From the Fatherland, with Love, page 59
The headlamps illuminated the faces of the soldiers beside the road. Their AKs were lowered, not trained on the riders. One face leaped out at Shinohara, a soldier who was smirking as if to say, What a bunch of idiots. And with that, Shinohara was assured that they weren’t going to shoot. To them, this was just a laughable display by the lowest sort of dimwitted, decadent punks, who admired them and actually wanted to enlist. The Chief slowed the bike as they approached Checkpoint A, a bit past the entrance to the hotel, where he was going to make a hard right, and at that moment a number of bare-chested, off-duty Koryos, red-faced and clearly drunk, ran toward the convoy, shouting along: “Mansae-e-e-e-e! Chwego-o-o-o-o!” They pantomimed driving motorcycles and waving banners, and they laughed as they chanted and slapped one another’s backs. Two soldiers stood smoking at the checkpoint, their AKs hanging slack as they watched the riders. Their guard was down. After all, they had yet to run into a single Japanese civilian who resisted or fought back. Shinohara prayed that they would continue to think of this as just a parade of idiots. Sneer at us. Laugh at us. No need to be wary. We’re here to deliver a special gift.
The speeding horde turned right at Checkpoint A and followed the two-lane road, driving straight toward the sea for about a hundred meters before swerving hard to the right. With the jet-black waters of Hakata Bay on their left now, the road was a straight shot as far as Checkpoint E. The perimeter of the zone under Koryo control was a line that encompassed the Sea Hawk Hotel and the Dome, Hawks Town and the hospital, and the South Korean and Chinese consulates. Felix and Matsuyama had done a thorough study of the roads in the immediate area and discovered one spot that wouldn’t be visible from any of the checkpoints. Adjoining the hotel on the opposite side was a glassed-in, steel-framed structure that protruded like a burl at the bottom of a tree. The steps that led up to it started at the sidewalk right next to the road, where the hotel blocked the view from Checkpoint A and the structure itself from Checkpoint E.
The Koryos had taken extra care to defend against infiltration from the sea, and the entire shoreline of the occupied zone was visible from Checkpoints A and E. To attack from the beach would have got you annihilated: the checkpoints were equipped with machine guns, and even if you got past them, soldiers and MAVs from the encampment would be all over you. But the terror babies’ ploy had been improbable enough to work. The Koryos didn’t see this mob as the enemy but as a loony fan club. After rounding the bend, the Chief slowed down, letting those behind roll past as he pulled up to the curb next to the steps. A different division, which had entered near Checkpoint D and taken the other way around the Dome, appeared from the opposite direction and roared past. The five cars carrying Kaneshiro, Takeguchi, and others, and the two bikes with Hino and Tateno on board pulled up to the curb behind the Chief. Trunks popped open and baggage was rapidly stacked on the sidewalk.
“If anything happens, I’ll ring your cellphone,” the Chief told Shinohara, and sped off the moment everyone and everything was unloaded. The two deputies and the cars all peeled off after him. Everyone shouldered a backpack, cradled a daypack in their arms, and ran at full speed up the steps. It wasn’t easy negotiating the steps in the darkness, and there was a fair amount of stumbling, but they met no resistance. Kaneshiro reached the top first and checked to make sure the landing was deserted, then hissed for Hino. Hino, carrying only a daypack, ran past him straight for the entrance to the glass structure. Shinohara and Tateno followed with the extra acetylene and oxygen cylinders.
Shinohara’s memory of what happened after they’d sped past the checkpoint and entered the occupied zone was a jumble. From the point where he climbed off the bike and ran up the steps with his backpack, his impressions seemed all the more unreal—all stop-frame or fast-forward. The entrance to the structure was a pair of big glass doors. Hino pulled out his cutting torch and attached the little one-liter tanks of acetylene gas and oxygen. He checked the sound of the gas escaping, lit a clear disposable lighter that had YOTCHAN’S PUB printed on it in black, and held the flame to the nozzle. It ignited with a satisfying poof, creating a wavering orange flame that Shinohara was worried the Koryos might see. But Hino immediately turned a valve and transformed the flame into a hissing, thin blue stream. “This is the sort of flame you need to cut steel,” he whispered as he raised the torch to the gap between the doors, then sputtered: “What the hell?” He turned off the torch and pushed on one panel. It swung open to a black interior and smells of vegetation and decay. There was no sign of any human presence.
