“That … is a Kim.”
She hadn’t understood any of that at the time.
Then everything changed.
Unlike her mother she’d only spent a short time in the fields and had never been sent to the mines. Instead she’d worked in one of the factories, making glassware. Other sites produced cement, pottery, and uniforms. Her life should have been as meaningless as her mother’s. But a week after Sun Hi died, as she walked home from the factory, the guards cuffed her hands behind her back and blindfolded her. She was tossed into a jeep and driven a long way on a bumpy road. Then she was led inside a building, where the blindfold was removed. The room was windowless and empty, except for a chair where she sat. She’d heard stories of places like this and wondered if today the guards would finally have their way with her. The door opened and a short, stout man with a pudgy face wearing plain, dark, uniform-like clothing entered. His hair was cut short, like the guards, with no sideburns. But instead of the emotionless features she’d seen on those around her all her life, this man smiled.
“I am your father,” he said.
She stared at him, unsure how to reply. Was this a trick?
“Your mother and I once knew each other. We were in love. But my father sent her here. I never knew that, until recently. I never knew you existed, either.”
She was confused.
“I asked that you be brought to me,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Hana Sung.”
He smiled. “Did your mother name you?”
“Someone else chose it. But I like it.”
“Than you shall be Hana Sung.”
“You knew my mother?”
He nodded. “She and I were close. But that was many years ago.”
“I was born here.”
“I know that. But you will live here no longer.”
“Who are you?”
“Kim Yong Jin.”
And she knew then what her mother had meant.
She truly was a Kim.
That day her father saved her from the camp, but any concept of gratefulness remained foreign to her, both then and now. At that first encounter all that had raced through her mind was that maybe, just maybe, she would eat no more spoiled cabbage or rotten corn. No more grasshoppers, locusts, or dragonflies. Even worse, no more regurgitating what had been eaten, then eating it again, as a way to fool her hunger. The grapes, gooseberries, and raspberries found sometimes in the forest she would miss, but not the rats, frogs, and snakes that she’d also hunted down.
“What of my mother?” she asked him.
“I cannot help her.”
Which had actually pleased her. After the shovel attack they hadn’t spoken a word, though they continued to live together. Each went her own way and, surely, if the opportunity presented itself, one would turn on the other to the guards, so they both stayed wary.
“I am an important man,” her father said.
“Can you give orders?” she asked. “Like the guards?”
He nodded. “No one here will question a thing I say.”
“Then I want you to do something for me.”
He seemed pleased that she’d made a request.
“I want someone punished for hurting my friend.”
“What did he do?”
She told him about Sun Hi, then said, “I want him punished for that. If you are important, then you can do that.”
Two hours later she was led into another windowless room. Teacher hung upside down, his ankles in shackles, the body just high enough from the floor that his outstretched arms could not touch. His head was flushed with blood, his clothes stank of urine.
“What would you have me to do with him?” her father asked her.
“Kill him, as he did Sun Hi.”
“I thought that might be what you’d say, so I had this brought with him.”
A guard appeared with a pointer in hand.
The shower water rained down on her and she allowed the lubricated sensation of the soap to soothe her rattled nerves. Religion had been forbidden in the camp, and her father believed in nothing. Neither did she, really. Insiders only believed in themselves. She’d stood that day and watched as Teacher’s skull was pounded with the pointer, each smack sharp and clear. Unlike Sun Hi, who took her beating in silence, he screamed in pain like a puppy. Welts appeared that burst open, blood dripping from them to the floor.
He struggled at first, then eventually gave up and died.
“You are an important man,” she told her father.
“I will be the next leader of this country.”
During the past fourteen years she’d watched her father’s rise, then fall. He’d taken her from the camp, then eventually with him when he fled the country to Macao. She’d been educated first in North Korea, then in Chinese private schools, where she became familiar with world history beyond the camp fences.
Some of which had astounded her.
Long ago, nearly 2.5 out of 10 million people died in what the world called the Korean War. The north had actually invaded the south, with no clear victor from the fight. Millions of North Koreans were starving, the country so isolated and corrupt that no nation wanted anything to do with it. Her father had been born a communist prince, raised in luxury and educated abroad, all while people by the tens of thousands died every year from malnutrition. She’d come to learn that breeding and bloodlines defined everything in North Korea.
As did power.
Her father was once a four-star general in the Korean People’s Army, though he possessed no experience for the job. While inside the camp she’d been taught no notion of the country, the world, or its leaders. Only after being removed, during the short time she attended state schools, had she been told that America was evil, South Korea even worse, and North Korea was supposedly the envy of the world. Unlike every other schoolchild outside the fences, in the camp she’d never carried and praised a photo of Dear Leader, nor one of his father or the father before. Prisoners were not even important enough to brainwash. Her life had been nothing but a constant reminder of genetic sins. Then to be told that she was actually part of the national leadership, part of the fabric that condemned so many people to exist behind the fences—that had been too much.
She’d would never forget the prisoners.
Not ever.
She’d watched her father kill a defenseless old man, then toss a drugged woman out to drown. He placed no significance on other people’s lives. Kims were just like the guards and Teacher. Her great-grandfather created the
camps, her grandfather expanded them, and her half uncle kept them going. Hundreds of thousands remained prisoners, more added by the day. The Kims killed Sun Hi, as surely as if they’d personally beat her with that pointer. And she had no doubt that her father, once installed as supreme leader, would continue that legacy. He said otherwise, but she knew better.
He was a Kim.
She finished her shower and shut off the water, her body scrubbed clean and immaculate. Steam engulfed her, the wet marble walls warm to the touch. She stood naked, water dripping from her skin. One thing was certain.
She was no Kim.
Names fascinated her, perhaps because for the first nine years of her life they’d meant little to nothing. She’d taken the time to study her father’s and learned that Yong referred to bravery and Jin a jewel.
He was neither.
Her own name was different.
Hana Sung.
First victory.
Which pointed the way.
FORTY-FIVE
Kim finished his lunch, delivered by room service half an hour ago. He’d made a good choice with the hotel, an upscale establishment that faced the bay and offered a level of personal service he’d come to expect.
After abandoning the lifeboat he and Hana had made their way into a small suburb north of Zadar where they found a taxi. The driver had suggested the hotel and delivered them to the front door. He’d kept a close hold on the black satchel and Hana had brought along the travel bag from the ferry. All in all, their escape had worked perfectly. He was now free of the American, with the documents, ready to move forward.
Hana was showering and he needed to do the same. He wore a soft robe from the bedroom closet, as their clothes were being laundered. They’d need to buy some more, which he could do later or tomorrow. Their suite was the hotel’s largest, with two bedrooms, two baths, and a spacious living room. French doors opened out to a terrace that overlooked open water. The day had turned chilly, the wind finally eased, the fog lifted to a thin gray film. Waves continued to march in the bay, the pulse of the sea strong, constant, and relentless.
The documents from the satchel were spread out on the table, a cache straight from the private records of the U.S. Treasury Department. He knew the sole original was the most important. It had been unfortunate that he hadn’t been able to speak with Howell further. He’d intended on forcing more information on threat of harm to his lover. Unfortunately, that lever was now gone, as was Howell. So he’d have to figure out the rest on his own.