by Terry Toler
“Alex wouldn’t have taken that big a risk if it wasn’t important,” Jamie said. “He found out something. I want to find out what that something is.”
“Go home, Jamie. I’ll let you know when I hear something.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Brad shut her down with a stare and his hand in the air, palm out to her face. His head was down like he didn’t want to hear anything more.
She took the cue and stormed out the door, closing it loud enough to let Brad know she wasn’t happy.
***
Jamie walked out of the building, got into her car, and drove forty-five minutes to a storage locker in Maryland she shared with Alex. She made several counter-surveillance moves to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Her cell phone was turned off so it wouldn’t ping her location to any of the cell towers.
When she arrived at her destination, she entered the gate code and drove to the back of the complex where their locker was located. The back building, in the farthest corner, was chosen because it was the most private. The facility allowed them to rent the locker with no ID and pay cash, which they did every six months in advance.
Inside was a large safe. Jamie opened it with the memorized combination. One envelope had her name on it, and one had Alex’s. Instinctively, she looked around to make sure she was alone before opening her envelope. Inside were fake IDs and passports under different aliases. She scrolled through them like she would a deck of cards until she found the one she wanted.
The passport was guaranteed to withstand scrutiny from any airport security including the United States. She couldn’t tell it from the real thing. One of Alex’s contacts in Istanbul was the master forger who created the documents.
Deeper inside the safe were cash and credit cards. A black American Express card with a sixty-thousand-dollar limit was in the same name as the one on the passport. Jamie put the card, passport, and two thousand dollars in cash in her purse.
All kinds of various weapons were stashed in the storage locker, and she wished she could take one with her, but that wasn’t an option. She’d have to find a weapon in South Korea.
The next thing she retrieved was a black case with a laptop inside. Alex designed the system and apps for them to use in unsanctioned operations. Alex had taken it apart and rebuilt it to his specifications. State-of-the-art, the computer was as powerful as any the CIA issued.
Jamie plugged it into the electrical outlet in the unit and powered it on. A few strokes on the keyboard took her to an email account only she and Alex knew about. In a time of emergency, this was their way of communicating without anyone else knowing about it.
All email correspondence was captured by the NSA. As a precaution, they communicated through the draft section of the email account. One or the other could type an email, save it to draft, and the other could log in and read the draft email and delete it. No one would ever know it existed.
Disappointment came over her when she saw that Alex had not left her a message. She opened up a new draft and typed in R U Okay? She hit save, careful not to hit send. If Alex logged in, he could open it and communicate back to her.
Jamie powered the laptop down and stored the computer back in the case. In a box in the corner were a dozen or so burner phones. She turned one on and dialed a number she knew by heart.
A woman answered on the second ring.
“Hi. It’s me.” The woman didn’t know Jamie’s name and Jamie didn’t know hers.
“Hello. Haven’t heard from you in a while. How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“What can I do for you?” the woman asked.
“I need a ticket on the next flight to Seoul, South Korea.”
27
Somewhere in the Southern Mountains of North Korea
“I’m hungry,” I said to Bae.
She retorted, “Alex! You just ate.”
“That was two hours ago.” I had eaten some of our snacks back at the hotel before we left.
We were driving through the southern mountains of North Korea in the police cruiser, in a region that could only be described as dreary. Even depressing. The scenery matched the weather. The weather was overcast and gloomy. We hadn’t seen a house for miles that I thought was habitable. Yet, someone was living in every one of them. Even the most dilapidated shanty had signs of life.
Bae smiled and said, “It’s against the law to have more than two meals a day.”
“Really?” I said. “I didn’t know that.” I shifted the position in my seat.
Every day I learned something new about North Korea that made me hate the country and its regime even more if that was possible. I’d been to some horrible third-world countries. The conditions in North Korea were the worst I’d seen.
“Do you want me to get out some of our snacks?” Bae asked, undoing her seat belt, and turning toward the backseat where we had our grocery sacks.
“No. I want a real breakfast. Ham. Eggs. Pancakes. Bacon. Biscuits. Maple syrup.”
“I don’t know if we can find all that,” Bae said with a frown. “But we can probably find you some eggs.”
We rounded a curve and started a descent down the mountain into a valley. A stream ran next to the road the whole way and emptied into a beautiful lake. The first pretty thing I’d seen all day.
The town, and I used the term loosely, had the same worn-out structures in various stages of disrepair, just had more of them. Standing out among them all was one building in better shape than the rest. Outside was a sign that read Momma-son Diner.
“Let’s stop there,” I said. I could already taste the eggs. They might not have pancakes and maple syrup, but they’d have something to sate the raging hunger I felt inside. When on a mission, I never seemed to get enough to eat. The adrenaline sucked up every carb I inhaled.
“Don’t park in front,” Bae warned.
I asked, “Why not?”
“That will run off the customers. No one will go there with a police car in front of it. Everyone’s afraid of the police. The police will arrest you if you look at them wrong.”