“Why would the Koryos leave it open?” Hino whispered. “What are they, a bunch of doodoo-heads?” Tateno muffled a laugh with a hand over his mouth, and Shinohara too had to suppress giggles that made his stomach muscles spasm. Knowing he mustn’t make any sound only made it worse—his nervous system demanded laughter to relieve the tension. After the door swung open, Kaneshiro and the others streamed in, keeping low beneath their backpacks. Kaneshiro held a handgun at the ready. “That was fast,” he said as he went past Shinohara. “The damn door—” He was unable to finish the sentence for fear of laughing again. It was only when someone said “Toyohara’s not here” that Shinohara abruptly sobered up. Beyond the large, drooping leaves of some darkly silhouetted tropical plants was a shopping arcade. All the lights were off, so they decided to hunker down there for the time being. Toyohara’s not here? Shinohara wondered where the hell he could be, but the first order of business was to establish a base camp. By the dim glow of emergency exit signs they walked along a corridor that curved to the right.
Ahead was the shopping arcade. The doors to all the stores were open. Goods and papers were scattered about in some of them. The salesclerks must have left in a hurry when news of the Koryo takeover of the Dome reached them. To the right was a rental shop for formalwear and a photography studio, to the left a cafe. On the tables in the cafe were half-empty glasses with straws protruding, unfinished cups of coffee, and plates with partially eaten slices of cake. The centerpiece of the rental shop’s window display was a wedding dress and tuxedo designed with a Hawks motif. “What happened to Toyohara?” Shinohara asked, and Kaneshiro gave him an angry look and whispered, “Shut up.” The lobby used by the Koryos was on this floor. And they couldn’t be certain yet that even this arcade was deserted. They all walked slowly under their heavy loads, one hand to the wall, one noiseless step at a time. A sportswear shop; a clothes boutique; shops selling handbags, perfume, cosmetics; a variety store. At the first corner were a cake shop and a bakery, and in front of the latter was a large stainless-steel kettle full of raw cream with a layer of black mold on top. Then came a little shop offering fashion accessories; one with traditional Central and South America handicrafts; one selling Chinese teas and various bric-a-brac; and near the exit a caricaturist’s table and chairs, under which lay the artist’s renderings of an American actor and a Japanese politician.
After making sure no Koryos were in the arcade, they made their way back down the corridor to the formalwear shop, where they took off the backpacks. They were all breathing heavily, and many of them gulped down some water. Sweat beaded Shinohara’s forehead and the bridge of his nose. He was about to ask Kaneshiro about Toyohara again when the cellphone in his pocket rang, making his heart nearly jump out of his mouth. Kaneshiro slapped him hard and said, “Turn the ringer off, you fool!” Shinohara tried to apologize, but nothing came out—his throat was so dry it had closed up. He could hear the biker Chief on the phone. Hino handed him a bottle of water, and he chugged it. “Shinohara here,” he gasped. “Are you in?” the Chief asked. “Listen. One of your guys—the skinhead who’s built like a weightlifter?” Shinohara said, “Toyohara, yeah,” and asked where he was. “He’s dead,” the Chief told him. Shinohara put his hand over the mouthpiece and relayed this to the others.
It seemed that Toyohara had been so delirious with excitement that he forgot to get out of the car when it stopped at the bottom of the steps, but as the convoy was leaving the occupied zone he threw a tantrum and demanded to be let off. When they stopped and let him out, he unsheathed his katana and ran straight for the Koryo soldiers at Checkpoint D. One of the soldiers shot him in the knee with his AK, and Toyohara went down. As he did so, his injured wrist gave out, turning the tip of the weapon against his chest. He literally fell on his own sword, which ran him right through. Even the Koryos seemed stunned by this. The Chief had quickly turned his bike over to another member and dragged the body into one of the cars. Before they drove away, he pulled the sword from Toyohara’s body, and “it was like openin’ a spigot—blood just gushin’ out.” But Toyohara was already dead. “I’m sorry,” were his last words, mouthed as he lay in the Chief’s arms. “That skinhead was pretty weird,” the Chief said, “but he done a helluva job.” The way he saw it, Toyohara’s performance with the samurai sword had deflected attention from the hotel. He went on to say that they didn’t want to lead the cops back to Ishihara’s place, so they’d take the body elsewhere. He also said they’d make sure Toyohara’s family was contacted, if he had any.
