Pyongyang, North Korea
Kim Jong II was getting a haircut in his private office, located on the top floor of the central government building. The office walls were a drab gray, barren except for a single photograph of Kim and his father standing formally side-by-side at some long-forgotten occasion of state. A metal desk, behind which Kim sat, matched the walls. The day itself was gray. Rain clouds gathered beyond the single window. Kim was overweight and pudgy. His complexion had an unhealthy pallor. His thinning hair was coifed in a pompadour.
The young man in prisoner garb administering the haircut was a slim-hipped teenager with girlish good looks: pouty lips and a delicate build. The youth held a comb in one hand, hair-clippers in the other, and was cautiously snipping near Kim's sideburns. Occasionally he would stop snipping and stand back to allow his hands to stop shaking. Having known enough to volunteer to his interrogators downstairs that he was proficient in cutting hair, he must surely have also known of the fate of so many "former barbers" before him. The prisoner clearly understood that his life depended on the haircut he was administering.
Kim, not wearing his thick eyeglasses, had to squint at the pair of men standing before him. His hair was tended to on a daily basis, often during work hours. "We find ourselves at an impasse," he said. "The Americans will not relent in their insistence that they be allowed access to Hamgyong Province, where they say their shuttle has gone down. Their position is that they are entitled to search for their precious shuttle. They cite our inability to secure our own borders against the Chinese in that region."
"The Americans are entitled to nothing." General Yang was nearing seventy. He had been a young lieutenant in the war against the Americans fifty years ago, and was presently supreme commander of the North Korean military. His aged body was in good condition, but at the moment he shivered as if with chills. "They have consistently pursued a policy against us. It is my considered opinion, sir, that the Americans' encroachment of our borders be considered an act of war."
The man beside him, General Tog, the military's second-in-command, was generations younger than Yang, but his eyes burned with the same conviction. "The military stands ready to defend our nation. The launch of missiles at U.S. positions along the DMZ awaits your approval, sir."
"I understand." Kim nodded. "But not yet, gentlemen, not yet." His lips curled into the semblance of a smile. "We hold in our hand the potential of turning this to our considerable advantage." He winced as the hair-clippers nipped too closely to his scalp. The prisoner ceased snipping, an expression of terror on his face. Kim touched his scalp, satisfied himself that there was no wound and snapped his fingers peevishly, gesturing for the prisoner to continue, which he did. Kim continued, to the men before him, "If our military were to find the shuttle first, we could use that to negotiate more economic aid from the Americans as a show of their gratitude… after our scientists have helped themselves to whatever they choose aboard the shuttle. With this much at stake, the Americans will not quibble. Need I remind you, gentlemen, that the famine relief provided by America lines our pockets?"
Yang's posture grew ramrod straight. "It makes my blood run as ice to think of them invading our soil."
"I concur," said Kim. "That is why pressure must be exerted on our troops in the region. Do you suppose the Americans suspect us of culpability in this matter?"
"Unfortunately," said Tog, "it's too soon to tell. I do believe that, if that were the case, they would first approach us privately with such an accusation, and demand their shuttle be returned. This they have not done."
"And we have no idea where that shuttle is?" Kim's tone was petulant.
"A Colonel Sung is our regional commander in Hamgyong Province," said Yang, "where the shuttle is believed to have gone down. Colonel Sung reports that he has been directing a search of his sector since dawn, thus far with no positive results."
"Colonel Sung is a most competent officer," said Yang, "and he is ruthless. He has been made to understand the grave urgency of this. A space shuttle has crashed in his sector. Someone will have seen something, and they will divulge what they know to him. I assure you, sir, we will see results."
"Enough," said Kim. "The mirror and my glasses." He was speaking to the prisoner, and holding each hand out, palm up. "I now wish to see the results of this haircut."
The prisoner obeyed. His trembling intensified, and he repeatedly licked his lips, awaiting the verdict on his work… reprieve, or execution.
Hamgyong Province, North Korea
Ahn Chong sat at a rough-hewn wood table. He was watching his daughter, Toi, prepare a lunch of pulgogi, thinly sliced beef with various spices, and makkolli, a beer made of rice. The tangy scents of spices in the kitchen area mingled with the faint wood smell from a low fire in the stove.
