Today, I had the pleasure of driving a couple of my boys to a meeting, and along the way, the road wound through several wooded areas. They weren’t large enough for me to call them forests, maybe it would be if the areas joined each other, but they weren’t. The woods had thick underbrush with bushes and detritus. The sunlight didn’t reach the ground except in splotchy spots here and there. I’m sure if I lingered for any time at all, the smell of the air would have been wonderful.

Just driving through the woods produced comfort in me.

After all my years in the army, living in fields and forests, my inner being still yearns for the forest. It is one of two places that call to the inner beast within, the lizard brain. The other is the ocean. They both produce passion in me. I’m sure Jack London would label it the call of the wild ––by that I mean there is a hidden ferocity there, not like a raging bear ready to attack. I mean, there is a primitive part of me that is ready for anything, a careful watchfulness that awakens and takes stock of my surroundings.

Also present are of comfort and pleasure, much like a small child with their woobie or binkie, which bathes the child in warm fuzzy sensibilities.

I love both the ocean and forests. They are excellent ways for me to visit my lizard brain. However, they aren’t the only ways. We visit there all the time. We might find ourselves driving in our automobiles licking an ice cream cone and not quite sure how the cone happened to be there. We might have thought one would be a good idea; it would taste good, but the actual buying of it happens without really planning it.

Other things happen, too. Several times in my youth, I did or said things without thinking through them, behaviors I would never have done or said with a little previous mental activity. I’m sure the same has happened to you. Or perhaps not. I don’t know. Maybe you have been blessed with a life free of embarrassing or rough times. But it happened to me and still does. The difference is that now my self-editing skills are quicker than before. Thankfully, my conscious brain catches those occurrences before they get sent. I don’t want to be the rude creep or the one that can’t take a hint.

Still, my lizard brain keeps urging me to drive on, damn the torpedoes and all.

These kinds of things happen throughout my Sigma Chronicles book series, most especially with Stan’s attempts to control what he calls his inner idiots. The difference Stan and us, is we all have our lizard brains, but Stan deals with past personalities that come to him without his consent, and he must control them like we do our different lizard directives. The personalities inhabiting Stan are fully grown from other lives he’s lived.

It is true that they give him a leg-up on many things, hidden skills, and the like, but they also produce challenging moments for Stan.

The first novel in the series, Recall, introduces Stan to readers and explains the situation with several escapades. The second novel in the series is The Dao. It is an action thriller that deals with the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (North Korea) and its nuclear threat. There is a short sample of The Dao inserted below.

If you like what you read (I’m sure you will), you can buy it by clicking here and following the prompts.

If you need more books, please check out Indies United Publishing House. There are many excellent books found there, something for everyone. By the way, their short story contest, Just the Tip, is in full swing. All writers are welcome! Come, try out your skill at writing. Details here.

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The Dao

by J.W. Bell

Chapter One

Colonel Noh San-jun tapped his swagger stick on his left hand as he strode down the trail of the Residence. He’d just gotten off the phone with his longtime friend Kim Jong-un, the Chairman of the Workers’ Party and Supreme Leader, and headed to the tunnel works to visit the prisoner.

As he marched, his eyes took an inventory of weapons caches. Good. He grunted approval to himself. Kim and he had insisted upon all of them; they’d done it quickly. He reminded himself to try out the digital locks on them. The combinations were all set to Kim’s birthday – easy to remember that way.

He approached a line of soldiers, and they snapped to, presenting arms. He raised his stick to return the salute and gave a curt nod. Chosen for their girth, his two aides marched behind him in matched step. They looked like trim Sumo wrestlers and much stronger than him, the pair were impressive. Noh chose them for their prowess, appreciated their obedience, but loved their sadism.

The building before him disappeared into the nearby hill. One aide broke formation, double-timed to the heavy door, and pulled on it. The door creaked. Colonel Noh acknowledged nothing and no one as he strutted through. A minute later, the big door boomed shut behind him.

The three marched down dingy hallways so bare they appeared just as they were – concrete tunnels. Clear bulbs hung from lone wires and illuminated the way just enough to display what a crude dung heap the prison was.

The access doors to the central tunnel system connected most buildings on the Residence: an underground defense passage. Noh had just passed one such entry, its appearance similar to a deep cell, the door of iron crosshatched bars.

Their footsteps clacked on the concrete and reverberated through the tunnel. Noh’s nose wrinkled from the smell of rot from a cell as he walked by, and the itch of mildew in the air gave him the urge to rub his nose. He stopped mid-reach and continued onwards. There were more important things to think of than relieving an itch.

He halted before a door indistinguishable from any other in the building – laced with bars of rusty iron. His hands caressed the stick behind his back, and he scowled through the metal crosshatching at Hahn. The aides remained a couple of meters behind him and stood at attention.

