Foxbat (7 page)

Yi Min-Ho crouched low on the rocky ledge he’d selected as his observation point,
having checked that it wasn’t easily visible from either above or below. It was hardly a comfortable location, but offered an unrivalled view of the air base below him, essential to
allow him to complete his mission.

He glanced down the slope at the single east–west runway traversing the bottom of the
valley, about fifteen hundred metres below him, then nodded in satisfaction. The OP was a rocky perch near the top of a ridge that dominated the landscape just to the north of the airfield,
and he needed to be on this side so that he could see right into the hangars.

Like most North Korean airfields, T’ae’tan appeared to consist of a runway and not
much else. Again, like most military airfields in this country, it was built close to a mountainside – or, in this case, a rocky hillside bordering the north side of the narrow valley.
The reason for this was simple enough. The North Koreans always tried to construct hardened shelters for their air assets and command centres, and natural rock offered much better protection
than concrete. Invariably expecting any attack to come from the south, they almost always began their excavations on the northern slope of the hill or mountain. Locating a hangar’s
entrance, its most vulnerable part, to the north ensured that the bulk of the rock obstructed any assault from the south.

Satellite photographs of T’ae’tan had revealed it possessed a long, straight
taxiway, big enough to use as a secondary runway in an emergency. It bordered the runway itself on its south side, and extended some distance beyond it. There a spur ran off, splitting into
two, and appeared to terminate in the hills fringing the south side of the narrow valley. In fact, these two sections of the taxiway led to the hangars excavated into the hillside, and it was
those that Yi Min-Ho was now watching from his current perch on the opposite ridge.

The instructions he’d been given by his superior officer at Naegok-dong were clear and
simple: he was to observe this airfield and assess its current activity. Specifically, he was to identify and report on the type, numbers and possible tasking of any unusual aircraft he
spotted. His secondary task was to confirm the exact numbers of Chinese-built Shenyang F-5 single-seat jet interceptors – an old aircraft design based on the Russian MiG-17 – and
also whatever Ilyushin Il-28 bombers the base had operational.

The Ilyushins had arrived at T’ae’tan back in October 1995, as part of a major
redeployment of North Korean air assets that saw more than one hundred aircraft moved to forward bases close to the DMZ or Demilitarized Zone. South Korean experts calculated that the Il-28s
could reach Seoul within as little as ten minutes, should hostilities break out.

By late morning, he’d already filled a couple of pages of his notebook with
observations. His country’s National Intelligence Service is technically advanced, but for counting aircraft Yi Min-Ho needed no more than a pair of binoculars and a pencil and paper.
Of the three squadrons of F-5 aircraft known to be based at T’ae’tan, he’d counted only five different planes, and just three of those had so far got airborne. He’d
watched the other two being moved from their hardened shelters and parked outside. Either all the remaining aircraft belonging to the squadrons were currently in deep maintenance, Yi
surmised, or they’d been moved somewhere else entirely. And so far he hadn’t seen a single Ilyushin.

Four of the six hangar doors he was watching were obviously newly
constructed, which meant the North Koreans had recently dug some additional space into the hillside opposite. Yi had already estimated the likely number of aircraft these new
shelters could accommodate, from careful observation with his binoculars of the old hangars through their open doors. He’d also noted that the single runway had been extended eastwards,
as evidenced by new concrete a different shade to the original surface. This was another vital indication that the airfield’s operational capability was being augmented.

After another scan with his binoculars to confirm nothing new was happening below him, Yi Min-Ho
decided he might as well take an early lunch. He had to keep his strength up, but the prospect of consuming another MRE ‘delicacy’ was less than enthralling. He pulled the
haversack towards him and picked through its packets to make a selection. As he swallowed the first tasteless mouthful, he comforted himself with the prospect of stimulating his palate with a
chocolate bar afterwards.

On the south side of the airfield below the hidden observer, Pak Je-San’s instructions
were being followed to the letter. Twenty hand-picked soldiers, wearing camouflage clothing and equipped with powerful tripod-mounted binoculars, were spaced along the airfield perimeter,
invisible from more than a few metres away, each studying their designated section of the hillside opposite.

The moment he learnt about a possible infiltrator, Pak had guessed the agent’s objective
would be T’ae’tan, simply because there was nothing else of military significance to South Korea in that sparsely inhabited region. The sighting of an intruder near Ugom had
confirmed his suspicion that the unknown agent would be here trying to observe aircraft movements. Because the hangars all lay along the south side, he had deduced that the spy would be
watching from the hills to the north.

And Pak was before long proved correct. When Yi Min-Ho raised his binoculars to check the
airfield immediately before pausing to eat, their lenses had flashed briefly in the sun. That distant glint had been spotted by one of the watching soldiers, who had noted the spot carefully,
then focused his binoculars and waited. Next he’d seen some sort of
movement, though too indistinct to make out. That was when he decided to alert his superior
officer.

