by Jesse Jordan
I love that about Cara, she's talked about Simon's capture by the North Koreans like it's just a temporary thing, an annoying delay in travel plans. Always with her, it's not 'if' Simon gets back, but 'when.' No wonder I love her as much as I love Tammy. “Thanks. On that note, I know I should probably talk with Simon about this, but I think he'll approve. Would it be okay if the baby has two godmothers?”
Cara and Tammy both stop what they're doing and look at me, wonder in their faces. “But... but Ash, we're Army. And well, you know...”
“Together?” I ask. “Yeah, you two can chuck that out of date idea out the door. If something ever happened to me and Simon, I'd want our child to be raised by two people in a loving family. Mom and Dad are too old to be trying to raise a baby, and Simon's mother I'm not even telling her about my pregnancy. I've gone our entire relationship without talking to Brenda Lancaster, and that's going to continue. So who better than my sisters to raise my child? I know you'll love the baby, and you'll be good parents. So, what do you say?”
Cara looks at Tammy, who whispers in Cara's ear. Cara whispers back, and Tammy turns to the camera. “We accept, on the condition that when Simon gets back, he approves too. Get the paperwork ready, after you talk to your folks. But you just remember, we get to be aunts first, this whole godmother thing is just a backup plan.”
I swear, if the Almighty ever needs someone to remember the Ps and Qs of the world, I know two women who can help him keep track. “For sure. Okay, with that, I'm going to talk to my Dad, and get back with you guys later. You two busy over the weekend?”
Cara raises an eyebrow and smirks. “We're busy every weekend, but we'll make time for you. Give us a call tomorrow or Sunday. Love you, Ash.”
Tammy blushes at Cara's comment, but echoes the sentiment, and I end the call. They're funny, and I know that I made the right choice in asking them to be the baby's godmothers. I'm feeling a little hungry, so I call over to Pizza Hut and order a medium stuffed crust pizza, there's no need to be ridiculous about it, then call home. “Hello honey. How was the school week?”
It's Mom. “Oh, hi Mom. Actually, things are okay. I told my chain of command about my pregnancy, they said it shouldn't be a problem, so that's a good thing. How're you doing?”
Mom laughs, and I swear she sounds younger. “Oh honey, this has been an interesting week. I swear, your father hasn't been this busy with work since you were in junior high school. I know I should be upset, but it lends a lot of energy to the house, if you know what I mean.”
I can't be upset with Mom, I know she means well. “Of course, Mom. Speaking of Dad, is he around?”
“He's in his study, dear. Let me bring the phone to him. Henry? It's Ashley!” Mom, despite all the culture and good manners, never has quite learned how to cover the mouthpiece of a phone when she yells, or how to use a hold button. I listen in as Mom walks down the hallway, knocking on Dad's study door before opening it. “Henry? It's Ashley.”
“Bring it here. Thanks,” Dad says in the background before speaking into the phone. “Ashley? How are you doing, sweetie?”
“I'm okay Dad,” I reply. “I'm still worried, but I'm trying to keep my mind focused on what I can do. And right now, what I need is to keep my focus on our baby, and to do my best to make sure that when Simon comes back, that we're going to have a good home ready for him.”
“Good. So school's going well?”
“I probably won't make honor grad any more, I boned a test pretty hard, but that's okay. Also, I told my chain of command about the baby, there was no way I was going to go into the CS chamber being pregnant. Thankfully my OIC was totally cool about it. I guess the Army has, huh?” I joke, using the old shorthand for 'the Army's changed since the old days.'
“Sure has. Actually, I was thinking about that when your friends got married. Back in my day, both of them would have been kicked out of USMA, branded as some sort of freaks,” Dad says, shaking his head. “So this Old Grad says the Corps has. And you want to know what? I'm fully of the idea that it's a good thing. Time for the Academy and the Army to actually represent the nation it's supposed to protect.”
“Speaking of that... Dad, have you gotten any more news on Simon?”