 

Hahn Kang-min’s mind was still slow after waking in his cell, if he could call it waking. The rest he should have enjoyed during the night had never come, only fitful dread. His arms continued to tremble in the way they had when he’d crawled onto his mat to sleep.

The involuntary shaking wasn’t from the cold, although the air was crisp. It was warm for early spring.

They will know soon. The thought woke Hahn often during the night, the reason for his restlessness.

The investigators are merciless.

Disgusted, he spat close to the hole in the floor designed for his bodily wastes. They won’t stop until they find evidence of discrepancies. Once they begin, they find, always. No matter what you did, they knew.

He grimaced with an internal shrug. Even if they find it, they won’t know what it is, or how they should use the information. He almost laughed and would have, except for the welling feeling of eumyang approaching: the changing of fortune. There was never an escape from that. The universe flowed like the tones of harmony, each moment relating to every other like the twists of a melody, and the overtone vibrations that resounded through everything, must, and will, eventually balance.

He’d been here a week, maybe two, and his feet had been numb since the first night. They would be useless soon, even if they let him out. The first meal had been pathetic, stale rice, no kimchi. All the food was bland and close to rancid. He hadn’t eaten this poorly since he’d gone to science school. The difference was that here the fare never improved.

This prison cared nothing about vermin: neither that the creatures ate part of every meal, nor that they left feces in it. By now, and because of the vermin, parasites infested Hahn, and if the investigators didn’t kill him, the little beasts within would.

The only thing left for him now was to ensure he protected his family.

The clang of the main door echoed down the hallway and the hobnail boots stomping alerted him. Someone came. His trembling increased.

The approaching sounds grew, and his eyes automatically flicked about his small cell, an unconscious attempt at searching for a place to hide. He’d done it countless times since being locked up. Always the same results, too.

There’s not even a blanket for cover. Why would I find something to hide behind now?

He knelt on the cold concrete, closed his eyes for another few seconds, and willed some kind of plan into existence. The universe flows with harmony—

The steps echoed louder. His eyes shot to the openings between the iron bars. Boots appeared first. Then Colonel Noh, glaring.

Noh’s appearance screamed the Supreme Leader’s involvement.

This situation is a disaster.

In an instant, a second thought formed. Should I have the missile fly as designed? Was hindsight in this sharp and clear?

His bowels almost let loose. He concentrated hard and held them but not the urine, soaking his pants as he reminded himself of how unimportant he was.

Hahn’s eyes refused to move from the terror before him. He tried blinking rapid fire to push his brain into high speed, and his teeth teased his upper lip. But no new plan developed.

Stick to it, Kang-min. The plan. The family depends on the plan.

Noh snorted. “You are so stupid, Hahn.”

Simply Hahn? Not even basic politeness — Mister Hahn? Nothing. Hahn felt as if someone had stood on his chest. His head spun, and he struggled to pull in enough air to steady it.

“Did you think our intelligence wouldn’t know?”

The twang in Noh’s voice hurt Hahn’s ears, and for the first time, he thought he detected the hint of a Chinese accent. He perked his ears.

The loathing filled Noh’s eyes. “You would do this to our glorious missile program?”

He stuck his swagger stick through one of the openings between bars and ran the leather cap around the square opening. “You risked everything, your country, yourself, your family. There are only two things you can save now – one will be the country.”

My family! Save the family. Hahn started a mantra, my family, my wife, the twins. My family, my wife, the twins…

“You will tell us what you did. You will also tell me how to undo those things.”

Mustn’t talk yet. My family, my wife, the twins…

“I did nothing, Colonel.” Hahn bowed correctly to Noh, but as he did, his rectum opened. He blinked several times, swallowed, and squeezed his ass. Hard.

The chuckle bounced off the cell walls. “Shit yourself, did you? You fucking moron.” Noh pulled the keys from his pocket, shook them, and jingled them against the bars.

Noh’s brows touched above his nose, and he motioned with his head. It was not a nod and carried no respect. Instead, it was a direction for his aides.

The two soldiers took up positions behind him, mirror images of propaganda posters, mean as hell. They could smile after eating horse shit, maybe even the food here. No, Hahn shook his head, and his mouth formed a crooked smile — horse shit, perhaps pig puke, not this food.

“You are laughing now, Hahn?” Noh unlocked the door and stepped back as it screeched open.

The two soldiers watched Hahn as if he were a chicken and they were about to twist the head from its neck.

Their boots sounded in unison as they stepped forward.

Defiance formed on Hahn’s face, but his eyes betrayed him, and more feces dribbled.

The two dragged him past Noh and down the tunnel, letting his bare feet scrape the concrete.

After only a meter away from his cage, Hahn’s mouth watered after smelling kimchi, the fermented cabbage his captors had dined on last evening. The soldier grabbed his left arm, chuckled, and nodded at Hahn, “So terrified, smells like shit.” The other laughed.