Within five minutes, all the camouflaged soldiers were studying exactly the same location on the
hillside opposite. Meanwhile, a six-man armed patrol, on standby since early that morning, was being rapidly tasked with an intercept mission.

‘Was it really worth it?’ Colin Dekker wondered, gazing across the cargo bay at
the body of his Regiment soldier. In front of the battered Pinky, now securely lashed down to prevent it shifting, four of his men were administering whatever medical assistance they could to
the soldier with the broken leg and to the injured loadmaster. The pain-killing injections would certainly help, but one of the bullets striking the loadmaster had severed an artery and,
despite the tourniquet and the strapped-on compresses, Dekker realized the man’s life was now hanging in the balance.

‘Worth it? Buggered if I know,’ Richter echoed him, after a moment.

‘What was in that hangar, anyway?’

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

‘Try me.’

‘Fuck-all.’

Dekker looked blank. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.
Nada
.
Rien
. I said you wouldn’t believe me.’ Richter sighed. ‘The hangar was completely empty, or as good as. Just a cherry-picker
and a couple of tractors.’

He pulled out the digital camera and selected ‘view’. The first image appeared on
the small screen, and Dekker studied it closely. Taken from above, it showed a considerable section of the interior of the hangar, but all he could see was a large expanse of empty concrete,
and part of the cradle of a cherry-picker. He flicked to the next frame, and then the next.

‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ he concluded. ‘Are you sure that was the
right hangar?’

‘It was not only the one Six told me to investigate,’ Richter replied, ‘but
it also had the largest number of sentries guarding it.’

‘But why would the Algerians be guarding an empty hangar?’

‘That’s easy. Something’s obviously missing, either lost or stolen, and I
presume the guards are there to preserve the integrity of the scene. The difficult bit will be working out exactly what’s been mislaid, but my own guess is they’ve lost an
aircraft.’

Anatoli Yershenko stood just inside the hangar and stared at the two massive grey
interceptors in front of him, then glanced down at the paperwork he’d been given.

That was both the problem and the strength of a no-notice inspection. Because the base staff had
no idea they were going to receive a visit, they had neither the chance to conceal their errors or omissions, nor the opportunity to ensure that their normal documentation was correct. What
Lieutenant-Colonel Yershenko now had to decide was whether he was looking at sloppy paperwork or something much more serious.

He had no queries about the two interceptors. All the documentation the 524 IAP squadron staff
had supplied for these aircraft was in order, as far as Yershenko could tell. The problem was that there should be
four
aircraft in
this hangar, and so far nobody he had talked to was able to explain exactly where the two missing MiG-25s were.

According to squadron records, the two Foxbats had flown to the Zaporizhia state aviation
maintenance plant in the Ukraine some two months earlier, which was certainly plausible. But when Yershenko had contacted Zaporizhia by telephone, nobody there could confirm the date when the
interceptors had arrived there or, more worrying, even if they had arrived at all. In fact, the administrative officer Yershenko talked to could find no trace of the side-numbers of the two
MiGs anywhere in his records for the last six months.

But the two aircraft had certainly taken off from Letneozerskiy, so they must have landed
somewhere
, and Yershenko was determined to find out where.

What paper trail there was started with the air traffic control records
in
the tower nearby. As were all aircraft movements, the departure of the two interceptors had been logged, and their recorded destination was Zaporizhia. It was then things started getting
foggy. ATC didn’t record the names of the pilots, and the squadron records revealed that neither man had subsequently returned to Letneozerskiy. Both had been approaching the ends of
their tours with 524 IAP, so had apparently proceeded to join their new squadrons once they’d delivered the Foxbats to the maintenance facility. Yershenko had already initiated a search
to identify the current location of each pilot, but that was of secondary importance to finding the aircraft themselves.

One advantage in conducting such no-notice inspections was that the man in command of the team
had the authority to compel officers of a much more senior rank to obey his instructions. He had scheduled a second interview with the station commander in a little over an hour, and the man
should have found some satisfactory answers by then, or else Yershenko had the power to remove him from his post pending a full on-site investigation into the missing aircraft.

When he’d polished off the homogenous mush that served as his lunch, Yi Min-Ho resumed
his scrutiny of the airfield spread out below him.

Though he wasn’t sure if it had any significance, he had earlier noticed that only two of
the six aircraft shelters he was studying appeared to be in use, and the doors of the four new ones had remained firmly closed the whole time he’d been watching. At first he’d
assumed they might be empty, until he noticed a two-man patrol was guarding each one of them, a level of security not evident outside any other buildings on the base. That had to suggest
there were items of some importance inside them.

