IN ENEMY HANDS

• Document Type: CREST
• Collection: General CIA Records
• Document Number (FOIA) /ESDN (CREST): CIA-RDP68-00046R000200240006-6
• Release Decision: RIPPUB
• Original Classification: K
• Document Page Count: 4
• Document Creation Date: December 23, 2016
• Document Release Date: March 19, 2014
• Sequence Number: 6
• Publication Date: December 6, 1958
• Content Type: OPEN SOURCE

IPIP177 ?
r 71
nrn 'C 1-11C 0
Declassified in Part - Sanitized Copy Approved for Release @ 50-Yr 2014/03/19: CIA-RDP68-00046R000200240006-6
yt_)31
ti,NE
By PAT FRANK
Across the truce table
an American and a Chinese
Communist officer matched
wits for a prisoner's life.
Major Cabel, a spare, weathered soldier with
less rank than his years warranted, waited for
his jeep outside his billet in the American
Embassy compound in Seoul. Under his trench
coat he wore his best green uniform and all his
ribbons. He was dressed for his last trip to
Panmunjom, and probably the last duty of his
career. From his shoulder hung a musette bag
of ancient issue with sandwiches and coffee for
his lunch. Concealed under the sandwiches
was a package for Colonel Han, a graduate of
Stanford, but an officer of the Chinese Army
and his opposite number on the other, the
Communist, side.
For eight months Cabel had represented the
United Nations in what were still called "truce
negotiations," a reminder that the hardy
spores of war, sown so lavishly in the years
1950-53, were only dormant. An armistice
'was not a peace. The spores of war, watered
with the blood of many nations and fertilized
with hatred, were not even officially dead.
There were "incidents," and that is why
negotiators still met at Panmunjom, a narne
and place most people had long forgotten.
"Espionage," Han replied to Major Cabel's question.
Round Eyes Soo?her first name translated
into Dawn Wind, but everyone called her
Round Eyes?appeared, as Cabel knew she
would. Each morning she came to see him off,
and he nourished her hope. Each evening he
found her waiting when he returned with his
inevitable bad news. Miss Soo was a translator
in the United ' States Information Service
office. She was also Paul Culligan's girl. One
day she might become Paul's wife, if the Com-
munists ever released him. It could be two
years, or twenty years, or never. Paul was the
young USIS assistant who had been aboard
an Air Force liaison plane that had crash-
landed north ' of the thirty-eighth parallel.
Cabel had persuaded the Communists to re-
lease the pilot, who had lost his bearings on a
night flight from Suwon to Seoul, but the
Commies were holding Paul Culligan as a spy.
Miss Soo crossed the cobbled lane to Cabel's
side. Like many Korean girls, she was beauti-
ful by any standards, east or west. Her butter-
scotch-colored skin was flawless, her smile
swift, her teeth fine. She wore a high-collared
sheath of silvery (Continued on Page 64)
f.,
L--
"
Declassified in Part - Sanitized Copy Approved for Release
? .40100114
_
?
50-Yr 2014/03/19: CIA-RDP68-00046R000200240006-6
Declassified in Part - Sanitized Copy Approved for Release @ 50-Yr 2014/03/19: CIA-RDP68-00046R000200240006-6
?4.
and You Give the Finest!
?
Sunbeam Electric Tools
...The Modern Gift for Men
The most useful gift for any home ... it's really
a gift for the whole family! Highest quality
accessories make drilling, polishing, grind-
ing, buffing, sanding and hundreds of other
jobs fun for everyone. The powerful, cool-
running Sunbeam Drillmaster Drill does
every job faster, easier.
Drillmaster Drill Kits from $29.95 to $47.95
Drillmaster Drills from $25.95 to $42.50
Made
by
famous for Mixmaster, Shavemaster, etc.
Sunbeam Corporation, Dept. 84, Chicago 50, III.;
Canada: Toronto 18
For the nose
with a cold...
?
? ? /
N.
tzteakei
RELIEF IN SECON,DS
Coldene Nasal Spray IS, a new
fast-acting formula'. It opens up stuffed-
up nose and dries sniffles of a cold, al-
lergy or sinus passage congestion', Per-
mitt normal breathing in seconds.',
?
?
?
6'
?
?
?
coldeni
NASAL
SPRAY
Sc
ANTI-ALLERGIC ? ANTIHISTAMINIC ? ANTIBIOTIC
Specify RAY/1ft
Be Smart
AUTO
e ACCESSORIES
for the Co tat gook_
? RAYLINE LICENSE PLATE FRAMES
? RAYLINE SAFETY SEAT BELTS
? RAYLINE GUIDE POSTS
On Sale At Your Favorite Car Dealer ,
INTERNATIONAL MANUFACTURING CO.