My family, my wife, the twins…

At the big entrance, they paused. “Open by order of the Supreme Leader.” The right one kicked a resounding frontal kick. The sound of it boomed like a dull gong in Hahn’s ears. “Open!”

Seconds later, the door creaked, and the dreary sunlight filled the air, too bright for Hahn. They dragged him down the road to the target range. All his senses peaked.

Hahn’s nose smelled everything – the almost frozen ground, hickory smoke from a fire not far away, even boiling ramen that a nearby soldier stirred for breakfast; the garlic and cabbage in it filled his nose. The tree leaves were only budding, but he detected their nutty aroma, heard the scrape of leaves against each other.

Noh pointed at a large wooden frame erected before a massive earthen berm that showed craters and rocks half blown apart. “Place the traitor there.” He turned, pulled on gloves, and placed both hands and the swagger stick, behind him. Positioned, he leaned forward and then back.

My family, my wife, the twins… He labored for breath. My family, my wife, the twins…

Unable to stop trembling and shivering, a cloud of steam came from Hahn’s mouth with each struggle for breath.

Chains reached from the frame to shackles at both wrists and ankles, they spread him like a bat, pinned wide like a trophy. The cold metal bit into his skin, and if the temperature dropped a few more degrees, the metal would freeze to his skin.

He watched Noh stand before him – the winter cap perched on his head, the baton held by gloved hands, and wearing the quilted jacket that bespoke winter. Noh turned to face him, his eyes aglare, with hate and entertainment.

My family, my wife, the twins… My family, my wife, the twins…

The guards marched closer to Noh, who stood by a bench. With cruel insight, Hahn knew the seat was a weapons drawer of the kind that dotted the Residence.

Hahn’s heart almost pounded a hole through his chest. This time his bowels emptied all together. A gun range. This place is a gun range! All the rumors flooded through his memory, the stories of executions.

My family, my wife, the twins… The mantra came back stronger, faster. My family, my wife, the twins…

With a swagger, Noh closed the distance to him. “Hahn. Do you see that small building there, on the side of the little mountain?”

Hahn blinked in the direction Noh pointed. The shack wasn’t hard to see, although it was at a great distance. It had no vegetation around it; the land was bare. Everything had died.

“I will take your family to that building.”

“My family?” He blinked rapid fire. My wife, the twins…

The deadly set to Noh’s eyes branded Hahn’s innards, and the burning chilled him even more.

“What did you do?”

“I—”

“That shack over there is our chemical building, where we test weapons. Tell me what you did, or your family goes in. The current test is anthrax, a new strain that produces symptoms in minutes, yet makes death agonizing.”

“No! I will tell—”

“Yes, you will.” Noh waved toward the small mountain, and Hahn saw movement around the building. “They are your wife and children. As my guests, they will watch your execution. If not, they will test anthrax next.”

The two aides pulled a camouflage net down, unveiling an enormous anti-aircraft gun. They tilted the aircraft killer skyward and fired three times.

The sound pounded his ears, the shockwave convulsing in his chest, and he shat himself again.

Chapter Two

“Chi. Wake now, Chi!” I barely heard the voice, but the rough shake woke me to horror. Thankfully, I hadn’t collapsed into a fully-fledged sleep and plopped onto the table. From that fully-fledged horror, my friend Wu had saved me. I shook the vivid memory of a dream from my mind while I wiped the puddle of my drool from the table.

The twang in the Master’s voice irritated even the air. “Li Chan? Did you hear me?”

As though the sound came from afar, my ears pulled me in the direction of the old man. He stood just under the roof and inside, where the wall would be if we were ever to finish the building. His face turned toward me, and by the lamp near him, I could better see his beak of a nose. The outline had the shape of a hawk swooping to disembowel.

I sat up straighter and as smoothly as possible, rubbed my chin to get rid of the gob of spit hanging there. The old man will skin me if he suspects my nap.

The breeze carried not only the smell of cooking rice and fish stew, but the night soil used for fertilizer on the garden. The odors fought for dominance. The garlic lacing the stew made my mouth water, but the foulness of the human waste spoiled that. I tried to focus on the food, not the stench. As a compromise, I concentrated on the rice paddy water with its green but promising bouquet.

Next to me, I heard the constant tap of Wu’s feet on the dirt floor. The Master shuffled toward us, the speed and fashion of his feet kicking up the dirt suggested his bladder would burst any second. I tried not to snicker, but all older men have trouble holding their water.

The yellow morning sky made a silhouette of him as it illuminated the valley between the terraced mountainsides. I could not see the Master’s arms. He had to have tucked them behind his back. I wanted to think his hands held the discipline stick behind him. Otherwise, they would be in front and under his robes, a quicker way to issue a punishing thwack.

Maybe the discipline stick isn’t with him. I liked that thought. Perhaps he had hold of his own rod? He was an older man. I don’t know whether I chuckled or trembled at the thought. Yuck.

