by Terry Toler
Too late. I walked in the door as the SPOD in my head ground to a halt.
4
“Myusshiyeyo?” Bae asked the businessman sitting at the restaurant table.
She asked him for the time. Her heartbeat was pounding so hard in her chest that she could feel it in her ears. The adrenaline pulsed through her veins as the excitement of stealing his satchel was heightening her senses.
Everything was coordinated and executed perfectly. She came up to him from behind so he couldn’t see her clearly. The watch was on his right arm, meaning he had to turn away from her to look at it. As he did, she picked up the satchel with her right hand, pivoted so she was facing away from him, and let the satchel droop low almost to the ground, holding it only by the strap.
The man seemed annoyed by the question which was all the better. He didn’t bother making friendly eye contact.
“Yeoseosshi,” he said roughly. “Six o’clock.”
Bae knew it was five after, but the satchel man didn’t seem to want to be bothered with the task of giving her the exact information.
“Gam-sa-ham-ni-da,” Bae said as she started to walk away. The appropriate formal and polite way for a young child to say thank you to an older man.
This is too easy, she thought to herself as she commanded her feet to walk away, slowly, deliberately, without calling attention to herself even though every fiber of her being wanted to run.
It was too easy.
She heard an expletive. Before she could react, the man reached out and grabbed her left arm. Still seated, he didn’t have leverage, so she squirmed away and took off running daring not to look back.
Several people were walking toward her. A mother pushed a stroller. A jogger. Another businessman in a suit. The fat tourist who took the selfie earlier. The mother wouldn’t try to stop her more than likely. Too dangerous for a mom with a baby. The jogger had headsets on so he couldn’t hear what was happening. Maybe he’d see it and he looked to be in shape. But her experience was that joggers were focused on their running.
The fat man still had the camera in his hand, so he was oblivious to what was going on around him.
The man with the suit was her biggest worry. She slowed her pace to a fast walk, staying on the opposite side of the sidewalk from the man in the suit. Surprisingly, there was no reaction from anyone. Nothing in any of their faces gave away that there was any commotion behind her.
Bae took the opportunity to glance back. The satchel man was walking toward her. At a quick pace, but it appeared that he was trying to be as inconspicuous as her.
Why?
She considered dropping the satchel and running away. He probably wouldn’t follow her as long as he had his bag back. But now she was even more curious. What was in the satchel that made the man not want to make a scene?
She’d figure that out later. He was gaining on her. Satchel man was tall with long strides and came toward her with a purpose. To the left was the sea. She could run faster than he could on the sandy beach, but it was out in the open for hundreds of yards. To her immediate right, was a hill, which was not conducive for running.
Just a few steps ahead, were some shops. She headed for those.
The man was so close that Bae could hear him breathing hard. She took off running. The man shouted and quickened his pace. A shop owner swept the sidewalk just up ahead. He looked that way and saw the chase unfolding. He tried to grab Bae, but she ducked under his arms and left him grasping at air.
She sprinted now. The excitement turned to panic. An alleyway just ahead on the right between two buildings was her lifeline, so she took it, immediately regretting her choice. A fence at the end blocked her escape.
Too late to go back to the boardwalk.
Bae ran straight ahead and leapt on to the chain link fence and bolted over it, tearing her shirt in the process, and scraping the side of her waist on the metal prong at the top. Fortunately, the satchel handle had not gotten caught on the fence, but she tumbled over it anyway, and landed hard on her shoulder.
Bae let out a scream from the pain. She reached back and touched the wound and found blood on her hand.
Another scream formed. This time because the man was at the fence. If the fence hadn’t been there, he’d already been on her.
She took off running again. It took him longer to get over since he wore dress shoes and a suit. That gave her a slight head start. Another alleyway was ahead, but she was afraid to take it. The hill was her best option. She scurried up it like a cat. The grass was slightly wet, so it would be harder for the man to keep his footing.
At the top of the hill, was a dirt road. With only a slight hesitation, she went to the left. After a hundred feet or so down the road, the man had not yet emerged from the hill. Bae veered off the road and laid on the ground behind a bush, and tried to catch her breath. From her vantage point she could see the man finally reach the top of the hill and step into the middle of the road looking both ways, obviously not sure where she had gone.
She laid perfectly still, holding her breath, not wanting to move or do anything to give away her position. The man pulled out a gun from his suit.
What?
She let out a slight gasp.
Did he hear it?
He must have because he started to walk her way. It took every bit of self-control not to scream at the top of her lungs. All she did was steal a satchel. A petty crime for a thirteen-year-old girl. Why was he hunting her with a gun?
Getting off of the boardwalk had been a mistake. At least there were people around. He wouldn’t dare pull a gun in a crowd. Here she was all alone. He could kill her if he wanted and no one would know. It might take days for them to find her body. Her imagination ran wild.
She thought about running again, but he could easily catch her on the road, or worse, just shoot her in the back. The thought suddenly made her angry. Who was this man and what in the satchel was so important that he would kill to get it back?