It was Ann's daily custom, at his daughter's request, to join Toi and her husband for their midday meal, ever since the passing of Mai. The interior of the one-room home of Toi and her husband had a low ceiling and bare timber walls. The furnishings were simple and rudimentary. A row of windows faced south, away from the village. Sunlight flowing in through these windows, combined with the wood fire in the stove, made the atmosphere warm and comfortable.
At thirty-seven years, Ahn's daughter had the stocky, thick-boned physique of the North Korean peasant woman, yet there was a delicacy to the line of her mouth, the form of her lips, that reminded him of Mai.
He considered this to be a sacred time of each day, seated like this at the kitchen table in his daughter's modest home, not far from his own. Sharing these meals with Toi brought back to him sweet memories of the meals he shared with his beloved Mai before the hideous ravages of her cancer had taken her from him. He had returned directly to the village from the cave, encountering neither army patrols nor anyone else along the way. He arrived early at his daughter's home for lunch. Her husband, Cho, had not yet returned from the fields for the midday repast. The conversation with Toi, as she prepared their lunch, was pleasant as always, about those mundane aspects of village life that they always discussed. A certain villager was reported to be a slacker in the fields. A village in the next valley was rumored to be willing to barter services in exchange for produce. They spoke of such things. Although he engaged her about the subjects she brought up this day, Ann's concerns were elsewhere. His world had been turned upside down, and he could tell no one. His biggest concern was those he should tell. He thought of the compact radio transceiver hidden nearby. And he thought of the jeopardy that he had placed his daughter in by his actions from the very beginning. There had never before been anything this big, which is why he had hesitated in using the radio to make his report. He must let nothing happen to Toi.
Midway through preparing their meal, she suddenly said, "Father, what is it? We've been talking, but your thoughts are somewhere else. Please tell me what it is that troubles you."
He reached his bony hand across the table to pat her arm reassuringly. "It's nothing, child. I have but the wandering mind of an old man in his dotage."
"You are more of a man than most of the younger fellows I see in the village," she said. "Despite your years, Father, you grow ever stronger: toughened, not weakened, by adversity."
He sighed and lowered his eyes from hers. "Toi, even the strong grow old and infirm."
"Not you, Father. You hike to visit Mother's grave every day, and yes, I know, sometimes late in the cold darkness of the night."
He frowned. "How do you know this?"
She sensed his flaring of concern, and said hurriedly, "Father, I have told no one."
"Not even your husband?"
"No, not even Cho. And I will tell nothing. Please, Father, tell me. What is it?"
It was her intelligence, and her intuition, regarding him, which most reminded him of her mother. Yet he could not in good conscience involve Toi in the extraordinary events he had witnessed, and been drawn into.
The outside door was abruptly flung inward.
Toi's husband entered the house. Ahn's son-in-law was squat, but proportionately muscular. Ten years older than Toi, Cho wore work denims, the knees dirt-stained from the morning's work. His expression was of severe consternation. Before Cho could utter a word, someone behind him propelled Cho into the house.
The man who had shoved, a rifle-carrying soldier, appeared in the doorway. He scanned their faces. "I am Sergeant Bol Rhee. You will join the others outside, at once."
Toi leaped to her feet, angrily. Another way she reminded Ahn of his Mai was the manner in which she did not gracefully accept personal affronts. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "How dare you-"
Ahn saw in the soldier's eyes that this could escalate out of control without warning. He knew the reason for the soldier's presence. He placed himself between the sergeant's rifle and his daughter. He then brazenly turned his back on the soldier, to rest both of his hands on Toi's shoulders. "Daughter, no. We will cooperate. We will do as he says."
She started to speak, and then interrupted herself. She whirled on her husband. "Cho, are you a party to this?"
Cho's expression shifted from consternation to the hint of outrage. "What foolishness to suggest such a thing! Of course not!"
To Ann's ears, the young man's denial sounded hollow and insincere.
The soldier snorted in frustration and disgust, apparently somewhat unwilling to gun down three civilians in their own home. Instead, he shoulder-slung his rifle and stepped forward. The thudding clump of his combat boots sounded radically out of place in the kitchen. He grasped both father and daughter, each in a firm grip above the elbow. "Listen, both of you." He shook them roughly for emphasis. "It is not I that you should fear. I suggest that you do as you're told. My commander is here. Be advised he is a man without mercy or sentimentality. You have been warned."