The man’s sharp eyes sliced into me. “I will ask again. Who, or what, is at fault if an order has not been obeyed?” The pause in his speech cut more than the sharpness of the sound. “Li Chan?”

The man stood before the pair of us. His hands were indeed behind his back. Good.

I took a deep breath, meant to appear a cleansing breath as they taught us, but it was a stall. I’m sure it looked good. Then I answered. “Uh, the fault of the soldier.” I did my best to appear confident. My eyes flicked to Wu and back, but the action did no good. Wu looked to the floor, possibly for a way to escape.

The only warning was the whistle the rod made before the sting of the stick on my shoulder. My arm trembled, but I didn’t dare raise it.

“Sun Tzu wrote, ‘The first thing the commander must consider is his order.’” That twang in his voice buffeted me. “Did he communicate the order correctly? He must re-issue the order. After that, he will be sure it was not his fault. Once that is done…” His voice trailed away, and I peered up at him.

His hook of a bird beak sniffed the air as his black-on-black eyes focused beyond the school grounds. With something indicative of a self-conscious breath, he straightened to his full height, a half-finger breadth taller than usual. His undivided attention skewered on a growing commotion near the line of trees surrounding our compound.

I turned. We all did.

It had been half a week since our conscription, and we were only about twelve years of age. The only thing I knew was that I was now in a place of yinyáng, where fortune changes to the opposite of what it was at the whim of payment and repayment for things done or not done.

A large man backed into the clearing. He fought hard, but several soldiers forced him back. He was a huge spectacle, dealing death with each blow of his sword, his sword thunking into shields as he backed. He wore an armor of boiled leather, the kind I had only heard about, and to my unpracticed eye, it looked as if the cost had been high. It had taken many Kai Yuan to balance the scale of that merchant.

His enemies pressed him hard, forcing their way into the clearing. Arrows flew, some aflame, arcing high toward the huts.

“Disburse,” yelled the Master as he picked up his bow and quiver. With deadly arrows flying in our direction, he stood still as a tree, fired twice before moving, and then ran, not away, but toward the fight.

Wu and I dropped to the ground, crawled through the open-air school, and searched for a way to run the other way. The forest beckoned. The two of us were expected to fight, of course, but we were new to soldiering. Two days, maybe three.

The battle grew faster than I could run to the trees. Masses of enemy poured into the clearing, this time from our side. My head spun to pick another direction, but the motherless pigs had surrounded us.

I grabbed Wu and crawled behind the burning oak tree next to the Master’s hut. The flaming leaves dropped on the roof, spreading their flames. Thick smoke surrounded the camp, dense enough for Wu and me to hide in, but it also made both of us cough.

I stood at the edge of the smoke, able to see the fight had turned into slaughter. Other boys from our class were slaughtered, cut down equally with swords and flaming arrows.

The Master was fearless, never hesitating to kill in any way he could. Blood sprayed everywhere around him. For the first time, I smelled the mix of burning forest and flesh, with the sharp tang of blood and human viscera over it all.

Three of our friends yet dodged death, two had wounded arms, the last a bleeding thigh. I waved them behind our smokescreen and stepped out to encourage more to join us.

Amid all the screams and guttural moans, a wind gust forced a massive draft of the stench to roll over us; this time the smell had shit mixed in. The carnage all but overwhelmed us. I watched a few boys puke, and several retched behind me.

I turned to the boys. “Grab rocks and sticks. We must attack.”

“I’m too scared,” said one of the bigger boys, the one I thought to be the meanest. He’d wet himself.

“I don’t care!” Although it wasn’t quite a yell, I meant it. I’d grabbed a stick with a jagged edge and held it like a knife.

“They will kill us,” whined another.

“They will, anyway.” An idea whispered in my head. “The enemy can’t kill us if we attack at the same time.”

“But—”

I stabbed the big boy in his stomach just below his ribs. It didn’t pierce him, but he had trouble breathing. My eyes dared them all to challenge me. After another moment, while they stood in the foul sounds and smells, all of them bowed in understanding.

By now, smoke billowed from the tree above us right down the trunk, through the wood, with an odd brightness to it. The fire would engulf it soon.

I crawled to the edge of the hut and studied the battle. The Master fought near the big man who defended himself and fought as the point of an arrow would, into the action with his soldiers behind him fighting as he inspired. But the big man and the Master were about to be overcome by the fight. They hacked and stabbed as best they could, but they were tiring.

I turned back to the boys. “Do not yell until we are almost on them. I’ll signal. If you can, grab a sword or arrow to use as a weapon. A spear would be great. A sword should aim for the neck, arrow the inner thigh, and spear the chest or gut.” I waved them closer to me. “Ready!”

I scrambled through the smoke curtain, and the others trailed. “Go.” Although I yelled it, the sound wouldn’t carry over the battle noises, so I ran back and stabbed one in the butt with my stick. The tactic worked.

