by Trish Loye
Her cynical side almost snorted. What government ever acted fast? What the hell had she been thinking?
She gave herself a little shake. Now wasn’t the time for self-recriminations. She needed to stay strong, to survive. Not just for her, but for her daughter.
The door creaked when it opened. The head soldier walked into the room with two others. He carried more weight around his middle than they did. His jowly cheeks made his lips look sulky. The other two soldiers were carbon copies of each other: lean build, short hair, crisp uniform. Studying them, she noticed one had a crooked nose, where he’d probably had it broken. The second had ears that stood out, giving him an almost gawky appearance, until you looked in his eyes. Both of their eyes were cold, flat and almost inhuman. She recognized the soldier with the ears. He’d been the one who’d shot the prisoners the day before.
She looked back at the smirk on the head guard and her stomach turned inside out.
“Tell us who you are,” he said softly.
“Pak Dae,” she lied. “My car broke down—”
Pain seared her cheek and her head rocked back from the force of a blow she hadn’t seen coming. Her ears rang. The shock of the hit wore off and her cheek throbbed. She lifted her head. The soldier with the ears stood in front of her: cruel, callous, cold-blooded.
He lifted his hand. She could do nothing to avoid the blow that hit the other side of her face. Her head snapped back from the force and she rocked onto her heels; her weight dragged at her shoulders. Agony ripped through her. A moan escaped.
“Tell us who you are,” said the head guard.
Ears didn’t even give her time to answer before he hit her in the stomach. Her breath whooshed out of her and she couldn’t get air, gasping like a fish, even as nausea rolled through her.
“Tell us who you are.”
He struck her side and the pain had her up on her toes, trying to tuck herself away.
“Stop, please.” Her breath came in wheezing pants.
Another hit to the other side. Pain radiated through her.
“We found no car along the highway,” the head guard said. “Tell us who you are.”
“My name is Pak D—” She bit her tongue when Ears hit her face again. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth.
Sharp. Piercing. Searing. Throbbing.
She couldn’t think; she could only feel and she felt it all. “Please.”
She retched on the floor after another hit to the stomach. He must be holding back, some distant part of her thought. If he’d been throwing all his weight behind the punches, then she’d end up with broken ribs and jaws. He seemed to be hitting with his open hand and just hard enough to cause maximum pain without the damage. They must want her alive.
Minutes, hours, days later, she lifted her head. Ears had stopped hitting her. Her full weight rested on her strained shoulders but she couldn’t seem to care. It was a distant pain compared to everything else.
“What is your name?”
Ears stepped forward again and she cringed away. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to be strong, but she’d never experienced pain like this. It was time to tell them part of the truth.
“Cassandra Kwon,” she whispered through bloody lips. “I’m Canadian. I’m here to find my father.”
The head guard smiled. “Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. What is your father’s name?”
“Kwon Jin-sun.”
The head guard nodded to Ears, who swung back his arm.
“I told you the truth!”
But they didn’t listen to her pleas. and she knew it wasn’t about what she told them; it was about punishment. Her brain detached and her mind seemed to separate from the pain even as her muscles clenched and screamed, even as she heaved and retched. Her thoughts slowed, cleared.
No one was coming for her.
She must survive.
In order to do that, she had to hide the fact that she was a reporter. She must become a woman searching for her father. A woman who would do anything to survive. Anything to escape. Anything to get home.
To Rose.
Derrick stood at the head of the conference room table while his team scoured satellite images and made plans. Cassie had failed to check in. And she hadn’t answered the sat phone when Rose called. Impatience rode him, cracking the whip and urging him to move. He had to focus.
Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast.
The little mantra did nothing to help his temper. Cassie could be hurt or, worse, captured near one of the worst political prisons in the world, and he was standing here waiting for better intel.
“Sir?” Marc pointed to an infil location along the Chinese border. “Thoughts?”
“It’s fine. But we exfil the fastest way possible.”
“Of course.” Marc rubbed his chin. “Do you think it’s wise that you come on this one?”
Anger flared hot and he stiffened to stop himself from striking out. No one would prevent him from going. “This is my mission.”
“But you’re emotionally in—”
“I’m coming, Spooky,” he bit out. “There will be no further discussion on the topic.”
“Yes, sir.”
Derrick watched Marc stare unseeing at the map, his fingers flexing and straightening. “What is it?”
Marc lifted his head, studied him and then crossed his arms. “You’re not going to want to hear this.”
“Then don’t say it,” he snapped.
“This mission is about the scientist, not about a reporter who might or might not be in North Korea.”
“The last contact from her placed her near Hwasong.”
“She could be across the border now.”
Derrick scowled. “What are you trying to say?”
“I know that Commander Knight told you the rescue mission is for the scientist.”
Yes, Commander Knight had told Derrick to gather a team to rescue Dr. French, but then he’d grabbed Derrick’s arm. “I know Cassandra’s there. The scientist is the priority of the mission, but if a reporter is also rescued, then that’s a win for everyone.”
