The Target Read online

  darkness. His red armbands stood out, though, making it seem like both his arms had been gashed open.

  “Bring our guests in,” said Dikes.

  As Reel was led past him, he smiled.

  “It is good to see you, Sally.”

  And then he looked at the other woman.

  “And is this Eva?”

  “Laura,” barked Reel.

  “Is it? I wonder?” asked Dikes. “Still, it can always be confirmed. With absolute certainty.”

  They were led into a small room and the door closed behind them. A man came forward holding something. Reel’s and the other woman’s mouths were forced open and swabs taken from inside their cheeks.

  Dikes held up a small glass tube with a cap on it. “My DNA sample has already been collected,” he said as the man with the cotton swabs put the sample from Reel and the woman in similar glass tubes and capped them. “In twenty-four hours we will know with absolute certainty. Is she mine or not?”

  He drew close and gripped Reel by the shoulder. “Is she my child or isn’t she? That is the question. If she is, wonderful.” Dikes slid his hand along the other woman’s cheek. She pulled back but his men forced her to her original position.

  “If she is not,” continued Dikes, “then you die, Sally. And this imposter becomes my concubine. And Julie will become the mother of my child. It really is a win-win.”

  “And if she is your child?” snapped Reel.

  “Then I still win. Because you will die, as horribly as I can make you. I have my child here, who will provide me other children. And I will have Julie as a replacement when I grow bored with this one.”

  Dikes gave the woman a little slap on her cheek. “And I easily grow bored. You could never command my attention, Sally. Never. It was one of your chief weaknesses.”

  “So your word means nothing?” yelled Reel.

  “No, my word is inviolate. When I give it to people who are my equals. You are not and will never be my equal. You are nothing. You might as well be a Jew. Or a Negro. Or heaven help us, a Mexican.”

  “Well, you’re right about one thing, you’re not my equal,” said Reel. “Now, where is Julie?”

  “Why should I let you see her?”

  “Because you can. Because you want me to see her. You want me to know you have her and me in your power. Just admit it and get it over with.”

  Dikes smiled. “You’re not stupid, I’ll give you that.”

  He nodded at two of his men, who pulled Reel and the other woman from the room. They were led down a hall, another door was unlocked, and they were pushed inside so roughly that they both fell to the floor.

  “Jessica?” Julie raced over to help them up.

  “Julie, are you okay?” said Reel, looking at the girl’s puffy face.

  “I’m okay,” she said quickly, staring at the other woman.

  “Julie, this…this is my daughter, Laura.”

  “Oh my God,” said Julie. “I….I…Jessica, why are you here? They’re going to kill you.”

  “It’ll be okay,” said Reel as her eyes searched the walls for a listening device and found two of them within twenty seconds. “We’ll be okay.”

  Julie said, “Hi, Laura, I’m Julie Getty.”

  Laura tried to smile but she was clearly afraid.

  Julie looked at Reel reproachfully. “Why did you bring her here?”

  “I had to, Julie, otherwise they would have killed you.”

  “So now they kill all three of us?”

  “They won’t kill you two. Just me.”

  “Correct.”

  Dikes was standing in the doorway. He held out his hand. “But now it is time to get to know you.”

  “No,” snapped Reel, stepping in front of Laura.

  “I wasn’t talking about her,” said Dikes, smiling. “I was talking about you, Sally. Perhaps I should have said get reacquainted with you.”

  Chapter

  44

  YIE CHUNG-CHA?”

  Chung-Cha looked up from her seat and studied the man who was speaking to her. He was short and lightly built with dark hair and eyes behind square lenses.

  “Yes?”

  “Will you follow me, please?”

  She rose and did as he had so politely asked.

  As they walked the long corridor he slowed his pace so that she was walking beside him. “We all know of you, of course, Comrade Yie. You are legendary in our circle. A national hero.”

  “I am not a hero, Comrade. I am simply one person who does what her country asks of her. Our Supreme Leader and his father and grandfather are the heroes. The only true heroes of our people.”

  “Of course, of course,” he said hurriedly. “I did not mean to say anything that might—”

  “And I do not say that you have. We will leave it at that.”

  He nodded curtly, his face reddening and his eyes downcast.

  She was led to a small room with wooden walls and a dull tube of fluorescent light overhead. It flickered so badly that if she were not accustomed to her country’s difficulty with maintaining a consistent flow of electricity, it would have given her a migraine.

  She sat at the scarred table and placed her hands in her lap. She looked at the concrete floor beneath her feet and wondered if the cement came from one of the camps. Prisoners were good at making things like this. Hard, dangerous, unhealthy work was better performed by slaves than those who were free. Or who thought themselves so.

