facilities, which would be a great relief if true.
If it was within the perimeter, he had no idea how he would get past the security system to reach it. If it was outside, however, all he had to do was find it. He supposed it made sense for a large local hospital to be sited away from what could be the source of a major health disaster within the nuclear complex.
He wondered if it was signposted.
It was.
He wondered if it was like hospitals in the UK, where people could walk in and out freely.
It wasn’t.
Northcot had decided to wait until early morning before attempting to get into the place, to give him plenty of time to find Professor Ramsay. From what the man had said, Ramsay was expecting him, although Maurice was at a loss to work out how he could be. But at least he had found the rambling buildings, which he had to admit looked more modern than he would have expected. There were signs, too, directing ambulances and, he supposed, visitors, to the various departments of the hospital. The radiological and cancer department was in a separate block, away from the main hospital but linked to it. He decided to go straight there, rather than go to the main entrance.
He spent some time watching the entrance. Not everyone who turned up was allowed in.
Some were turned away, so there was obviously some form of monitoring system to filter out people who were not deemed to be ill enough, from those who were in need of immediate treatment and who were therefore admitted. He could not imagine that the system was anything like that in UK, with its timed appointments.
So he needed to convince whoever it was at ‘reception’ that he was really ill, and ill enough to warrant the attention of Professor Ramsay. The problem was, he had no real idea of what the symptoms might be of, say, radiation sickness. But somehow, he had to bluff his way in to see the man. In the end, it proved easier than he had thought.
Acting had never been his forté, but he had to gamble on the fact that most North Koreans, especially those in responsible jobs, would speak some English.
Eventually he summoned enough courage to stumble up to the hospital entrance, gripping his stomach and holding a rather dirty handkerchief over his mouth.
“Sick,” he mumbled, and managed to wretch convincingly.
The man in nurse’s uniform, who had greeted him, took a step backwards.
“Very ill,” moaned Maurice, and pointed towards the Nuclear Research Centre, visible behind the hospital buildings.
He wretched again, and half collapsed.
This time, the man stepped forwards to help him.
“Ramsay,” said Maurice, throwing all caution to the wind. “Must see Ramsay”
He collapsed to his knees, and was again helped up by the man, who had this time called for help.
“Accident,” mumbled Northcot, pointing again at the nuclear facilities and at his stomach. “Must see Ramsay.”
He vomited.
The two nurses grabbed a stretcher, bundled him on to it, and pushed him hurriedly away from the entrance into the hospital. One of them made what was obviously an emergency call on his phone.
Northcot was in.
***
Professor Peter Ramsay was sitting in a small cubicle which served as his office, catching up on case notes and viewing X-Rays and various scans on the screen in front of him when the emergency call came through.
There was no emergency at the nuclear site but it seemed a foreigner, English they thought, had suffered an accident while working at the research centre. He had arrived very ill and was demanding to see him.
Northcot, he wondered? Who else could it be?
He quickly put on his white coat, grabbed his stethoscope, and hurried towards the admissions ward.
Northcot was lying on a bed in a small ward. He thought there were three other beds there, from what he had seen when they pushed him into his cubicle, surrounded by curtains.
He hadn’t been there long before Ramsay appeared, and ushered the hovering nurse away.
He immediately started work with his stethoscope, muttering quietly as he did so,
“Dr. Penny, I presume? I’m Peter Ramsay,” he whispered.
Northcot raised a hand in silent salute.
“You acted too well,” said Ramsay. “They are convinced you have radiation sickness, so I shall have to keep you in at least overnight for observation. It will mean routine tests too, I’m afraid, but to respond otherwise would arouse suspicion.”
He sat back to look at his new patient. “No bad thing, probably; we can clean you up and give you a meal.”
“That sounds like good news,” replied Northcot in hushed tones. “I’m certainly hungry and thirsty, and must smell like a pole-cat. I’m in your hands, and will do what you say.”
Ramsay nodded.
“I have what you came for,” he said. “Our supply chain broke down, and the material never left here for Panmunjom.”
He went to the console behind the bed, and pressed the bell. He was fitting the blood pressure apparatus when the nurse arrived – a pretty young thing, Maurice noticed.
“Soon-Bok here speaks reasonable English,” said Ramsay, as he noted Maurice’s blood pressure, “and will look after you.”
He turned to the nurse.
“Mr. Northcot is a technician visiting the research centre, and believes he managed to expose himself to quite a high dose of radiation. He is certainly exhibiting early signs of low level radiation sickness – nausea, vomiting and so on, but no diarrhoea or fever yet.”
