The Line: Sueno and Bascom #13 (A Sergeants Sueño and Bascom Novel, Band 13) - Hardcover

Buch 13 von 15: Sergeants Sueño and Bascom

Limon, Martin

 
9781616959661: The Line: Sueno and Bascom #13 (A Sergeants Sueño and Bascom Novel, Band 13)
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 1616959665 ISBN 13: 9781616959661
Verlag: Soho Crime, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

George Sueño and Ernie Bascom return for their thirteenth outing, which takes them from Seoul to the DMZ in their most politically charged murder case yet.

The Korean Demilitarized Zone, 1970s: A battered corpse is found a few feet north of the line dividing North and South Korea. When 8th Army CID Agents George Sueño and Ernie Bascom pull the body to the South Korean side on orders from their superiors, they have no idea of the international conflict their action will spark. Before war breaks out, they must discover who killed Corporal Noh Jong-bei, a young Korean soldier working with the US Army.
 
The murderer could be on either side of the DMZ. But without cooperation between the governments involved, how can two US military agents interrogate North Korean witnesses? What George and Ernie discover gets them pulled off the case, but fearing they’ve put the wrong man behind bars, they disobey orders in an attempt to discover the truth.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Martin Limón retired from military service after twenty years in the US Army, including ten years in Korea. He is the author of thirteen other Sueño and Bascom investigations: Jade Lady Burning, Slicky Boys, Buddha’s Money, The Door to Bitterness, The Wandering Ghost, GI Bones, Mr. Kill, The Joy Brigade, The Iron Sickle, The Ville Rat, Ping-Pong Heart, The Nine-Tailed Fox, and GI Confidenital, as well as the short story collection Nightmare Range. He lives near Seattle.

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Chapter 1
 
The Imjin River rushed, gray and churning, toward the Yellow Sea. A South Korean soldier used his flashlight to check our emergency dispatch, then shouted back to his comrade, who in turn barked guttural phrases into a field radio.
     “What’s the hangup?” Ernie asked.
      “They’re worried about sabotage,” I said. “All along the DMZ.”
      “Us?” Ernie asked. “Our motives are pure.”
      “Maybe they think we’re Russian spies,” I said.
      Ernie crossed his arms. “Tell them I don’t even like vodka. Makes me puke.”
      “Which designates it as unique amongst alcoholic beverages.”
      A convoy of M48 Patton tanks rumbled up behind us, adding a layer of urgency to the guards’ discussion. Finally, the soldier on the radio walked toward us and waved his arm. “You go,” he said, motioning toward the bridge.
      “About time,” Ernie grumbled. He shoved the jeep in gear and we rolled forward.
      Freedom Bridge is narrow, only wide enough for one vehicle at a time, and the guards on either end of the bridge coordinate via field radio to control the flow of traffic. Armed soldiers in parkas, M16 rifles slung over their shoulders, paced the edge of the deck, studying us warily. In the muddy water below, basketball-sized chunks of ice swirled in the rapid current, smashing randomly into massive cement abutments. In the past, wooden boxes filled with explosives had been launched into the river from north of the Demilitarized Zone by our Communist brethren upriver. Sometimes the explosives floated harmlessly toward the Yellow Sea. Other times they hit something—or someone—and exploded, serving as a sort of North Korean forget-me-not.
      My name is George Sueño. My partner, Ernie Bascom, and I are agents for the United States Army Criminal Investigation Division in Seoul, Republic of Korea. We’d been roused out of our bunks at oh-dark-thirty by none other than the headquarters command Staff Duty Officer. He said one word: “Murder.” When I stood up, fully alert, he continued, “At the JSA. Get your butts movin’.”
      The JSA, or Joint Security Area, was also known as the truce village of Panmunjom. It was where Communist representatives of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK), better known as North Korea, met with the American-allied representatives of the Republic of Korea (ROK), or South Korea. The purpose of the meetings was to make sure that war didn’t break out again on the Korean Peninsula, as it had some twenty years ago. And that another two million people weren’t slaughtered as a result.
      When we reached the northern end of Freedom Bridge, the guards waved us on. I turned back and watched the first M48 tank in the convoy roll slowly onto the massive metal and cement edifice. On our right, we passed the US Army’s Camp Greaves and then followed the two-lane road north through uncultivated land. It was only here, near the DMZ, that nature thrived unmolested. In the rest of South Korea, every square inch of arable land was ruthlessly cultivated, but here, near the most heavily armed border in the world, wildlife flourished. On lonely night patrols, GIs liked to kid one another that the nearly extinct Siberian tiger had made a comeback in the area. No one seriously thought it was possible. Even with their sensitive paws, the giant cats would never have been able to negotiate the acres of minefields that lurked beneath the soil on either side of the line.
      I warmed my hands in front of the jeep’s small heater. It valiantly pumped out a steady flow of hot air that dissipated quickly in the canvas-covered cab. Along the side of the road, splotches of snow and ice clung to ridges of frozen mud churned up by tracked vehicles during endless maneuvers.
      A mile farther on, stanchions with signage on either side of the road warned us in English, Korean, and Chinese:
 