  The door opened and two men came in. One was the same general to whom Chung-Cha had demonstrated concrete evidence of Pak’s guilt by letting him hear the man’s voice on her phone recording. She knew he had been one of Pak’s biggest supporters, which meant that suspicion had instantly focused on him. He would now do everything in his power to show his loyalty. And, Chung-Cha was aware, he would also try to punish her for bringing down his comrade. The other wore a dark suit and white shirt but no tie. The shirt was buttoned to the top button. He carried a bulky briefcase.

  They sat down and spoke words of greeting.

  She nodded respectfully and waited expectantly. She had long since learned to offer nothing except in response to something else. Otherwise, they might realize what she was actually thinking. And she did not want that.

  The general said, “Plans are going well, Comrade Yie, for your deployment in this grand mission on behalf of your country.”

  She nodded again but said nothing.

  The suit took up the conversation with a nod of encouragement from the uniform.

  For one second Chung-Cha allowed her mind to wander. How many meetings had she sat in with suits and uniforms? They all talked a lot but essentially said nothing she did not already know. She refocused as the suit took from his pocket three photos.

  One was of a woman. She was dark-haired and pretty. Her eyes were blue and stood in considerable contrast to the color of her hair. The effect was to soften the hair and highlight the eyes and the warmth behind them.

  “The First Lady of the United States of America,” said the suit.

  The general added, “The evil empire which seeks to destroy us.”

  Chung-Cha nodded. She knew who the woman was. She had seen her photo before while traveling overseas.

  The suit continued. “Her name is Eleanor Cassion.”

  She also knew this but simply nodded.

  The suit pointed to the next photo. The girl in it was about fifteen or so, gauged Chung-Cha. She did not know who this was, but had a good guess. She had dirty blonde hair and her face closely resembled the woman’s.

  The suit said, “The First Lady’s daughter, Claire Cassion.”

  Chung-Cha nodded. She had been correct.

  He then indicated the third photo. This was of a boy, about ten, who had the woman’s hair but the girl’s soft brown eyes.

  “Thomas Cassion Junior, named after his father, Thomas Cassion, the president of the United States,” said the suit.

  “These are the targets,” ad
ded the general unnecessarily.

  “I understand that they are to be killed simultaneously,” said Chung-Cha.

  The men nodded. The suit said, “Absolutely.”

  “By you, Comrade Yie,” added the general.

  Chung-Cha noted the barely veiled hostility behind the man’s words. She thought that he should be more subtle.

  “Is it feasible to expect one person to be able to kill all three at the same time?” she said.

  “You have been presented to me as a great warrior, Chung-Cha; do you not live up to your reputation?” asked the general in a taunting tone.

  She bowed humbly and said, “I am flattered by such words, sir, but I will not allow my vanity to interfere with the success of the mission. I look at it only logically as someone who has done these types of actions before.”

  “Explain,” said the suit.

  “There will be Secret Service agents accompanying these three people at all times. The children have their own details, as does the First Lady. When they are traveling together, these details will be merged and will therefore be more formidable than if each target is taken separately but simultaneously.”

  The suit nodded thoughtfully, but the general cut the air with his hand and gave a derisive snort. “Impossible.” He glared at Chung-Cha. “To send three separate teams of agents into the United States and target three separate people?” He shook his head emphatically. “All that does is divide your forces and exponentially increase the odds that something will go awry. And if one attack fails, they all almost certainly will fail.” He collected all three photos and held them up, splayed out like playing cards.

  “It will be all together. There is no question of an alternative.” He pointed his finger at her again. “And it will be you who pulls the trigger, Comrade Yie. You bring down mighty generals in North Korea with ease, it seems. This will be child’s play by comparison.”

  “I only bring down generals who are traitors,” replied Chung-Cha evenly.

  The general started to grin at this statement, but then his expression changed. “Are you accusing me of—”

  “I accuse no one,” she said, breaking in.

  The suit held up a hand. “We fight amongst ourselves without purpose. The Supreme Leader would not be pleased. And what Comrade Yie said is quite correct. She did her duty and was richly rewarded by our Supreme Leader.”

  This statement instantly wiped the anger off the general’s face and he calmed. “My colleague is quite correct. And so are you, Comrade Yie. You exposed a traitor. That is as it should be.”

  “But I will still go in alone?”

  “You will not go in alone,” said the general, and the suit nodded. “There will be a team to accompany you. But the Americans will die by your hand alone.” The general now managed a smile. “You are a woman, Comrade Yie. The Americans have a soft spot for your gender. They will not believe that a woman can harm them.”

  Chung-Cha simply stared at him until he looked away.

  The suit slipped a file folder from the briefcase he had carried in and handed it to her. “This is our preliminary report about the three targets. You will read and memorize and then there will be more.”

