The Washington Sanction Read online

  Rafferty slapped her face until she regained consciousness. The woman came back with a start. Her frightened eyes searched his face and then dropped. She pulled on the cord and carefully moved her neck. It hurt badly. Quickly, she needed to pee. She looked again at her captor.

  Rafferty stared at her. She was in her early forties. Her figure was slim and athletic. She was smartly dressed, and she wore a gold wedding ring. In her eyes, he saw fear.

  Rafferty leant back and patted the dog’s head.

  ‘What’s her name?’ he asked.

  The woman didn’t answer.

  ‘There’s no need to be frightened,’ he said.

  She didn’t believe him.

  Rafferty considered for a moment.

  ‘Who do you think I am?’ he asked.

  The woman remained silent.

  ‘You probably think I’m an FBI agent,’ he said.

  Her eyes lifted. There was a flash of surprise.

  ‘If I was an FBI agent, you’d have good reason to be scared because I’d want to punish you.’

  A flicker of confusion crossed the woman’s face. She shifted against the cord.

  ‘Do you know what the punishment is for spying for the Russians?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘It’s the electric chair,’ he said.

  She shut her eyes. Her neck was throbbing and she felt sick.

  ‘I want to help you,’ he said.

  She forced her eyes to open.

  ‘Do you want me to help you?’

  She made a tentative nod.

  ‘First, you must tell me everything you know; then, you’re going to work for me. You’ll enjoy working for me; I’m much nicer than the Russians.’

  The woman stared. She exhaled and shivered. Who was this man, she thought?

  As though Rafferty could read her mind, he said, ‘I’m your new master.’

  She shivered again. The dog was fidgeting on the back seat but she didn’t notice.

  ‘This has only two outcomes,’ he said. ‘Either you do exactly what I tell you or...’ he paused, ‘...I’ll have to kill you.’

  He looked in the back seat at the fidgeting dog. The woman was staring at him. He looked back at her.

  ‘I’ll have to kill your dog as well,’ he said.

  The woman broke. She gave a tortured cry. Her bladder opened and she peed herself.

  Rafferty watched the dark stain grow larger and then smelt her urine. He cursed softly. The woman was sobbing with her head lowered.

  Rafferty went to the trunk and found two rags. He returned to the woman. He undid the cord, pulled her out and gave her the rags.

  ‘Dry yourself,’ he said.

  She considered attacking him again or attempting to flee but knew it was useless. Instead, she turned away towards the rear of the car, pulled her wet panties off and used the rags to dry herself. She walked back to him.

  ‘How did the Russians recruit you?’ he asked. His voice had softened.

  Her eyes were still wet and she sniffed several times. When she spoke, her voice was croaky.

  ‘I was born in New York and moved to Los Angeles when I married,’ she said. ‘My husband worked in the film industry. He designed and built film sets. In the war, he was an infantry soldier. He died in France in nineteen forty-four, he was thirty-eight.’

  Rafferty wanted to tell her that he had fought in France, but he didn’t.

  ‘I didn’t want there to be another war. If both sides had the bomb then they could criticise each other all they liked, but a million men wouldn’t die fighting a war neither side could win. That’s the reason I did it.’

  Rafferty remained silent.

  The woman continued.

  ‘A man approached me in nineteen forty-six. He told me he had known my husband in France. He said the communists needed help collecting information from sympathisers, here in America, to help them secure their position with the west. It didn’t feel wrong.’

  ‘Who’s your contact?’ Rafferty asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘How do you pass on the information?’

  ‘I mail everything to an address in Canada.’

  ‘Do you have any names?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know some names.’

  Rafferty turned to the dog. It was calm now. He ran his hand across its head and ruffled one ear. The dog seemed to like it.

  ‘What’s her name?’ he asked.

  ‘Zulu,’ the woman said.

  11 February 16, 1954, Korea

  Rafferty was in a foxhole waiting for last light and the cover the darkness would bring.