He looked at Maurice, who nodded agreement.
“Headache?” he asked.
Maurice shook his head.
“Good. We’ll keep him in for observation and the usual tests,” he said to the nurse. “Take his temperature, and check his blood pressure every three hours. Scan him with the Geiger counter every hour – usual thing. I want three blood samples now for urgent tests.”
He turned to Northcot.
“We need to check that the white blood cell count is normal. Any further vomiting or sickness, use this,” he produced a large bowl from beneath the bed. “How close were you to the source of the radiation? Nearer than six feet?”
“No. Further away than that.”
“Good. Check his urine, too,” he said to Soon-Bok, “and when you’ve done that, strip him down and clean him up. Check his clothes for radioactivity and put them through the laundry. Get them back here by the morning. Then arrange for him to have a good meal.”
“If you’re going to throw-up, you need something to do it with,” he said to Northcot. “I’ll come to see you again later.”
Northcot didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“By the way,” said Ramsay with a grin as he pulled back the curtain to leave, “Soon-Bok means ‘gentle and blessed’. You’re in good hands.”
***
Northcot had slept the sleep of the un-Godly until an orderly arrived with breakfast – green tea and a rice cake. Ramsay followed him into the curtained cubicle.
“I am pleased to say that all your tests have proved negative, and that you are probably not suffering from radiation sickness after all. Possibly something you have eaten.” The Professor announced. “However, if you do have radiation sickness, it is also possible for the symptoms to return after a brief period, so I shall provide you with medication in case that happens. Otherwise, you are free to leave.”
He waved a hand to dismiss the orderly.
“Dr.Choi is now very ill, and you should not visit him,” he said quietly. “We have passed word to his nephew, and arranged for your return. You will leave here shortly.”
Ramsay left before Northcot could even begin to thank him.
Almost immediately another nurse appeared, complete with white coat and stethoscope.
It was Kang Soo, frowning and with his finger to his lips.
“I have come to take you back,” he announced quietly. “Here is the medication the Professor promised to give you.”
There were two packages, with a large radioactive black and yellow symbol label on one side, and a Red Cross on the other.
A typed label gave explicit instructions – In the event of a repeat of the radiation sickness symptoms, take this medication as prescribed and report immediately to the nearest Hospital. AVOID CONTACT WITH OTHER PEOPLE AT ALL COSTS.
‘That should be enough to keep curious fingers from opening it,’ thought Maurice. ‘Well done, Ramsay.’
“Come with me,” said Soo, grabbing Northcot’s back pack.
Outside the Hospital, he bundled Northcot into a rather battered ambulance, turned on the siren and flashing blue lights, and made off at high speed.
Only then could Maurice ask, “How the hell did you get here?”
“It’s a long story – tell you later. We must get out of here, fast.”
Which is what they did – in silence.
Not far out of the village, they swerved down a side road, and came to a sudden halt.
“Out!” commanded Kang.
They scrambled out, as a motorbike arrived from the opposite direction. Kang and the driver exchanged places without a word, and Northcot climbed on to the pillion.
The old ambulance sped off.
Kang delved into his back-pack and pulled out three slim boxes, which he gave to Maurice.
“Compo-rations,” he announced. “One day packs, to keep you going. Eat the contents raw if you can’t cook them – quite good, however, especially if you’re desperate. My orders are to get you on a safe route home, and leave you. I then have to stay on to try to resurrect the fragile network MI6 had here, which has just about collapsed. The plot is to get you to Kaesong, where you will be met. You will change into military uniform, and be escorted in a dash across the Demarcation Zone where American forces will meet you and take you into South Korea. I’m glad it’s you, not me,” he said. “If the North Koreans see you go, you’re as good as dead – they don’t like defectors.”
They sped off down the rutted country road, but not for long.
As they neared a narrow muddy river crossed by a railway bridge, shots rang out.
“We’ve been followed!” shouted Kang. “We must split up – good luck!”
With that, he flung the bike into a skid which threw them both off. Northcot ran for his life into the dense undergrowth, apparently unseen by their followers, while Kang headed for the river. He dived in, surrounded by a hail of bullets. He threw his back pack into the river as he went, hoping the gunmen would think it was his passenger who had also dived in.
As Kang hit the river, he jack-knifed, and swam back underwater towards the gunmen, who concentrated their fire further across the river ahead of where they naturally thought he would be. It was an old trick, but it worked.