Derrick had understood. And he understood Marc right now. His skin tightened as he fought to control the anger his friend’s words ignited in him. “I know my duty,” he said in a low, steely voice. “We’ll get the scientist back.”
Marc sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that everyone on the team will do their best to get the scientist and Cassandra back. I know what it’s like to care about someone.” Marc’s eyes hardened. “And I’d fight like hell to get her back.”
Derrick looked around the room at Dante, Sarah, Jake, and the others who worked with him at Edge. Each stopped what they were doing and stood. As his gaze passed over them, they nodded their support.
When he finally looked back at Marc, the man gripped him on the shoulder. “We’ve got your back.”
Derrick nodded, his throat tight at the show of loyalty.
He only hoped it would be enough.
9
Cassie groaned as she woke. What the hell had happened? She felt as if an elephant had sat on her. Shit, she hurt. She hurt so much.
“You’re finally awake,” someone whispered in Korean.
What? Her eyes slit open, or at least one of them did. She couldn’t get one of them open. Dim lighting let her make out the crisscrossed bars of the cage she was in. Cage?
She sat up and banged her head on the top. The cage wasn’t much bigger than a large dog kennel. She couldn’t sit up straight or lay flat without hitting bars. She hugged her knees to her chest and sunk her chin on top in order to fit without hitting her head. Cages lined both sides of a long concrete room. Maybe eighty cages and half of them contained prisoners. Some stared back at her; some lay huddled in their own filth. A couple looked dead.
Oh my God. It was all real. She was a prisoner in North Korea. Her heart skipped and then thudded faster and faster as if it were rolling downhill, gaining speed with each passing second.
She glanced at the old man hunched in the cage next to her, his hair straggled to the shoulders of his threadbare stained top. No one was in a cage on her other side. The old man nodded at her, squinting as he looked her over. “New to Hwasong. And first time in the cage.”
“What gave it away?”
“You’re clean.”
And it was true. The whole room smelled like a cross between a slaughterhouse and an outhouse. Sweat, piss, and blood. The scent of terror.
She had to get out of here and get back to her daughter, but first she had to survive. And for that she needed information.
“What time is it?”
The man gave a quiet, rasping laugh. “Do you think I have a watch?”
She frowned and then winced when it moved too many muscles in her aching face. Time to try again. “How long have I been here then?”
“They put you in here sometime last night.” He squinted at a door at the far end of the room. It had a small window and golden light shone through it. “I think it’s about mid-afternoon.”
“Thank you.”
She eased her way to the door of her cage and examined it. Metal. Sturdy. The lock needed a key. She wouldn’t be busting her way out anytime soon. Could she pick the lock?
She almost snorted. Even if she did know how to pick locks, she didn’t have anything to pick it with. They’d only left her with her shirt, cargo pants, and socks. Her shoes, coat, and belt were missing.
A zing of panic shot through her. Her necklace!
She grabbed for the tiny wolf’s head around her neck. Her fingers touched the wolf pendant and her shoulders sagged against the bars, fiercely glad the guards hadn’t taken it.
Yet.
It was her only symbol of home that she had left. She removed the necklace and tucked it into her bra, under the watchful gaze of her fellow prisoner. She prayed it would be safe.
“What did you do?” the old man asked.
She tensed. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you here? Did you speak against the government?”
She glanced at the other prisoners. A few watched her, their eyes glittering with avarice. Had they seen her put the necklace away? Would they say something to the guards? “Is that why you’re here?”
Again that quiet rasp of a laugh. Two of his teeth were missing. “Something like that,” he said.
She hugged herself tighter, her mind whirling with the need to escape.
“Can I give you some advice?” the man said.
She shrugged, and from the pity in his eyes, she knew her act of nonchalance had been seen through and her fear must be showing. “What?”
“Tell them what they want to know. Tell them sooner rather than later.”
She shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“You’re in here because you know something. The sooner you tell them, the sooner this part will be over. I’m speaking from experience. Everyone tells them what they want to know. Don’t make it hard on yourself for no reason.” He laid down on his side, curled in on himself. “Because they’ve barely just begun.”
She scowled. “Well, that’s fucking cheerful. Thanks.” He started to snore softly and she sighed. He wasn’t going to be any help getting out of there. And she was going to get out of there.
She studied her surroundings, focusing on what information she could gather, not on her situation. No guards in the room, but, with all the cages locked, they didn’t have to be. There were two doors on opposite walls. One that led outside from the sunshine trying to make it through the dirty window, and one that must lead deeper into the building.
A clang brought her attention back to the door to the outside. A guard stood there and motioned to someone. Two skeletal prisoners shuffled in, carrying a large metal pot. A third followed with a stack of metal bowls.
“Feeding time,” the old man said.
One prisoner used a ladle to slop what looked like gray water into a bowl while the other two shuffled back and forth, bringing the bowls to the caged prisoners. Some of the caged ones eagerly reached for it, while others looked as though they barely had the strength to hold it.
