by Terry Toler
“The nuclear codes are from the Pakistani server,” Pok said. “I stole the codes, passwords, locations, and I’m in their system if they try to change them. We sold them to Iran. Brilliant actually,” Pok said his voice trailing off and his stare now off in the distance as he looked out the window.
That gave me an idea. If I could disarm one of the men and turn the gun on the other two in the room, I might be able to kill all of them before they killed me. Another wild idea went through my mind. Two chairs were on my side of the desk. I could grab one and throw myself through the glass window.
Would I survive the fall? The chair might cushion some of it. We were three stories up. I needed more time to plan my moves. Pok was talking now. Giving him more time to say something else I could use against him made more sense than flying through the air to my probable death.
“Who’s the girl?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Pok said. Truthful. He showed no signs of deceit. “The Iranians are looking for her as we speak. They paid good money for the codes, and she stole them. Kind of funny if you think about it. I wouldn’t want to be that girl when the Iranians find her.”
That changed things. I had to find that satchel. And the girl. I suddenly had a deep affection for her. Anyone who had the guts to steal a satchel from an Iranian operative was okay in my book.
I needed a better plan. Falling three stories was too dangerous. Making my move outside the building, in the open space, made more sense.
“Doesn’t matter,” Pok said. “I have control of Pakistan’s nukes. I could launch them right now at the US if I wanted to.”
Those words sent a chill down my spine. This raised the stakes. I had to stop Pok. Staying alive became my top priority. Not just for my benefit but for the possible millions who could be killed if the Iranians got their hands on those codes.
Pok must’ve sensed that he had said too much because he suddenly shut up. By his body language. I could tell he wasn’t going to say any more. His arms were folded, and the scowl on his face told me our conversation was over.
“Get him out of here!” he said, standing to his feet. I stood as well. I wanted out of there as much as he wanted me gone.
“It’s been nice meeting you, Pok,” I said. “I’ll see you again real soon.” I said it in a threatening enough tone that he backed away from me.
I headed toward the door.
“Alex!” Pok shouted.
I turned and looked his way as three guards and I all stopped in unison.
“Have you considered why it was so easy for you to unlock my computer? You’re good but not that good,” Pok said, trying to laugh diabolically again causing him to violently cough several times.
Then it hit me. I knew exactly why as I started walking again.
Brad and the Director would be pretty angry with me right about now.
15
The new computer had opened up a world to Bae she didn’t know existed. Especially after her dad set her up with an email account. A friend at school, Seong, also had email, and the two exchanged messages almost every day. Having had her account longer, Seong took it upon herself to teach Bae everything she knew about the internet and emailing.
The abbreviations Seong constantly included in the conversations, intrigued Bae as much as anything, and she desperately wanted to learn the “cool” internet lingo. The two also used the emails to practice their English, although their conversation today was more abbreviations than words.
WUD?
She asked Seong what she was doing. Seong taught her not to use punctuation marks, and Bae immediately realized her mistake after she sent it. She couldn’t get out of the habit, and not adding a question mark went against everything she’d been taught by her mother, who was a stickler for proper writing and grammar.
HW, Seong emailed back. She was doing her homework.
I’m done with mine. Bae responded.
Today was Saturday and Bae had finished her weekend homework the night before. Her dad was at work, and she was counting the hours until he came home. A strange feeling, since she never remembered looking forward to him coming home before.
My dad will be home soon, she told Seong so she’d know why she signed off quickly, which she would do when her dad got home.
My parents are lame, Seong wrote. Her dad worked in construction. An important position to the Regime which was why her family was given access to the internet.
LOL.
A couple of days ago, Bae might’ve agreed. Now she didn’t feel that way about her parents.
I teach you some new abbreviations, Seong’s message read.
Bae’s heart started beating faster. She loved learning new things on the computer.
POS. KPC. PIR. PAW. The message came from Seong with no explanation of their meaning.
Bae stared at the computer screen trying to figure them out.
? IDK what you mean.
She waited patiently for Seong’s response which took a couple minutes to arrive. The Internet was extremely slow in North Korea, especially outside of Pyongyang, the capital city. The computer let out a dinging sound when she got a new message.
POS is parents on site. KPC is keep parents clueless. PIR is parents in room. PAW is parents are watching.
Those made her laugh out loud, although Bae wondered what the point was. Her dad could look at her emails anytime he wanted. She’d never put anything in writing that she didn’t want him to see. The rules were explained to her with a stern warning that he would take the computer away if she violated them. While Bae had a rebellious streak, the last thing she would do was risk losing her computer privileges. This was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time. If ever.
Instead of responding, she just sent Seong another LOL along with a BFN. Bye for now. Better to not say anything that might get herself into trouble. As if on cue, a ding on the computer signaled that she had another email. This one was from her dad.
Do you want to get some ice cream?
A burst of excitement warmed her insides.
Yes! Bae couldn’t help but put the exclamation mark on the message.