One other thing also puzzled him. In the foothills beyond the new hangar entrances, and a short
distance from the few administrative buildings, a three-storey structure had recently been erected. With curtained windows on all three floors, it looked residential, but that didn’t
make sense because people didn’t normally live on an active airfield.
Perhaps it was accommodation for the guards, but the building itself seemed far too big for
that. He noted this down in his book as another oddity.

One set of the older hangar doors opened suddenly and a tractor backed out, towing another F-5
which Yi hadn’t recorded before. He looked carefully at the fighter’s side number and scribbled it in his notebook, together with the current time. The tractor halted and the
driver unhitched the F-5, then drove back to the hangar. Two ground engineers appeared, pulling a low cart that maybe held tools, and stopped next to the fighter. One of them lifted an
inspection panel on the fuselage below the cockpit, and both men got to work on the aircraft. Yi watched them with vague interest, simply because there was nothing else to do.

On the hillside about five hundred metres above and behind the lone NIS agent’s
observation point, a North Korean lieutenant stood staring down the slope. He could just see his quarry, or rather the man’s head and his hands, holding a pair of binoculars, as he
studied the airfield.

The patrol leader now had to ensure that the spy’s focus remained fixed on the scene
below, while he and his men attempted to make their approach unnoticed. The orders received from the official in Pyongyang might help them achieve that, so he raised the radio to his mouth
and murmured a brief report, informing his superior officer that they were ready in position. Then he hand-signalled for his men to begin their approach. They’d already been briefed to
halt a hundred metres away from the spy’s position and await the lieutenant’s command to move in for the kill.

Yi Min-Ho suddenly tensed and shifted his gaze. Three uniformed men had emerged from one of
the few administration buildings and were heading briskly along the taxiway towards the four mystery hangars that were so carefully guarded. As they approached the nearest one, the two
sentries outside it snapped to attention and saluted, then led them towards a side door.

Perhaps, Yi wondered, they would now open the main doors and
he’d
finally discover what the North Koreans had stored inside. And moments later his unspoken wish seemed about to come true, as the two massive hangar doors began to slide slowly apart.

The lieutenant had halted his men behind a low rise, gesturing them to keep out of sight
while he himself moved forward to a position where he could more clearly overlook the spy’s observation point. He too could see the airfield below, and he watched just as carefully as
the officers approached the hangar. Everything was going as planned.

He paused another minute until the main doors began to open, then slid back down the slope and
ordered his men forward, as quietly as possible. Though he was certain the South Korean’s full attention was directed at the activity below, there was still the possibility that,
despite outnumbering him six-to-one, if he heard them coming he could somehow escape down the hillside. The lieutenant’s orders were specific: the man must be taken alive if possible,
or else killed. His escape would not be tolerated. So they readied their weapons and moved carefully down the slope towards him.

Yi Min-Ho hadn’t taken his eyes off the hangar since he’d watched the officers
approach it, and at last both the doors were wide open. The problem was that he still couldn’t discern what was inside because the interior lay in deep shadow. But that might not be a
problem, because a towing tractor was now approaching the building. So Yi watched and waited.

On reaching the hangar, the tractor drove straight inside. For a couple of minutes there was
no further movement, then the tail of an aircraft began to appear, which the tractor was clearly pushing. But the aircraft Yi now saw emerging from the hangar was completely
unanticipated.

He had expected an F-5, which is a fairly small aircraft with a distinctive single rudder
carrying horizontal stabilizers, but instead found himself staring at two enormous jet exhausts, topped by massive twin rudders. For a few seconds he had no idea what this huge aircraft might
be, then, as realization dawned, he reached for his Kyocera satellite telephone. This news couldn’t wait for his formal debriefing, so he switched it on, punched in a
number, and waited for the connection to be completed.

Yi’s dedication and focus often received favourable comment at headquarters, but
unfortunately this time he had become rather
too
focused. So, as the North Korean soldiers approached his hiding place, all his
attention was fixed on the open hangar door and the slowly emerging aircraft.

Just then a T’ae’tan soldier stepped silently onto the ledge beside him and pressed
the muzzle of a Kalashnikov AK47 into the middle of his back. Yi reacted instantly. He dropped the phone and binoculars, and twisted away, knocking aside the barrel of the assault rifle as he
simultaneously reached for his pistol. The guard stepped back, momentarily taken by surprise.

This brief moment was enough for the South Korean agent. He grabbed up the satellite phone and
vaulted off the ledge, running for his life down the slope towards the airfield, all the time dodging and diving from side to side.

The lieutenant shouted immediate orders, and within seconds the air was alive with Kalashnikov
bullets. But shooting downhill isn’t easy because of the perspective, and most of the shots went wide, smashing into the ground all around the fugitive.

