by Tom Berreman
“Yes, and we share your distrust of the North Korean military. Our intelligence indicates internal power struggles that may cause new decision makers to take control, decision makers with more aggressive plans to further divide the North and the South.”
The gentleman paused for a moment of contemplation before he continued on another subject.
“Some of our nation’s most respected research scientists have spent the better part of two days analyzing the research you smuggled out of North Korea. And, quite frankly, they were astonished at how precisely you were able to document such a sophisticated chemical compound. They also recreated your laboratory tests on the sample you provided and confirmed the effectiveness of the weapon. They are confident they can replicate your work with only your research files.”
“Thank you Mr.…,” Hyong-kim paused. “I am sorry…, I do not know your name.”
“My name’s not important right now, but I do need to ask you a few questions.”
“Please, I will tell you whatever I can.”
“In your opinion, are the steps necessary to manufacture this weapon adequately documented in the research you smuggled from your country?”
“Certainly, there is no doubt in my mind. The only obstacle is to obtain adequate supplies of Kurinji which…, ironically I think you must agree…, represents peace and goodwill to those who worship it…, not the deadly destruction I have extracted from its genes.”
“Yes, I certainly appreciate this obstacle,” the man replied very matter of factly. “And Mr. Choi, does anyone outside of North Korea have a detailed understanding of your research?”
“Oh no, no one at all. I performed my work in almost total isolation, and only my immediate supervisors oversaw my research. But I only shared with them the results, not the underlying chemical composition. And before I defected I…, how do you say it?..., sabotaged my research. I changed the formulae saved on my computer in such a way that anyone trying to replicate my work will manufacture a harmless powder. As far as I know only you, and your scientists, know the full extent of my research.”
“Thank you Mr. Choi, you’ve been very helpful. And I want to show you the extent of my country’s gratitude,” he said as he opened the brief case on the table in front of him.
Before Choi Hyong-kim could react to what the gentleman had taken from the brief case he heard the spit of a silenced pistol shot, and a crimson dot appeared in the middle of his forehead. The only person who could identify the source of the formula instantly slumped forward, his head slamming hard against the table, and a pool of blood began to form.
As the pool of blood expanded and flowed to the edge of the table small drops fell and formed a second pool on the floor. Showing no emotion the gentleman casually returned the silenced 9mm Beretta to his brief case. He closed the case, secured the two brass combination locks and walked around the table, careful not to step in the pool of blood. He left out the same door he had entered only minutes before.
Chapter 4.
Jason Burke paused for a moment at the large glass and mahogany entrance doors to the Moultrie Courthouse. He grasped the long polished brass pole that ran from the bottom to the top of the door and pulled it open, motioning with a nod of his head for the woman standing beside him to enter first.
“Thank you,” said the young professional as she brushed a lock of blonde hair away from her face, tucking it behind her right ear. She smiled, casually looking at the handsome man holding the door for her as she walked into the lobby.
“You’re welcome,” Jason said to the attractive, young woman as he turned to follow her into the lobby. She was dressed in a conservative, yet stylish, dark blue business suit over a simple white silk blouse and carried an expensive, brand new brief case. Jason returned the smile, the lusty thoughts entering his mind quickly quashed by the realization that he was engaged to the woman of his dreams. But it was clear that the young professional hoped he felt otherwise, intrigued by Jason’s captivating good looks.
Jason followed the woman through the lobby, her shoulder length blonde hair bobbing up and down with each step. With a brief, deep inhale Jason focused on the task at hand, shifting his attention from the woman he was following to his morning session at the clinic. But thirty seconds later he was again distracted when she smiled at Jason and took the chair next to his.
“My name’s Stephanie,” she exclaimed in a cheery, high voice. “Today’s my first day at the clinic. I’m a new associate at Lambert Hamilton…, I just passed the bar exam.”
Her voice and mannerisms convinced Jason she had been a homecoming queen or a cheerleader, probably both. But she was certainly no blonde bimbo, as Lambert Hamilton hired only the top students from the best Ivy League law schools.
“Nice to meet you, Stephanie. I’m Jason,” he replied, feeling guilty that he was looking forward to the next four hours sitting next to a hot, young lawyer.
Surveying the courthouse lobby Jason was amazed at the large group of people seeking free legal advice - the indigent, the unemployed, the underemployed - people with one thing in common, they needed a lawyer but could not afford one. What to a seasoned lawyer seemed trivial were overwhelming matters to Jason’s prospective new clients - rental evictions, paycheck garnishments, delinquent child support payments, and whatever else “the man” brought down on these hard working folks struggling to stay one step ahead of homelessness. And then there were the all too common requests for restraining orders to keep abusive domestic partners from kicking the shit out of the mother of their kids, kids they would most likely never see again once their probation officer came to call, sending them back to the joint.
He pulled a pen and legal pad from his brief case, set them on the table and prepared to spend the next four hours doing whatever he could to help.