That made sense, so we parked a block away out of sight of the road and walked over. I had my gun inside the front of my pants just in case we needed it. A weapon was like my security blanket. I felt safe when I had one.
Bae wore the satchel on her back. It seemed that she felt the same way about the bag as I did about the gun. Both were always within arms-reach of us.
At some point, we were going to have to address the nuclear codes in the bag. Up to now, Bae was protecting it almost as well as I could. I had several opportunities to go through it when she was in the shower or sleeping, but I didn’t want to break the trust I built up with her by going through it behind her back. We’d talk about it after breakfast because we were about to come to the entrance of the diner.
The front of the building had a new porch and new steps leading up to it. They weren’t painted, but they also weren’t rotting away like most we’d seen. On the porch were metal chairs and a swing. Several patrons, all men, were sitting in the chairs, shooting the breeze like something you’d see in any small town in America.
I braced for a reaction that never came. I thought the sight of an American would create scowls or words of disgust. At least suspicion. All we received were warm smiles. In fact, the men stood and bowed and welcomed us. I bowed as low as I could without looking foolish, considering I towered over them.
Inside. I was treated even better. Like a rock star. An older teenage girl, eighteen or nineteen by my best estimate, tried to seat us but everyone in the diner felt obligated to stand and greet us with a traditional bow and warm and friendly smile.
When the pleasantries were over, I told the hostess which table I wanted. The diner was about half full and she wanted to give us what seemed like the best seat in the house. I wanted to sit at a table where my back was against the wall.
“Why did you make such a big deal about where we sit?” Bae asked af
ter we sat down.
“Always sit facing the room and the entrance,” I explained, using every opportunity I could to teach Bae something about spying. “That way, no one can sneak up on you.”
Bae chuckled. “No one’s going to sneak up on you in this place.”
“Doesn’t matter. I take that precaution even back home. A good spy tries not to vary his routine. You want the things you learn to become second nature.”
Before Bae could respond, an older lady came out of what looked to be the kitchen and made a beeline to our table. Wiry and thin, her hair was beyond gray. A frosty white. If she weighed eighty pounds, it was with weights in her shoes. She was at least ten years older than her weight. As if that didn’t cause her to stand out, her manner did even more. She didn’t take one lazy step.
“Annyeong haseyo,” she said while bowing, giving me the formal greeting of respect.
“Ye, Annyeong haseyo,” I replied. “I’m fine. How are you?” was what I asked.
“Every day I wake up is a good day,” she said with a huge smile on her face. “When you get to be my age, you enjoy them all. You don’t know how many you have left.” She touched my arm as she said the last sentence. An extremely affable gesture. I immediately liked her.
“You look pretty good to me,” I said, and she bowed a second time, thanking me for the compliment. And she did look good. Watching her flit around the diner, I’m sure she did twice the amount of work that the young girls were doing as they struggled to match her pace.
She was back in a flash with a cup of coffee. The aroma hit me like a wave in the ocean.
I took a sip and let out a squeal of delight. I don’t know if I’d ever had a cup of coffee as good as what she served me. The brew was silky smooth. The moment it reached the inside of my mouth, the caffeine bolted through me like a shot, and I felt an instant burst of energy. It was the first cup of coffee I ever remember having that didn’t need to be loaded down with cream and sugar.
“You like?” she asked in English, taking me by surprise that she knew the language.
“Very much so,” I replied, feeling like my words couldn’t match what I felt inside. The coffee warmed my heart along with my body.
Before I could say anything else, she was gone. Back to the kitchen with seemingly boundless stamina and energy. The thought occurred to me that it could be from drinking that same coffee every day.
She returned a few minutes later to refill my cup. I thought maybe she was giving us special attention, but then I noticed her waiting on everyone in the restaurant with the same sense of urgency.
“You want to eat?” she asked.
“Do you have a menu?” I asked.
She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m Momma. I cook you up something special?” she said in broken English.
“How about you cook up something for everyone here?” I said, raising my voice so everyone could hear me. “My treat.”
There was no response from the dozen or so people in the diner.
“My treat!” I said again.
“They don’t know what you mean,” Bae said as I forgot I was still speaking in English.
“I’m paying for everyone,” I said in Korean, and a cheer went up in the room as everyone finally understood what I meant.
The other patrons crowded around our table, and we spent the next fifteen minutes, talking, laughing, and having the best time. The conversation came to a crashing halt when Momma brought out the first food.
What the food lacked in quantity was made up in quality. My plate had more food on it than the others, which made me feel a little guilty. There wasn’t one overweight person in the diner. They all looked like they could use a good meal. I was almost twice as big as any of the men in the place.
The plate of food contained a bowl of rice filled with vegetables. Among them were zucchini and a delectable creamy cheese sauce. One lone egg, sunny side up, was sitting on top.
