The Target (9 page)

And to her it did not matter. She did not believe in a benign higher being. She could not. She had suffered too much to think of a heavenly force in the sky that would let such evil walk the earth without lifting a hand to stop it.

Self-reliance was the best policy. Then you alone were entitled to the rewards—and you alone bore responsibility for the losses.

She passed an open street market and stopped, tensing for a moment. There was a foreign tourist not five feet from her. It was a man. He looked German, but she could not be sure. He had his camera out and was about to take a picture of the marketplace and the vendors.

Chung-Cha looked around for the tour guide who must accompany all foreigners. She did not see any such person.

The German had his camera nearly up to his eye. She shot forward and snatched it from him. He looked at her, stunned.

“Give that back,” he said in a language that she recognized as Dutch. She did not speak Dutch. She asked him if he spoke English.

He nodded.

She held up the camera. “If you take a picture of the street market you will be arrested and deported. You might not be deported, actually. You might just stay here, which will be worse for you.”

He paled and looked around to see several Korean vendors staring at him with malice.

He sputtered, “But why? It’s just for my Facebook page.”

“You do not need to know why. All you need to do is put your camera away and go and find your tour guide. Now. You will not receive another warning.”

She handed him back the camera and he took it.

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly.

But Chung-Cha had already turned away. She did not want his thanks. Maybe she should have just let the crowd attack him, let him be beaten, arrested, thrown in prison, and forgotten about. He was one person in a world of billions. Who would care? It was not her problem.

Yet as she walked down the street she thought of the man’s question.

But why?
he had asked.

The answer to that was both simple and complex. An open street market said to the world that North Korea’s economy was weak, its traditional stores few in number, and thus the need for vendors in the street. That would be a slap in the face to a leadership acutely sensitive to world opinion. Conversely, an abundance of goods at a street market, if seen by the rest of the world, could result in international food aid being reduced. And since many North Koreans were barely surviving, that would not be a good thing. Pyongyang was not representative of the rest of the country. And yet even people here starved to death in their apartments. It was part of the so-called eating problem, which was very simple. There was not enough food. This was why North Koreans were shorter and lighter than their brethren to the south.

Chung-Cha did not know if either of these explanations was true. She only knew that these were the unofficial explanations for why the simple act of taking a picture could have such horrendous consequences, in addition to the fact that North Koreans did not like to have their pictures taken by foreigners. And things could get violent. The perpetrator would be arrested. That was reason enough never to leave your tour guide’s side while in North Korea.

Our ways are just different because we are the most paranoid country on the face of the earth. And perhaps we have good reason to be. Or perhaps our leaders want to keep us united against an enemy that does not exist.

She didn’t know how many other North Koreans had such thoughts. She did know that the ones who had publicly expressed them had all been sent to the penal colonies.

She knew this for a fact.

Because her parents had been sent to Yodok for doing that very thing. She had grown up there. She had nearly died there. But she had survived, the only one of her family to do so.

And her survival had come at a terrible price.

She had had to kill the rest of her family to be allowed to live.

R
OBIE LOOKED AT REEL.

Reel studied the floor.

It was nearly midnight a week into their stay here. After their psychological vetting they had undergone more physical endurance tests, each more difficult than the last. They had been given a bit of food and water and then brought back here, sweaty and tired and increasingly depressed. Over the next days they had been worked relentlessly and had dropped exhausted into their bunks for a few hours of sleep before they were hustled from their beds and it all started up again.

Tonight, they had gotten off relatively early. And so this was the first real time they had been able to speak to each other since the first day.

“How did your shrink session go?” asked Robie, finally breaking the silence in their tiny shared room.

“Great, how about you?” she said sarcastically.

“We spent a good deal of the time talking about you, actually.”

She looked up at him and then stared over at the nearest listening device.

She glanced back at him and mouthed,
Here? Now?

He looked around the room and noted the video cameras that they both knew were embedded in the walls. He flipped up the mattress so that it leaned against his back, effectively shielding him from view. Then he motioned for her to sit on the other side of the bunk and face him. She did so, staring at him curiously.

Then he began using sign language. He had been taught this, as had Reel, he knew, because silent communication was often very useful in the field.

He said in sign, “Marks is Evan Tucker’s person through and through. Can’t believe we’re intended to survive this place. Do we make a break for it?”

Reel thought about this and signed back, “Gives them a great excuse to kill us with no repercussions.”

He signed, “So we sit tight?”

“I think we can survive this.”

“What’s your plan?”

“We recruit Marks to our side.”

Robie’s eyes widened. “How?”