  He was forty miles from Wonsan, close to Hoeyang in the North.

  He knew the rest of his unit were with him but he couldn’t see them. They were dug in and silently waiting. The communist held North had not put out an official invitation.

  The reed bank gave excellent cover; it had been easy for them to disappear. They were close to the edge of a village. Farm buildings and fields were two hundred yards ahead and civilian dwellings were further north, beyond the ridge.

  The five-man team, led by Rafferty, had parachuted in from a Fairchild C-119 military transport aircraft an hour before dawn the previous night. The Fairchild, affectionately known as the Flying Boxcar for its cargo hauling ability, had flown them low across the 38th parallel and the demilitarised zone in blackness. The jump had gone well and after moving on foot the six miles to their target, they had found the reed bank and dug in.

  Although it was now ten months since the official cease-fire, the situation remained far from settled. The conflict had seen many war crimes of which the massacres of captured US troops on the Pusan Perimeter and around Daejeon pained the military the most. Intelligence at the time had pointed the finger of guilt at a rebel Communist warlord named Yung Sum Kii. He controlled a large army. He had ordered the killings as a show of power.

  Two days earlier, Rafferty had received new intelligence from a reliable agent, a young woman who was the concubine of a senior military officer in the North. She hated the communists, blaming them for the death of her family. American agents inside the North were using her. She passed information through a human chain of six people; all of them risking their lives and the lives of their families. Rafferty had instructed that the girl should relay any location information concerning Yung Sum Kii. The message had arrived hidden in a sack of rice. After translation, the message simply read Yung Sum Kii 2-19 Hosong village family anniversary.

  Rafferty had read it and made the decision with little hesitation. It was soon. He only had two days to prepare. He got hold of all the maps and details they had on Hosong village.

  He couldn’t be certain the Korean would be there but he would go and find out. The concubine agent had always been reliable in the past.

  The US 8th army lieutenant general had listened to Rafferty talk, with a fixed stare and a closed mouth. He knew who this man was; he knew he had fought with a respected frontline combat unit during World War II and was now a senior intelligence officer.

  Rafferty had finished his briefing to the lieutenant general with the words, ‘I need volunteers from your best combat unit. They must be experienced men, men who have fought and seen plenty of action. I need men who can kill.’

  The lieutenant general had motioned for Rafferty to sit.

  ‘Hostilities have ceased and the war is on hold while the politicians sort out their shit. I guess killing this Korean is a good idea, but it goes against the cease-fire. The military cannot authorise this mission. It will be unofficial and the complete responsibility of you and your agency. The soldiers who volunteer will be temporarily relieved of duty. If anything goes wrong, I am not coming to get you, is that understood?’

  Rafferty had just nodded. He hadn’t sat down.

  ‘Get me the men and the aircraft. We go tonight,’ he had told him.

  It was now last light and Rafferty and the four commandos waited a further two h
ours before leaving the cover of the reed bank and heading towards Hosong village. During those two hours, Rafferty thought about Marilyn. He knew that throughout their relationship, she had had other men. Many more nights had followed the first one at Avid Zuckerman’s party. They were all of them good. Over the years, however, their relationship had not taken any kind of conventional path. Her acting career and his work with McGrath meant long periods when they didn’t see each other. Their relationship had not progressed far beyond sexual dating; they saw each other when they could. It was almost unknown for them to be in one another’s company when there were other people there. They were secret lovers.

  Once, she had asked him, how could we be honest with ourselves when we cannot be honest with the world? Her fame meant the men she saw became headline news. Rafferty’s work could never allow that.

  She discovered other men, to fill the gaps. Her philosophy did not follow convention. Right and wrong, she believed, were for people who worried. For consciences troubled by parasites like a brick wall covered by climbing, tangled ivy. This was not for her. She lived by and for emotion; the heart was all. During a quarrel, Rafferty had once said to her, it might be good to live only for your emotions, but be careful you don’t die for them too. She had smiled and stopped the argument with a passionate kiss, not wanting to speak; not wanting to hear the words that she knew her lover was capable of saying.

