The Target (Will Robie 3)

He nodded, took his cap off a hook, and led the two other generals out the door.

They simply left Chung-Cha behind. She was not surprised by this. There was no gender equality here. She was not in the military and was thus a second-class citizen to those who were.

She wondered if they would send her to kill Pak. She thought the odds were against his simply being executed by firing squad, the normal way of dealing with traitors. It was a tricky balance, she knew, much like the street vendors and the Dutch tourist. Publicly executing Pak would require some explanation. They could lie, of course, but savvier folks would know that only an egregious transgression would justify such a high-ranking official’s execution, and the speculation would undoubtedly come to rest on an attempted coup of the Supreme Leader. That such an inner-circle official could have participated in such a scheme would reflect badly on the Supreme Leader. Even though the traitor would have been caught, others might be emboldened to try as well. But traitors had to be dealt with, and execution was usually the only punishment deemed acceptable. So Chung-Cha might be called on to do it, but make it look like an accident, a task she had performed in the past. Thus the traitor would be dead, and any of his confederates would think twice before trying again. But the public and other potential enemies within the country would not necessarily know of the attempted coup at all. That way the Supreme Leader would not appear weakened.

She thought about all of this and then thought no more. The order would either come or it would not.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket, rose, and left.

A few moments later she walked out into the sunshine and looked to the sky, where there were no clouds visible.

At Yodok this was the time of year when prisoners knew the cold was coming. The first set of clothes Chung-Cha had received upon entering the camp had come from a dead child. The clothes were filthy and full of holes. She would not receive a “new” set of rags for three years. She labored in a gold mine, digging out the precious metal, unaware of what it was or that it was valuable. She also worked in a gypsum quarry, in a distillery, and in the fields. Her days started at four in the morning and ended at eleven at night. She had seen clearly insane people forced to dig holes and pull weeds. Dying prisoners were sometimes simply released so their deaths would not be officially reported, thereby making the mortality rates of the camps look better. Chung-Cha had not known this was the reason; she only remembered old and young prisoners dragging themselves through the open gates only to expire meters from the spot, their bodies left to decompose or be eaten by animals.

She had lived with thirty other prisoners in a mud hut not much bigger than her current apartment. The huts were unheated and the blankets threadbare. She had suffered frostbite while inside the hut. She had awoken to find the person next to her dead of the cold. There was one toilet for two hundred prisoners. To the outside world this probably seemed unimaginable. For Chung-Cha it was simply her life.

Ten.

Ten was the number of basic rules at all the camps.

The first and most important was, You must not escape.

The last and nearly as important was, If you break any of the above rules you will be shot.

All the rules in between—no stealing, obey all orders, spy on and betray other prisoners—were just filler, she believed. The fact was they could kill you for any reason or no reason at all.

Rule number nine had intrigued her, however. It said that one must truly be remorseful for one’s mistakes. She knew this was an incentive for those who hoped one day to be free of the camps. She had never hoped this. She never believed she would be free. She was not remorseful for her mistakes. She was simply trying to survive. In that regard her life now was no different from her life in the camp.

I am simply trying to survive.

Chapter

25

THE THREE MEN WERE IN the White House Situation Room again. And once more the NSC Watch teams had been walled off. There were no recordings being made. There were no other attendees. No official transcript would be kept.

Evan Tucker looked at the president, and the president stared back at him. The latter had not been told why this meeting had been called, only that it was urgent and needed to take place immediately. That was why they were sitting here now and why the president had canceled four meetings that he had been scheduled to attend.

“Care to take me out of the dark, Evan?” the president said in a clearly annoyed tone.

Josh Potter had already met with Tucker and thus knew what was coming. He had been uncomfortable not informing the president directly since he was the president’s man, but Tucker had browbeaten him into letting the DCI make the briefing.

And, in truth, Potter did not want to be the messenger on this debacle.

Tucker cleared his throat, which lately had felt like mold was growing there. He clasped his hands together and rubbed his two thumbs against one another so hard they turned bright pink.

“There have been developments of a critical nature related to the mission and none of them are good.”

All the color seemed to drain from the president’s face. He barked, “Explain that.”

Tucker said, “As you know, Lloyd Carson was the British envoy assigned to the embassy in Pyongyang. He has been our chief go-between with General Pak. Really our only go-between.”

The president said, “And I was initially incredulous. He should’ve gone to his own government with this. Then my esteemed colleague at 10 Downing Street could have dealt with it.”

“And as I explained, Carson was well aware that no one in his country would have the stomach to follow this through. So with his leader’s blessing he presented the opportunity to us.”

The president closed his eyes, his top row of teeth clamping onto his bottom lip. When he opened his eyes, his look was one of fury. “It always falls to us, doesn’t it? The good old USA, the world’s policeman. We’ll do the dirty work while everyone else stays safely on the sidelines. And if things go to hell feel free to turn on us or simply run away.”

Tucker nodded and said, “Superpower status carries great responsibility and much of it is unfair. But the fact remains we did follow it up because we saw a tremendous opportunity to get rid of a regime that has been a thorn in the civilized world’s side for decades. We knew there were risks, but we all felt that the benefits outweighed them.”

“Save the cover-your-ass speech, Evan,” snapped the president, “and tell me what happened.”

Tucker sat back and composed himself. The president had read him exactly right. That was his CYA speech, but at least he had said it.

“Lloyd Carson apparently got on the radar of the North Korean’s state security people.”

“How?”

“The entire country is one huge pool of paranoia where everyone spies on everyone else, sir. That’s built into their psyche from the cradle. It truly is like Orwell’s novel.”

“So he got on their radar. Then what?” said the president tersely.

“He was traveling outside the country. He had stops along the way, so he flew to Istanbul and boarded the Orient Express, which would take him first to eastern Europe and then on to western Europe, ending in Venice.”

“But he didn’t finish his ride?”

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“He apparently felt compromised in Romania and got off. He went to a hotel. In his room there he was attacked. And killed.”

“My God,” exclaimed the president, and then he waited for Tucker to continue.

“Apparently he had called a number shortly before he was murdered.”

“Whose number?”

“General Pak’s. It was a special phone, untraceable.”

“All right. So what exactly is the problem?” said the president, looking puzzled.

“Apparently, their agent called the number. General Pak, thinking it was Carson, answered. And the agent recognized his voice.”

“Shit!” roared the president. “Are you serious, Tucker? That’s how it went down?” He slumped back in his chair, his eyes closed once more.

Tucker and Potter exchanged anxious glances. Each man was probably thinking about what his next career might be. Certainly it would be outside government.

Without opening his eyes the president said, “And if Carson was murdered and no one other than us knew about this mission, how did we learn about all this?”

Tucker knew the question was coming and he had prepared many answers, some longer than others. He had decided the shortest response would be the best.

“General Pak. When he learned that Carson had been murdered, he immediately recognized his mistake in answering the phone and reported to us.”

The president opened his eyes. “So what exactly does North Korea intend to do?”

“Well, this is only conjecture, but I imagine that they intend to tell the world what the plot was. That Western powers were planning to assassinate their Supreme Leader and install General Pak as the new leader. And even though Carson was a Brit, the term ‘Western powers’ would obviously include us.”