The Target

Chapter 71

The team came to the cottage very late at night.

Min was in bed. Chung-Cha received them at the door and ushered them in. They sat at the table in the kitchen and spoke swiftly in Korean.

One of the men and the woman were the same ones who had ridden on the train to D.C. with Chung-Cha and Min. Another of the men was Kim Jing-Sang, a highly skilled operative from North Korea’s Interior Ministry who had arrived two days ago. They all discussed and Chung-Cha quickly vetoed the idea of postponing the mission because of the presence of Robie and Reel. No one questioned her decision.

They spread out pictures and diagrams and maps and briefing papers on the table. They were calmly discussing it all as if it were a college midterm team project rather than the plans to assassinate a family.

Chung-Cha held up seven fingers. “That is the number of Secret Service agents. The staff is irrelevant. They are not armed.”

The woman said, “But there is local police support.”

Chung-Cha shook her head. “I have observed them the last few days. They are nothing. They will be no problem.”

“And the man and woman?” said one of the men. “That helped free General Pak’s children?”

“A good thing for us,” said Chung-Cha. “Two birds with one stone, I think is what the Americans say. We will kill them at the same time.” She looked at Jing-Sang. “My colleague will now discuss what will happen after the targets are eliminated. And his words come directly from the Supreme Leader.”

Jing-Sang took from his pocket a small vial. “The Supreme Leader wants the world to know who did this. He wants them to understand that the United States cannot impose its will on our people without retribution. In order to ensure that such is the case, we will each be given a vial such as this. We will then take the contents of the vial after the mission is complete. It is fast-acting. We will be dead within a few minutes.” He looked in the direction of the bedroom where Min was asleep.

“The little bitch must be taken care of too,” he reminded her.

“I will deal with her myself,” said Chung-Cha.

Jing-Sang nodded. “Of course, Comrade Yie. And it was good cover to bring her in the first place. Americans never see evil in children. She is from Yodok, correct?”

“Yes.”

Jing-Sang continued. “Then it hardly matters. It is not like anyone will miss her. It is not like she is one of the core and thus has value.”

“Absolutely,” said Chung-Cha.

But under the table her fingers curled into a fist. I am also from Yodok, she thought.

Out loud she said, “Now there only remains the details of the actual attack. We believe that we have it in place and that it will provide us the best opportunity for success.”

She drew a paper from a file and unfolded it for all of them to see. “There is a holiday that the Americans celebrate where they dress in costumes,” she said.

“Halloween,” added Jing-Sang.

“Yes. It is a stupid thing that they spend much money on. There is a parade that begins in the downtown section in front of a church. It proceeds through the main streets.”

“But there will be many people around,” said one of the men. “That means distractions and obstructions and potential chaos. How can we be assured of our targets and reliable sight lines?”

Chung-Cha said, “For one simple reason. Our targets will be gathering at the town hall before the parade for a meeting with the person who is the mayor of this Nantucket and a few other important local people. The town hall will be otherwise empty. The parade does not start until two hours later. We will strike there and we will strike hard. We will pierce the outer circle of security and then the inner. And then we will complete our mission.”

Jing-Sang said, “How did you come by this information? Is it reliable?”

“We have a person who helps to clean the mayor’s office,” Chung-Cha said. “He overheard them talking. And the itinerary for the town hall event was left on his desk last night. Our person photographed it. It is reliable. I have verified it myself.”

Jing-Sang nodded. “Excellent.”

“And now this holiday, Halloween, gives us the perfect way to breach their security wall,” noted Chung-Cha.

She knew that the Secret Service was prepared to die to protect its charges. But then she was prepared to die in order to kill those same charges.

They finished their meeting and said their goodbyes. Before he left, Jing-Sang pressed two vials into Chung-Cha’s hand.

“To the glory, Comrade Yie. To the glory.”

She closed the door behind him and pocketed the vials.

Chung-Cha sat in front of the gas fire and finally fell asleep. She awoke with a start when she heard the noise. Her hand slipped to her pocket and closed around the knife. It was the same knife she had used to kill the British envoy.

The cottage was dark, the fire the only illumination. She heard cautious footsteps coming from the kitchen. She silently made her way to that spot and peered around the corner.

Min had poured out a glass of milk and was drinking it at the table.

Then Min stopped, put the glass down, and picked up the photo. The photo that Chung-Cha had foolishly left on the table; she had fallen asleep before picking everything up and hiding it.

Chung-Cha went into the kitchen and Min looked up at her.

“Why do you have this, Chung-Cha?” she asked, turning the photo around.

Looking back at her from the grainy photo were Eleanor, Claire, and Tommy Cassion.

Chung-Cha fingered the vials in her pocket and eyed the glass of milk. Death by cyanide was relatively quick but not painless. Would a bullet be better? Quick, no pain. Min would never know it was Chung-Cha who had done it.

She said, “A friend brought those by. He was just taking some different pictures of people and places here.”

“These are the people from the beach. The boy picking seashells.”

Chung-Cha came over to her, took the photo, and looked at it. “You’re right. I had not noticed that.”

“I did not hear anyone come tonight.”

“It was late. You were already asleep.” Chung-Cha ran a hand down Min’s hair. “Now you should go back to sleep, Min.”

The little girl was gazing down at the picture, and then she looked up at Chung-Cha. Her lip trembled and Chung-Cha recalled that the reason she had picked Min to take from the camp was her obvious spirit. And intelligence.

“Chung-Cha?” began Min.

“Not tonight, Min. We will talk about things tomorrow. But not tonight.”

She put the girl back in bed and lay with her for a while until Min was breathing evenly and eventually fell asleep.

Then Chung-Cha did not go to bed, but went outside and sat in a wooden chair and stared at a sky that was filled with stars while a breeze lifted her hair and the smell of the nearby waters filled her nostrils.

She took the vials of poison from her pocket and held them in front of her. They were small, yet deadly.

Just as she was.

She envisioned herself lying among the dead at the town hall. The police and American agents swarming all over the scene. The world coming to understand what had happened. Perhaps the Americans and her country would go to war over this, with only one inevitable outcome.

Then she put the vials back in her pocket, laid her head back against the rough gray wood of the chair, closed her eyes, and thought of being in a place and a life that was as different from hers as it was possible to be.