When it was her turn, she took the bowl from the woman, who was bent with age and despair, and thanked her. “Gamsahamnida.”
The woman looked her over and curled her lip.
“Don’t dally,” the old man snapped.
The woman’s eyes widened and she dipped her head, before scrambling off to get his bowl. It was fuller than the others. Cassie frowned. The woman gave a little bow after she’d pushed it through the space in the bars made for it. What was going on here?
The old man ignored the woman, took his full bowl and slurped it down.
Cassie looked at her food. Her stomach growled, but her lip curled at the sight of what was in the bowl. Thin, watery, and gray. The smell…. Her stomach roiled. “What is this?”
The old man laughed in between slurps.
“I’m glad you’re finding this funny.”
His smile revealed a third missing tooth. “And I’m glad you still have humor, young one. It will help you survive.”
A heavy weight seemed to settle on her with his words. Her appetite fizzled and her pain once again demanded to be noticed. She set the unappetizing bowl of grayness down beside her.
He shook his head. “You must eat.”
So she could keep her strength up for more beatings?
No. For escape.
The image of the starving prisoners digging for potatoes in the middle of the night came to her. The gray soup still didn’t appeal, but she would need whatever strength she had in the coming days if she wanted to get back to Rose. She picked up the bowl and sniffed. It looked and smelled like dirty dishwater. She sipped. Tepid and thin, the liquid tasted of dirt and…potatoes?
The lunch lady came back around, gathering the bowls.
“Hurry,” the old man said.
Grimacing, Cassie slurped the gruel down. Something solid swished in the bottom of the bowl. A few corn kernels. Her stomach gurgled and she used her fingers to scrape them from the bowl.
The lunch lady used a spare bowl to hit her cage. “Bowl. Now.”
Cassie scowled and upended the bowl into her mouth. The woman hit her cage again, the metal clank attracting the guard’s attention. Bitch.
She handed over the bowl before the guard made a move toward them. Within moments, the excitement was over. The guard and lunch ladies left.
“What happens now?” she asked the old man.
He snorted. “Happens? Nothing, if you’re lucky.”
The smell of urine filled the air. A few cages down, a man pissed on the floor. Cassie turned away, her nose wrinkling from the smell, but the action reminded her that she hadn’t gone to the bathroom since she’d been captured.
“When do they let us out to go to the bathroom?”
The old man just huffed and rolled away from her. Within moments, she heard his snores again.
She blinked. She was supposed to just go here? In her cage? In front of everyone? Somehow that was almost worse than the beating. Minutes passed. The other prisoners settled down into agitated sleep, where they twitched and mumbled, or they stared blankly into space. She edged to the door of her cage and wiggled her pants down. She bit her lip and her face heated as she relieved herself. No one looked at her, for which she was grateful. She crawled to the other end of her cage as far from her own urine as she could get. No one spoke. The silence smothered her spirit.
Was talking forbidden?
“Not forbidden,” the old man whispered. She must have spoken out loud. “No one has anything to say,” he continued. “It’s what happens when hope is gone.”
That seemed like the most dismal and depressing thing he’d said yet. “You are a bundle of joy to be around.”
He wheezed-laughed again, the sound soft but grating in the silent room. “You want to talk, so talk. Tell me a
bout yourself.”
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, hugging herself. She did want to talk, to feel some kind—any kind—of connection in this place. Something to keep her spirits up, her hope alive. Without that, without her humor as the old man said, she wouldn’t last long.
What could she talk about that wouldn’t reveal her as a reporter? They already knew she was Canadian. Perhaps she could tell him of life in general there, considering the people in North Korea didn’t have access to the outside world and the only stories, TV, or movies they grew up with were about the ruling Kim family. Even their songs were state sanctioned.
No wonder no one was talking.
Then a spark lit her heart. There was one other thing she could talk about that gave her joy. Something that would stay safe even if she spoke about it.
“I have a daughter,” she whispered through her smile.
Derrick watched his daughter pace in his office. His daughter. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to those words together. Every time he said or thought them, wonder blew through him and stalled his thoughts. But underneath, a simmering anger flared.
Why hadn’t Cassie told him?
If Rose was his, and he believed she was, then he’d missed out on so much of her life. Why would Cassie do that to him? He hadn’t thought she’d be so dishonest to keep him from his child. Had she not realized the baby was his?
“What did your mother tell you about me?”
Rose whirled to him. “Do we have to talk about this now? Mom could be in trouble. Why aren’t you doing anything?”
He kept sitting behind his desk, not letting his frustration or fear for Cassandra show on his face or in his voice. Staying calm was the best thing he could do for Rose right now.
“Sit down, Rose,” he said gently.
“I’d rather stand.” Her voice thrummed with defiance, even as her eyes betrayed her fear. She was like a young colt, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
He nodded his acceptance of her decision. “We must wait for intel—”