Roxbury 19, Massachusetts ? U.S.A.
"t
of St
but
credenti
got on the
As the fid
in the FBI
that the forger
copying the si
credit cards. To t
of different names
written by the same
clerks are seldom han
and Goldreyer, with hi'
and talk, knew how to div"
tion at the right moment. S
took unnecessary risks; occa
was questioned or challenged.'
case he did not stay to parley. t
reassuring word that he would "straigi
that out at once," he would stroll toy)
the manager's office, then detour into t
street and away. He is a master of the fas
stroll.
He got away with it for nearly four
months. On November eighth and ninth
he was busily cashing checks in San Fran-
cisco, using credentials he had scooped
up in Portland, Oregon. His usual rule
was two days per city. For some reason,
he decided to risk one more day in San
Francisco. Early in the morning of No-
vember tenth word had come of the wal-
lets stolen in Portland. This time the law,
so often close on his heels, was waiting
for him at the cashiers' windows.
When arrested, he had just $1523 left
of the tens of thousands he had taken.
Where had the rest gone? Investigators
backtracking on his travels found that
Goldreyer, however erratic his swoops
around the map, periodically took time
out for stopovers in such gambling cen-
ters as Las Vegas or Reno. After the
nervous strain of the locker rooms and.
cashiers' windows, he compulsively sought
surcease in the gambling houses, prefer-
ably at the blackjack table. Possibly thiNf,
relieved him of his nervous tensions; cell'
tainly?by the law of averages and
house percentage?it relieved him
bankroll.
The net of his activities wa us like
that of the oriental corm ant. This
aquatic bird darts about under' water with
?,.ftinazing,speed,,catching, .in.his,large
bill:But he diies- not get ?$ sArallow"themT.
When. he surfaces:his aster;the Chinese
fishermall, deftly e& acts the`,fishsfrom
the bird's-bill. Go reyer playedqhepart
of cormoiant the'. gambling table's
fishermen.
a water bug. Country clubs, warned
is doings, inclined to the view that
couldn't happen in our club." Lists
n credit cards were sent to hotels,
dreyer would show up with
so fresh that .they hadn't yet
ts.
of bad checks was studied
oratory, it was evident
s no Jim the Penman at
tures shown on the
xpert eye the scores
the checks were
d. But cashiers'
riting experts,
sy assurance
their atten-
etimes he
ally he
such
'th a
en
his
THE
tenced him to a maximum of three addi-
tional years at,...McNeil Island.
When he Nva. transferred from San
Quentin to McNeil, he made a moving
plea to the Federal authorities. He ad-
mitted his long record, his many grievous
and foolish errors. But psychiatry teaches,
he argued, that some people mature more
slowly than others. "Some come of age
in their forties rather than at twenty-
one." He was such a person. He was now
mature. If sentence could just be sus-
pended, "I am capable of coping with
my problems and serving as a useful
member of society." Despite its novelty,
the plea failed to convince. He was not
released from McNeil till February, 1956.
If I tried to detail his story from here
on, it would sound like a stuck phono-
graph record. Again a respectable job in
the fabrics business; again the initial en-
thusiastic reports about his abilities; and
then, after four months, the sudden dis-
appearance, followed by a rash of bad
checks passed in Western states. There
SATURDAY
EVENING POST
Mexico and Cuba, but there is no evi-
dence that she knew of his criminal a'c-
tivities. Apparently she thought his ina/y
mysterious trips concerned costly fabrics
rather than worthless paper.
In Mexico his favorite cooling-off-place
was Cuernavaca. He posed therand was
accepted, as an American textilt manu-
facturer planning to expand lai3eperations
into Mexico City. On Janu ''j, 2, 1957, a
hotel executive in CuernavNa was glanc-
ing over the Decembe 15ulletin of the
American Hotel Ass, lation. His eye
caught, and lingere 'ficredulously over,
the photo of a n rious forger named
Goldreyer. Why t was his prosperous
new acquainta ''' e, the big textile man.
Next day the4Mexican police had Gold-
reyer aboard., n outgoing plane as an un-
desirable len. The FBI were waiting for
him at, edo, Texas.
Who- he was arraigned in court, Gold-
rey as a touching picture of injured
ini1cence. A terrible mistake of identity
jed been made. Bond, first set at $10,000,
,Aas reduced to $5000. He raised the
'e money, partly?by means of telegrams to
trusting new friends in Mexico. He posted
the bail, promptly jumped it and dis-
appeared again. For nine more months
his trail waxed hot and grew cold?New
York and California, New Orleans and
Chicago, Atlanta and Salt Lake City,
Washington and Indianapolis.