* * *
Maria Hernandez stood at the top of the stairway leading to the front door of the Moultrie Courthouse. She looked nervously at the large glass and mahogany entrance door, and paused as she grasped the long polished brass pole that ran from the bottom to the top of the door. The Tuesday before she stood at this very place, but unable to overcome her fears she turned and left. As an undocumented Nicaraguan she had been afraid of what might happen if she entered the legal system. At home that evening she began to feel disgusted at her lack of resolve, and spent the next week building her courage to return to the free legal clinic.
Miguel, her husband and the father of her daughter Isabella, an American citizen as she was born in the country, had been in the wrong place at the wrong time six weeks before, working as a day laborer on a construction site raided by Immigration and Customs Enforcement. The green card for which he paid two months’ salary was easily identified as a forgery by the ICE agents. He was expeditiously deported to Nicaragua.
With only the income from her job as a maid at the Omni Hotel Maria had fallen behind on the exorbitant rent her slumlord charged for the roach infested apartment he could rent only to those without the power to complain. Now she and her daughter faced eviction.
The thought of her daughter being homeless gave her the resolve she needed to go forward with her plan to seek legal help. She opened the door and entered the lobby of the courthouse. At the far end of the first row of tables were two open seats. Maria slowly walked across the lobby, clutching the manila folder containing the unlawful detainer action her landlord had filed with the court the day before. Reaching the open chair at the end of the table she paused for a moment, unsure whether she should interrupt the handsome young lawyer talking with the attractive blonde woman seated next to him. Finally, she cleared her throat to get his attention and sat down in the folding chair across the table from the handsome young lawyer.
“Good morning,” Jason said as his first client of the day sat down. “My name is Jason Burke, and I’m here to answer any legal questions you might have.”
Maria looked nervous as she said nothing in response to Jason’s greeting, avoiding eye contact but
forcing a smile as she laid the folder containing her legal problem on the tabletop.
“Good morning,” Maria finally responded in her thick Latino accent. “My name is Maria Hernandez, and I’ve fallen behind on my rent. My husband Miguel was deported, and my job doesn’t pay enough to feed my daughter and pay my rent.”
Maria looked away for a moment, trying to wipe away the tear forming in the corner of her eye without Jason noticing. As an illegal immigrant she struggled with her place in American society. She enjoyed her job and worked hard, frequently earning compliments from her supervisors and the customers she served. Yet she was paid less than what her American citizen co-workers were paid, and constantly worked in fear that an ICE raid might lead to her deportation.
“My landlord, he threaten to make me and my daughter move out, but we have no place to go. He give me these documents, and I don’t know what to do. You see, I am in the country without papers, and I’m afraid if I go to court I too will be deported.”
“Your immigration status is irrelevant to this matter,” Jason replied. “But if it makes you feel better I can go with you to court.”
“You would do that for me?” she responded, a look of surprise on her face, and for the first time she made eye contact with Jason.
“Of course. Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Jason said as he opened the folder. The unlawful detainer process was quite simple. The court set a date for a hearing, and if the tenant appeared and presented payment for the past due rent, the action was dismissed and the lease continued in effect. If the tenant was unable to do so, an eviction order was granted. He explained this to Maria and it brought a smile to her face.
“That is all I really must do?” she asked. “Miguel, that is the father of my Isabella, he is sending money to me soon, enough to pay what we owe. It just take some time to get it after he return to Nicaragua.”
“Yes, it’s as simple as that. Bring a check to the hearing on the date and location set forth here,” Jason said as he pointed to the hearing notice portion of the document she had been served with. “I will meet you there and address the court, and then you and Isabella can stay in your home.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” she replied, her smile widening further.
“You are very welcome, Maria,” Jason said, returning her smile as he placed his business card on the table in front of her. “And please feel free to call me any time.”
Chapter 5.
Senator John Smith sat in a booth in a dingy, out of the way roadhouse just off the interstate between Washington, D.C. and Arlington, Virginia, uncomfortably out of place in his expensive suit and French cuffed shirt. He took a sip from his scotch and water and made a sour face at the taste of the house scotch, his request for Johnny Walker Black had been greeted with the bartender’s laugh. The booth’s 1970’s era burgundy vinyl upholstery showed its age, an occasional strip of grey duct tape repairing the largest of the cracks. Even though smoking had been banned for years, decades of nicotine permeating the roadhouse walls still lingered, leaving an unpleasant, stale aroma.
Smith was accustomed to the mahogany and brass barrooms and the white linen restaurants of Washington where he normally conducted business. As a member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee he was often called upon to consider the concerns of many special interest groups or discuss quid pro quo concessions with those from across the aisle. He ran his right hand through his longer than customary blonde hair, silently wishing he was back in his accustomed environment. He also silently cursed his chief of staff for demanding this rendezvous, although he knew his paranoia was understandable.
Two days earlier a well-funded, left wing political action committee held a press conference alleging that atrocities committed by right wing, Central American death squads financed by the United States government were covered up by Smith’s committee. Several of the accusations, citing confidential undisclosed sources, included verbatim quotes from conversations between Smith and Thomas Fitzgerald, his chief of staff, held in the privacy of Smith’s Capitol Hill office the day before the press conference.
