The Target (Will Robie 3)

A minute of silence passed, punctuated only by Reel’s accelerated breathing.

Finally Spitzer said, “You were recruited into the agency at a young age, with no college behind you. That is highly unusual.”

“So they tell me. But I guess you don’t need a degree to pull a trigger.”

“Why did you choose to do so? You were a very young woman, barely at the age of majority. You could have done many other things in your life.”

“Well, I didn’t see many other options, actually.”

“That is hard to believe,” countered Spitzer.

“Well, you didn’t have to believe it, did you? It was my choice,” Reel said harshly.

Spitzer closed her notebook and capped her pen.

Reel noted this. “I don’t think our hour is up.”

“I think that’s enough for today, Agent Reel.”

Reel rose. “I think it’s enough for the rest of my life.”

She slammed the door on her way out.

Chapter

13

THE PLACE HAD SEVERAL DIFFERENT names: Bukchang, Pukchang, Pukch’ang.

It was officially known as Kwan-li-so Number 18. That meant Penal Labor Colony in Korean. It was a concentration camp. It was a gulag. It actually was hell, near the Taedong River in North Korea’s P’yongan-namdo province.

The oldest of North Korean labor camps, Bukchang had been hosting dissidents and alleged enemies of the state since the fifties. Unlike the other labor camps, all of which were run by the Bowibu—also known as the State Security Department or the secret police—Bukchang was operated by the inmin pohan seong, the Interior Ministry. There were two parts to the camp. One zone was for reeducation. Inmates here would learn the teachings of the country’s two great dead leaders and might be released, though they would be monitored for the rest of their lives. The other zone was for lifers who would never see outside the camp. The majority here were lifers.

Nearly the physical size of Los Angeles, Bukchang housed fifty thousand prisoners who were kept in by, among many other things, a four-meter-high fence. If you were sent here, so was your entire family—the classic definition of guilt by association, which extended to infants, toddlers, teenagers, siblings, spouses, and grandparents. Babies born here shared the same guilt as their families. Unauthorized babies born here, because intercourse and pregnancies were strictly regulated, were killed. Age and personal culpability meant nothing, and a toddler and an ancient grandmother were treated the same—brutally.

At Bukchang everyone worked nearly all the time, in the coal mines, in the cement factories, and at other vocations. All of the work was dangerous. All of the workers were left totally unprotected. Many died from work accidents. Black lung disease alone had felled legions of forced coal miners. Food was largely unavailable. You were expected to scavenge for yourself, and families feasted on garbage, insects, weeds, and sometimes each other. Water came from the rain or the ground. It was dirty, and dysentery, among many other diseases, was rampant. These living conditions were used at Bukchang as highly effective population control.

It was not known precisely how many labor camps there were in North Korea, although the international consensus was six. The fact that they were numbered and those numbers reached at least as high as twenty-two was an indicator of their pervasiveness. At least two hundred thousand North Koreans, or nearly one percent of the entire population, called these labor camps home.

There were allegations of corruption inside Bukchang. Things were not going smoothly. For one, there had been ten escapes in less than two months. That, by itself, was inexcusable. Two armed battalions guarded the camp. The four-meter-high fence was electrified, with booby traps everywhere. Five-meter-high guard towers ringed the fence, and guards on the ground remained both overt and hidden, looking for any signs of problems. Thus escape should have been impossible. But since it had happened, there had to be an explanation. There were rumors that the escapees had benefited from inside help. That was not only inexcusable, it was also treasonous.

The female prisoner was huddled in a corner of the stone room. She was a recent arrival here after being caught in China and repatriated. She was barely twenty-five but looked older. Her body was small, scarred but also hardened and sinewy; there was strength in her small footprint. The money that she had hidden inside an orifice had been discovered. The guards had pocketed it before beating her.

She now sat shivering with fear in the corner. Her clothes were rags, filthy from the trip out and now the forced journey back. She was bleeding, her hair matted and dirty. She was breathing heavily, her small chest pushing out and pulling in with each frantic breath.

The heavy door opened and four men came in: three guards in uniform and the administrator of Bukchang, who wore a gray tunic and pressed slacks. He was well fed, his hair neatly combed into a precise side part, his shoes shined, his skin smooth and healthy. He looked down at the mess of a human in front of him. She was like an animal found by the side of the road. He would treat her as such, which was how all prisoners here were treated. Any guard showing pity or kindness would in turn become a prisoner himself. Thus no guard ever showed compassion. From a totalitarian mind-set, it was a perfect arrangement.

He gave orders to his men, who finished stripping her down. The administrator stepped forward and nudged her exposed buttock with his glossy wingtip.

She bunched tighter, seemingly trying to melt into the wall. He smiled at this and then drew nearer still. He squatted down.

In Korean he said, “You have money, it seems.”

She turned her face to his, her limbs trembling. She managed to nod.

“You have earned this while away?”

She nodded again.

“By taking Chinese filth into your bed?”

“Yes.”

“You have more money?”

She started to shake her head but then stopped. She said, “I can get more.”

The man nodded in satisfaction and looked up at the guards.

“How much more?” he asked.

“More,” she said. “Much more.”

“I want more. Much more,” he answered. “When?”

“I will need to get a message out.”

“How much more can you get?”

“Ten thousand wons.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Not enough. And I don’t want wons.”

“Renminbis then?”

“Do I look like I want Chinese toilet paper?”

“What then?” she said fearfully.

“Euros. I want euros.”

“Euros?” she said, shivering once more since it was freezing in here and she was naked. “What good are euros here?”

“I want euros, bitch,” said the warden. “It is no concern of yours why.”

“How much euros?” said the woman.

“Twenty thousand. Up front.”

She looked shocked. “Twenty thousand euros?”

“That is my price.”

“But how can I trust you?”

“You can’t,” he said, smiling. “But what choice do you have? The coal mine awaits.” He paused. “Your record says you are from Kaechon,” he said.

This was known as Camp 14 and located on the other side of the Taedong River, adjacent to Bukchang.

He continued. “They coddle their prisoners there. Even though we have a reeducation zone here, and Kaechon is only for sons of bitches that are irredeemable, we do not coddle at Bukchang. You will not leave here alive. You will be caught trying to escape. And you will be tied to a pole, your mouth stuffed with rocks, and you will be shot five times by