Dad hums, and I can hear him shuffling through papers. He must really be working hard, he's an incessant note taker. It tapered off my senior year of high school, but if he's got multiple pages going again, he's got to be busy.
“I've got good and bad news. The good news is, they know where Simon's located, or at least the area. It's to the northeast of a town called Changp'ung, about fifteen kilometers from the DMZ. I was surprised at first, but I checked with some friends, and they tell me that's quite normal with the North Koreans. Basically, the more politically sensitive the thing is, the farther from Pyongyang and the China border they want it. It's far enough away from the border that they feel they won't be spied on, but close enough that they can claim plausible deniability if shit hits the fan. Sorry.”
“It's okay Dad, I understand you're giving me the straight info. You said that's the good news. What's the bad news?”
Dad sighs, and I can hear the frustration in his voice even before he says anything. “Our frustrations are mounting. There's two groups that have emerged in the intelligence community. A lot of them think that it's worth the risk to get Simon out. Hell, it's less than twenty klicks Ashley. A Delta or SEAL team could HALO in and get him out in one night.”
“But?” I ask, fearing but knowing what's coming.
“But the White House is listening to the other side right now, the side that's willing to let him sit over there and not do a damn thing. They figure the political fallout is already at peak, and with a good jobs report or something else happening in the world, the general public's going to forget about Simon. The South Koreans are kind of eager to forget too, now. Turns out that the problems with the Apache was found to be a North Korean agent, the crew chief no less. He already admitted to the charge, saying his mission was to specifically target Simon's helicopter. That's confusing the hell out of everyone, honestly. Why target Simon? No offense Ashley, but he's not a high value intelligence asset. It's just... it's puzzling. Think you can shed any light on it?”
I shake my head, not knowing. “The only thing I can think of Dad is that Simon was a foreign language major. While he studied Russian and French, he told me when he was on leave that he started learning Korean in his spare time. When I talked with him on the phone, he said he was coming along, but that isn't going to make him an intelligence asset.”
Dad huffs, and I understand his frustration. “Dad, what can I do?” I ask. “Please, there has to be something that I can do. What?”
Dad hums, tapping at his desk. “I can't be sure, but I have a contact who has resources in the South Korean government. If the North Koreans can get their men into the South, I'm sure the SKs can get their agents into North Korea as well. Maybe we can get a message to Simon. What I want you to do is write a letter, small as you can. Keep it less than a half sheet of paper, and then bring it by the house tomorrow or Sunday. I can't promise anything, but I can try.”
I swallow, emotion suddenly choking my throat. Dad's retired, there's no way he's getting this just by chatting with buddies over beers. “Dad... how much cred are you burning with this? How many favors are you calling in?”
“It doesn't matter, honey. If I have to call in every favor I am owed, and then go doubly into debt in repaying those favors in order to get Simon back to you, I'll do it. I will not let the Army take away from our family again. Okay?”
I have to stop, wiping at my eyes and rubbing at the bridge of my nose to control my crying. “Okay. I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too. Now, I'm going to take the phone back to Katherine, and you two can girl talk some. Try to have a smile in your voice when you do. You know, security and all.”
I don't quite like it, but I understand. “Okay, Dad. I'll be chirpy when Mom comes on. And I'll come
by tomorrow, think we can do dinner together?”
“That sounds great, honey. Okay, here's Mom.”
Simon
A strange sound comes to my ears, and I open my eyes, wishing for the first time that I had a blanket. Korea may be hot as hell in the summer time, but we're coming up on October… I think. Fuck I'm not too sure, and I'm starting to get cold at night. A ratty flight suit isn't doing anything for me, although my boots are still in pretty good condition.
But what I'm hearing now isn't combat boots, or even shoes. It sounds like... high heels? What the fuck?
I hear someone turn the corner at the end of the hallway and come closer, and I see a woman in a skirt and suit come to a stop in the doorway of my cell. One of the guards is with her, not Moby and not Cade, who I haven't seen since he brought me that plate of rice and salty soup. “Well, if the Beast doesn't work, I guess Kim's going to try Beauty.”
