by Todd Turner
Kim’s poker face revealed nothing of his thoughts.
“How long does it take a truck to get from here to the port?”
“It takes between fifty-five and one hundred twenty minutes depending on traffic, sir.”
“And how long did it take this truck?”
“We don’t know, sir. That isn’t logged.” Sweat beads on his upper lip showed how nervous Park was in even trying to explain the process. Kim was intimidating even when he wasn’t trying to be.
“Wouldn’t it be part of the security measures of the port to know exactly what is arriving and when it arrives?”
“Perhaps, sir, but we don’t run the port and have no authority to request their records.”
“But you know when the car was loaded on the ship by the port workers?”
“Yes,” Park began to explain, his face pained with discomfort. “Those records are provided to us routinely as a customer. The vehicle’s barcode is scanned as it passes over the entry ramp of the ship, and the data is electronically transmitted to us with every outbound ship. It’s an automated process.”
“But you don’t know when the cars are driven off the truck?”
“No, there is no process in place to scan the barcode at that point. I don’t know how, from a distribution point of view, we would find that data of value. Each truck comes in at different times and unloading depends on the convenience of the longshoremen. They are, as you know, sir, members of a very strong union and only work within the agreed-on guidelines.”
As is customary in Korean culture, Park answered the questions as directly as they were asked.
With this information, Kim stood up from the table, and of course, everyone followed his lead. He requested that only his second in command join him. Kim pulled his most trusted deputy aside: he was to go to the Port of Busan to get the entry information for the date in question. Every truck would be logged. Finding out when this truck showed up to be off-loaded was critical to establishing a timeline.
Walking back to the conference room, Kim had a feeling he was getting somewhere. Progress was being made, and at least there was a visible trail, finally. Something bothered him still about Park’s answers about the transportation. There was nothing associated with the transportation of the vehicle that would appear to be anything other than ordinary, he’d said—almost as if he’d tried to make it appear to be a dead end. And as the questions he asked Park showed, there were plenty of holes in the process about which he had no information. Those holes established that he couldn’t definitively know one way or the other if the transportation process had been ordinary or not. Kim realized he’d pushed him hard but didn’t think the intelligence was compromised. The comment was probably nothing more than Park wanting to be done with the whole affair; he did have a plant to run, after all.
The conference room was still full, still tense, with a weight to the air that was stifling. Kim well knew he was responsible for that and took a certain pride in it.
“Mr. Park, can you tell me when your truck driver will be here?”
“Sir, he is due at the port with a load of cars, waiting to be off-loaded. He should be back here in three hours at the most.”
The tension finally got the most of South Korea’s chief spy. He exploded. “What the hell do you mean he’s waiting to off-load?! I was very certain I’d impressed upon you the importance of my being here. For fuck sake my simply being here should have impressed that upon you! He is to proceed directly here, right now, no waiting, by the fastest means possible! Am I making myself perfectly clear?”
Looking like he’d just been whacked with a stick, Park said he’d send a car to retrieve the truck driver.
Little could Park have known, but Jong-Kip Chung was not at the Port of Busan. He was at that moment on an Asiana flight bound for Beijing that had left almost forty-five minutes earlier from the Busan airport. The truckload of Chevrolets had been abandoned three miles from the airport. The truck driver—having been tipped off by a Daewoo executive willing to betray his country for a handsome sum—had flagged down a car on its way into the airport and asked to be dropped off at the terminal.
“I’ll just call my boss and wait for them to arrive there,” Chung told his lift, and continued to explain, “my cell phone is dead.” In fact, his phone was lying at the bottom of the Yellow River so it couldn’t be used to track him.
June 26, 15:22 KDT
Busan, South Korea
The driver knew this part of the plan was very specific: if anyone asked about him, he was to leave the country as fast as possible. He executed his exit plan carefully. This was certainly no ordinary truck driver. In fact, Chung was one of North Korea’s MSS intelligence assets.
The flights from Busan to Beijing always had one to three seats booked on them by the agency that were canceled methodically between one to two hours before the scheduled departure. This insured availability on every flight departing the country for MSS Agent Jong-Kip Chung to walk up last minute and get a seat immediately.
Beijing was a strategic destination. While there were few flights a week between Beijing and Pyongyang, North Korea, they were the only commercial flights into the isolated regime. Chung’s getaway was now as dependent on luck as strategy. Would he arrive in Beijing in reasonably close proximity to when the next flight departed to Pyongyang? Would he have to depend on the streets of Beijing for cover for hours or even a day? How long would it be before South Korea or America was able to secure the cooperation of the Chinese government in issuing a lookout for one Jong-Kip Chung with photos and a description? He knew he had hours, but a day or more would exponentially decrease his odds of escape.
