The Target (Will Robie 3)

time at the camp. To survive the camp took herculean toughness. But that was not enough. To survive the camp and keep your human spirit, your belly fire, was nearly impossible. She had accomplished the impossible. And to survive the camp one had to think ten moves ahead. She had become adept at that. The same held true for the martial arts. She not only outfought her opponents, she outthought them as well.

Her department had spent much time and money in developing her ability to attack superior numbers and come away victorious. It was a combination of original tactics, superlative fighting skills, and the ability to assess and take risks, often turning a disadvantage into an advantage. She had shown that when confronted with the administrator and the prison guards. She had turned the strengths of her opponents into weaknesses and she had never stopped moving or fighting. It was as if her mind and her body were a single unit.

She returned to her apartment tired, but satisfied that her skill level remained undiminished. She was aware that with the upcoming mission she would be pitted against the best security detail in the world. She knew that the U.S. Secret Service was widely regarded as invincible, all agents willing to die to protect whomever they were guarding. But they had lost protectees in the past, so they weren’t infallible. Still, it would probably be her greatest challenge.

She ate her rice and drank her tea and listened to country music on the iPod that the Supreme Leader had given her. She looked out the window for the man who had been there every day. He was still there. It was as though he didn’t care now if she knew he was there or not. That actually said a lot to her.

In North Korea it was said that alliances were as fragile as ice on a hot day.

She left her apartment and got into her car. It was ten years old but still serviceable. And it was hers. Until they took it away, which they could at any time. And depending on how the next mission turned out, that time might soon be coming.

She drove out of Pyongyang. She checked her rearview mirror and was not surprised to see a black sedan following her. She drove slowly, well under the speed limit. She was in no hurry. She had no intention of losing whoever was back there.

Her trip would take her roughly seventy miles northeast of the capital into a mountainous part of South Hamgyong province, bisected by the Ipsok River valley.

The official name of where she was heading was Kwan-li-so Number 15. But most people simply called it Yodok. It was a labor camp or concentration camp or penal colony; Chung-Cha did not care which term was used. It all amounted to the same thing.

People taking away the freedom of other people.

For years she had had another name for it: home.

Like other labor camps, Yodok was comprised of two parts: the total control zone from which prisoners were never released, and the revolutionary zone, where prisoners were punished, reeducated, and eventually released. The camp was about one hundred and fifty square miles in size and had about fifty thousand prisoners. Electric fences and over a thousand guards made sure that no one left of their own volition.

Chung-Cha did not believe there was corruption at Yodok. The guards there seemed to do their duty with barbaric joy. At least they had when she was there. And she was still the only prisoner from the total control zone ever voluntarily released. But that release had come with a heavy price, perhaps heavier than if she had tried to escape.

That was why she was here today, to relive this part of her life. Well, that was only partly true. It took special permission to do this, which she had requested and received. Those granting that permission understood her to be coming here to pay homage to those who had allowed her freedom, in exchange for her lifelong commitment to serve her country. At least that had been the original intent. Then she had convinced those more powerful than her that there should be another reason. And that she was the ideal person to implement this plan. She had had no guarantee that permission would be granted, but it had been. The necessary papers documenting this rode in her inner pocket. The august signatures on the papers would brook no opposition.

She parked near the gate and was met there by two guards and the administrator. Chung-Cha knew this man well. He had been the administrator when she was a prisoner there.

He bowed to her with respect and she returned the bow. Her gaze never left his face as they each straightened. In his burnt, wrinkled countenance she saw the one man she had dreamt of killing for most of her life. She knew that he knew this. But now he was powerless to harm her anymore. Yet there was the way his lip curled back, exposing one misshapen tooth, that made Chung-Cha understand quite clearly that he would dearly love to have her back here and in his power.

“It is an honor to have you here, Comrade Yie,” he said.

“The Supreme Leader sends his best wishes to you, Comrade Doh,” replied Chung-Cha, making the point of exactly where she was at this stage in her life.

Doh blinked rapidly behind his thick glasses and his smile was as false as his next words. “It does my heart good to see how far you have risen, Comrade Yie.”

He escorted her through the gate and into the prison compound.

Although Chung-Cha had been gone from this place for many years now, much of it had not changed at all. The huts where the prisoners lived were still made of mud with straw roofs. As she peered inside one she saw the boards with blankets on them representing a prisoner’s bed. There were forty of them in a room that was only about five hundred square feet in size. The huts were not heated and they were not clean, thus disease was rampant. She had heard the administrator say once when she was here that such widespread fatal epidemics saved them the price of bullets.

She stopped in front of one hut. She did so for a particular reason. This had been “her” hut, where she had lived for years. She glanced over at Doh and saw that he too remembered this.

“You have indeed risen far,” he said, his fake smile broadening across his tanned features.

He was a pureblood, she knew, a member of the very elite core group. His grandfather had been one of Kim Il Sung’s earliest and most ardent supporters. For that he and his family had been forever rewarded greatly. For the grandson it meant he got to play God with the lives of hundreds of thousands of his fellow citizens over the years, determining who got to live and, far more often, who died.

“I am still the only one,” she said back.

“Still,” he conceded snidely, “it must have seemed a miracle for you.”

“For you too,” she shot back.

He bowed again.

She waited for him to straighten before adding, “The Supreme Leader believes that this is a shame. He wants to know why more are not capable of being converted.”

This had been the other reward that Chung-Cha had requested and been given for her part in exposing the treachery of General Pak. The power to come here and make these sorts of inquiries. And she had been granted something else.

She looked expectantly at Doh, who had obviously not been anticipating this. She saw a vein in his temple begin to throb, and his hand shook as he raised it to his face to adjust his glasses.

“The Supreme Leader believes?” he said, his voice shaking. The guards with him took a few steps backward, as though to distance themselves from whatever repercussions might befall the man.

Chung-Cha reached into her pocket and produced the authorizing documents. Doh took them, adjusted his glasses again, and read through them before meekly handing them back.

“I understand. The Supreme Leader is wise beyond his years. It is an honor to do his bidding.”

“I’m sure. But let us get down to it. I was in the total control zone. I was not core, or wavering. I was in the hostile class, Comrade Doh. And now I am acknowledged as one of the most valuable assets we have. Perhaps there are other such assets here, but going to waste. The Supreme Leader does not like waste.”

“No, no, of course not. I…what would you have me do, Comrade Yie? Please, you have but to name it and it shall be done.”

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nbsp; Chung-Cha looked the man over. He was far smaller and weaker-looking than she remembered. To a little girl whose very life or death depended on the daily mood of this person and his underlings, he might as well have been a giant. Now, though, he was nothing to her.

“I want to look over some of the hostiles. The girls in particular.”

“Girls?” he repeated in a bewildered tone that matched his expression.

“Yes. The Supreme Leader understands quite clearly how useful females can be in certain areas of service. Much more so than males, who are more easily identified and targeted as potential enemies of other countries. Do you understand?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, of course, I can see that.”

Chung-Cha added, “And I want you to show me some of the more interesting prospects.”

He nodded again. “Yes, yes. I will take you myself.”

“I’m sure you will,” she said without smiling.

He did not seem to grasp the significance of what she had said. He was a cruel, cagey, and evil man; that she knew. But he was also petty, vain, and shallow. And such a person could never attain brilliance or even acuity no matter how hard he tried.

“And I will be sure to communicate your excellent level of cooperation.”