The Target (25 page)

R
OBIE AND REEL HAD BEEN
heading back to Robie’s apartment after their meeting with Blue Man when they received an urgent summons from him to come immediately to the White House.

They were escorted through security with record speed and led to the Situation Room complex’s small conference room. It was unusual for people like them to be allowed in here, but they had been told that the president was going out of town that morning and needed to meet quickly and in relative secrecy.

Blue Man was already there when they arrived. He had phoned them on the way in.

“Care to brief us before the man arrives?” said Reel.

“I’m as much in the dark as you,” admitted Blue Man. “I don’t believe this went through official channels. I was surprised to get the call.”

“Meaning spur of the moment?” observed Robie.

“I was told spur of the
breakfast
. At least that’s when the president apparently had an epiphany that he now wants to discuss with us.”

“And not Evan Tucker?” noted Reel. “He’s still DCI, for better or worse. Well, worse, actually.”

“I don’t believe he is attending, no. In fact, it seems his days at CIA may be numbered.”

“And the president asked for us specifically?” said Reel, taking a seat next to Blue Man while Robie hovered near the door.

Blue Man spread his hands. “You would not be here otherwise, nor would I. This is not a place you get to visit unless summoned.”

Reel abruptly stood, as did Blue Man, when President Cassion strode into the room, alone. One of his aides shut the door behind him after a resentful look at the other occupants of the room. Apparently the president’s team was not pleased about being cut out of this meeting.

Cassion said, “Thank you for coming. I don’t have much time, so let’s get down to it.”

He sat and so did the others.

“To the point, we have learned that General Pak had an adopted son and daughter. They’re now grown. They have been sent to a labor camp within North Korea in retaliation for what Pak did.”

He stopped talking for a moment as the others stared pointedly at him.

Cassion looked first at Reel and then at Robie. “You were sent to France to kill Pak. I know this. You didn’t have to carry out that assignment because he committed suicide, in your presence.”

“That’s correct, sir,” said Robie.

“And his last words were to tell me to go to hell?”

Reel nodded but said nothing.

“And to save his family,” added the president.

“Yes,” said Robie. “It’s all in our report.”

The president sat back with a resigned air. “The fact of the matter is I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself for what happened. I sat in this very room and gave General Pak my word that I would not abandon him, no matter what happened. I did not keep my word. On the contrary, I authorized his death.”

“Conditions change, Mr. President,” said Blue Man. “Nothing is inviolate in the world anymore, unfortunately.”

Cassion said heatedly, “Well, a person’s word should be. A
president’s
word should be.” He bit down on his thumb and seemed lost in thought. None of the others interrupted this.

He finally said, “This may seem like a sudden inspiration on my part, but it’s really not. It’s something I’ve been kicking around in my head for some time now.” He sat forward, his features filled with determination.

“I want a team to liberate Pak’s family and bring them back here, where we will grant them full asylum.”

A full minute of silence went by as Robie and Reel stared back at their commander in chief. When Robie glanced at Blue Man, he looked stunned.

Robie stared back at the president. “What sort of team?”

“I don’t think I can send in the United States Army without doing more harm than good,” replied Cassion, staring fixedly back at him. “So, a small team.”

Blue Man said, “Do we even know which labor camp they’re in? There are quite a few.”

“That’s why we have the best intelligence agencies in the world. I’ve asked for and been given a preliminary report. It seems likely that they would be sent to Bukchang, also known as Camp 18.”

“Why is that?” asked Reel.

Blue Man answered. “Bukchang is operated by the Interior Ministry rather than the national security people. It’s less brutal and prisoners there have more privileges. Some can even be reeducated and given their freedom.”

Robie said, “But why do you think they would be sent there, then? Pak was a traitor. I’m sure they will want to take that out on his family. No second chances for them.”

“Honor and loyalty run deep over there, especially in the military,” replied Blue Man. “Pak undoubtedly had friends of high rank.”

The president nodded. “I can see that.”