“We suffer together.”

“You’ve been bitchy to her so far. How can you turn that around?”

“I was bitchy to her for the very reason that it would allow me an opportunity to turn it around with credibility. If she thinks I hate her, it could work. If I had started out nice, she would have been instantly suspicious.”

Robie still looked dubious.

Reel signed, “What other option do we have?”

“None,” he signed. “Except die.”

At that moment the door burst open and a half dozen armed men came in. Robie and Reel were shackled and then hustled out of the room. They were hurried down one long hall after another. They were being moved so fast neither Reel nor Robie could get a handle on which direction they were going.

A door was thrown open and they were pushed inside. The door slammed shut behind them and other hands grabbed them. Reel and Robie were lifted off their feet and each was placed prone on a long board.

The room was dimly lighted but they could still see each other, being only inches apart. They both knew what was coming. They were strapped to the boards. Then the boards were tipped back. Their heads were submerged in a large bucket of icy water. They were held there nearly long enough to be drowned.

When they were lifted free from the water, their feet were kept elevated. Next, a thin cloth was placed over their faces and icy water poured over it. The liquid quickly saturated the cloth and then filled their mouths and noses. The gag reflex was nearly immediate. They coughed and spit. More water was poured. They coughed and gagged. More water was poured. They both retched.

The cloth was lifted and they were allowed to snatch three or four normal breaths before the cloth went back on. The water was poured again, with the same result. This process was repeated over the next twenty minutes.

Both Reel and Robie had vomited what little was in their stomachs. All that was coming out now was bile.

They were kept on the boards with the cloth over their faces. Neither knew when the water would start up again, which was all part of the technique. No training in the world could really insulate you from the terrors of waterboarding.

They both lay there gasping, their limbs pressing against the restraints, their chests heaving.

Normally, interrogation would start now. Both Robie and Reel knew this, but they each wondered what sort of interrogation they would be subjected to.

The lights dimmed even more and both of them braced for what might be coming next.

A voice said, “This can stop; it’s up to you.”

It was not Amanda Marks. It was a male voice neither of them recognized.

“What’s the price?” gasped Reel.

“A signed confession,” said the voice.

“Confessing what?” said Robie, spitting retch from his mouth.

“For Reel, the murders of two CIA operatives. For you, aiding and abetting her. And also to a count of treason.”

“You a lawyer?” sputtered Reel.

“All I need is your answer.”

Reel’s next words made the man chuckle. He said, “I’m afraid that is physically impossible for me to do to myself. But that’s an answer in itself, I suppose.”

Twenty more minutes of waterboarding occurred.

When they came back up for air the same question was posed.

“This will stop,” said the voice. “All you have to do is sign.”

“Treason carries the death penalty,” gasped Robie. Then he turned to the side and threw up more bile. His brain was about to explode and his lungs felt seared.

Reel interjected, “So what the hell does it matter?”

“It does matter. You’ll be given lengthy prison terms, but you won’t be executed. That’s the deal. But you have to sign the confession. It’s all prepared. You just have to sign.”

Neither Robie nor Reel said anything.

The ordeal went on for twenty more minutes.

When it finished, neither of them was conscious. This was one drawback to this form of torture. The body just shut down. And there was no purpose in torturing an unconscious person.

The lights came on and the man stared down at the pair strapped to the long boards.

“An hour, impressive,” he said.

His name was Andrew Viola. Up until the year before he had been the chief trainer at the Burner Box, and before that a legendary CIA field agent who’d had a hand in some of the most complex and dangerous missions of the past twenty-five years. He would be fifty on his next birthday. He was still fit and trim, although his hair was an iron gray and his face heavily lined. And scarred from one mission that had not gone according to plan.

He looked over at Amanda Marks, who had been observing the entire process with a look of slight revulsion. “Not for the weak of stomach, or heart,” he said.

“And I didn’t exactly understand the purpose. Did we really expect them to sign a confession?”

“Not my call. I was told to do this and I did it. CIA lawyers and upper management can figure out the rest.”

“This was my mission to run,” she said.

“And it still is, Amanda. I’m not stepping on toes here. But I had my orders. And”—he glanced down at Robie and then Reel—“unlike some, I always follow orders.”

“So what now?”

“My work here is done until I’m called up again. So I might see these two again before they leave here.
If
they leave here,” he corrected himself.

“They both believe they were brought here to die,” said Marks.

“And you don’t think that’s a possibility?” asked Viola, looking mildly surprised. “Recruits do die here. It’s rare, but it happens. This is not summer camp, Amanda.”