I used that same branch to slap all the boys on the shoulder or back as I returned to the front of them all. We attacked in a straight line like an arrow in flight.

No one noticed the band of boys sprinting across the compound. I snatched up a spear and then a half arrow. I bit down on the shaft and held it between my teeth. The spear I held ready to stab. Wu grabbed a sword. One boy tried to pick up an axe, but it was heavy, and he left it.

“Run!” I yelled. He snatched a knife instead.

The crash and bluster of the fighting men so loud, it hurt my ears.

“Attack!” I screamed – not easy with the arrow in my teeth. We joined the battle as one, stabbing, slashing, and gouging the enemy. But no blood showed. We were like gnats on a rabid dog.

One man swiped his arm through the air and sent us all sprawling. I’d lost my spear, the arrow dropped, and my nose bled. “Get him!” I screamed, snatching up the arrow.

I leaped on his back and stabbed his neck, pushing the point down into his chest, but unable to pull the arrow free.

He dropped and blood spurted over me. I ignored the gloop, pulled the man’s sword free, and slashed hard, not caring who I hit. The solid thunk of the blade hacking flesh and bone jarred my arm.

I don’t know what the other boys did, but in my mind, I knew what to do.

I’d found myself behind the man who fought the Master and hacked a solid blow just below his knee. Blood erupted, and he dropped. Another took his place. The Master slashed downward, striking his attacker between the neck and shoulder, just as I stabbed the man’s ribs. The point of the Master’s blade dragged down my forehead, slicing a deep cut. It burned like hell, but I continued the attack.

The Master’s opponent fell, trapping my sword as he did, yanking it from my hand.

I grabbed a knife from the ground and attacked again, stabbing and gouging. I punched the men around me until I reached the armored man the Master had gone to protect. Up close, the man was huge, grunting, and stopping life with every stroke.

He shoved me to the ground and slashed the air above me with another grunt, and then his foot pushed me down again, and he kept it there – his immense weight bearing down, trapping me.

My ears told me the fight raged above, and I could neither fight nor escape. The stench of burning wood, bloody ground, and charred bodies filled my nostrils. And blood covered me head to toe while I lay in the muck.

The foot released me when two or three bodies lurched at the big man, knocking him to the ground. The Master, too, was down. The enemy swarmed.

I screamed for the boys to see if any still lived. The sound of clubs beating the two men filled the battle noise.

I grabbed a club and whacked an attacker. From my left came another thunk. More pummeling happened around me. I took a club to my legs, crumpling me to the ground, but I still fought, not done. On the way down, I hit yet another enemy, this time in his balls.

Then the last thump. The last thing I remembered was the battle raging over me.

 

I woke to the smell of tainted broth under my nose. My stomach rebelled, but firm hands grabbed my chin and nose. Too weak to fight as I gulped for breath, someone poured putrid liquid in my mouth. Vomit burned my throat but never reached my mouth because I swallowed again and coughed, ragged and deep.

My head ached as if split by an axe.

The soft chuckling of an old woman filled my ears, and I turned toward the sound. There she stood, wrinkled skin, hair as brittle as straw, and her smile so wide, I saw the gap where she missed two teeth from the top row.

As she noticed my eyes were open, her face fell, her eyes opened, and she bowed a deep, lingering bow, as if she’d done it facing a far superior person of rank.

The bow chilled me. No one bowed to a peasant, especially a boy of twelve.

Aware of someone else in the hut, I didn’t want to appear curious, so I lay waiting for the dignitary to present himself.

Nothing happened. Nor could I hear anything.

After long minutes through which my thoughts raged, trying to figure out what was happening, I lifted from the pallet. But as soon as I moved, the ancient woman screeched, agitated. Another cough racked me. She shuffled to a table and poured a cup of barley tea, held it forward, and offered it.

I raised my head to drink, taking a moment to scan the room. Not only was there no one else in the room, I didn’t recognize the place. I’d never seen anything like it.

She forced me to drink, not the way the vile brew had gone down, but held the cup to my lips until I sipped. The barley tea made me feel like I might live.

I looked at the cup and blinked. Something was different. I could only see from one eye.

“Are you at peace, Li Chan?” The basso voice spoke the traditional Korean greeting.

Without thinking, I nodded. “Yes.” Then I turned to the right to see who spoke, my blind side. I tried to turn, but a hand pressed my shoulder down to the mat. It was the big soldier. He now squatted next to me, and I turned my head.

The Master squatted next to him and spoke, “We know your father is Korean, and your mother, Chinese, Chan.” The twang in his voice made my head hurt.

The big man grunted and smiled at the Master, turning back, his eyes fixed on me. “Master Chong and I, want to know whose family name you took, young Li Chan.”

My legs and arms trembled. I felt like a dead rat. “Venerable sir, I have taken my mother’s name.” Then I added, “Custom allows for it, sir.”