He must’ve known she was hiding in the bushes because he walked slowly down the road, deliberately, carefully checking both sides about every ten feet.
When he got close, Bae bolted out from behind the bush. With the element of surprise, she was able to lower a shoulder into him from behind and sent him into the bushes on the other side of the road.
He let out a yell and another expletive. This time Bae didn’t look back. She just kept running. Down the road. Then up some steps. Through a backyard. Onto the pavement into an open area. She could hear the man’s footsteps on the pavement below.
Why won’t he give up?
He was close to her again.
Her lungs burned. Every muscle in her legs screamed for her to stop.
She kept climbing until she was on the cliffs overlooking the sea. Her light frame was an advantage. She bounded up the cliffs like a goat.
A little cry of pain gave away her position. The jagged rocks cut her hands.
The man laughed. He muttered something. Bae thought he said that he had her now. The cliffs were getting steeper.
He was probably right. Bae couldn’t keep going much longer. Fatigue had set in and was overwhelming the adrenaline that pushed her forward.
For a moment, she wondered if this was how she was going to die.
The satchel man climbed faster than her. He was bigger and stronger and could take large bounding steps. Her only advantage was that she could scurry between the rocks. He had to stop to watch where she went.
He was tiring as well. She could hear the grunts of exhaustion as he stopped a couple of times to catch his breath. That gave her some confidence as she continued upward. Higher. Eventually, she’d get to the part where it was too steep to climb. At that point, she would run out of options.
The area was called Lover’s Point. Couples often came to the lookout point, for some time alone and for the spectacular views. Bae barely noticed the sea in the distance. She was too focused on where the man was.
Satchel man ma
de a mistake. He tried to take the most direct approach and reached a dead end in the steepest part. He’d have to backtrack. Bae stayed on the trails. This gave her a temporary advantage. She abruptly changed directions and started going down, taking him by surprise as he let out his own yelp.
He shouted more expletives. Bae was running fast now. Downhill. Too fast for such a steep incline. If she twisted an ankle or fell against a rock, it would be over for her.
Satchel man apparently didn’t want to give chase. He took out his gun again.
A shot rang out. The bullet caromed off a rock only a few feet from her. The sound echoed off the side of the cliffs and caused a ringing in her ears.
“Help me,” she cried out, but no one was around to hear her.
There were people far below them, on the street, but they were a good distance away. Running in the open was not an option. So, Bae hid behind a large rock. The satchel fit in a crevice in the rock, so she hid it there.
Satchel man was even with her now, but twenty or so yards away, to her left. He hadn’t seen her go behind the rock. He struggled to maintain his footing. His left arm kept reaching to the ground to catch his fall. The gun was swinging wildly in his right hand.
He was below her before he saw her. A smile formed on his face. She didn’t have the strength to go back up the hill. Going down wasn’t an option.
What would he do to her?
Bae started to cry.
As he neared, he lost his footing again. Satchel man reached out with his right hand to catch his fall. The gun was still in that hand.
As his hand hit the ground, his body weight continued going down.
Gravity was stronger than the hand trying to hold up the weight. Bae could see his hand bend awkwardly with the gun still in it.
A muzzle flashed.
A loud popping sound echoed off the rocks.
The gun went off. The man fell on top of it.
Bae covered her ears.
Satchel man lay motionless on the ground. Facedown.
Bae tried to process what was going on. Was he shot?
After several minutes, she approached the man cautiously. He wasn’t moving.
Was it a trap?
With as much strength as she could muster, she put both arms on his side and pulled him over. There was no blood. Just a hole in his shirt, right below his heart.
His breathing was labored.
He’s still alive.
Bae grabbed the gun out of his hand. He made no effort to resist.
He kept going in and out of consciousness.
What do I do?
Before she could decide, he took a last gasp for air. His body convulsed, his eyes blinked several times, and then he slumped back to the ground.
“He’s dead!” she mumbled to herself.
I think.
She wasn’t sure. She’d never seen a dead person before.
Bae looked around. There was no one who saw what had happened. She held the gun out from her body, not sure exactly how to carry it.
I have to get out of here.
She started down the mountain, and then suddenly remembered the satchel. The reason all this had happened.
Racing back to the rock, she took the satchel out of the hiding place and considered leaving it by the body.
If she did that, then all of this would’ve been for nothing.
It was growing dark, now. No one would see her. The sun set quickly over the mountains. It would be pitch dark in just a few minutes.
She stayed on the mountain, careful not to be seen. When it was completely dark, she walked down the hill and toward her house.
The gun was thrown into a nearby pond.
Once home, Bae ran up the stairs to her room, hid the satchel, and fell onto the bed thinking about what just happened.
I’m in big trouble! she concluded.
At least I’m alive.
5
The third floor of the North Korean cyber warfare lab was like what I expected. Sterile and uniform. Emotionless. Much like the rest of the country, only even more so. The roughly three thousand square feet consisted of rows of several hundred desks in a large open room. The desks weren’t more than three feet wide and three feet high, all with the same blue top and tan-colored legs. Like something you might see in a six-grade classroom back in America.