“That’s different.
Accidents
happen. And Robie and Reel are not recruits. They are vets and battle-tested. But if the purpose from the start was—”

He cut her off. “Don’t try to think too much about it. Just do your job. You’ll be happy, and so will the higher-ups.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

He glanced sideways at her. “Maybe in the past.
Maybe
. But not anymore.”

“What changed?”

“We were attacked. The Towers fell. The Pentagon was hit. Planes crashed. Americans died. Now I try to see the world only in black and white.”

“The world is not black and white.”

“That’s why I said I
try
to do it.”

He turned and left the room.

Marks came forward and stared down at the two unconscious agents. She thought back to her meeting with Evan Tucker before coming here. The director had been understandably clear on the outcome he wanted. On the surface it appeared fair and evenhanded. If they passed the test, they passed. They would be redeployed. Simple and straightforward.

But then this had come—the order for the waterboarding to be conducted by Viola. The man was excellent at his job, Marks knew. But he had, well, a ruthlessness, a moral compass that did not seem to actually encompass any morals at all. That bothered her.

A signed confession admitting to murder and treason?

That had to have come from Evan Tucker. No one else in the agency would have dared issue such an order. So the rules had changed. Tucker was using the Burner Box not only to test and break Robie and Reel. He also wanted them to admit to acts that would result in their imprisonment. He had not told her this part of the plan. He had been wise not to, because Marks would have refused.

This seemingly simple thought stunned her. She had never before refused to carry out a direct order. It was just not something one did. Failing to do that had been the cause of both Robie’s and Reel’s current troubles.

Am I becoming like them?

She heard Robie and Reel moan and then they started to come around.

She turned to one of her men. “Take them back to their room. Let them sleep. I’ll give directions for when their next testing will begin.”

This order was carried out immediately. She watched Robie and Reel being carried back to their room.

Their prison cell, more like it.

Maybe their death row.

R
OBIE WOKE FIRST. THERE WERE
no windows in the room so he had no idea what time it was. Their watches had been taken from them up on arrival. He slowly sat up and rubbed his aching head. He leaned over from the top bunk and saw Reel still sleeping in the lower berth.

Robie swallowed with difficulty and cringed when he tasted the remnants of the vomit still in his mouth and throat.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

He looked down again to see Reel staring up at him.

“Not something I’d want to go through every day.”

He swung his legs over the edge, dropped to the floor, and sat down on her bunk. She curled up her legs to give him room.

“To what purpose?” she asked. “They couldn’t really believe we’d sign a confession.”

Robie looked up at the listening device, but Reel shook her head. “I don’t care if they hear.” She sat up and said in a loud voice, “Not confessing to jack shit!”

She looked back at Robie, who was smiling.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing. Well, I just like your subtle style, Jessica.”

She started to snap something back, but then stopped. And laughed.

He joined in for a few seconds.

And then they both grew quiet as footsteps approached.

The door opened and both of them immediately drew back, balled tight, hands up, reflexes ready. Taking them again would require a fight.

However, only Evan Tucker stood there.

Robie shot Reel a glance. Her look was so ferocious that he was afraid she was about to attack the DCI. He was actually putting out his arm to forestall this when she said, “Good morning, Director. Did you have a nice sleep last night? We did. Best in years.”

Tucker managed a tight smile at this comment and then sat down in the chair opposite them. His suit was wrinkled and the collar of his shirt was slightly grimy, as though his journey here had not exactly been at first-class levels.

“I know what happened to you last night. I ordered it.”

“Good to know,” said Robie. “So is that a confession? Because I thought the use of waterboarding was illegal.”

“It is illegal for purposes of interrogation on detainees. Neither of you are detainees and it was not done for interrogation purposes.”

“We were asked to sign confessions,” Reel pointed out.

“A subterfuge only. There were no confessions for you to sign.”

“That’s not what the guy said last night. And the terms of the confession he recited were pretty specific,” noted Robie.

“He had his script and he stuck to it. But there was no confession.”

“So what was the point of the thing, then?” demanded Reel.

“To see if you two can still cut it. The mission you’re to be deployed on entails the risk of being caught. And the enemy is known to use waterboarding among other interrogation tools to break prisoners. It’s not all about being able to shoot straight.”

“And so this had nothing to do with the hard-on you have for me, Director?” said Reel. “You really expect us to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe or don’t believe. I’ve made my position on you very clear. You murdered two of my people and got off scot free. I think that stinks. I think you should be in jail, but it’s not my call. I still have my job to do and so do you. My job is to keep this country safe against outside threats. You two are tools that I have at my disposal. I will deploy you as necessary. If I think it wise to push your butts to the wall and then through it, I will do so. If you feel you can’t cut it, then you can tell me right now and we cut out all this bullshit.”