A large hand patted me, accompanied by a deep rumbling chuckle. “That is true, Li Chan. That is true.” He leaned toward me, stopped, stood, and walked to my other side, the side on which I could see well. “You fought splendidly yesterday.”

I blinked, trying to understand. “Sir, I have no idea—”

He held his hand in front of his mouth, palm toward me. “Li Chan, where did you learn what you did?”

That confused me even more. The Master had been schooling all of us. “I don’t know what you mean?” I started to rise.

Master’s lanky arm shot out and pushed me back down. He didn’t care if I was sick or not. “You will address General Ho respectfully. Sir, or General, or–”

A big hand grabbed the Master’s arm. “Li Chan. Not only did you follow Sun Tzu’s advice to strive for surprise to disorient our enemy, but you also commanded your soldiers to attack as one in the line. It resulted in the massing of harm to the enemy. It was decisive and led to their defeat.”

The General leaned back onto his heels, his brows furrowed. The expression made his round face wrinkled, but his eyes sparkled. “I want to know how you arrived at what to do?”

I reached for my head to scratch it, and the old crone started screeching. She leaned over me, shaking her finger, and screamed in a dialect I did not understand.

The General laughed and waved the air in front of him. “She says you need to leave your bandages alone. Your wound needs to heal before you take them away.”

“Is this why my eye won’t work?”

The Master waved the air. “Your eye is fine. The bandage for your face wound covers it, though. It is the Dao.”

I relaxed further onto the floor. “My eye is good?”

The basso rumble again. “Of course, Li Chan. You will have a fearsome scar, and your eye will still see. Now, how did you arrive at the idea to attack the way you did?”

I swallowed. “An idea. I had an idea, my voice telling me what to do.”

Both men sat back, entirely on their haunches. The General’s eyes shot around the strange room, and finally rested on the Master. The skinny man had chewed the inside of his cheek during that time. Their eyes connected, each gave the other an almost imperceptible nod, and the General spoke, “This is a sacred moment, one where you know your yinyáng,” he nodded to me, “eumyang if you prefer the Korean word for it. Your eumyang has changed. You will stay with me.”

He worked his way to his feet and chuckled as he did. “Old bones.” His laughter resounded through the room. “Master Chong!”

The Master turned his beak toward the General.

“You will outfit the boys conscripted with him. Their training will be how to guard him.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Li.”

“What is this place, this room?” The direction of my eye showed him the small, glorious room I lay in.

He grunted. “It is my quarters. My soldiers carry it. It goes wherever we march. You will have one yourself.” His teeth gleamed with cleverness. “In time.” He strode from the room.

The Master jumped up, gave a deep nod toward me, and held it for a heartbeat. The bow to an honored equal. Then he followed the General out. The ancient woman cackled while walking around, chattering like a chipmunk.

Chapter Three

Gina Carbonella strolled the bright hall on her way to the briefing in the Hawaiian underground facility. Beside her walked Kevin Schmidt, the tall mulatto with honey-colored skin – the hunk she’d spent last evening with and gotten to know reasonably well. The tight scar on her leg from her previous case pulled with every step. But hopefully, she didn’t limp.

Gotta love wounds from previous missions.

The two turned a corner into a hall with the same appearance as the last, with the notable exception of the two Marines standing twenty feet away from the plain doorway. They looked to her as if they had never laughed. Ever.

Damn. Coldest, steely eyes I’ve ever seen. Hell, do these boys even breathe?

The Marine on this side stood port arms, and as she approached, she finally saw movement – his thumb snicked off his safety. The Marine on the other side of the hall followed her with his eyes. Schmidt spoke from the side of his mouth. “Stand still, or Sergeant Brinkowitz there will shoot.” They stopped.

“Good morning, sir.” The voice came from the one on the opposite side of the hall. That Marine somehow had produced a clipboard.

“Morning, Sergeant Jones. I trust you can find me there?” Schmidt’s voice was brisk.

A small chuckle as Jones checked his paper roster. “Yes, sir. Major Kevin Schmidt. Deputy in charge. I guess you are on the list.” The Marine’s eyes flicked toward Gina. “And your friend?”

The guard wanted to know if there was a need for the duress code, the code given when forced and in trouble.

Gina started to move, but Schmidt stopped her with a discreet grab of her elbow.

“She belongs.” His eyes crinkled, and a huge grin split his face. “Give him your name and show him your ID.”

She dug in her back pocket and produced the document. “Gina Carbonella. Homeland Security.”

Jones perused the list, nodded, and waved for them both to proceed.

The nondescript door at the end was a short walk. On the wall beside it was a simple keypad where Schmidt stood, blocking her sight. She heard the soft musical sounds as he punched in a series of numbers.

The door clicked open; he grabbed her hand and entered a small anteroom.