“I know he’s got a grandfather in Saga,” Shinohara said, before realizing he didn’t know the old man’s name. Neither did anyone else. “It wouldn’t be Toyohara Pop-Pop, would it?” somebody suggested but was ignored. Since the attack of giggles after finding the door open, Shinohara’s nerves had gone numb and unresponsive. He was no more capable of being shocked now than he was capable of laughing. “We don’t know his name or address, though,” he said into the phone. No one even knew Toyohara’s own given name, as it turned out. “I think it was Kensaku,” someone said, but the others shook their heads. Satoru, Taro, Hitoshi—several guesses were put forward, but none of them rang a bell. “No worries. We’ll take care of the burial,” the Chief said, and clicked off. Shinohara just couldn’t process the news or respond appropriately to it. They had broken inside enemy lines, and there was no room in this rush of sensations for sadness. They had too much to plan and think about right now. And it occurred to him that if he himself were to die, that too would scarcely cause a ripple at a time like this. One of eighteen remaining lights has been extinguished—it made no more impression than that. “I wonder who Toyohara was apologizing to,” Yamada muttered, but no one ventured an answer.
Five of them—Hino, Tateno, Shinohara, Kaneshiro, and Fukuda—left in search of the air-conditioning-machine room. The rest were to lie low in the shop. “I know we’ve been over this several times, but remember,” Kaneshiro told everyone in a whisper before leaving. “It’s hard to tell because we entered from the rear of the hotel, but this is the fourth floor—the same floor as the main lobby, where the Koryos come and go. The lobby is just on the other side of that wall. Whatever happens, don’t make a sound, and don’t leave this spot till we come back for you.” Kaneshiro and Fukuda stuffed their pockets with handguns and grenades and took the two daypacks with the acetylene and oxygen tanks. Hino carried another filled with four different welding and cutting torches, and Shinohara and Tateno shouldered the two backpacks full of insects. Leaving the shop, they walked down a dark corridor about two meters wide with the artificial jungle on either side. After they’d gone some distance they could see light leaking out from the gaps in the partition separating the arcade from the lobby.
The previous day Kaneshiro and Fukuda had handed out copies of their sketches of the relevant floor plans and told everyone to memorize them, but the layout of this hotel was incredibly confusing. Floors three to six, in particular, comprised a veritable labyrinth—you couldn’t tell what was connected to what, or where. Viewed from above, the hotel tower was shaped like a ship. On the Dome side of the hotel proper was a structure about the size of a soccer ground, an annex that housed a complex of shops and facilities connected by a bewildering array of corridors and stairways and escalators and elevators. On the third floor, where the Koryos had their command center, were a Christian chapel, a Japanese-style wedding room, and a number of smaller banquet rooms. The fourth floor was the most complicated of all, with the shopping arcade, the artificial jungle, and dozens of restaurants, not to mention the main lobby and front desk on the other side of that partition. Adjoining the fifth floor was a members-only gym, and the sixth opened onto a large outdoor garden with Japanese and Korean restaurants. This was the top level of the facilities annex; from the fifth floor up there was only the smooth hull of the ship-shaped tower rising skyward.
The smell of decay came from a clump of benjamin and rubber trees in the jungle. There was an enormous birdcage there, and with no one to care for them the birds had quickly died. The dimly lit lobby was visible now beyond rows of pillars. It was one in the morning. Shinohara’s view was limited, but he saw no sign that anyone was in the lobby. As they headed for the escalator that rose from the jungle, the headlights of a distant car swept over the glass doors of the lobby entrance, and the silhouette of a Koryo guard jumped into focus. His AK wasn’t slung over his shoulder but held diagonally against his chest. He was standing just outside the big front doors. For Shinohara, it was like being in a safari park and spotting his first lion. There were two sets of doors with an air curtain between. “The inner doors probably have fire shutters,” Hino whispered. Fukuda pointed at the entrance and said, “We could place the antipersonnel mines there, once all the Koryos are out.”