He stopped talking and looked at them expectantly.

“And if we want out?” said Robie.

“Then that can be made to happen. But chances are very good that your partner will be prosecuted for murder. And you as an accessory.”

“So if we stay in and maybe get killed, either by the other side or our own people, we don’t end up in court?” said Reel.

“Did you really expect anything more generous than that?” said Tucker skeptically. “You want to begin to wipe the slate clean of what you did, then suck it up, finish up here, and successfully execute the upcoming mission. If you want to cut and run, then that’s a whole other ball game. Your choice. But make it now. I don’t have time to waste.”

“Is that why you’re here?” asked Robie. “To deliver the ultimatum?”

“No, I’m here to finally lay to rest any misconception you two might have about my motives. You were not sent here to be killed. I’m far too busy to even have time to think about something like that. The fact is, in the grand scheme of things none of us is that important. Now, we have an opportunity to do something that will make the world a far better, far safer place. I need to know that you’re with me on this one thousand percent, or I have no use for you at all. Again, your decision. And again, I need it now.”

He once more quieted and looked at them.

Robie was the first to speak. “I’m in.”

Reel nodded. “Me too.”

“Glad to hear it.” Tucker rose, opened the door, and was gone.

Before Reel and Robie could even say a word they heard the sounds of someone else approaching.

A few moments later an orderly wheeled a cart in. It was loaded with breakfast foods and a carafe of coffee. Another orderly brought in two foldable chairs. They set up the table, laid out the food and coffee, and departed.

Reel and Robie had not moved the entire time. Finally, they looked at each other.

“You think there’s cyanide in it?” he asked.

“I don’t care. I’m starving.”

They rose, sat down in the chairs, and attacked the food and drank down the hot coffee. They said nothing as they devoured the meal.

Then they sat back looking both satisfied and energized.

Reel said, “You can never overestimate the effect of a good meal on one’s spirits.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s just that they’re fattening the calf before leading it to slaughter.”

“So that was our last meal before execution?”

“Wish I could tell you one way or another,” Robie replied. “Before Tucker showed up, I was pretty sure we were done for. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Strange he came all this way to tell us something we already knew.”

“You think he was sincere?”

“Give me a break. He was lying his ass off.”

“For what reason?” asked Robie.

“Spies lie. And he’s probably covering his butt on the waterboarding thing.”

“Did he need to? It’s not like we belong to a union and can file a grievance.”

Footsteps sounded again, and each of them instinctively gripped the knives next to their plates. However, it was merely the orderly retrieving the table. Another escort was with him. He led them to the showers, where they cleaned up and changed into fresh clothes.

As they were walked back to their room Reel whispered into Robie’s ear, “This is freaking me out more than the waterboarding. Why are they being nice to us?”

Robie whispered back, “Maybe Tucker gave the word.”

“Like I believe that.”

Four hours passed before someone came for them again. They were told to change into running gear. Then they were taken by Jeep to a remote part of the facility, deep within the forest, and dropped off.

The weather wasn’t bad. In the forties, a little overcast, but the sun was high in the sky and warming. Robie calculated it was about two o’clock in the afternoon.

After the vehicle drove off, someone stepped onto the path from behind some trees. They turned to see who it was.

Amanda Marks stood there wearing a running suit and Nikes.

“I trust you’re well fed and rested?” she said.

“And clean,” said Reel. “Let’s not forget that.”

“Then let’s take a run, shall we?” Without waiting for their answer, Marks turned and jogged off.

Robie and Reel glanced confusedly at one another before joining her, he on the right, she on the left.

“So did you know Tucker was coming down today?” asked Reel.

“At the last minute. What did he want to talk to you about?”

“You mean he didn’t tell you?” asked Robie.

“If he had I wouldn’t be asking you.”

“He wanted to let us know our being here was not part of a personal vendetta. He said we were waterboarded not in order to facilitate a confession, because there was no such thing, but rather to make sure we could withstand it in case we were captured.”

“And did you believe him?” asked Marks.

“Would you?” Reel shot back.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. He’s a more complicated person than I initially thought.”

“I don’t trust him,” said Reel.

“If I were in your position, I wouldn’t trust him either,” replied Marks.

Reel said, “I take it the food and rest and showers were your doing?”

“Well, they certainly weren’t the DCI’s, or Andrew Viola’s initiative.”

“Viola,” said a surprised Reel. “He’s involved in this?”