In October, FBI agents, questioning a
United States Customs official in Florida,
is time the FBI learned that a man answering Goldreyer's
style quickly. In description had sailed for 'Cuba. Fresh
ha rental car, re- warnings were sent to the Cuban police.
o Airport, was Two weeks later a Havana detective
osing list of spotted him in an expensive hotel?at the
e stationery blackjack table. Next morning the FBI
reyer had were waiting for him at the Miami Air-
port. This time his bail was set at $70,000.
tective His lawyer managed a wan smile.
tures "Does the court want that in cash," he
heir asked, "or would you prefer Mr. Gold-
reyer's check?" .
From then on, it was simply a matter
;.
of the law's taking its course, in Federal
d state courts. The evidence was over-
elming. There was nothing open to
reyer except pleas of guilty, prom-
reform and requests for leniency.
photos.
,:es and prosecutors feel that the
sentencea,imposed?described earlier in
This time Goldreyer?because more this articwere extremely lenient. But
nd_probation officers, per-
eye'? ?" iiiiiige'm atirre'Of
na,ibelieWthal`he can -?c"- . l-.....
lik ,
on the Latin-Americans. This periodically . ',` "Maybe so," sa Are veteran sleuth
cocilecl the trail$,Nlien lie.),Iieeded mbre who has. followed reyer's trail off
.
money, he slippedThadk int'Othe United and on since 1949. "$t when he gets
States'for his fast-moving raids on clubs out, in five or six years,levlyrbody watch
ed, almost
d of miss
is own
the
'ping
of fo
e .
SSACK
were a few varia
spotted his hand
further confirmatip
covered at San
found to co in an
country club , written on
of the lab firm where
been wortng.
The
agen
and
I and the hotel
s sent out thousands of
escriptions of Goldreyer. T
peration he continued to move a
s freely as before, sometimes bol
cashing checks at windows where h
could see his own picture displayed in
warning. He wore no disguise, but appar-
ently the clerks did not connect the well- o
dressed gentleman at the window with ises
the dejected features shown in the police Dete
.....;:rriature:1?=too1longerjaysLfis. Ilswsnt some j_usIgle
thenfin Mexico " Cuba-,;tO thje
gambling houses in tho'se' countries. So good'and'bid t
far as known, he did ncii\pas.bad checks ' yet ref6rfrik.
When he s arrested in San Francisco,
the Califo ia authoritiei; exercising first
claim, nt him back to San Quentin
as a c k forger and parole violator. In
19531he was taken to Washington, D. C.,
he Federal charges of sending bad
ecks across state lines. The court sen-
and hotels. their credit cards." He'
In
In July' of 1956 Goldreyer 'married a wistfully, "You know,
young woman of good education and the fellow. Nobody like him
family background. (A brief earlier mar- queer racket. And when he's
riage had been annulled while he was in loose, you can count on things po
prison.) His bride accompanied him to all over the map."
In Enemy Hands (Continued from Page 37)
blue, slit down the side for ease of move-
ment, under a flaring blue cloak. She
moved with a dancer's grace and her
body was lithe and rounded, like a
swimmer's.
"Good morning, Round Eyes," Cabel
greeted her During the Korean War it
had been the fashion for the seikses?
Seoul's teen-age girls?to have a minor
operation performed on their eyelids. It
required only the flick of a scalpel and a
few thousand whan, a dollar or two at
black-market rates. Thus their eyes were
no longer almond-shaped, but very like,
the eyes of the Hollywood stars. She had
had this done, so now everyone in the
compound called her Round Eyes. This
delighted her, for she knew that when
Americans gave a girl a nickname it was
because they were aware of her, and liked
her.
"Good morning, major," she said. He
noticed that today she had no smile for
him. "I hear you are going back to Amer-
ica. You will be with your family at
Christmas. I'm so sorry. But I know you
must be happy."
"Happy?" Given fair westerly tail
winds, he would be back in the warm
Texas sun, in his own home, in seventy-
two hours. Being with his wife and chil-
dren at Christmas was a miracle for
which he had not even dared hope. Yet
he was not happy at all. He was gravely
troubled. The order relieving him from
duty at Panmunjom had been a certifi-
cate of failure. The United States Infor-
mation Agency and State were pressuring
Defense, not unnaturally, and Defense
was pressuring Army. So in the Pentagon
a general had decided that if their man
at Panmunjom couldn't spring Paul Cul-
ligan, then the man should be replaced.