On each desk sat a computer. Facing each computer was a young Korean, age ranging from seventeen to thirty. Every person in the room wore a green uniform. They all had the same blank, joyless look. No women were in the room. I assumed because they wanted the men to have no distractions.
A large picture of Emperor Min Yang was the only thing on the wall.
Two dozen or so supervisors walked up and down the aisles, looking over the worker’s shoulders. The supervisors’ gaits and mannerisms were robotic, synchronized almost. They held their hands behind them in the small of their backs. Their heads were up and chests out like they were General George Patton inspecting his troops. Several looked over at me with curiosity. An American had probably never been in that lab before.
The room was a stark contrast to Google, where I applied for a position right out of college.
Strange that my mind would go there.
The Googleplex workspace in Mountain View, California, featured more than three million square feet of space and sported two swimming pools, beach volleyball courts, a bowling alley, and several recreational facilities, including a gym, work out area, sauna, spa, pool, ping pong tables and a variety of lounges for social gatherings. A worker could get an afternoon massage or take a nap in the “sleep room.”
They offered me a position on the spot. I turned them down on the spot after thinking about it for less than a minute. The salary package had given me pause. Six figures. Full benefits. Matching contributions in a retirement plan. Not bad for a twenty-two-year old fresh out of college.
I still turned them down. At the moment, I was wondering if I had made the right decision. Why exactly was I subjecting myself to this abuse for less than a third of the wages and benefits from the CIA?
I knew why. The idea of sitting at a cubicle, eight hours a day, entering code that someone else wrote, would be like torture to me. Now that I had experienced actual torture, I realized how foolish and naïve that thought was. The job at Google looked rather good at the moment as I raised my hand to my face to touch the tender lip that was swollen from my recent experience with real torture.
I wondered the same thing about the robots working on the computers in this place. How could they possibly spend all day every day sitting at their desks, sending thousands of spam emails, hoping to get one unsuspecting victim to give them access to his computer?
The thought of shutting them down and putting them out of work brought a smile to my face.
“What’s so funny?” Combover guy said, bringing me back to present reality.
“Your face,” I said to him in Spanish, assuming he didn’t know the language.
I actually felt better about the whole situation which was why I was acting more brazen. He was the only gunman on the floor. The entrance had about a dozen armed guards, but they were downstairs. I’d avoid using that door to exit. Other than that, I didn’t see any other threats.
I could tell the Combover guy wanted a confrontation. He kept shifting his weight and fidgeting with his gun. He seemed anxious for his buddy to get back, as was I. Jethro had gone into that office and was having an animated discussion with a man, I could only assume was the head honcho over the entire floor. A conclusion reached only because he was the only one with an office.
It didn’t appear the conversation would be over anytime soon. That was expected. Getting access to their computers wouldn’t be easy, so I was patient. It gave me time to survey the room to see what information I could glean from my vantage point.
What I saw almost knocked me over.
On the wall was a large computer screen. I hadn’t noticed it before because it wa
s behind us. The screen displayed numbers. Red. Like a ticker tape. Or a sports book at a casino. My guess was production numbers. It was updated almost by the second. Each line was a different category of cyber hacking.
I studied them carefully, to glean everything I could from them.
Crypto jacking. 1473. $179,265.
Crypto jacking was the term used for a scheme to attack a victim’s computer with virus and malware for the purpose of stealing their information. Most were financial schemes, although some were to gather information such as social security numbers, addresses, dates of birth, passwords, and telephone numbers. The numbers meant they’d stolen almost two hundred thousand dollars from 1473 victims. I wondered if that was a day’s worth of activities.
The fact that they kept a running total of the information in American dollars was telling. Most of their victims must be Americans. A rage was building inside of me.
I tried to make sure my mouth wasn’t agape and had to consciously keep it closed. It took every bit of self-control to not grab Combover guy’s gun and start shooting.
Anonymous. 73. $
Anonymous was a notorious hacking group. Decentralized. A loose group of hackers whose purposes was to take down websites. The dollar amount was blank. I knew North Korea wasn’t Anonymous, but they were clearly working with them. Today, they had effectively hijacked and destroyed seventy-three websites.
I hate these people.
Don’t hate the sinner. Hate the sin.
Someone once said that to me, and the words were ringing in my ears, reminding me of that truth. So, I tried, even though it was still hard to do. Truthfully, I didn’t try too hard. Righteous anger was a good thing in my line of work. Jesus overturned tables and drove out the moneychangers in the temple. I wanted to run through the cyber lab and overturn all the computers and drive them all out with a whip.
It took every bit of my resolve to stop myself. I needed to see what the supervisor was going to do first.
Crymeariver. 249,756. $1,047,722.00.
Crying Shame. 1,465,226. $14,982,673.45.
I shook my head in disbelief.