  “Have any plans been formulated as to when and where the targets will be attacked?” asked Chung-Cha.

  “They are being processed and vetted now,” said the suit. “The best one will be chosen. In the meantime you will read these materials, practice your English, and return to your rigorous training. We will build the necessary background documents for you and your team to enter the United States. You must be ready to be activated for this mission at a minute’s notice.”

  She rose, took the folder, and slid it into her bag.

  The general scooped up the photos and handed them to her. “You will need these, Comrade Yie. You will study these faces until the very moment before you kill them.” He looked at her patronizingly.

  Chung-Cha took the photos and put them in her bag. She did not look at either of the men as she left the room.

  She took the metro home, walking the last few blocks. She passed a few people and looked at none of them. She did, however, note the man following her. She arrived at her apartment and walked the few flights up. She made tea and put rice in her cooker, sat by the window with her cup, and opened her bag.

  She glanced up and down the street. The man was nowhere in sight. But he was down there. She could sense his presence.

  She pulled out the photos and the file.

  She set aside the mother’s picture and focused on the girl. Claire Cassion. She looked at the file. She was fifteen, born in March. She attended something called Sidwell Friends. As Chung-Cha read more, she learned that Sidwell was a school that both boys and girls attended. She looked at pictures of the school and thought it very handsome and peaceful. The school had been founded by Quakers. The report helpfully provided that Quakers are a religious group that pride themselves on their nonviolent beliefs. That was a stupid principle on which to found a religion, Chung-Cha thought. One could not rule out violence, because violence was often necessary. And since other religions routinely employed violence, those that did not were in constant danger of being rendered extinct.

  She read on as she sipped the strong, hot tea, occasionally looking out her window as she contemplated the facts she was accumulating in her mind. But she found herself again wandering to other things.

  It seemed that this Sidwell Friends was a very prestigious place and many of the students there were the children of very prominent families. They received a rigorous education. She read that many graduated and went on to other elite schools with names like Harvard, which she had heard of, and Stanford, which she had not, and some place called Notre Dame. She had visited the Middle East and ventured into countries where girls were not educated at all. Apparently they didn’t think girls were worth the trouble. Chung-Cha thought they were actually worth more than the boys.

  Girls were educated in North Korea, but not if they were in the camps. At Yodok Chung-Cha had never been in class to really learn, only to fix a few numbers and letters in her head and acknowledge her sins. Then she had gone on to the mine and the factory.

  She looked at the pretty buildings of Sidwell Friends with just a bit of wistfulness.

  She turned to the boy, Thomas Junior. He went to a place called St. Albans. The file said it was named after the first British martyr, Saint Alban. The buildings were made of stone and they looked almost castle-like to her. Fine old buildings where boys—it was only boys who attended St. Albans—went to learn. It seemed to be as highly regarded as Sidwell Friends.

  The mascot of St. Albans was a bulldog. Chung-Cha had never had a dog. There had never been an opportunity. She wouldn’t have known what to do with one anyway.

  Yet there had been a hound, on the other side of the fence at Yodok. She had glimpsed it one day. She thought it rather ugly and dirty and thus just like her. That had been the bond that formed for her. When they were let outside the fence to collect wood the dog had followed her, licked her hand. She drew back and struck it because a touch to her meant an attack was imminent. The beast yipped and sat down on its haunches, its tongue out and what looked to be a smile on its snout, a smile that reached to its wide eyes.

  The dog had been there when she was next let through the gate to gather wood. This time, when it approached, she held out her hand and it licked it. She had nothing to give the thing, no food. She would never give food away. Never. No one in the camp would. It would be like giving away your blood or your heart. But she let it lick her hand. And she rubbed its head, which it seemed to like.

  She never heard the bolt on the rifle being slammed back. She heard the shot. She heard the yip. She tasted the beast’s blood on her. She heard the guard laugh as she cried out and fell away.

  She saw the dog twitch once and then it lay still, the bloody wound on its chest widening, its tongue hanging lopsided out of its mouth. She ran away. She heard the guard laugh aga
in. If she had known how to kill a guard and live she would have.

  She put the papers back into the folder, spooned the rice into a bowl, and ate it as she drank her tea. Like the burger at the American-style restaurant, she ate her rice slowly, almost a grain at a time it seemed. She looked out the window.

  She finally saw the man, lurking near the corner. He was not dressed in a uniform, but he was military. He had forgotten to change his shoes. They were distinctive. And his hair was matted down where the cap would usually sit.

  They were having her followed. That was clear. What was not as clear was why. Chung-Cha had a few ideas that might answer that query. None of them were good for her. Not a single one.