  Rafferty could do nothing. Some might think him a fool. He loved her. He never asked about the other men. She mentioned them, sometimes, only in passing as though they were just co-workers. He avoided reading the newspapers, and the gossip he did not want to know.

  The recent news, however, he could not avoid. According to the press reports, after a whirlwind romance Marilyn had married. They had met at a movie studio party. He was a sportsman. He played ball. It was love at first sight, apparently. Rafferty had read the newspaper story and looked at the photograph of the “happy couple.” He thought the man bore a striking resemblance to the cartoon character, Goofy.

  Was this the true reason for what Rafferty was doing now? Was Marilyn’s marriage the reason he found himself hiding in a foxhole in a reed bank in the North? The reason for attacking Yung Sum Kii was not only one of revenge; it would also give the Americans advantage through destabilisation. Nevertheless, Rafferty knew, he didn’t have to lead this covert mission personally. Somewhere inside himself, he recognised, that undertaking a dangerous operation like this and killing the Korean might alleviate the anger and the pain. He needed it to.

  The two hours had ticked away and it was time to move. Rafferty raised himself slowly from the ground and gave the signal. The other soldiers appeared like corpses from the grave, rising from the dead. They were silent and professional.

  The soldiers moved in single file with Rafferty taking the lead. They wore full camouflage combat gear, with their faces blackened, and they carried Browning automatic rifles. On their belts were pistols and knives, and on straps over their shoulders they carried light machine guns. Each soldier wore a pack that carried provisions, a medical kit and dry socks. Hooked to their webbing were grenades and ammunition; six BAR magazines.

  Rafferty had considered whether to bring a radio. The AN/PRC-10, or the Prick as the soldiers called it, would have to be strapped to one of them like a backpack. It was heavy and awkward, and only had a range of thirteen miles. Rafferty decided against it.

  Rafferty’s steel helmet sat low on his forehead. He checked his luminous compass and moved forward in the black night air. His instinct told him they were close.

  The adrenalin started to flood his body, making it react with heightened senses and tensed prepared muscles. He breathed in, slow and deep.

  The Korean village was a random collection of simple houses and farm buildings covering a six-hundred-yard area running along a deep flowing stream. The terrain was mostly flat and dry with scrub vegetation providing little cover. The five soldiers kept close, maintaining silence and moving forward in quick bursts.

  Rafferty signalled a stop as he saw it. It was the unmistakable glow of a fire one hundred yards to the northeast. He listened carefully and could just make out the occasional, faint sound of people. He signalled the change of direction and the combat unit headed towards the red and orange glow.

  They approached slowly in a horizontal line, keeping low and silent. Coming out of the darkness, they were invisible to the people in the light. Rafferty could clearly see the Korean people. The celebration centred on a farmhouse with people both inside and out. There were families, men, women and children of all ages. The bonfire leapt and crackled, and in the glow, Rafferty could make out a group of younger men. They were congregating around a table of food with some of them sitting and some standing. It was obvious to Rafferty that the man sitting in the centre, holding court almost, was their target. His face was only shadowy but Rafferty felt the general outline and shape was that of Yung Sum Kii.

  The other four soldiers all saw him too. There was little doubt they had found their man. The Korean girl’s intelligence had been accurate.

  Yung Sum Kii carried weapons, as did the other fourteen men around him. However, with a surprise attack coming out of the darkness it was going to be a straightforward raid. They would hit quickly and brutally, killing all the men and then retreating back into the darkness and away into the night. The whole assault would only last two or three minutes.

  The unit moved together and Rafferty gave his instructions using only hand signals. All the soldiers were experienced enough to know what the plan was without needing the confirmation. They crept in close with rifles ready and waited for the signal to attack.

  Rafferty checked the position of his men, focusing everything on the work ahead. They were all ready.