You are about to enter the joint security area.
Authorized personnel only.
 
      With both hands gripping the top of the steering wheel, Ernie hunched forward as if expecting to fall off a cliff. “Feels like the end of the world,” he said.
      And then, by the light of a naked bulb in a wooden guard shack, we saw them. North Korean guards, doing what they did best: glare viciously at imperialist running dogs.
      “Assholes,” Ernie growled.
      The North Koreans were outfitted in fur-lined caps, brown tunics and brown trousers, black leather belts, holstered pistols, and faces that seemed hardened into stone. One of the guards studied us through binoculars, but they didn’t try to stop us.
      About fifty yards later, we spotted the two-story cement block building called Freedom House and beyond that the rectangular, single-story JSA conference rooms, each its own blue building. The Joint Security Area was a plot of land some 800 meters in diameter. It was accessible to designated allied and Communist soldiers under a supposed flag of truce. An American soldier used the beam of his flashlight to guide us into a parking space.
     We were climbing out of the jeep when he said, “Are you CID?”
      We answered in the affirmative.
      “We’ve been waiting for you. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Brunmeyer, Battalion Commander.” He was tall and lanky and had the blue and white JSA patch sewn onto the left shoulder of his fatigues. He was also dressed for combat, with a camouflaged steel helmet secured by a leather strap that hugged his chin. Unconsciously, his right hand sat atop the .45 automatic strapped to his web belt.
      He turned and motioned for us to follow. “He’s over here.”
      As we walked, he whistled to a group of about a dozen soldiers standing on the edge of the parking area. They hoisted M16 rifles, spread out, and arrayed themselves behind us in assault formation.
      Lieutenant Brunmeyer spoke as we walked. “You are to show no hesitation. When we reach the body, I want you to do your jobs as if you’re alone and there’s no one watching you. Any sign of weakness and the North Koreans will pounce. Be efficient, be purposeful, and be bold. Any questions?”
      “Yeah,” Ernie said. “What do you mean, ‘the North Koreans will pounce’?”
      “I mean they’ve been watching the body since it was discovered, just prior to zero four hundred. So have we. Right now, it’s what you might call a standoff. They won’t touch the body because we have guns pointed at them, and we won’t touch it because they have guns pointed at us.”
      “And you want us to walk into the middle of that?” Ernie asked.
      Colonel Brunmeyer turned and studied him. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”
      Before...

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Verlag
Soho Crime
Erscheinungsdatum
2018
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1616959665
ISBN 13 
9781616959661
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
384
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Buchpark GmbH
gpsr@buchpark.de

Krügerweg 1
Trebbin
Brandenburg
14959
Deutschland

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ISBN 10:  1641290897 ISBN 13:  9781641290890
Verlag: Soho Crime, 2019
Softcover