He gave neither of them an opportunity to respond. He dragged them through the doorway, outside. Cho trailed several steps behind, voicing what sounded to Ahn like half-hearted protests. They were taken through the bracing midday sunshine to the center of the village, where about thirty villagers had been herded into a group, huddled together under the watchful eye of soldiers with rifles. Bol released Ahn and Toi with a shove that sent them jostling into the huddled mass of frightened people.
Bol turned to an officer of severe demeanor and posture. The threat of violence was palpable in the air. "Sir, all of the adult males and their spouses are accounted for."
"Well done, Sergeant." Colonel Sung surveyed the civilians. His uniform was starched. His boots remained brightly polished despite traipsing through inhospitable terrain. His steely eyes settled upon Ahn. "You. Old man. Your name is Ahn Chong. I am told that you know this region as only a native of your years can. I want you to tell me what you know about a space shuttle."
Ahn respectfully cast his eyes downward. "Sir, I do not even know what a 'space shuttle' is."
"I do think you know what a space shuttle is, old man. I know of your late-night wanderings."
Ahn heard gasps of dismay from the villagers surrounding him. His daughter's was the loudest.
"Colonel, on my word, I walk late to visit the grave of my wife."
"Yes. The grave of your wife. The grave of your wife happens to be exactly along the shuttle's line of approach. You know what I want. Tell me. Where did the shuttle go down? Are there survivors? Tell me, old man, or you will come with us for questioning."
Cho spoke before Ahn could reply. "Colonel Sung, please spare my father-in-law. He knows nothing. I implore you. Do not harm him."
Sung studied Cho. "You are the leader of this village commune, I am told."
"Yes, my Colonel."
"I see." Sung pondered this, then nodded. "Very well. The old man remains here. I will grant you this favor as a faithful member of the Party."
Cho seemed uncomfortably conscious of the stares of his fellow commune members. He managed to stammer out, "Thank you, my Colonel."
Sung turned back to Ahn Chong. "As for you, old man, you're lucky for now. I have my reasons for keeping you alive."
"You hope that I will reveal where the shuttle is. But I tell you, Colonel, I know nothing."
Sung whirled away from the group of frightened civilians. "Sergeant!" he snapped at Bol Rhee. "Order your men into a column. We are done here." He cast a final, withering glance in Ahn's direction. "For now," he added ominously.
There came a collective sigh from those around Ahn. The soldiers marched away from the village then, led by the strutting commander and his harried-looking sergeant. They took the narrow, rutted dirt road that led into the shadow cast, even at midday, by towering forest trees.
Ahn found himself reminded of his own military service, so long ago, as a conscript. Then the column disappeared from sight into the trees beyond a crest in the terrain. The villagers erupted into conversations, many of them solicitous of Toi. Ahn had no interest in conversing with anyone.
"Father." His daughter held her head high. His fatherly pride swelled at the grace and courage that her bearing and posture reflected. She glanced around to make certain that no one was within earshot. The others were conversing excitedly among themselves, discussing what had just happened. She said, "Father, you must be most careful of what you say."
He bristled. "Why? Are you afraid that your husband will send word to the secret police to come for me? Or perhaps Colonel Sung will arrange a hastily-convened firing squad for your father."
"No such thing will happen, Father. Cho only follows his conscience. I believe he just saved your life. You should be grateful."
Ahn looked to where his neighbors were dispersing at Cho's command, to resume work in the fields. "Your husband thinks me a useless old man. He spoke up only to divert problems from his own home, with you. For my part, I wonder who informed the colonel about me, of how well I know these mountains."
"You think it was Cho?"
"Of course I do. Who else?"
The lines around Toi's eyes and mouth became taut. "As the leader of our community, it is Cho's duty to cooperate with the authorities. Father, do not speak disrespectfully of my husband. He is a good man."
"Those he collaborates with were about to kill me. It may be your husband's duty is to inform for Colonel Sung. But when he informed on me, he betrayed our family and he endangered you."
"And what of you, Father? Do you know anything about a space shuttle? You could help our village avoid the misery that Colonel Sung will bring."
"Child, nothing that I can do or say will avert what is destined to happen. No good will come of this. Brace yourself for what lies ahead, for we are in the line of fire."