The perfectly cooked, bright-yellow yoke was staring up at me. On the side of the plate that had seen better days were three rice cakes in the shape of pancakes. They were dripping with honey and covered in powdered sugar.
I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I looked around the room that now had twice as many patrons as before as word must’ve gotten out that an American was in town. And that I was paying for everyone’s breakfast. Didn’t matter. I would gladly buy everyone breakfast.
Although, for a moment, I wondered if we had enough money left on us.
We’d cross that bridge if we came to it.
There were men and women of all ages in the diner. Their faces were bright and cheery but worn. Hardened. Oppressed. I could tell they were making the best of an exceedingly difficult existence.
A couple were Momma’s age, although none were in as good a shape. I could only imagine the things they’d seen over the years. The Korean war. The takeover by the communist regime. The Yang family rose to power and immediately seized all property—from homes to businesses. These people were a step above slaves. Even the clothes on their backs technically belonged to the government.
I couldn’t imagine what that was like.
Yet these people were friendly and couldn’t have been kinder to us. Without guile, intent on making us feel welcome. Momma most of all. After much prompting, I finally got her to sit down and talk to us. I asked her a number of questions to get her talking.
Once she started telling her story, she didn’t want to stop, as if it had been pent up in her all these years. What she told was fascinating and kept everyone’s undivided attention. We needed to get on the road to South Korea, but I couldn’t pry myself away. I was learning more in those few minutes than I ever could by researching on-line. Above all else, I was learning how good and decent some people in North Korea were.
“My momma and daddy started this diner more than eighty years ago,” Momma said. “I was only eight. Momma put me to work waiting tables even though I could barely see over the bar over there.” Along the wall was a counter with stools. Clean. Well maintained. The counter was painted red. The stools had black cushions and shiny metal bases. I could picture Momma on the other side, eight year’s old, pouring cups of coffee to the patrons.
The only blight to the picture-perfect scene were the three frames of the Yang’s on the wall behind it.
Momma said soberly. “My family was demoted to Songbun. We became the lowest class. Before then, we were one of the highest classes because we had this diner.”
The Songbun was the caste system introduced by Min Yang Su when he came to power. Everyone was separated into classes. The amount of food, education, and health care a family received was based on their Songbun class.
“What happened Momma?” I asked.
Everyone was sitting on the edge of their seats. Even the locals seemed like they hadn’t heard this story. It was probably against the law to even speak of it.
“Before the war, a missionary from America came to North Korea. He set up a big tent just down the road from here.” Momma pointed out the window. “They called it a revival. They had loud music and singing, and people came from all around to hear the preacher. He asked if anyone wanted to live in heaven for an eternity. My momma raised her hand and went down front. He said that she had become a Christian. I wanted to be like momma, so the next night I went down, too.”
I wasn’t sure when my mouth flew open, but I quickly closed it as soon as I realized it.
Fascinating. Momma was a Christian. No wonder she was so joyful.
“My daddy never did go to the revival. Neither did my brothers. But momma took me and my sisters every night. My momma, sisters, and I were baptized down in the lake.” That was the beautiful lake we saw when we first came into town. I could picture the scene. Everyone gathered around in the water, getting baptized.
“I was raised a Christian,” I said which brought a smile to Momma’s face.
“Christianity was outlawed when the divine leader came into power,”
Momma said. “Shortly after that. Preachers weren’t allowed in Korea anymore.”
Her words had a bite to it. Not resentment like I think I would have, but pity.
“My momma wouldn’t stop talking about God and Jesus,” she continued. “The preacher gave her a Bible, and she went around town telling everyone about what had happened to her. We were lucky they didn’t throw us all in prison.”
Momma shifted in her chair as tears formed in her eyes. I reached over and squeezed her hand.
A man sitting next to Momma said, “Back then, if your parents went to prison, three generations had to go as well before the debt to the government was paid.” The man seemed to be about the same age as Momma. His words were labored as were his movements.
“They seized Momma’s Bible. She cried for days. Then the government took our home and business. They took the diner but let us continue to run it. Momma worked here until the day she died. Then my husband and I took over.”
Momma was a masterful storyteller. She was funny when she needed to be and serious when the subject matter called for it. I was so enthralled with her life story that I didn’t want it to stop.
When the clock on the wall hit eleven, I knew we needed to go. But Momma was up to the Arduous March. The famine.
She was about to tell us what happened to her husband.
I had to hear what happened next.
28
Iranian Embassy
Pyongyang, North Korea
“Your two men are missing,” Ambassador Hamid Ahmadi said, with some hesitancy. He then braced for the reaction he knew was coming. The knuckles of his right hand were almost white from clutching the edge of his desk with his free hand. The other hand gripped the phone with the intensity of a hyena clutching his prey.
“Missing?” Amin Sadeghi said, exploding in a barrage of expletives and accusations that went on for several long seconds.
Hamid immediately regretted his words. He should’ve said it differently and broke the news more subtly. A mistake he wouldn’t repeat a second time.