At least this would show that Army
was doing (Continued .on Page 67)
Declassified in Part - Sanitized Copy Approved for Release @ 50-Yr 2014/03/19: CIA-RDP68-00046R000200240006-6
Declassified in Part - Sanitized Copy Approved for Release
('Continued from Page 64) something.
Of his unhappiness, Cabel decided not to
speak.
"I'm sorry you're leaving," Round
Eyes said. "It is not only because you
have been a good friend, and very pa-
tient, but also because I feel?I know?
that if anybody can get Paid back it is
_:ou. You understand the Chinese."
Cabel said, "I thought I did. Now I'm
not sure."
"This Chinese colonel, is he tough?"
"Not tough." Cabel rapped the stone
curb with the steel tip of his cane. "Hard,
like that."
"Then you don't think that maybe to-
day??"
He said what was necessary. "All I can
do is hope, and try. I always do my best.
I will do a little extra today." He thought
of the package in his kit. "It is perhaps not
as important for me as for you, but it is
still very important."
The jeep rounded the corner and
pulled up to the curb with Sergeant
Slazinger, one of the embassy's Marine
Corps guards, driving. Cabel walked to
the jeep, limping very slightly, and
climbed in. He put his weight on the cane
and favored the foot. The foot was arti-
ficial. On cold, damp days it annoyed him,
throbbing although the real foot was not
there.
"I pray for you," Round Eyes said,
"in both languages."
They started. The sergeant said, "I
hear you're leavin' us, major."
"That's right. Where'd you hear it?"
"My steady told me."
"Where'd she get it?"
"From her girl friend. Her girl friend's
the steady of one of the code clerks."
"You've got great security around
here."
Slazinger said, "It ain't exactly a top-
secret item, major, that would imperil
and endanger the national safety."
"You're so right," Cabel admitted.
All it imperiled was the well-being of a
single family?one man, one woman,
three children ready for college. He had
been assigned duty at Panmunjom for one
year, and he had been relieved in eight
months, the orders indicating no further
assignment. Right at this time, forced re-
tirement was a personal disaster. Four
years ago he would have been under
forty, and it would have been simpler to
start a new career. Four years hence, he
would receive adequate retirement pay,
enough to see the children through col-
lege. He doubted that he would get four
years, or even four months, after the
Culligan failure. Of what use was a foot
soldier without a foot, except in such spe-
cialifed duty as Panmunjom? Of course,
he would have his disability pension. It
wouldn't be enough.
As for a job. He had a B.A. from Wash-
ington and Lee, but World War II had
arrived before he could really start any-
thing. He knew nothing except war. He
was familiar with explosives?the old-
fashioned, non-nuclear type. He could
blow a bridge, but not build one. He
could clear a mine field, but he couldn't
grow a crop. He was a man-at-arms, with
a certain flair for languages, and hobbies
of doubtful utility in the business world,
such as an interest in Oriental civiliza-
tions. Finally, he was happy with his pro-
fession, and he did not care to leave it.
They followed the regular route, past
the Zoo and the Confucian Institute and
through the ruined walls of the old city
and then up the hills and north along the
ancient invasion route. Many barbarians
had come to Seoul this way. They passed
landmarks remembered from Cabel's
first tour of duty in Korea?a burned-out
Russian T-34 with a tree growing out of
its turret, an antiquated watch tower
@ 50-Yr 2014/03/19: CIA-RDP68-00046R000200240006-6
which had been a handy observation
post, a ravine his battalion had held until
driven back by the devilishly accurate
Chinese mortar fire. They passed signs,
faded and sagging, that told of forgotten
feats of arms by units that no longer ex-
isted. THIS BRIDGE ERECTED BY THE
1104TH ENGINEERS. You ARE Now EN-
TERING BUNZAN?COURTESY THE WOLF-
HOUNDS. They passed graves.
They came to the shell-pocked village
of Munsan-ni, where a base camp had
been erected for the original armistice
negotiations. The press train still stood on
its siding, tethered to earth by a maze of
telephone and telegraph wires. The wires
drooped and carried no messages. The
train's windows were broken, its paint
peeling, wood rotting, and it housed and
fed no correspondents. Once it had been
the busiest and most important Press
center in the world. Now Panmunjom
was of importance only to a few people?
Culligan, his family, his friends, his girl,
and Maj. Andr?abel and family, and,
in a different way, to a number of officials
in Washington, Peiping, Moscow, Seoul,
and Pyongyang.
They drove on, and crossed Freedom
Bridge, over the Imjin. Off to the left
somewhere, at that red-clay embank-
ment, he had crossed the Imjin without
aid of bridges, and a few minutes later he
had almost bought it. Beyond the em-
bankment, or. that knoll, he had traded
his right foot for a Purple Heart and
assorted other decorations. He had never
thought it a bad deal, and did not now.