He made his way silently underwater into the reed bed at the river’s edge and lay beneath the surface, raising his head only briefly for breath. He could see and hear the gunmen, who eventually withdrew.
He did not see Northcot again, who had made good his escape through the woodland alongside the track, towards the railway bridge.
Maurice could hear a train approaching, fortunately slowly before crossing the river bridge, and managed to sprint after it and scramble aboard one of the freight wagons.
But now he was heading back the way he had come, and guessed that the train might be intercepted by his pursuers, so once it had crossed the river and before the train began to gather speed again, he leapt off, and hid in the scrub and bushes on the embankment just below the level of the track.
He was badly shaken, no mistake, but unhurt. He looked back at the river, but could see no sign of Kang Soo.
He had no clear idea of what to do next, but he knew he had to make his way in the other direction, if he was ever to reach Kaesong. But once again, the plans carefully made for him had fallen apart, and, once again, he was very much on his own.
He decided to wait where he was until dusk. He could now send the ‘Collected’ message, although he doubted on present form if he would ever ‘deliver’. As he lay hidden, he opened the packages given to him by Ramsay. The contents appeared identical. He kept one intact, but secreted the contents of the other in his clothing, back-pack, shoes – wherever he could.
It now seemed as if he was very much on his own, with nobody to help him and no escape route.
On the distant road, he heard a convoy of military vehicles. They were certainly after him.
But there was nobody he could turn to for help now, between him and home. For the first time in his long career ‘travelling’, he doubted if he would ever get there. He was half way round the world in a hostile country and being hunted down.
He heard a train approaching from the opposite direction, heading the way he needed to go. It slowed to cross the bridge. He made no attempt to scramble aboard, but decided to wait for another, after dark perhaps, when those chasing after him may, with any luck, have started searching somewhere else. They were almost bound to stop this train in their efforts to hunt him down, but he reasoned that they may let the next one pass unhindered.
He could only hope, and hide, and gather his thoughts.
If only there was someone between here and London he could turn to for help. He had no clear idea where he was, or how he was going to get out of this wretched country, never mind get home. There was certainly no point in trying to get through the DMZ without help, although he would try to get to Kaesong. At least he had been there before.
But then where would he go? Into China, perhaps, or Japan? He thought South Korea would be too risky, even if he could get there.
Someone, somewhere, knew about the vital information he had with him, and desperately wanted to stop him getting away with it.
They were bound to assume that he would head south.
It was nearly dark when the next train approached – another freight train. Like the others, it slowed to cross the bridge, but it was still going at a fair pace when Maurice left his cover and gave chase. There was one freight car with the side door open, and that’s the one he wanted.
He quickly formed the view that the train had not slowed down as much as it should. He had trouble keeping up with it, but eventually threw his backpack and then himself onto the passing wagon. He could barely grasp the truck as he desperately tried to haul himself aboard.
Suddenly, a hand grasped him by the waist band of his trousers and tried to help haul him aboard. It went through his mind that it must be a friendly hand – otherwise a boot would have stamped on his grasping fingers instead.
As he was dragged inside, he lost a good deal of skin from one of his shins, but was eventually thrown into a corner on top of a pile of sacks of rice.
He was gasping for breath and in some pain.
“Welcome aboard,” said Kang Soo.
“Not you again!” exclaimed Northcot.
“I thought you might catch this train,” said Soo.
“I missed the last one,” responded a breathless Northcot.
“I really hate commuting, don’t you? Let me look at that leg.”
He was obviously well trained in first aid, and had basic kit in his bag, with which he quickly cleaned and dressed the wound.
“Keep it clean,” he said with a grin.
“Are you going far?” asked Northcot.
“Kaesong.”
“How do you know this is going there?”
“I asked the conductor chappie. He let me on without a ticket! Some people will do anything for a decent bribe.”
“And then snitch – report you. Never trust anyone in this country. We shall be met when we get there, you watch.”
“He has no means of telling anyone we’re on board – I ‘fixed’ his radio for him when he wasn’t looking. I suggest now we crack open one of these delicious packets of compo rations.”
“Yours or mine,” asked Northcot.
They laughed.
“What happens after Kaesong,” asked Maurice.
“I have to leave you there, and get on with trying to patch up the network. But what will you do? I don’t know anyone there who can help you, and if you try to cross the DMZ, you’ll fry.”
“There’s nobody there who can help me,” admitted Northcot. “Or anywhere else for that matter, except that it has occurred to me that there is one bloke who just might get me back to UK if I can track him down. But only one.”