“And it’s not simply being kind to the children of a fallen friend,” added Blue Man. “It’s for their own sakes.”

“How do you mean?” asked Reel.

“Some of the generals probably believe he was railroaded. They might worry that they might be next. Thus they want to establish a precedent that will allow their families, or themselves, to be sent to Bukchang if they find themselves on the wrong end of a treason charge. In North Korea you have to think five steps ahead if you want to survive, particularly at that level because alliances change swiftly.”

Cassion mulled this over and nodded. “I think you’re right. But we need to verify that they are indeed in this Bukchang place.”

He glanced at Blue Man, who said, “That will be difficult, but we will get every resource on it, sir.” He paused. “So you really want to extract Pak’s children from the camp?”

Cassion drew a long breath and wouldn’t meet Blue Man’s eye. “I think that’s what I said,” he replied brusquely.

A minute of silence went by.

Finally, Blue Man said, “That has never been before, sir. Never.”

“I’m aware of that,” replied Cassion, now looking directly at him. “Any ideas?”

Surprisingly, it was Reel who answered. “Well, I think we might turn to the handful of folks who have escaped from North Korean labor camps and who are in this country. I think one or more of them might have gotten out of Bukchang. If so, they can tell us how they did it. We don’t want to reinvent the wheel if we don’t have to.”

Cassion looked impressed. “An excellent suggestion.” He looked at Blue Man. “What sort of team would be required?”

Blue Man said, “Few in number and the best we have. But still, I don’t see how it can be done. This is
North Korea
.”

Robie said, “I thought our being here meant you wanted
us
involved, Mr. President.”

Cassion looked at him guiltily. “I realize I’m your commander in chief, Agent Robie. But after what you’ve both been through, what with Syria and now Pak, I’m reluctant to call on you again.”

Reel spoke up. “What if we volunteer?”

Blue Man looked at her oddly. Robie kept his gaze on the president.

Cassion said, “Are you volunteering?”

“Yes,” said Reel, and Robie nodded.

“That is quite courageous of you,” said Cassion.

“Actually,” said Reel, “it’s our job.”

The president looked at Reel and then at Robie. “Thank you,” he said. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think we do,” said Reel.

After Cassion left the room for his flight on Air Force One, Robie looked at Blue Man. “
Can
we meet with someone who escaped from Bukchang?”

“I think we can arrange that, yes. But you realize this is a suicide mission, don’t you?”

“A couple of American agents going into a North Korean labor camp and extracting two highly valued political prisoners?” said Reel, her eyebrows hiked. “Walk in the park.”

“Capture equals death,” said Blue Man.

“Or worse,” said Robie.

“How?” said Reel.

“They could chuck us into the camp for the rest of our lives.” He looked at Blue Man. “And I would assume that all knowledge of any connection to an official mission on behalf of the United States would be disavowed.”

“I think we can safely assume that,” said Blue Man.

“Well, it’s nice to know where we all stand,” said Reel dryly.

I
T HAD TAKEN THE BETTER
part of two weeks, but Chung-Cha rinsed Min off once more in the shower and beheld a girl devoid of dirt, even in her ears. And the stubborn grime under her fingernails and toenails was no more.

The medical visits had been conducted and Min’s wounds and bruises had been attended to and were healing quickly. The girl’s overall health had been pronounced sound and her immune system was functioning properly. That was truly a miracle, Chung-Cha knew, for a camp prisoner of any duration, because the conditions were so squalid. As on a battlefield, far more died from disease than wounds. Bacteria easily trumped bombs and bullets in lethality.

Min’s teeth were in poor condition, but unlike Chung-Cha’s they were capable of largely being saved. The girl had not flinched once at the dentist’s office. She seemed to understand that all that was being done was for her own good.

Chung-Cha had increased the girl’s meal intake slowly, giving Min more and diverse food each day until her stomach could handle it properly. The doctors had told her that Min had not reached her growth spurt yet and the additional food would help accelerate this event.