  His mind suddenly altered, going blank. He tried to concentrate but his brain would not reset, like a television that wouldn’t tune in. Then his thoughts were all on Marilyn. He could clearly see the picture in his mind of the newspaper photograph of the happy couple. She was smiling and Goofy was staring gormlessly. Rafferty hated the thought of her married to another man.

  It was the truth. It was the reason for this mission. He craved the need to escape into combat; he needed to face danger to release the anger.

  Would every Korean, that his rifle targeted, be her husband? He wanted this mission to cure him, to treat his malaise and free him. He shook his head and blinked his eyes. His conscious self-returned. He was ready.

  Rafferty lifted his arm and signalled the attack. The five soldiers rose together and advanced at speed on their target. They broke into the light of the bonfire in a semi-circle; dropping down to one knee, raising their rifles and targeting the Korean men. Rafferty was in the centre of the arc and he targeted the seated man he believed to be Yung Sum Kii.

  The Americans opened fire and their automatic weapons clattered with a volley of explosions, thundering in the quiet night air.

  The party abruptly ended. Women and children screamed and the fourteen men around the food table died as one hundred and sixty M2 bullets found their soft flesh. The five commandos killed with cold professionalism, emptying their 20-round box magazines and then snapping home a replacement, taken from their webbing, in only three seconds.

  Rafferty experienced nothing as he watched the body of the seated Korean man snap and jiggle in the light from the fire as he took his life. His combat instinct made him automatically target a second, third and then fourth man, shooting with trained accuracy. They were dead before they could use their own weapons or take cover. Each of the other four soldiers behaved with similar dispassion.

  Rafferty raised his arm.

  ‘Cease fire,’ he called out clearly and loudly. He rose from his position and moved forward with care to the fallen bodies. Two of the other commandos joined him while the other two held back giving cover. They ensured the men were all dead by firing a single bullet to the head. Rafferty stood over the man he had targeted as Yung Sum K
ii, pulled a box Kodak from an inside pocket and pushed the body with his boot. As the dead man’s head fell into place, Rafferty bent down and took two photographs. The white bulb flashed suddenly and lit the fear in a young girl’s face; then the darkness returned and the face was gone.

  Rafferty pocketed the Kodak, did a quick three-sixty then called out his order.

  ‘That’s it. Let’s go.’

  They retreated in a group, two moving forwards and three walking backwards. They disappeared from sight instantly and kept up a fast walking pace for ten minutes, putting distance between themselves and Hosong village.

  Rafferty was satisfied the attack had gone well. It was an excellent piece of professional soldiering; accomplishing the objective without any casualties. He called a halt and the men rested, some taking water, all them checking their rifle. Rafferty checked his compass and studied the map.

  Back in the village, the shock and devastation were crippling the people. The survivors struggled to understand what had happened. Women wailed, kneeling over their dead men, and children stood motionless, traumatised by an event they would never forget. Inside the house, in an upstairs bedroom, a young man of about twenty was making a radio transmission. In the bed was a naked girl with eyes huge and terrified. He had not been outside with the other men. He was still alive. He spoke quickly with panic and fear. The man receiving the radio message listened carefully.

  ‘They left only minutes ago. There were five or six of them. They headed south out of the village along the waterway toward Hoeyang.’

  At the other end, the Korean army officer ended the radio communication and thought hard. The information he had just been given was shocking. He must avenge this barbarous act; he must kill the American butchers. How, how could he intercept them before they reached the demilitarised zone, the US held South, and safety?

  Rafferty had planned his escape route before the mission began. He had decided to follow the main transport link which was an earth roadway used during the war by the military on both sides and now by the Korean people in the North. It would be the quickest and easiest way back. Although it was exposed and with a greater chance of detection than cross-country, he judged the twenty-eight miles at night was an acceptable risk. They would be able to see the lights from any vehicles some way off and take evasive action. Anyway, it was highly unlikely anyone would be looking for them so soon.