His battalion had established a bridge-
head, and the bridgehead had been im-
portant.
Slazinger said, "I hear you got hit
somewhere around here?"
"Yes. 1 did. Right over there, on that
knoll."
"I didn't sign up until it was almost
over. I was in high school when all that
stuff was flying around here."
Cabel was a little startled that anyone
could have been in high school during the
Korean War and now be a sergeant. He
counted back. Why, in World War II,
which didn't seem so long ago, the ser-
geant had been in kindergarten! Then he
realized that it wasn't that the sergeant
was so young. It was that he himself was
getting old.
Slazinger said, "All the boys are sorry
you're leaving, major. They thought you
knew your stuff. How did you pull this
bum duty anyway?"
"I was picked by a machine, I sup-
pose," Cabel said. "I believe that's the
way G-1 operates nowadays. They want
a man with certain qualifications and they
tell the qualifications to the machine. The
machine flips out a card, and there's the
man. In this case, they wanted someone
who had languages, and knew something
about Chinese psychology and Commu-
nist dogma, and who had been in Korea.
The machine may have made a mistake."
"Machines are smarter than people,"
Slazinger said positively. "Before they
relieved you, they ought to have talked to
that machine again. I think you're getting
a bum rap, major. We all do, all us
marines."
"Thanks, sergeant," Cabel said. Per-
haps he hadn't been picked by the ma-
chine after all, he thought. Perhaps they
simply didn't know what else to do with
him.
They drove on, presently passing ROK
troops, on foot, who waved and grinned.
On the hill to the right Cabel noted a
ROK howitzer emplacement, poorly cam-
ouflaged. When the shooting stopped, all
troops were prone to carelessness. Then
they saw the four balloons, swaying on
their cables, that marked the perimeter of
Panmunjom. The truce sanctuary was
only a mythical circle, a thousand yards
in diameter, in a valley that was still no
man's land.
They drove past the handful of crum-
bling, uninhabited huts that had once?
been the village of Panmunjom, so small
that it was not even a dot on large-
scale military maps. Panmunjom meant,
literally, "Inn With the White Door."
Cabel had never been able to decide which
of these shacks had been the inn. They
were all tiny, unpainted, and none had
doors.
They drove to the bungalow in the
exact center of the cirele. It was .still
called The Tent because back in '51,
when negotiations began, only a tent had
stood on this spot. The bungalow's walls
were neatly woven of rattan and bamboo,
and fitted with picture windows. From
these windows, it was possible to see the
red-brown trenches snaking over the
L
"I'd recommend the Veal Scallopini?
with a bottle of wine to kill the taste."
? THE SATURDAY EVENING POST
/- ?
4-00
--F,eyey0,
67
barren terrain. Once, through these win-
dows, the men who talked of peace had
simultaneously been able to watch the
war, an eerie experience.
Altogether, it was a lonely and historic
place, a place of legend and fable, fragile
as the dust devils chasing each other over
the eroded hills. Cabel remembered that
many others, including admirals and
generals of famous reputation, had found
no victory here either. Panmunjom was a
place of evil name, a graveyard of careers.
there's the colonel's car," Slazinger
said. "The big Chinese cheese beat us
here today." He meant Colonel Han.
There were five members on each truce
team, but unless there were fresh inci-
dents, or an agreement to be signed, the
tedious task of daily meetings was left to
Cabel and Han.
Several other cars were pulled up
alongside the bungalow, cars bearing the
insignia of the Korean governments,
South and North. These were the cars of
the official interpreters, but since Han
spoke English perfectly, and Cabel spoke
Mandarin fairly well, no interpreters
were needed, or used. They appeared on
meeting days, and vanished after a time,
the South Koreans back to Munsan-ni,
the North Koreans to the Communist
base camp at Kaesong. What they did in
these villages was their own business. It
was not strange that while the dispute
ostensibly was between Koreans, one
side should be represented by an Amer-
ican and the other by a Communist
Chinese, for the dispute eventually had
encompassed the whole world, and con-
ceivably could again. Cabel and Han did
not so much represent sovereign states
as states of mind.
Cabel, using his cane and escorted by
Slazinger, limped to The Tent. Every-
thing was exactly as before, as it had been
yesterday, as it had been eight months
ago, on his first trip to Panmunjom. The
meeting room was dominated by the
baize-covered, oblong conference table,
eighteen feet long. On the table were a
few ash trays and two tiny flags, a Com-
munist flag on the east, the U.N. flag on
the west, which was as it should be.