When he felt the plane’s wheels leave the tarmac of Busan, he relaxed, but not without reservation. Planes can be turned around, and in a case such as this, would most likely be escorted to a secure landing strip by fighter jets. No, Jong-Kip would not relax fully until he was safely in Pyongyang. That was something he felt pretty good about as well, since it was 15:35 on Wednesday; the next flight to North Korea from Beijing was scheduled for Thursday at 10 a.m. He would use a North Korean passport issued under the name of Robert Lee. Who says the North Koreans have no sense of irony?
Even so, his photo was taken at least three times at Busan Airport. It would be a matter of hours before his destination was known. He could only hope there was time enough for the plane to land and the passengers to disembark before Chinese authorities began looking for him.
Chung’s North Korean passport indicated he was an electrical engineer. His cover, supported by official documents, was that he would be visiting three firms in China that were looking to provide North Korea with technology, parts, and machinery to update that nation’s badly outdated electrical generation and distribution capabilities.
June 26, 16:05 KDT
Changwon, South Korea
“How a truck driver can go missing in the middle of his shift is only a mystery if you believe he actually is just a truck driver,” Kim patiently explained to plant manager Park as he shook his hand to say good-bye.
While his team would continue the interviews, and those interviews would begin anew once the American intelligence ops arrived, Kim left the manufacturing complex and headed to Busan’s International Airport on a hunch. He almost felt sorry for these people, knowing they would be repeating the same story over and over, some of them for the next several days.
Kim took with him the personnel file of this Chung character, knowing full well that he would not be traveling under that name, but the photo from his company ID card would be most useful.
June 26, 16:55 KDT
Busan, South Korea
When Kim arrived at the airport, he walked through the entrance for Korean Airlines and strolled past the tidy check-in counters and on to the dozen or so immigration counters spanning a wide area. A smaller airport, Busan was pretty easy to get into and through quite fast.
Of course, Kim needed only to show his badge and ID
card and he was discreetly waved through. The security office was upstairs and down a quiet hallway, directly over the immigration agents’ desks.
Kim walked into the security office, where he found a very nicely dressed young woman sitting behind a waist-high counter. She stood and smiled, and asked in a quiet and demure voice, “May I assist you?”
He showed her his badge and ID, and without sounding arrogant or pushy, told her in a voice that ensured there’d be no arguing, “I know the way to the director’s office. I’ll show myself.” She bowed and sat back down.
When Kim entered the director’s office, he was surprised to see two uniformed airport security officers seated with their feet on the director’s desk. How appalling, he thought, that one of them is even sitting in the director’s chair. He politely asked to see the man in charge. This being Korea, it was safe to assume the director wasn’t a woman.
The somewhat lackadaisical guard in the director’s chair asked with a lazy drawl, “Who wants to know?” with an attitude completely unacceptable in Korean culture. Kim could not have been just anyone, and it was highly unlikely that a simple passenger, confused and lost, could’ve gotten by the receptionist. And besides, given his dress and age, the comment was a serious insult.
With bigger axes to grind, Kim decided to let this cocky prick stew in his own juices. He gently placed his National Security Agency identification, open with the shiny brass shield proclaiming Director in both Roman and Korean characters, on the desk in front of the insubordinate.
The change in attitude was almost humorous to watch. The guy was practically stumbling over himself in an attempt to simultaneously look busy and important and yet also be apologetic for his attitude, knowing full well there was no erasing the past two minutes.
“Sir, I’m sorry. Please sir, take a seat. Can I have coffee or tea brought for you?”
“No, just the director of airport security, and as quickly as possible!”
“Yes, sir. Please be comfortable. I’ll find him personally and bring him here.”
He did just that, returning no more than three minutes later with the boss in tow, his skin glistening with a sheen of nervous sweat.
June 26, 17:22 KDT
Busan, South Korea
The director of security operations at Busan Airport has no easy job, but it’s nothing like Incheon or LAX, for example. You find comfort in small things when your job is a powder keg of stress—where you must balance security with the demands of free trade geopolitics and civil liberties.
Michael Choi was not that flustered. Many officials from police and security services had shown up to expedite an agent with a, prisoner, deportee or person of interest through customs and security; but the director of the NSA in person? That made his butt cheeks clench like a schoolboy being called to the principal’s office.
“Mr. Choi, we need a private place to talk.”
Immediately, Choi motioned for the others in the room to leave.
“Sir, is there someone coming through customs, or is there something else I can do?”
“First of all, Mr. Choi, you are never to discuss anything about this day with anyone. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly clear, sir,” Choi responded, with quiet respect.