There was the matter of education, which for now Chung-Cha took on herself. Min was an eager if frustrated learner, and the hours of instruction went by quickly. She could read a bit and she knew her numbers to a point. She was well versed, as all prisoners were, in the philosophy and teachings of North Korea’s great leaders. But she needed to know more than that.

This could not be accomplished in a week or even a year, Chung-Cha knew. And she was not a trained teacher. She would have to arrange for Min to attend school. But Min would be far behind other students her age and to place her there now would only serve to humiliate her. So Chung-Cha would work with her, and then she planned to arrange for a personal instructor. It would all take time and money. But Chung-Cha had requested and received special dispensation to accomplish this. It was a wonder to her that she had never asked for such things before. Apparently the leadership was willing to give her far more than a rice cooker and some wons.

As she spent time with Min, Chung-Cha waited for a phone call or a knock on the door that would summon her to work. She knew it would come at some point.

And when she had to go and train, as she did each day, Min was left with the family that managed the apartment building. At first Min wanted to stay with Chung-Cha, go wherever she was going. This was impossible, Chung-Cha had explained to the girl. The first time she had to go away, Min was very upset, and Chung-Cha knew why.

She doesn’t believe I’m coming back.

Chung-Cha had taken off a ring that she wore and given it to Min. “You take care of this for me while I’m gone. You can give it back to me when I return. It is my prized possession.”

“Did it belong to someone in your family?” Min asked.

Chung-Cha lied and said, “My mother.”

The ring was actually of no significance to her. It was just a ring. But a lie was as good as the truth when it achieved one’s goal.

One evening Chung-Cha dressed Min in her nicest clothes and they walked to the metro. At first Min was afraid to get on the train, but Chung-Cha told her it was a fun ride that would take them to a place where a great meal would be waiting. Min jumped on the train without further hesitation. She looked around in amazement both at all the people on the train and at how fast it moved. When they got off and ascended to street level she wanted to know if they would take “this train thing” back home.

Chung-Cha assured her that they would, which made Min smile.

They walked past a number of restaurants. While Min looked curiously at them, Chung-Cha kept her gaze straight ahead.

Then she led Min into the Samtaesung Hamburger Restaurant. They sat at a table. Chung-Cha kept her back to the wall.

She was surprised when Min noticed this and said, “You don’t like people coming up behind you, do you?”

“Do you?”

“No. But they do anyway.”

“Then you must do something about that.”

They ate hamburgers and fries. Chung-Cha let Min have only a few sips of her vanilla milk shake because she was worried the richness might make her sick.

Min’s eyes widened. “This is the best food I have ever had.”

“It is not Korean food.”

“Where, then?”

“Just not Korean.”

They finished eating and left. Chung-Cha and Min walked around Pyongyang and she showed the young girl as many of the sights as possible in a few hours. Min had innumerable questions, and Chung-Cha tried to answer them all as best she could.

“Is the Supreme Leader really three meters tall?”

“I have never met him, so I do not know.”

“They say he is the strongest person on earth and his mind is full of all the knowledge in the world.”

“They said the same to me about his father.”

They walked on in silence for a bit.

“You said you had no family at the camp,” began Chung-Cha.

“I have no family.”

“You were born in the camp, Min. You had to have a family.”

“If I did, no one told me who they were.”

“They separated you from your mother?”

Min shrugged. “I have always been alone there. That is just the way it was.” She looked up at Chung-Cha. “What about your family?” She nudged the ring on Chung-Cha’s finger. “Your mother gave you this?”

Chung-Cha did not answer. They walked on in silence.

After they returned on the train to the apartment, Chung-Cha settled Min into her bed on the sofa. Min studied her quietly. “Did I say something to make you sad, Chung-Cha?”

“You did nothing wrong. The wrong is all within me. Go to sleep.”

Chung-Cha went to her room, undressed, and climbed into bed. She lay there staring at the ceiling.

And on that ceiling there appeared images she had forced from her mind seemingly forever.

The guards had come for her that day. General Pak had told her that she could be free. Then Pak had left. And the woman had taken Chung-Cha aside and told her what she must do to earn her freedom.