There was a total of four birdcages in the jungle. The birds were all large parrots, and between the bars you could see them lying on the ground with bright red, blue, and yellow feathers protruding in every direction. The smell was the particular smell produced when maggots have hatched in dead meat. The escalator to the fifth floor wasn’t moving. Kaneshiro and Fukuda took the lead, squatting on the escalator steps, hunched forward, and pushing themselves up backwards one step at a time, to keep the profiles of their backpacks beneath the railing. They had to take care not to be visible from the entrance, or from the fifth and sixth floor balconies overlooking the lobby, although the fact that the escalators weren’t moving suggested that the Koryos weren’t using those floors.
Shinohara had drunk a whole bottle of water while on the phone, but his throat was already dry again. He tried to form spit to swallow, but none came. Humping up the steps backwards, balancing a load that was nearly as big as himself, his back and buttocks and thighs began to burn. When they reached the landing, they saw that the fifth floor was in total darkness. Shinohara whispered to Kaneshiro that he was so parched he could hardly breathe. “Me too,” Kaneshiro said, rubbing his throat; and Hino, Fukuda, and Tateno nodded. Some faint light from emergency exits filtered in, but it was too dark to see their surroundings clearly. They had all gulped a lot of water in the formalwear shop and thought that would do them, so they’d economized on weight by not bringing anything to drink. Only now did they realize how stupid that was. “Anyway, let’s go on,” Hino said, jerking his chin toward the darkness. “It’s a health club for rich people. There must at least be some bottled water.”
They were in the corridor that connected the annex with the tower of guest rooms. According to the floor plan, the fitness club was at the far end of the corridor, and if you turned right from there you entered the tower. The main elevators were in the middle of the tower, but the Koryos used those. The plan was to enter the fitness club, proceed to the pool area, exit through a door at the rear, and cross the patio garden to a stairway that led to the sixth floor. They felt their way along the wall and soon came to a heavy steel door. They couldn’t see a knob or handle. Tateno caught his backpack on some sort of sign that protruded from the wall next to it and stumbled forward. He put his hand on the door to stop himself, and it swung silently open, so that he kept going and would have fallen on his face had Hino and Fukuda not grabbed his backpack from behind and held him upright. The lights of the emergency-exit signs dimly illuminated the lobby of the fitness club, which was littered with swimming suits, bathing caps, and scattered papers. The walls were adorned with what looked like ceremonial African masks of carved wood. “What’s with those things?” Fukuda said in a low voice. The masks were spooky in the pale light.
Tateno found a brochure, and they followed its simple map to the locker room. Kaneshiro nearly took a tumble at the step where you were supposed to take off your shoes. Inside were distinct areas separated by narrow rows of lockers—washrooms, toilets, showers, baths, massage rooms, and what have you. It was a bit maze-like, but they finally found their way to the pool area. Dotted around the pool were jacuzzis of various sizes. Except for the emergency-exit signs, all electricity was shut down, so the water hadn’t been circulating and was stagnant. Sticking out from the wall over one of the jacuzzis was an installation in the shape of tree roots, and the poles supporting the canopies were meant to resemble trees of the African savannah. Next to the pool was a glassed-in snack bar. Because the refrigeration was off, all of the bottled water and soft drinks were warm. They chose colas.
Beyond the pool was a glass door that led to the patio garden—a long, narrow, balcony-like strip of landscaping. This door too was open. Why didn’t the Koryos lock the doors? It must be because there was no real need to, Shinohara decided. There weren’t any Japanese who were going to try to break into the North Korean occupation army command center. Shinohara and the others crouched low, threading their way through the hedges and moving from bush to tree across ten meters or so of garden. The Dome loomed up right in front of them, like a gently rounded silver spaceship against the low clouds. There were two more jacuzzis out here and benches and deckchairs placed randomly about. Discarded towels and bathrobes lay scattered on the ground. At the far end of the garden was a flight of steps that would take them up to the sixth-floor level. From the bottom of the steps you could see Checkpoint E in the distance. They had to slip the backpacks off their shoulders, hold them tucked under one arm, and crawl up on their sides.