After shutting the door behind them, he turned to her. “Stay here. I’ll be right back. Have something to check on. Then we can get to the briefing.” He disappeared through the door to her left.

She meandered around but remained near the door. A few minutes of boredom proved too much for her. She extended her walk and poked her head out of the room into a hall. A quick peek revealed a short empty hallway with no doors, only a mirrored wall at a dead end.

It can’t harm anything to check my appearance.

After only two steps toward the mirror, a light appeared behind it, revealing a two-way mirror and a man behind a desk with a 1911 .45 pointed directly at her head. The mirror opened with no sound, displaying a short passageway to the man and on past him.

At the sight of him, her heart gave a quick hiccup and then tripped like the arm on an electric bell. She froze. The only things she could move were her eyes, and they refused to focus in one place. They vacillated between the business end of the pistol and the man’s unbelievable image.

Her mind shied away from the sight of him. The word disfigured nowhere near described him. The right hand, the one that held the weapon, was his only one. The left arm was missing, as was the shoulder. He had neither ears to speak of nor hair; the massive burn scars on his face and neck somehow had missed his eyes. They were remarkable in their indifference. His visage was cold, a most uncaring attitude. His lips and nose had been reconstructed and had the appearance of being unnatural. They might work, but they lacked any aesthetics.

She peered under the table he sat behind, and there were no legs on his wheelchair. The man sat with no stumps at all coming from his torso.

Her mouth was so dry, her tongue threatened to stick to the inside of her cheek. The first thing to unfreeze was her arm, and she reached for her sidearm.

Not there. Damn.

“I have no idea who you are.” His voice was high-pitched and breathy, coming down the hallway, but the words he spoke were clear. “Since this is the SCIF, the Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility, for the Pacific Theater, they charged me with the security of this place. You will do as I tell you, and you will do so until I am sure of your identity and why you are here.” He waved the .45 for her to enter.

The pistol never wavered while the door whirred shut behind her.

His lips fashioned a grimace which she supposed was his attempt to smile, but his eyes came to life with amusement. “You are now in a reinforced, self-contained room. Whatever happens in here, will not be felt or heard by anyone else.”

“Felt?”

Again, the stretched lips. “If I blow us up, it will not harm even the two Marines out there.”

She shivered at the words. “Blow us u—”

“I believe you heard correctly.” He placed the handgun on the table, still pointing at her. “Do not be misled. My arm is well coordinated, and all I need do is slap this button on my desk. I have nothing to lose, as you might be able to guess. And I am no stranger to violence.”

For the first time, she saw his entire workstation. She’d been so busy gawking; she hadn’t taken a proper look. He had the standard computer and phone along with an array of switches and screens behind him that pictured hallways, some picturesque outdoor scenes, and an entire screen that had a fish-eye view of a briefing room.

One screen showed Schmidt exit the door he’d gone through and visually searched the hall. “Gina?” The voice came from a speaker on the desk.

The burned man’s eyes flicked over a screen “You are Gina.

Ah, Ms. Carbonella, your preferred nomenclature.”

“Carbonella! Quit screwing around, Gina.” Schmidt walked toward the corner. “This is the SCIF. You have no idea what trouble you can get into here.” He turned the corner and headed toward the mirror.

The man behind the desk nodded, glanced at his computer, and back to her. “Now is the time for truth. Have you ever had an affair?”

Shit. Do I lie? This guy’s not playing.

Her heart pounded so hard her sight pulsed – objects expanded like a balloon with each beat. And her hands were so clammy she doubted she could pick up a spider web.

“Why hesitate, Gina? Remember, to have a clearance, we need to be able to trust you.” He picked up the handgun again and pointed it dead center of her head.

Fuck it. “Of course I have, with my superior, Tom. You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t kno—”

“Regulations forbid it.”

“That’s true.” She looked him dead in the eye. “You going to shoot me or what?”

There was a soft click behind her. She felt an air pressure change more than heard the soft whirr as it opened.”

“Sergeant.” Schmidt’s voice sounded. “Check your screens to find—”

The desk sergeant waved the weapon at her. “Get out of here.”

“Goddamn it, Gina.” Schmidt’s harsh voice almost cut the air. “I told you to stand still. Hello, Sergeant.”

“Sergeant Major, sir.”

Carbonella turned on her heel to walk around Schmidt, but the door closed quickly.

“Not that way. There.” The sergeant major pointed over his shoulder. “Get to your briefing.”

Her eyes slid askance to the sergeant major as she turned. His chuckle irritated the piss out of her. “Simply needed to know if you would tell us the truth even under pressure to keep quiet.”

“You bastard,” she spat as she walked by.

Again, the chuckle. “Okay, call me the bastard sergeant major if you want, just not ‘sir.’”

Schmidt chuckled as he followed her. “I’ll let you check in by yourself this time.” He darted around and through the door.