Han was already seated. He was smok-
ing an American cigarette and chatting
with two North Korean officers. Han
rose, saluted, and Cabel returned the
salute. Captain Pak, the chief South
Korean interpreter, said, "Sir, will you
be needing us today?"
"No. Thank you, Captain Pak."
The interpreters disappeared. Sergeant
Slazinger left, closing the door behind
him. Slazinger would join Han's driver,
swap candy bars for vile Pyongyang beer,
and they would lunch together and con-
verse in pidgin Japanese and sign lan-
guage.
Now that Cabel and Han were alone,
a brief formality was traditional and nec-
essary in accordance with the armistice
agreement. They sat in their proper chairs,
the heads-of-delegation chairs, with arm
rests, once occupied by American generals
and admirals, and Red generals, at the
table's center. They sat erect, face to face,
across the spotted, fading green cloth.
Cabel began it. "Does your side have
anything to bring up today?"
Han smiled. "Nothing." Colonel Han
was younger than Cabel. He was a large
man, as tall as Cabel but broader, and
deep of chest. He wore North Korean as
well as Chinese insignia, for officially he
was technical adviser to the North Ko-
rean People's Army. He was a good, per-
haps a brilliant soldier, in Cabel's esti-
mate. Soon, doubtless, he would have a
promotion. In any army he was general-
officer caliber. Even now he exercised
more power and political influence than
he displayed on (Continued on Page 69)
?
Declassified in Part - Sanitized Copy Approved for Release @ 50-Yr 2014/03/19: CIA-RDP68-00046R000200240006-6
Declassified in Part - Sanitized Copy Approved for Release @ 50-Yr 2014/03/19: CIA-RDP68-00046R000200240006-6
(Continued from Page 67) his shoulders.
Officially, a North Korean general was
head of the Communist delegation. But
it was Han who made the Communist
decisions, subject to ratification in Pyong-
yang and Peiping.
It was now Han's turn. He said; "Does
your side have anything new to present ?"
After eight months, Cabel knew Han?
his character, his idiosyncrasies, his man-
nerisms and tricks of speech?almost as
well as he had ever known any man. By
the use of the word "new" Han had just
told him that the Communist position on
Paul Culligan was unchanged, and dis-
cussion useless. Cabel decided to evade
an immediate rejection, if possible. Once
Joe?they had been on a first-name basis
for some time, and at Stanford Han's
nickname had been Joe?said nye!, then
Joe could not reverse himself. To do so
would be damaging to pride and face.
Joe was Communist by adoption, and as
a Communist he could change tactics
and eat his words with cynical ease and
speed. But Joe had been born Chinese,
of proud and ancient family, and he was
Chinese first and to the marrow.
So Cabel did not make a formal re-
quest, as he had every meeting day for
seven weeks. He knew it would be in-
stantly rejected, and after that there
would be nothing to do but play gin until
it was time to return to Seoul. Summary
rejection would make it impossible to
carry through his plan successfully. In-
stead he said, "Joe, you know in your
heart that boy's not a spy."
Han looked at the end of his cigarette.
"Communist Chinee hava no heart.
Don't you know that, Andr?Me in-
scrutable, heartless Chinee."
"It isn't funny, Joe," Cabel said.
"We've been through all this before, but
you know as well as I do what spies are.
When your side sends a spy south of
thirty-eight do you send a blond, blue-
eyed Russian? Of course not. You send
a Korean because one Korean looks and
talks like another Korean, and a man's
politics is not tattooed on his forehead.
And if we're interested in something
north of thirty-eight we don't send a pink-
cheeked, all-American boy who doesn't
even speak the language, and infiltrate
him by crashing his aircraft."
- Joe Han kept .on smiling. "Culligan
had a camera on him, a very good one.
Japanese copy of a German design."
"Sure. Who doesn't carry a camera on
his first assignment overseas? I'll bet that
when you developed the film all you
found were the topographical features of
he girl, which incidentally are very nice.
She's a Korean girl, you know." When-
ever he mentioned Culligan's girl, Cabel
emphasized that she was Korean. Han's
principal, perhaps his only, antipathy
for the United States was based on
color prejudice, real or fancied. Cabel
guessed there might be a few unpleasant
or embarrassing memories from Han's
years in California.
Han opened the table drawer and
brought out a pack of cards.
Cabel persisted. "You know what Cul-
ligan's job really is, don't you?"
"Espionage," Han said firmly.
"He is assistant librarian at the Amer-
ican library in Seoul. O.K., he's a
propagandist. But he's not a spy. Also,
he's a minor poet. Some of his poems
have even been published."