His office had to be bugged. And while he silently cursed Fitzgerald for this out of the way forum he trusted him, and whatever it was Fitzgerald needed to discuss must require the secrecy of a neutral setting.
As he had hoped the roadhouse was almost empty, with only one other patron at the bar nursing a long neck Budweiser. Smith struggled not to stare at the man, his left eye socket deformed, his eye obviously glass.
As Smith took another sip of his drink his attention was drawn to a flash of sunlight through the open front door as Fitzgerald entered the barroom. He ordered a light beer from the bartender and approached the booth where Smith was seated.
“Hello John,” he said as he set his beer on the table and slid into the booth across from Smith.
“Hello, Thomas,” Smith replied in his thick Georgia drawl, pausing for a moment to subtly pan the large, empty room, emphasizing his disgust in their meeting place. “So please, Thomas, tell me what’s so goddamn confidential that y’all got to meet me in this hell hole to discuss it.”
“Sorry John, it’s just that after the press conference I--”
“I know, I know,” Smith interrupted. “Just get on with it.”
“Okay,” Fitzgerald continued, somewhat flustered. “Well…, you see…, I was scrambling to finish the minutes from the last committee meeting and couldn’t find your notes. I was looking through your desk drawer and found this.”
He laid a single piece of paper on the table, a photo copy of a hand written note that said simply John – For Your Eyes Only – Don.
“I admit I ignored the cover page, but couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry, but as your chief of staff I’ve always understood that I was privy to anything of yours. So I read the documents behind the cover page, several times actually, and I can’t just ignore what I found.”
“And which part of for your eyes only don’t you understand?” Smith replied, attempting badly to stifle the anger in his voice.
“I’m sorry John, I really am. But you’ve always trusted me with your most intimate secrets, and I saw no reason why this would be any different. But what I saw scared the hell out of me, and you know what they say, you can’t unring a bell.”
“Okay, okay. So you read something you shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry that it scared the hell out of you, and that it rang your goddamn bell. But there is no reason for you to drag me out into the middle of dumb fuck Virginia to talk about something that has nothing to do with you. It’s none of your goddamn business!”
“Come on John, a biological weapon attack on a United States’ ally would kill thousands…, and the second phase--”
“Shut the fuck up, right now!” Smith said, no longer attempting to hide his anger. “You will never, and I mean never, raise that subject again.”
“I’m sorry, John. You know as your chief of staff I view your confidential information as sacrosanct. Yet I’m really concerned that my position could implicate me in something terrible, something that I had nothing to do with.”
Smith only exhaled, puffing his cheeks as though he was going to whistle, a habit when he was deep in thought.
“Thomas, please forgive me for jumping down your throat. You can appreciate the sensitivity of the information I so absent mindedly left where you could find it, and you must swear to me you that you will keep it all in the strictest of confidence.”
“Of course John, you know you can trust me.”
“I’ll take you at your word…, for now.”
Silence followed as neither man knew what for now really meant. Smith continued.
“I am committed to the first phase of the operation, but I must agree with you that the second phase troubles me deeply. And since you already know way more than you should I will confide in you even further, hopefully to put your mind at ease. Don and I have argued, almost coming to blows, about the second phase. I totally violated the trust I to
o felt was sacrosanct when I took one of the two discs containing the research, and will not give it back until he reconsiders a change to the second phase that minimizes collateral damage.”
“If you’re so committed to the first phase can you give me more details? At least tell me the target country, and why you would stage an attack against one of our allies, so that I can begin to strategize your plausible deniability. And please assure me that the second phase is only a hypothetical plan, one that would never actually be pursued.”
“Thomas, I’m sorry, but I think this meeting was a bad idea,” Smith said as he downed the last of his cocktail. “I can’t give you any more details, you know too much already. You’ll just have to keep your mouth shut, believe I will do the right thing and go on like you never read that document. And please, for Christ’s sake, tell me you didn’t make any copies other than that note.”
“Of course not.”
“I’ll see you in the office tomorrow,” was all Smith said as he stood from the booth and left.
* * *
Five minutes after Smith left the roadhouse Fitzgerald walked out to the parking lot and got into his white BMW Z-3 convertible. With his wife six months pregnant with their first child he was dreading the day very soon when he would have to trade in his “chick magnet” two seat sports car for something practical with a back seat. He worked his way through the manual transmission, kicking up gravel as he left the parking lot onto the two lane highway running past the bar. When he reached the speed limit he picked up his cell phone and entered number one on his speed dial.
“Carl,” he said as the secure line was answered after its first ring, “Thomas here.”
“Hey Thomas, how did the meeting go?”
“Okay…, I guess. Smith was pissed when I told him I had read the documents, but then he calmed down a bit and told me he took one of the discs necessary to carry out the operation. I think if I play it right I can win back his confidence and get him to tell me more details before they go any further.”