She opened the door behind him and came face to face with two more guards, dressed in blue suits, and like the two Marines, these also had no sense of humor. “ID, please, miss.” She complied.

A crisp nod from the one on the left and the door opened for her.

Although not full, there were a few in the room, and all wore uniforms. A man who appeared to be in the middle of a presentation. One important-looking man, who sat at the end of the table. Two standing behind him had the appearance of aides. Three others at the table – two women and another man – all intent on the speaker.

No one acknowledged her with even a flick of an eye as she entered. Tension filled the room, like a viscous slurry of fear and excitement that painted everything. Contagious, it made it hard to breathe. She’d felt it before but couldn’t understand why that feeling should be in here, now. It belonged on a battlefield, not in a briefing room.

The speaker stopped and directed his gaze at her. Slender with the piercing pupils of an eagle, a very high hairline of dirty blond hair, the man had not shaved today, maybe not even yesterday.

Strange, he’s in uniform.

“You are?” he demanded. His voice a mumble, he overenunciated in an apparent effort to make it understandable.

“Gina Carbonella, Homeland Security. I am here to report, sir.” She remained standing.

“Correct. Have a seat.”

A chair appeared behind her, and she sat not far from the table.

“We will proceed.” The wall morphed behind him into a satellite view that zoomed in to the ground.

A tinge of vertigo swept over Gina.

“This is the view seen from around a mile above the site.” The man pointed with his laser pointer and drew a circle. Again, the exaggerated pronunciation, “This area is, we think, covered by a huge camouflage net and is a current building site, tucked away on Kim’s private lands, the Residence.” The pointer circled a much larger area, maybe eight to ten times bigger.

“We did not know about this site and would still not know had it not been for our agent on the ground. If the information is correct, the new rocket needs about a third as much space as the old ones. This is perfect for Kim. He will launch soon.”

Did he just say it ‘will launch’? The question bounced around in her head. She raised her hand.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, I’m late and need to catch up. Who is this, and why are we worried?”

Now everyone turned a blank face to her.

The man at the front took a swallow from a glass beside him and leveled his gaze. She fought not to squirm under his scrutiny. “We all understand you are late. Try to be on the point next time.” That fixed her squirming problem. She sat up and looked directly at him while he continued. Her eyes assumed a deliberate focus and were not friendly toward him. “This photo is of a hidden launch site in North Korea for a stationary missile, built on Kim Jong-un’s land, the Residence.”

Carbonella gave a firm nod. “They have been firing rockets and missiles for years, and now, given the disarmament agreement, they are supposed to be getting rid of their nuclear arsenal. You do remember the summit, all the big, friendly talk… but a moment ago, you said ‘will—’”

“Ms. Carbonella.” The man doubled down on his stare and his jaw muscle popped twice before he took a deep breath. “I am not here for your convenience.” He pointed to the soldier at the head of the table. “The General’s time is important an—”

“That will be all, Colonel Prestos.” The General’s commanding voice cut the man off.

The man in the front stiffened. His coloring paled, but his eyes hardened with intent, for what reason she wasn’t sure. “Sir?”

The room changed from the all-encompassing tension to acute anxiety, directed toward the man sitting at the end of the table.

The General leaned forward. “You will apologize to Ms. Carbonella. In fact, everyone will stand and make room for her. This is the SCIF, and I do not have the patience for your usual bullshit. She is one of the team.”

They shuffled around, and Gina found herself at the table. A packet of paper sat in front of her, along with both a pencil and pen. A glass of water appeared, too.

“Care for some coffee, Gina?” asked the General.

She nodded, blank-faced.

One of the others, a slender redheaded woman with a gold oak leaf for rank, placed a cup next to her water glass. She whispered with an apologetic smile, “Mary Anne.”

“Now. Once again, this is the SCIF and that means Ms. Carbonella – that is your preferred name. Is it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

The General nodded. “In here, we are shielded from everything, from casual eavesdropping to damage done by an EMP burst. So in here, Ms. Carbonella, you can ask whatever you want, and when you do, they will answer with the truth. No hedging. All that shit is over. This information is highly classified. None of it will leave this room. The fact that we even have an agent close to Kim must never be known. We had the most goddamned time placing this informant, had to promise very unusual things.”

He took a sip of water. “Now, I believe you have a question. Ask again, but this time you must know that you are the commander here.”

He turned to burn all the others with his gaze. “This is the commander of the task force that broke the Berne Caucus. Now she commands the task force you are briefing.”

He sat back and held his hand out in her direction.

Gina sat up straight and made eye contact with each of the people at the table, ending with a scowl at the colonel who had begun the briefing. “Your word earlier was ‘will’, giving the impression that Korea was about to strike. You did not say ‘if.’”

The colonel gave a crisp nod, and with that, viscous tension filled the room again. “Correct. Our information is that Kim has every intention of attacking. And I’m afraid he will do so sometime within the next three months.”