“Your mother and father are enemies of our country. Your brother’s and sister’s minds have been poisoned as well, Chung-Cha. You understand this, do you not?”

Chung-Cha had slowly nodded. She could not remember loving her parents. They regularly beat her, even when not instructed to by the guards. They snitched on her. Her brother and sister were competitors of hers for food, clothing. They too snitched on her. They too beat her. She did not love them. They were evil. She assumed they had always been evil. She was here because of her family. She had done nothing wrong. It was they who had committed the wrongs.

“Then you must act, Chung-Cha. You must rid your country of its enemies. Then you will be free.”

“But how do I do this?” she had asked.

“I will show you. You must do it now.”

She had been taken to a room underneath the prison. It was in the same area where she had lived for a while because of something her father had done while there. It was far worse than living in the hut. She had not believed that anything could be worse than that, but it was. During that time she had not seen the sun for what seemed like years. All of her work was done underground, digging with a pickax, hauling rock, working her fingers down to the bone.

Inside this room were four people. They were tied to posts. Their heads were covered with hoods. Their mouths must have been gagged underneath, because all Chung-Cha could hear were grunts and moans.

There were two guards on either side of the four people.

The woman had taken a knife from her bag. It was long and curved and had a serrated edge. She handed it to Chung-Cha.

“Do you see the red circle drawn on their fronts?”

Chung-Cha looked over and indeed saw a red circle on the chest of each of the four people.

“You will stick this knife inside the red circle. You will then pull it out and stick it back in. This is for each of the people, do you understand?”

Chung-Cha said, “Is this my family?”

The woman said, “Do you want to be free of this place?”

Chung-Cha nodded vigorously.

“Then you do not question. You follow orders. This is your order. Do it now, or you will die here as an old woman.”

Chung-Cha gripped the knife and walked hesitantly toward the bound figure on the far left, the one she assumed must be her father.

He was struggling against his binding, perhaps knowing what was coming. She heard his grunts increase in volume. He thrashed, but he could not really move because of the bindings and the stoutness of the wooden post.

Chung-Cha raised the knife as high as she could, over her head. She drew it back. The grunts increased. But for the gag her father would be screaming.

She screwed up her eyes until she could barely see out of them. Then she lunged forward and plunged the knife into the circle. His body went rigid and then he thrashed madly, nearly dislodging the knife from her grasp.

“Once more!” screamed the woman.

Chung-Cha withdrew the knife and stuck it in him again. Then he stopped moving as the blood poured down his front. A guard stepped forward and removed the hood. It was her father. His face hung down, the gag balled in his mouth. His eyes were open, lifeless. He seemed to be staring down at her.

“The next one, Chung-Cha. Do it or you are lost,” screamed the woman.

Chung-Cha automatically turned to the next person and stabbed twice.

It was her sister.

“Do it now, Chung-Cha. Now. Or you are lost forever!”

The next. It was her brother.

The woman screamed the threat again and again. “Do it now, Chung-Cha. Now! Or you are lost forever.”

The last two strikes. Metal thudded into flesh.

Chung-Cha no longer had any idea what she was doing. Her hand was moving of its own accord. She could have been stabbing a dead hog.

When the hood was taken off her dead mother looked down at her.

Chung-Cha dropped the knife, took a step back, and fell to the floor, crying, her body covered with the blood of her family. Then she picked up the knife and tried to kill herself with it, but the guards were too fast. They took it from her.

The woman pulled her up. “You have done well. Now you can leave here and serve your country. Forever. You have done well, Chung-Cha. You should be so proud.”

Chung-Cha looked at the woman. She was smiling down at the little girl who had just slaughtered her family.

Chung-Cha did not know that she was crying in her bed now.

But she did know that Min had climbed in with her, wrapped her little body around her, and was hugging her tightly.

Chung-Cha could not hug her back. Not now.

On the ceiling was the image of her family.

Dead by her hand.

All dead.

The price of her freedom?

Chung-Cha’s soul.