The Target (Will Robie 3)

“It wasn’t like he advertised it, Robie. And it was a perfect way to get teens in there to basically be slaves to their cause. Cooking, cleaning, delivering messages, sewing their ugly uniforms, xeroxing their hate pamphlets. It was like being in prison. Every time I tried to get away they caught me, beat me, terrorized me. Dikes was the worst of them by far. I hated him even more than I hated my father.”

“But you finally turned the tables on them, Jessica. And brought it all down.”

“Not all of it, Robie. Not all of it.”

She looked down, her eyes closing and her face wrinkling in pain.

“You okay?”

She opened her eyes. “I’m fine. You want to pick up your speed? Let’s just get this over with.”

They left their guns in the rental and cleared the security checkpoint into the prison. The place looked like it had been built about a hundred years ago. Its outer walls were stained black and part of the front entrance was crumbling, with rebar exposed under the masonry. There was only one road in. The land was flat, leaving nowhere to hide.

Robie eyed the guard towers set on all sides. Inside, men in uniforms paced back and forth with long-range rifles in hand.

“Don’t see many escapes happening from here,” said Robie.

“Well, if my father had tried, they could have shot him. Saved us all a lot of grief.”

They were escorted not to a visitors’ area, but directly to the hospital ward.

When they reached the doorway Robie said, “Okay, we’re here. You sure you’re ready to do this?”

She took a deep breath but still shook slightly. “This is crazy. I’ve stared down scum five times worse than his ass.”

“Those scum weren’t your father.”

She marched into the ward with Robie in her wake. The entrance to the area the patients were in was blocked by a guard stand. Robie and Reel went through this checkpoint. Robie eyed the name tag on the guard’s shirt.

Albert.

Albert was a big man, he observed. And he looked meaner than he was big.

Albert eyed Reel with great interest. Robie saw her gaze sweep over Albert, but he knew she was merely sizing him up in case she had to kick his ass later.

Albert said, “What you want with old Earl?”

“Visit,” said Reel curtly.

“I know that. You’re on the list.”

“Okay,” said Reel. “I’m on the list.”

“You know Earl?”

“You said I’m on the list. Do I get to visit him or not? If I have to answer twenty questions with you, I’ll just turn around and go back to where I came from.”

“Hey, hey, just asking, lady. You can go on and see him. Fourth bed on the left.”

“Thanks,” said Reel as she breezed by him with Robie next to her.

“Asshole,” she said under her breath.

She took more steps, counting down beds until she reached the fourth on the left. Then she stopped and looked down, her face a mask of stone.

Earl Fontaine was obviously expecting her. He was sitting up in his bed, his hair washed and neatly combed and his face shaved.

“Hello there, baby girl,” he said. “My, my, how you done grown. Is that really you, Sally?”

Chapter

34

CHUNG-CHA WAS FINISHING HER first cup of morning tea when there came a knock on her door. She rose, padded across the room, and looked through the peephole. She opened the door and stepped back.

Three men walked past her and into the room of her apartment. Two were in uniform. One wore a black tunic and slacks of the same color.

Chung-Cha closed the door behind her and joined them in the center of the tiny room.

“Good morning, Comrade Yie,” said the man in the tunic.

Chung-Cha nodded slightly and waited. Her gaze darted to the uniforms and she counted the stars on their shoulders. As many as General Pak had possessed.

She indicated chairs for them to take and they all sat down. She offered tea but this was declined.

“Pak,” said the black tunic.

“Yes?” replied Chung-Cha.

“He is dead. Apparently he killed himself while in France. At least that is what preliminary reports are saying.”

“He was feeling great guilt,” said one of the generals. “For his treachery.”

The other general shook his head. “It is difficult to believe. His family is an honored one.”

“No longer,” said the black tunic, who was a direct representative of the Supreme Leader. “His family is dishonored and will be appropriately punished. Indeed, that punishment is being meted out as we speak.”

Chung-Cha knew this meant they were being sent to the labor camps. She did not know any of Pak’s family, but she felt empathy for them nonetheless. She knew this order would include even young children. And what possible culpability could they have?

Three generations. The cleansing must happen.

But then she remembered something.

“What family does he have?” asked Chung-Cha. “I understand that his wife was dead and that he had no children.”

“He has an adopted daughter and son. It was not well known. He adopted them later in life. They are both grown.”

“But if they are adopted there is no traitor blood issue,” said Chung-Cha.

The black tunic seemed to swell with indignation. “That is no concern of yours. He was a traitor, which means they are traitors. They will be appropriately dealt with.”

“Which camp?” asked Chung-Cha, before she could stop herself.

The black tunic looked incredulous. “If I were you, Comrade, I would focus on things that concern you. I am well aware of your past. Do not give me occasion to revisit it.”

Chung-Cha bowed her head. “I apologize for my foolishness. I will never again speak of it. You are right, it is no concern of mine.”

“I’m glad that you understand that,” said the black tunic, though his eyes remained suspicious.

“I was sad to have to report General Pak’s treachery to you,” said Chung-Cha. “But it was imperative that you knew. An enemy of the state is an enemy of the state, regardless of his exalted position.”

Her underlying intent was probably missed by the three men. She was not of exalted position. She had never been of exalted position. And yet she was loyal. To a point. And she would never go back to the camps.

“Precisely,” said the black tunic. “You have done well, Comrade Yie. You will be appropriately rewarded.”

Chung-Cha wondered if this meant another electric rice cooker. Or perhaps another set of tires for her car. Actually, she would prefer a South Korean–made Kia. She had heard such things were possible if the Supreme Leader willed them to happen.

“Thank you.”

“But there is yet another dilemma.”

She inclined her head. She had wondered from the moment they had knocked on her thin door and entered her humble apartment what it was they actually wanted of her. They did not have to come here to thank her. They were busy, important men. To come merely to thank her was out of the question.

That could only mean one thing.

The black tunic said, “We require your services, Comrade Yie, for a very delicate mission.”

“Yes?” she said inquiringly.

“General Pak was not alone at his death.”

She sat there, her hands in her lap, and waited for what he would say next.

“We believe that two American agents were with him at the end.”

“Did they kill him? Was it not suicide?”

One general exclaimed, “We are not sure. We cannot be sure of that. They could have made it look like Pak took his own life. They are as cunning as they are evil. You know that.”

Chung-Cha nodded and said, “Yes. I know this.”

There was no other possible response a North Korean could make to such a statement and hope to live or remain free.