She is pretty, I have to admit. Tall for a Korean woman, she's probably about five foot six, and well built, with a trim figure that fills out her suit well enough that I can tell she's certainly not on the typical North Korean diet of little and less. She's got intelligent eyes, and as she looks down, there's a certain sense of dominance in her look. This is a woman who knows what she wants, and most often gets it.
“The Great Leader has personally assigned me to make sure your re-education about life in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea goes smoothly,” she says in flawless, West Coast accented English. “My name is Jenny Song, or at least my American name is. Come, get up, your shower awaits.”
“Shower? Oh, Moby gave me a shower a few days ago when he threw a bucket of piss on me. No thanks,” I reply, laying back down on the bare concrete. “I understand North Korean showers.”
“You have a choice,” Song says, squatting down to bring her closer to my level. She does it in a way to just tease me with what’s up her skirt, but I’m not interested in the least. “You can behave as a man, or as a dog. If you wish to behave as a dog, you will be showered with a cold water hose, fed scraps that the men of this camp no longer wish, and in general treated as a dog. With winter coming on, I seriously doubt that you'll survive to see the New Year that way. Or, you can behave as a man. While you are showering and shaving, your clothes will be laundered and brought back to you. You will be fed the same as any other soldier in the camp, and be given appropriate bedding for your cell.”
“What's the price of this?” I ask, sneering. “A few statements I have to sign? Maybe a little speech in front of a video camera where I denounce my country? The codes to my radio, like Moby wanted?”
“None of those things at all,” Song replies, standing up. “I just want you to behave as a polite man, and not a wisecracking jackass. The man you call 'Moby' recorded all your interrogations, you have quite the mouth on you.”
“That's what she said,” I joke, and I'm surprised when I see Song chuckle. “You got that one.”
“I lived in America for seven years,” Song replies, “and I am given more access to harmful Internet influences than most of our citizens. Come, stand up and talk with me. Shower first, then we can have brunch, and just talk. I promise, no questions about your helicopter or anything sensitive.”
“And the shackles?” I ask. Song shrugs, the meaning clear. They stay for now. I ponder my choices, and nod. “Fine. But the first question or demand, I walk my happy ass back to this cell and proceed to start rotting.”
I get up, and the guard with Song unlocks the door, pointing with his rifle and going off in North Korean. I follow his instructions, making sure to pretend I don't know what he's saying, although after this long in captivity, I think even an idiot could figure out the North Korean word for “go!”
The shower, even though it's tepid, is glorious. Song was right, they even let me have a disposable razor to shave with. Hurts like hell, the soap they give me isn't exactly great for softening five or six weeks of beard, but I still enjoy it. I take my time, ignoring my guard who stands on the far side of the shower room, his rifle still ready the entire time, and wash my hair as well, taking the time to try and check out the sores on my skin. Jesus, I really have been kept like a dog for a while. I think I could start a YouTube channel off of these things.
Finally, the guard loses his patience and shuts off the water and raises his rifle. I get it, shower's over, and I walk out into the unheated locker-room like area, where at least there's a scrap of something that might be called a towel. While I'm drying, Song walks in, carrying my clothes. “Hey!”
“While impressive, it's nothing I haven't seen before,” she says, looking me up and down. Her eyes come to rest on my cock, and she raises an eyebrow. “I stand corrected. Too bad you need to wear clothes. Please get dressed and join me in the cafeteria.”
Song leaves, and I glance over at the guard, cupping my balls. “God bless America, bitch.”
They didn't do a great job with laundering my flight suit, but it's not quite as bad as it was before, so I guess I can't complain as the guard walks me to the cafeteria. Song's there already, already sitting down in front of a bowl of rice, some tofu based soup it looks like with some bits of floating green, and, surprise surprise, a hard boiled egg.