Get your bike ready. I’ll be home soon.
She sent him a smiley face. Another thing Seong taught her to do. She packed up her computer. Although unnecessary, she never left the laptop on her desk unattended. Every time she was finished with the computer, she meticulously cleaned the keyboard and screen and packed it neatly in the satchel and hid it under her bed.
Not from her parents so much—or from anyone really. Crime was nonexistent in her neighborhood. It was more for her peace of mind, knowing her most prized possession was safely stored in her room.
Seeing the satchel sent a slight chill through her as she remembered the man she had stolen it from, and how close she came to getting shot or worse. That was the worst part of using the satchel. The memory of the most traumatic event of her short life still haunted her at times.
Once the computer was safely stored, she put the memory of the man out of her mind, left her room, and went down to the garage. Her other most prized possession was her motorcycle, a Yangyong 125cc model, made in China. Her dad drove a Taedong River Motorbike which was the most popular in North Korea. Individuals weren’t allowed to own motorcycles in their own names until a decade or two before, and her dad bought the Yangyong as soon as it became legal. When he got the Taedong a couple years later, he gave the smaller bike to Bae for her twelfth birthday
Motorcycles were her dad’s preferred mode of transportation to work. Most roads outside of Pyongyang weren’t paved and full of potholes and ruts. The main roads were only slightly better maintained. Therefore, bikes were the best and cheapest way to get around.
She never felt more alive than when she was on her bike. Especially riding with her dad. Riding bikes was one of the few things they did together. It made her feel close to him, even before when they weren’t as close. They’d spent many a Saturday riding through the countrys
ide.
When she wasn’t riding with her dad, she had to stay off the main roads or the North Korean police would pick her up and haul her down to jail. Bae dreaded the thought of calling her dad to come and bail her out. Bail wasn’t the right word. The policemen were corrupt. They earned the equivalent of $5.00 a month. Yet they were wealthy in comparison to most people because they took bribes at every opportunity. Her dad had drilled into her that she should stay away from the police. They’d pull her over even if she weren’t doing anything wrong.
“They can’t be trusted,” her dad had said.
“But we’re in the privileged caste,” Bae said more of a question than a statement. She didn’t understand why the police would bother them. Her mom was a cousin of the Divine Leader.
“That’s exactly why you can’t trust them,” he said. “We have money. Most people don’t. They are corrupt and will try to steal from us if they get the opportunity, knowing we can pay.”
So, Bae had a deep distrust for the authorities. So far, she’d never had a run in with one and was careful not to break any laws on the bike. Ironic, considering the risks she took stealing backpacks. For some reason, she didn’t see that as a big risk. Not like operating a heavy and expensive machine. Like the computer, she cherished the bike, not willing to do anything to risk it being taken away from her.
Maybe when she graduated from spy school, the police would leave her and her family alone. She’d be considered above them in the caste system, which was everything in North Korea.
The roar of her dad’s motorcycle coming around the curve up the mountain to their house left her breathless in anticipation. Her bike was already out of the garage and was ready to go. Her dad motioned for her to wait and then went into the house and came out a couple minutes later, out of his dress clothes and without his business backpack. He had on jeans, a black leather jacket, and riding boots. He looked like a movie star.
He gave Bae a kiss on the cheek before getting on his bike, almost bringing a tear to her eye.
“I’ll race you down,” he said as he straddled his bike and brought up the kickstand.
Bae gunned the engine and took off, hearing him yell, “Hey!” as she sped off laughing. It wouldn’t take long for him to catch up. His bike was twice as fast, although she was as good a rider and knew the roads like the back of her hand.
They lived on a mountain overlooking Wonsan. Their home didn’t have a view of the ocean, but the ride down did once they came out of the dense forest. The sun was at its peak and shimmered off the crystal blue sea. She dared to gaze upon it for several seconds, even though the road was rough. Mostly she kept her eye on the road, so she didn’t ruin the front axle by banging it into a huge pothole.
Her dad hung back purposefully letting her win the race as she reached the bottom first.
They came to a stop in the road, and he pulled alongside her, giving her a nod for her good riding and win.
He acted like he wanted to tell her something, so she leaned toward him to hear what he said over the roar of the bikes. “I’ll race you to the ice cream shop,” he said as he revved the engine and took off, leaving her in his dust.
Her engine stalled. Bae cursed under her breath. When she got it started, an all-terrain vehicle passed through the intersection. She stared hard at the two men in the vehicle. They looked like the man at the restaurant. The one who shot at her. They returned the stare, but she was wearing a helmet with a face mask, so she was sure they couldn’t see her face.
She breathed a huge sigh of relief when they didn’t turn onto the road that led to their house. Her mother was there alone. She tried to force the feeling of dread out of her. Just because they looked like the man at the restaurant didn’t mean they knew him or were after her. How could they? No one had seen her take the backpack except that one shop owner. Still, the men were acting suspiciously. They were driving slowly. Looking around like they were lost. The looks in their eyes were pure evil. Like the man on the mountain. These men looked even scarier.