Joe Han shuffled the cards. "Only yes-
terday I discovered he was a poet. That's
what he's been doing in his room?note
that I said 'room,' not cell. He is being
well treated. You know, do unto others....
Well, yesterday he invited me to read
some of his poems. All his poems are
about one person?a girl he calls Round
Eyes. Is that the girl?"
"That's her."
Han's smile vanished. He spoke coldly.
"Korean girls don't have round eyes. All
Asiatics have eyes like mine."
Cabel's heart sank. He thought he had
been making progress, creating sym-
pathy. Now, he was worse off than be-
fore. Nevertheless, he told of the fad
among Seoul's young girls, back in the
war years, of the operation on the eye-
lids. And he said, "There must have been
pictures of her in his camera."
"As a matter of fact," Han admitted,
"all the pictures in Culligan's camera did
show a Korean girl, no matter what the
background was. When I get back to
Pyongyang I will look closely, and see
whether she has round eyes. Come to
think of it, I believe she did."
"So you must know, Joe, that he isn't
a spy."
"Of course I know that kid isn't a spy.
But Pyongyang thinks he's a spy and
Peiping thinks he's a spy and I am only
a colonel."
Cabel made a key move in his game of
psychological chess. "I know that you can
handle Pyongyang, and convince Peiping,
but that isn't the capital that decides, is it,
Joe? Isn't there another place, called
Moscow?"
Colonel Han's chin moved forward an
extra inch, and a muscle balled at the
base of his jaw. "Come on," he said.
"Time's awastin'. Let's play gin." He
extended the cards, "Cut for deal."
Cabel knew that for the moment it was
inadvisable to press Han further. He was
simply loosening the soil, and replanting
the seed. Perhaps there would be no re-
ward, or it would come late, to be reaped
by his replacement, an Air Force light
colonel presently teaching in Tokyo. Han
must feel sympathy for Culligan, for
Culligan loved an Asiatic and Culligan
was a poet. Colonel Han, Cabel knew,
also was something of a poet, in a secret
way. And Cabel was certain, from past
silences as well as words, that Han re-
sented Russian authority, interference
and domination. So Cabel said, "O.K.
Let's play gin. How do we stand?"
"You're still ahead by sixty-three hun-
dred yen." Eight months ago, when the
gin marathon started, they' had set the
stakes in a neutral currency.
Cabel cut, and won the deal. It was
now essential that he lose the_sixty,three__
hundred yen.
From the first, Cabel had known he was
the better player and had won consistently.
Then he discovered that the more he won
at gin the fewer arguments he won over
the conference table. Han became short-
tempered and abrupt, and Cabel realized
that Han was losing face, which was more
important than the money. Thereafter,
Cabel managed to lose as often as he
won; Han's disposition improved, and
Cabel obtained more concessions from
the other side. By the end of this session
they must be even, so that Han would owe
him nothing whatsoever.
So Cabel played very badly. His gin
was abysmal. After an hour they stopped
for lunch, Cabel sharing his sandwiches,
Han his rice and chicken. Han seemed
worried. He said, "Something's wrong
with your rummy today, Andr?
"Just bad luck."
Han shook his head. "No. Nou're not
yourself. What's up?"
Cabel hesitated, pretending reticence.
Then he put down his cup and said, "I
don't see why I shouldn't tell you, Joe.
You'll know Monday anyway. I'm being
relieved. I have been replaced. You'll have
a new gin partner next week."
"I am very sorry, Andr?I am sincerely
sorry."
"I believe you, Joe." Cabel did believe
him. "Come on, let's play. This is your
last chance to get even, Joe. Make the
most of it."
By three o'clock Cabel had managed
to lose the sixty-three hundred yen. He
sighed and tossed the cards on the table
and said, "I guess that's it, Joe. Don't
feel up to any more. My brain isn't work-
ing today. We finish all square. You don't
owe me a thing."
"Right," Han said. "All square."
Cabel rose and stretched. "It hasn't
been all bad, has it, Joe, these eight
months? Give and take. As you said, do
unto others. . . . I think maybe we did
better than they do at the foreign min-
isters' level, or the summit. I have appre-
ciated your patience, your companion-
ship?I shall even say your friendship. I
wish to show my appreciation."
Han laughed. "You have?by always
holding kings."
"Something more than that. I remem-
ber, during football season, that you said
you wished you had a radio that would
pick up the Armed Forces Network, so
you could listen to some of the games,
and the good jazz concerts."
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
Aspiration
By Charles Lee
Afloat
On the blue tide
Of dawn,
Spirit-stretched,
Men can touch infinity.