“I thought you would have recognized his voice at the little waterboarding session. You two overlapped here, right? And I know you were in the field with him on a couple of missions.”

“That’s right, but I didn’t recognize the voice.”

“Probably had your mind on other things,” said Marks dryly. She looked at Robie. “Do you know Viola?”

“Only by reputation. He’s really good.”

“Rock-solid warrior who never wavers from the playbook,” replied Marks.

Reel and Robie exchanged a quick glance. Reel said, “Is that why we’re out here jogging in the middle of the forest? So we can talk candidly?”

“Let me put it this way. I already ran ten miles this morning. So from a physical fitness point of view there’s no reason for me to be out here.”

“So Viola is a team player,” said Robie.

“And you’re not?” added Reel.

“Didn’t say that,” replied Marks. “I
am
a team player.”

“And the little near-drowning session last night?” noted Reel.

“Not my call. And I wasn’t picked to run it. That’s where Viola stepped in.”

“Surprised I hadn’t seen him at the facility before,” said Reel inquiringly.

“He was just called back in from temp duty elsewhere,” answered Marks.

“By Evan Tucker?” asked Robie, swinging his arms loosely and popping his neck as they ran along at a comfortable pace.

“Don’t know for sure, but I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. Viola is a high-level asset. He wouldn’t be called in by a midlevel grunt. And I certainly didn’t do it as the DD.”

“So why wouldn’t Tucker rely on you to do the dirty work?” Robie wanted to know.

Reel added, “Did you refuse to waterboard us?”

Marks ran along for another thirty feet before answering. “He never asked me to.”

“And if he had?” Reel persisted. “What would you have done?”

“I never agreed with torturing bad guys, much less our own agents.”

“Well, undoubtedly Tucker was aware of that,” said Robie. “And didn’t bother to ask you to do it. Obviously, Viola had no issue with doing it.”

“No, he didn’t. He would never decline to execute a direct order. He’s not wired that way.”

“But how could Tucker ever expect us to sign a confession?” said Reel. “Even if we were tortured?”

“He’s not really CIA,” answered Robie. “He was never in the intelligence field. His appointment to head up CIA was a political payback. He probably thought waterboarding works on everyone.”

“As if a coerced confession is valid,” noted Reel. “And he wanted us to sign it, despite the bullshit he tried to feed us back there.”

“I don’t think he was going to use it in a court of law,” said Marks.

Reel shot her a glance. “What, then?”

Robie answered. “Probably proof to the president that we were bad guys.”

Marks added, “And maybe the president signs off on your official termination. Not the kind where you clear out your desk and are escorted to the exit.”

“If Tucker thought that was going to happen and he’s running CIA, America is in a world of trouble,” observed Reel.

“I don’t know,” said Robie. “Maybe he just wanted to kill us.”

“He might just want us to feel the pain,” said Reel.

“Mission accomplished there,” said Robie.

Reel stopped running and the others pulled up and looked at her.

“Which brings us back to the question of why you’re doing what you’re doing, Deputy Director,” she said.

Marks jogged in place, keeping her body warm and loose. “I’m a team player, Reel, make no mistake about that.”

“But?”

“But I draw the line at certain things. Waterboarding our own is one of those things.”

“Anything else?”

“Tucker said he wanted me to push you right to your limit and then beyond. He really wanted to see if you were fit for duty and redeployment. Either you could cut it or not. I assumed that was his goal. To find that out.”

“And now?”

“And now I don’t know. His instructions had undertones that maybe he didn’t want you to see the outside of this place again.”

“And you chose to, what, ignore them?” said Reel.

“I chose to think he couldn’t mean that,” said Marks.

“Or convinced yourself that he couldn’t,” said Robie.

Marks started to run again and the pair followed her.

“So where does all this leave us?” asked Reel.

“I don’t know,” admitted Marks. “But I can tell you that from now on I will train with you.”

“Why?” asked Robie.

“To be our guardian?” suggested Reel.

“I’m just going to train with you.”

“This is not your problem or your fight, DD,” said Robie. “Don’t hang your career on this. You don’t deserve the possible fallout.”

“I’m the DD, as you pointed out, Robie. And the DD is responsible for her assets in the field. Well, you two are part of those assets and it’s my responsibility to look out for you.”

“So you’re setting yourself up for a pissing contest with Evan Tucker over this?” exclaimed Reel. “Number one against two has a predetermined outcome.”

“Maybe,” replied Marks cryptically. “But then number twos tend to try harder.”

Reel said, “You looking to make an enemy of Tucker?”