As he ran, Yi Min-Ho heard the tinny voice of his controller issuing from the earpiece of the
Kyocera. He dropped flat to the ground and rolled over so that he could face back up the slope. Then he pulled out the CZ75 and let loose half a dozen rounds at his pursuers, even as he tried
to gasp out his story.

‘They have new aircraft,’ he yelled. ‘I’ve seen a—’

At that moment three shells from one of the Kalashnikovs found him. The first tore through his
left hand, severing two fingers and ripping the Kyocera from his grasp. Maybe fortunately, his agony lasted well under a second. The next round entered the top of his skull, ploughing through
his brain and killing him instantly. Yi Min-Ho didn’t even feel the third bullet.

‘I originally assumed it was just another cock-up by Vauxhall Cross,’ Richard
Simpson grumbled. ‘Telling you to look in the wrong hangar, or even sending you off to the wrong airfield. But now it looks like they were probably right.’

Simpson had a famously low opinion of the professional abilities of the Secret Intelligence
Service, commonly known as ‘Six’, and was always happy to share his prejudices with anyone who’d listen.

Richter had got back to the Hammersmith office fifteen minutes earlier, after spending what felt
like a week bouncing around in the back of the ‘Fat Albert’. The Hercules had stopped at Meknes for a refuel, but had taken off immediately afterwards, heading straight for
Gibraltar and the Royal Naval Air Station, HMS
Rooke
. There they’d off-loaded the injured loadmaster, fearing he would not
survive the flight back to the UK. The wounded man had lost so much blood that Richter personally doubted he’d last the day, but at least at
Rooke
he’d get proper medical care.

The C-130 filled its tanks again and got airborne, routed around Spanish airspace and headed
north, landing at RAF Northolt to off-load Richter, the dead soldier and the injured SAS trooper – he had a badly broken leg, but the injury wasn’t life-threatening – before
continuing to RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire, where transport was waiting for the SAS team.

Simpson had sent a car to meet Richter, with a man from Vauxhall Cross in the back seat to
collect the camera and receive a verbal debrief on what was seen at Aïn Oussera. The moment Richter opened his office door at Hammersmith, the direct line had begun ringing.

‘So how come you think they were right?’ Richter asked, wearily.

‘Because of what’s happened since you left for your away-day in Algeria. The troops
that pursued you – they weren’t regular army?’

‘I doubt it. Most Third-World armed forces run a mile the moment they come up against any
kind of competent opposition, but these guys didn’t. They didn’t back off and they used good tactics. They were definitely some kind of elite troops, and they bloody nearly had
us.’

‘And what are your conclusions about the empty hangar?’ Simpson probed.

‘My best guess is they’ve lost a valuable aircraft – or somebody’s
stolen one. The guards are probably just there to protect the scene of the crime while they continue to investigate it. So what else has happened in my absence that suggests Six have got
something right for once?’

‘Two things have arisen,’ Simpson replied. ‘Firstly, Algeria might not be the
only nation to be having problems with its fighter inventory. The NSA claims to have intercepted signals in Iran that suggest the country may be missing a pair of interceptors. But then the
Americans add that the traffic was “ambiguous”, whatever the hell that means.’

‘And second?’ Richter prompted.

‘And secondly we’ve had a surprise request from the Russians for assistance in
tracking certain military aircraft movements. Their own military aircraft movements, to be exact. I’ve said you’ll go to Moscow and help them out.’

‘Why me? I was hoping for a bit of a break. Can’t someone else go?’

‘No, because the request from Moscow asked for you specifically.’

‘Who’s behind that?’

‘Viktor Bykov – and he’s now a senior general in the GRU. Despite what you
did to him in France, I think he trusts you – maybe more than I do. Anyway, it’s your name on the ticket, and there’s a diplomatic passport waiting for you now in the
Documents Section. You’re booked on tomorrow’s British Airways flight, and Bykov or one of his staff will be meeting you at Sheremetievo.’ He paused to check his notes, then
continued.

‘The Registry staff are preparing a laptop for you. It’ll contain pictures from
the US Keyhole birds that cover the specific dates and times the Russians have requested – suitably sanitized, of course. They’ve highlighted possible radar contacts that could be
the aircraft the Russians are interested in, with their estimated points of departure and possible destinations. We’ve also arranged for a photo interpreter from N-PIC to be standing by
in Washington and another one at JARIC in case you need further analysis, or additional frames to be sent.’

‘What about a personal weapon?’

‘Certainly not. You’re going to Moscow to help the GRU track down
some missing aircraft. It’s merely a joint investigation into an anomaly, so what the hell do you want a gun for? And, Richter, I know that your concept of diplomacy is to
break someone’s leg and then say “Lean on me”, but we’re supposed to be working
with
the
Russians on this, not against them. So try not to kill too many people while you’re over there.’