“Have a seat.” I sit down, and Song smiles. I don't think she realizes just how little that means to me. She might be attractive, but my memories of Ashley are more than enough to get me past a single pretty smile. “Do you say grace before you eat? While it's not normal here, I am willing to bend the rules a little.”
“No, I don't pray often,” I tell her, picking up the spoon. “If you're being nice like this, mind if I have a toothbrush or something to clean my teeth? I'm kinda feeling gross over here.”
“Sure.... as soon as you denounce your imperialist dog of a country, vow eternal allegiance to Dear Leader, and become his wife's love toy,” Song says evenly. I set down my spoon and stand up, and she cracks another smile. “Sit down, I was joking. I'll see what I can do.”
I force myself to again eat slowly, knowing that if I just hork it down, I'm probably going to throw up. “So, your agenda for today,” Song says as she nibbles at her rice, “you will be cleaning the halls from after this until three in the afternoon, then I will have questions for you until dinner. After that, you can return to your cell, where you will find that you have at least a blanket. It's not much by American standards, but in fact by North Korean standards some of the lower enlisted in the barracks will probably be jealous of you. That is something, yes?”
“Yes,” I agree, sipping my soup. “So, you lived in the States for what did you say, five years?”
“Seven,” Song says. “You're probably wondering then how a girl like me ends up in a place like this?”
“Not a pickup line at all,” I answer, keeping my face impassive. “But I am curious.”
“Simple, really. I chose to come here. I said I lived in America for seven years, but I am also not purely North Korean. My mother is, but my father is Chinese, and I was born in China. I have dual citizenship,” Song says. “It's helpful when it comes to shopping. Trust me, one thing I do miss about the United States is shopping malls. I am a girly girl when it comes to those. Thankfully most of the things you can buy in an American mall are made in China.”
“And the questioning?”
Song's face hardens, and her smile goes wintry. “You'll see, won't you?”
I can't get the voices out of my head. I don't know where they're coming from, but they won't stop. Jenny's questioning today was extra hard, and I tried my best to not get shocked again, but still, the stick came out. It's not a Taser, but I don't think it's a cattle prod either. Maybe it's something custom made, but I know that every time Jenny brings it out, I'm starting to flinch.
But then she puts it away, and she's so nice. Yesterday, she actually brought me some pieces of actual chocolate, and we sat in the sunny room on the east side of the prison, just eating them and watching the sky. She told me about he
r college life in California, not asking me anything but just talking, sharing herself with me.
“You know Simon, you're a smart man,” she told me after we finished the last of the chocolate bar. “I can understand perhaps why you wouldn't want to work with the authorities here, but a man of your talents could be quite well rewarded in China. And I know your background, you would pick up Chinese quite quickly.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, and Jenny laughs.
“Simon, you may fool the guards, but I pulled the same game when I got to a certain level of English in America. Pretending you don't know what the people around you are saying in order to listen to their real opinions on you. Like I said, you're a smart man.”
Today though, she wasn't so nice, asking me questions. Never ending questions, as soon as I answer one she asked another, about anything and everything. When I didn't answer correctly or if I was too slow, the stick came out, and I was punished.
Now, my body aches, my eyes feel like they've been dipped in rubbing alcohol before being jammed back in my sockets, and my stomach rolls as I try to keep down the food they gave me. I had sixty seconds to eat today, with Jenny holding the stopwatch in her left hand and the stick in her right. When I was finished, she pulled the bowl away, and for every grain of rice left in the bowl, it was another second of application of the stick. And if I threw up, that rice counted too.
I can't throw up, there's no way I can let my body reject these nutrients. I'm still losing weight, and can feel my ribs clearly against my skin when I run my hand along my side, and looking down, I'm not sure I'm actually looking at my body any more. I need every precious calorie, regardless of what it's doing to me right now.
But I can't get these voices to stop. They're with me all the time in my cell, whispering, whispering. I can't even recognize what they're saying, but they just don't stop. They won't let me rest, whispering even as I fall asleep.