Bae gunned her engine and started moving, even though the men’s vehicle hadn’t cleared the intersection. She wanted to catch up to her dad as soon as possible. As soon as she was with him, she tried to put the two men out of her mind.
***
They ordered two ice creams on a stick from the outside window and sat down on a bench to eat them. Her dad took a lick and said, “You’re a really good rider.”
“Thanks,” Bae said with a wave of her hand. These compliments from her dad were making her feel special. For years, she ached for this kind of attention. She wondered if it would last.
“No seriously,” he said. “You’re really good. That’s a skill that’ll come in handy at spy school.”
The mention of spy school brought a smile to her face. She brushed a couple strands of hair out of her eyes and said, “You think they have motorcycles at spy school?”
“I imagine so. Spies have to get away from the bad guys sometimes. Motorcycles are the best way to do it. A bike can go places a car can’t go. Probably easier to get away if you’re being chased.”
The talk of bad guys brought the image of the two men back to Bae’s mind. It must’ve shown on her face.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Did you see the two men in the truck?” Bae asked.
“I did,” her dad answered.
“They looked scary to me.”
“They were Arab,” her dad answered. “Probably Iranian.”
“What are they doing here?”
“I was wondering the same thing. I didn’t see a government minder in the car.”
“What’s a government minder?”
Her dad finished the last bite of his ice cream stick and then shifted positions, bringing one foot up to the bench where he rested his elbow on it. “A government minder is an escort or a guide. Foreigners aren’t allowed to drive a car in North Korea without one. Those men could be arrested if they’re caught.”
“Who do you think they were?”
“Probably related to the mafia. Anyone who leaves without his minder is arrested on the spot and charged with espionage. It’s a very serious offense. Of course, they can always get out of it by paying a bribe. The mafia has plenty of money to pay the bribes.”
Bae looked around to see if she saw any sign of the car. They were sitting outside with a good view of the road.
“Oh well,” she finally said. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Don’t worry about them. They won’t bother you.”
They finished their ice cream and headed back home. Bae’s head was like it was on a swivel as she was constantly on the lookout for those men. She didn’t let herself relax until they pulled into the driveway a few minutes later.
“Leave the bikes out,” her dad said. “We might take them out again.”
They walked into the house, but not before Bae took one last long look down the driveway.
16
Since her dad said they might go for another ride on the motorcycles, Bae decided not to get her computer out of the satchel. Instead, she slid it out from under the bed and put it on the desk to set it up later. The heat of the day was subsiding, so she opened the window to let a gentle breeze cool the room.
The house didn’t have air conditioning. Only the very wealthy in North Korea had it. In fact, their home and everyone else’s was owned by the government. There was no rent or mortgage. Everyone in North Korea was assigned a job and a place to live based on their status. Bae’s parents had instilled in her how lucky they were compared to most people. Consequently, Bae never felt the need to complain about some of the common conveniences she heard about in other countries that were lacking in North Korea.
What she really wanted to do was take a nap. She’d been up half the night on the laptop, and felt a yawn come over her. Sleeping during the day wasn’t something she’d ever been able to do, so she just grabbed her music player, slipped the headphones over her ears, cl
osed her eyes, and laid down on the bed.
A noise interrupted her calm.
Shouting.
Coming from downstairs.
It startled her. She could hear it clearly even with her headphones on. That’s how loud it was.
Bae bolted out of bed. Her heart had gone from a calm, steady beat to racing faster than her motorbike.
The door to her bedroom was closed, so she opened it gently not to be heard. The shouting had grown even louder. She recognized the dialect. Whoever it was sounded like the middle eastern man from the restaurant.
She got on her knees and inched over to the railing where she peered cautiously over the side.
Horror engulfed her. The terror caused her to want to shriek at the top of her voice, but she swallowed it.
The two men she had seen in the car were in the foyer of the house, just inside the door. Both had guns pointed at her mother whose eyes were wide in shock, her arms clutched around her body as she cowered in fear.
Her mom kept saying, “I don’t know what you want. I don’t understand you.”
The men didn’t speak Korean. They were shouting at her in a language Bae couldn’t understand either. The man’s tone was threatening. Rough. Filled with hatred. The men were big and strong. One grabbed her mother’s shoulders and shook her, flailing her tiny frame around like he was holding a doll.
She let out a shrill scream. “Please. I don’t understand you. Take whatever you want,” her mom begged. “Just don’t hurt us.”
“Ka-bang,” one of the men said pushing her mom roughly, knocking her to the ground. Ka-bang meant bag in Korean.
Mom picked herself up back up to her knees and put her hands in front of her, pleading, begging.
He kept repeating the word “Ka-bang” over and over again. He raised his hand to strike her mom, but she cowered down as she scooted back away from him further down the hallway, almost out of Bae’s sight. Bae was behind them, so they couldn’t see her without backing up and looking up the staircase toward the second floor.