Drifting down
That airy sea
Of intuitions
Toward sunlit ports
And unmapped knowings
Too radiant
For speech.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
Cabel reached into his musette bag and
brought out the package, no longer than
his hand and not much thicker. He
handed it across the table. He said,
"Open it." _
Colonel Han hefted the package, half
frowning, quizzical lines around his eyes.
"Booby trap? Plastic explosive?"
"If it is, I go up with you. Go ahead,
open it."
Han opened it, his fingers fast and deft.
It was a transistor radio, a very good one,
carefully made, its case Chinese red and
gold. Han held it in both hands as care-
fully as if it were a Ming vase.
"I remember you saying your side
didn't have this type radio yet. Picked it
up in the compound P.X. Wasn't expen-
sive. It's adjusted to the A.F. N. frequencies.
Notice the little earphone that comes with
it. Just slip it over your ear and you can
listen without disturbing anyone else."
Han examined the earphone. Cabel
wondered whether, if this act became
known, he would rate a court-martial. But
if Churchill, across "the havoc of war,"
could publicly compliment Rommel, cer-
tainly he could present a radio to Colonel
Han. Even if the gift accomplished noth-
ing else, it would provide Han with
American news as well as the football
play-by-play. It would spread his side's
story.
Han wet his lips with his tongue. He
said, "I can't take it."
"Certainly you can take it. You must
take it. Can you refuse a gift from one
who calls himself friend?"
Han still held the radio. "It is true that
I can't insult a friend by refusing a gift-
69
and you have been a friend, Andr?And
yet I cannot take it."
"Why not?"
Han spoke angrily. "Because I have
nothing to give you in return."
"I don't want anything," Cabel said.
"This is just a little token, a remem-
brance. Do not consider it a gift. Until the
world is better. Then, if you wish, you
may call it a gift, and give me something
in return."
"When the world is better? When will
that be?" Han plugged in the thin cord
of the earphone, tried it, and smiled.
Han put the radio down on the table,
gently. "I'm going to take a chance,
Andr?I'm going to give you a present in
return. At least, I think I can give you this
present. I will give you Paul Culligan.
They won't like it in Pyongyang, but I
can handle the Korean general. Peiping
may scream, but after the North Koreans
agree, they'll have to go along. As for
Moscow, I don't give a hang what
they say. I mean it, Andr?I am all
Chinese."
"Thank you very much for Paul Cul-
ligan," Cabel said softly. "I know you
will be able to do it. Yes, indeed, Joe, I
agree you are all Chinese."
When he returned to Seoul, at dusk,
Round Eyes was there, in front of the
billet, waiting. She saw his face and be-
fore he could get out of the jeep she said,
"You have done it! They are going to
send him back!"
For his own sake, and the girl's, Cabel
could not allow himself to be optimistic,
beyond the facts. He said, "I think there
is a chance." He crawled out of the jeep
stiffly, his foot aching and throbbing. He
stretched, and told her what had oc-
curred.
She listened and asked a question. "Do
you trust him?"
Cabel was thoughtful. "I trust him."
He went to his quarters, typed a dispatch
to the Pentagon and packed.
Major Cabel was in his home in Hous-
ton, a week later, when it was announced
that Paul Culligan had been freed at
Panmunjom. A few days thereafter Cabel
received orders to report to the Pentagon
at once.
The two-star general in G-1 was apolo-
getic. "There's been an awful flap around
here about recalling you from Panmun- ?
jom," he said. "Everybody agrees that
you did a wonderful job in the Culligan
case. Took us off a very hot spot. Gives
the Army a lot of face. Shows that we
produce the kind of officer who can
handle delicate diplomatic duties. In some
parts of the world the diplomatic end is
becoming as important as anything else
we do. Strange thing is I can't find any-
body who will admit responsibility for
yanking you out of Korea. It must've
been the machine."
"Oh, yes," Cabel said. "The machine."
"The computer keeps track of all
officers sent overseas, and on temporary
duty, and lets us know when their assign-
ments are completed. This time he made
a mistake, only it turned out not to be a
mistake at all, because we need a man
with your talents and capabilities in
Bangkok right away."
"Wonderful city, )Bangkok."
"It's a three-year tour of duty," the
general said. "You can take your family."
"That's fine."
"The computer says you're the ideal
officer for the job. The T.O. calls for a
colonel, but I'm afraid we can't shove you
up two grades because of the foot. It's
a very responsible, important mission."
Major Cabel hesitated, but only for a
second. He said, "I'll take it, sir." He
saluted and left, trying not to limp.
THE END
Declassified in Part - Sanitized Copy Approved for Release @ 50-Yr 2014/03/19: CIA-RDP68-00046R000200240006-6