“What are the face recognition capabilities of your software?”
“I doubt it’s what you are used to, sir, but it's very good.”
“Here is a picture. I need to find out if he was here, and if so, where he was going and under what name he was traveling.”
“And you need this right now?”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Kim said.
“Yes, yes, of course. It was a stupid question, sir.”
Kim’s lack of response was its own acknowledgment that he agreed.
June 26, 17:47 KDT
Busan, South Korea
Choi carefully placed the picture on the scanner. Once the image was in the system, it automatically searched all still pictures taken that day at the passport control processing desks. This was the best place to look first, as everyone going through has a clear full-face picture taken as they are being questioned by the immigrations officer.
When people complain about having to remove their sunglasses, reading glasses, head scarf or hat at the window, they have no idea the request is made so the picture can be taken without obstruction.
The machine buzzed and occasionally clicked as the photos flashed through its hard drive and memory. A few minutes later, the flashing photos stopped and the photo it stopped on was linked to a passenger who came through desk 17. There was a scan of the passport as well, showing the name of Mr. Chung.
Kim was surprised but not shocked the information came up so quickly—as promised, of course; but promises from government contractors aren’t any better than those from civilians. He knew this was the last they would see of that name or passport.
“Do you scan the boarding card as well?” questioned Kim.
“Afraid not, sir. We’re less concerned about the destination than we are about the identification, citizenship, visitor status, watch list status, and primary national security protocols.”
Even superspies have “duh” moments. Kim tried to let this go unnoticed. “Your database cross-references with the airlines’ databases?”
“Yes, but it isn’t in real time, sir.”
“I see. And when will we be able to see the airlines’ data and manifest lists?”
“We get their data automatically at one minute after midnight every night—but I’m guessing that’s not going to be fast enough?”
“Good guess. What are our other options?”
June 26, 18:08 KDT
Busan, South Korea
In one of the most paper-wasting exercises in the modern world of business, a manifest is printed on continuous form paper for every flight. It contains the name of every passenger and that person’s assigned seat number, frequent flyer status, the number of bags each passenger checked, details of any connecting flights and many other details such as flight crew, the weights and balances of the aircraft, and other messages from the airline, maintenance, and air traffic control, among others.
The dilemma for Kim was that the printout is printed from the gate desk and handed over to the lead flight attendant, who distributes the information needed by the flight crew, and then posts first class and business class passenger information for the attendants working those cabins.
“You mean it’s on the plane?” Kim asked the security director, to make sure he understood what had just been explained.
“Yes, sir, it is, but we can get duplicate copies from the gate for any flight that has left that gate within the past six hours. But we’ll need manpower, unless you have an idea of what flights we should check first.”
Kim smiled. He knew the destination.
“We need the manifests for all flights to Beijing.”
June 26, 16:05 CDT
Beijing, China
Chung’s flight to Beijing took off without much drama, but he still didn’t relax. While his training had provided the discipline and confidence necessary to appear calm even when all his instincts told him not to, his instincts had taken over and betrayed him. For seven long years he’d been under cover at the plant in South Korea, completely isolated from any handler or comradeship; keeping his skills honed was difficult in that solitary situation.
On that aircraft, his failure to hide his anxiety became obvious. He was twitchy. His eyes darted around and he started to arouse the suspicion of the flight crew. The flight attendant asked her lead supervisor if she could observe the passenger in seat 5D. The consensus: something was not quite right. Following protocol, they called the flight deck and requested the captain or first mate to come out for a look.
When the captain called in to both the originating airport and arriving airport security control, Mr. Chung—without knowing it—found himself the subject of an investigation by no fewer than three countries.
All passengers arriving in China must clear immigration and customs even if continuing on to another destination, as in the United States. The difference in China is that placing tracking devices into the pages of your passport is not illegal. One such chip was installed in Chung’s passport without his knowledge. His last name was now Lee and he was traveling as a citizen of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, but thanks to the observant nature of the flight crew, his new name would be known to those in South Korea and in the United States.
Any detective will admit that all too often the success of an investigation is based on pure luck. Such was the case this time. As Chung/Lee left the terminal, the tracking beacon activated in his passport—and the Chinese authorities were not worried about him ditching it. They knew he would have to use the same passport to leave China.
June 26, 19:05 KDT
Seoul, South Korea
Kim commissioned a military plane to take him back to Seoul so he could conduct the rest of this investigation from his office. He knew his target would be headed to Pyongyang, North Korea. He also knew how few flights entered the capital city of North Korea and that all those flights originated in Beijing; and more importantly, he knew when that next flight was scheduled. Now to get an agent on that flight!
