The Target (Will Robie 3)

The woman smiled and said, “I’m sure she’ll pick it up right away. I wish they taught foreign languages here sooner, like they do overseas. Most kids don’t get going on that here until middle school. Way too late in my opinion.” She looked at Min again. “She looks to be about ten. Same age as Katie here. Katie, can you say hello?”

Katie, a small girl with blonde curls, was partially hiding behind her dad.

The woman said, “Katie’s our shy one.”

“Min too,” said Chung-Cha.

“If you’re doing the touristy thing and need any help or anything, let us know,” said the man. “I work downtown. Take the Metro in. I know it like the back of my hand. Just give a shout. Glad to point you in the right direction. Definitely do the Air and Space and the National Archives. Pretty cool stuff.”

“Thank you,” replied Chung-Cha, though in truth she had no idea what he had just said.

The family got into their car and drove off while Chung-Cha and Min continued their walk.

“What did they want?” asked Min.

“Just to say hello. And see if we needed help.”

“Were they pretending? So maybe they can try and hurt us later?”

“I do not know,” said Chung-Cha. “They seemed nice.”

“What was wrong with the girl’s hair?”

“Wrong?”

“It was all bent.”

It took Chung-Cha a moment to grasp what she was referring to. “Oh, some Americans’ hair is like that. Or they use a tool to make it look like that.”

“Why?”

“I do not know. I suppose they think it looks nice.”

“I do not think it looks nice,” said Min, although her expression did not match her words. It was clear she not only thought it looked nice but was wondering how it would look on her.

They headed back to the town house and Chung-Cha put a sleepy Min to bed. Then she went back downstairs, made herself a cup of tea, and spread the documents out in front of her on the table in the kitchen. She went over every page, every note, and every photograph. These files would be her life for as long as it took.

After about three hours and two more cups of tea her eyes grew weary and she leaned back in her chair. She looked up to the ceiling where she knew Min was asleep in their room.

She rose and went to the window and stared out at all the houses. They were virtually all dark now at this late hour. She knew she should go to sleep. She was tired. She was still not acclimated to the time zone. She was under pressure like she had never been before. To do what was expected of her was nearly impossible. She might be able to succeed in the first part of the mission, but the second part, her escape, would be impossible.

And then what would become of Min?

It was two days later that Chung-Cha traveled to another place, far outside of the city. It was rural and the house she was driven to was isolated amid trees and old farm fields that had not seen a plow in a very long time.

There were a number of people waiting for her. Bae was not among them. He was embedded so deeply that care was taken not to expose his loyalties to North Korea. He had been in the United States a long time and was one of the most valuable operatives they had. His position at the White House allowed him to see and hear things that no one else could.

This was the team that Chung-Cha had been told about, composed entirely of men. They were all tough and hardened and could kill people in many different ways, Chung-Cha knew. She had read the files on all of them. Some had been here longer than others. Each was willing to die to achieve their goals. They knew that the people guarding their targets were excellent. They simply expected to be better.

They sat around an old table in what had once been the kitchen of the house, Chung-Cha observed, from the battered sink and rusty stove. They all spoke in swift, terse Korean, reporting what they had learned. The chief point was that a location for the attack had now been determined.

“They will be traveling to a place called Nantucket,” said one of the men to Chung-Cha. “Our comrade Bae overheard this.”

“He said nothing to me about it when we last met.”

“It needed to be confirmed. Now it has been.”

He showed her a map. “It is a small island just off the coast of their state of Massachusetts in the Atlantic Ocean. It is gotten to by plane or by ferry. They will be going there in two weeks. Just the wife and the two children with their guards and their staff. We know the house where they will be staying. It is near the small downtown area. It is old and historic and it provides for some opportunities.”

“Do you have a schedule of events for them?” asked Chung-Cha.

“A preliminary one obtained through various sources. We are working hard to firm it up.”

“We will need to get there before them,” said Chung-Cha. “To allay suspicion.”

“Undoubtedly. It is not the summer season when many tourists go. At that time the servant class comes from Africa and Russia and other eastern European countries to take care of the wealthy Americans who often have second homes there.”

“Second homes?” asked Chung-Cha.

“These rich Americans often have more than one home. They travel between them and enjoy the fruits of their greed and exploitation of the poor.”

“I see.”

“During this time of year those servant people are gone. Fortunately, there are Asians who work there now, and Hispanics. Americans, as you know, cannot tell a Chinese from a Japanese, much less where we come from. They are ignorant and superior that way, as you well know. The world revolves around them, the filth. We have two operatives there right now. They will lay the groundwork for us. We will have jobs on different parts of the island. Not all of us. Some will be kept in reserve, such as yourself, Chung-Cha. You will come out when the moment to strike is upon us.”

“And do we know when and where that moment is?”

“We will soon determine it,” said the man, “and every detail will be gone over until we will see it in our dreams.”

“How long will they be staying there?”

“It is a vacation of some sort for them. One week.”

“And the children and their school? Are you sure they will be at this Nantucket?”

“Yes.”

“And the president will not be coming?”

“He may, we cannot be sure that he will not. But we will know if he is. We will not strike when he is there. The security will be too tight. But for the others, while good, the strength is not nearly what it is when the president is there. He is important above all others. It is said the Secret Service will leave his wife and children behind in order to save his miserable life.”

Chung-Cha nodded at all this and then studied the maps in front of her.

“I see how we will be able to get there,” she said. “But after the mission is over, how do we escape from this little island in the ocean? Surely we cannot fly out or take the ferry to this”—she glanced quickly at a document—“this Massachusetts place.”

They all looked at each other and then at her.

The same man said, “We do not expect to live through this, Chung-Cha.”

She stared at him, her features impassive. She was, in truth, not surprised by this. It was a suicide mission. Her suicide. And she knew how she had come by it.

“Do you know Comrade Rim Yun?” she asked the man.

“I have that honor, yes.”

“And was it she who told you this was so?”

“Yes.”

Chung-Cha looked around at the others, who were all eyeing her both curiously and, in the case of two of them, with suspicion. “There is no greater honor than to serve our Supreme Leader,” she said. “And to die in his service,” she added.

She turned back to the documents. “Now, we have much work to do.”

But as they went over elements of the plan, Chung-Cha could really see only one thing in her mind.

Min.