“And where’s he?”
“China.”
“China? With what you’ve got in your hip pocket? You’re probably going to fry anyway.”
“I haven’t worked out my route by any means, but I hoped to remember enough of our briefing at Bourleywood to get me back to the coast where you and Park Yon got ashore, and perhaps get out by sea – fishing boat, or something.”
Soo thought for a moment.
“Where do you need to head for?”
“Anywhere on the east coast of China, then I’ll need to make my way south.”
Soo looked hard at Maurice.
“Towards Shanghai?”
Maurice nodded. “That sort of way, I suppose. It might be easier and safer heading down the coast than going inland.”
“Tell you what I’ll do then, since you’re an old mate. I’ll take you to where we got ashore, near the estuary of the Chiongchon River, west of Mundok. There’s a decent sized fishing fleet there – ocean going by the look of some of them. We could do with a few contacts there anyway, so perhaps I can talk you aboard one of them for a cruise, even if only part of the way.”
“What are the chances?”
“Since I’m Korean and you’re not, I probably have a better chance than you would on your own. But if I get you aboard one of these stinking old vessels, you really will be on your own from then on.”
“Anywhere on that coast of China would be good. I guess I can make my own way after that.”
“Once you’ve left North Korea, I can get word to London.”
“They’ll be pleased.”
“Not if I tell them you’ve gone to China with their nuclear secrets.”
“Don’t tell them then.”
***
There was excitement and relief in the MI6 HQ, when the ops room reported that it had received the ‘collected’ message from Northcot. It meant that he had managed to rendezvous with Professor Ramsay as planned, and get away again.
But the relief was short lived when they then received a brief message from Kang Soo, who was equipped with communications equipment, to say that they had been betrayed and were on the run having escaped an armed ambush.
Since then, however – silence. They had no idea where either of the men were or even whether they were still alive and operating together.
There were fears, too, that Ramsay had been compromised by the operation, which would have made matters ten times worse. As it was, the already shaky network in North Korea had taken a battering, and they had taken a huge risk sending Kang Soo back there, not only to help Northcot, but also to try to rebuild the network of agents and informers. But their worst fears were eventually proved to be unfounded, when Ramsay managed to get word through that Dr.Choi Shin had died. So he at least was still there and operating on their behalf.
As Head of MI6, Sir Geoffrey Sefton had been in almost hourly contact with Jack Salisbury to keep him updated. For a change, the Head of the Joint Intelligence Organisation was sitting in Sefton’s office.
“This has all been nail-biting stuff, has it not,” he said to ‘C’.
“And it’s by no means over yet,” Sefton reminded him.
“Quite so.”
“But at least Ramsay seems to have avoided detection.”
“So far. But he is a vital link for us, and we all knew the risks in getting him directly involved.”
“To sum up,” said ‘C’, “Maurice Northcot has collected the information, via Professor Ramsay, from the now-deceased Dr. Choi. But where the information now is, which we so desperately need, nobody knows.”
“Neither do we know where Northcot and Kang are, or even whether they are still alive.”
“And if they are still alive, where they are going.”
Jack Salisbury strode over to the window.
“I almost believe you have a better view than I do,” he said.
He turned as a tray of tea was delivered.
“Ah; tea! I think better with a cuppa.”
“Better still with Scotch, as I do, but it is a bit early, even for us.”
Salisbury grinned.
“Are you taking bets on where Northcot will go, if he has been spared?”
“None at all,” replied Sefton.
“If he’s any sense – and he has plenty – he will keep well away from China, bearing in mind the information he has collected.”
Salisbury ambled over to the map on the wall.
“Which only leaves Russia or Japan, and he can only get to Japan by sea.”
“Either way, he needs to head north or east.”
“Our SAS man won’t be of much help.”
“His orders where to get Northcot to Panmunjom, for a dash across the DMZ, but that option was obviously blown out of the water when the pick-up at the museum failed.”
“Northcot is no longer a priority for Kang, anyway. He has work to do patching up our network while there is still something of it left to patch up.”
There was a knock at the door, and James Piper burst in.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve just had a patchy signal from Northcot – nothing strong, but not a straight line, either.”
“Thank the Lord he’s still alive,” said Salisbury.
“Yes, but he’s heading south and west.”
“Towards China? I can’t believe it,”
“Looks like it. Where the hell does he think he’s going?”
***
He was going to find the one man in the world now who could help him.
***