by Glen Robins
I pondered the fact that the cops had not found the two bodies I’d left behind the food service truck. Where had they gone? This left me with very little in terms of evidence that things had gone down the way I had explained them.
No surprise that the police also did not have any video footage of the two weird guys and me in the food-service hallway. Chances were good that whoever was behind all this had hijacked the airport security cameras and now had my image on their drive somewhere. That could only spell trouble. I was a known quantity on both sides of Korea’s Demilitarized Zone.
Robinson’s eyebrows shot up like he hadn’t realized I was cuffed. “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll consider removing the cuffs.”
That got me thinking and strategizing my best move. Humility. That was the card to play right now. Asians were good at humility, better than Americans. They knew how to use it to their advantage when the situation demanded it. “I’ve told the policemen who interviewed me everything they wanted to know. I am happy to cooperate.”
Robinson stared hard. “They tell me you explained to them why you were in that hallway and why you trespassed on government property. They also reported that you entered the cargo bay of an airplane saying there was a bomb on board. Is there anything you forgot to mention in your answers to them?” He stepped back and waited.
I remained expressionless. “I never once used the word ‘bomb.’ I said they needed to check the bag I saw those two men take down that hallway. They looked suspicious to me and that bag seemed very heavy. When I saw one of them lift it—with some difficulty, I might add—onto the conveyor belt loader, I tried to stop it from getting on that plane.”
I then rehearsed for Robinson—and the people behind the mirror—the whole incident, from beginning to end. Every detail, every nuance. My thoughts, my observations, my motivations. I told them I felt confident, based on years of experience, that the two men I had taken down were from North Korea. I told them I was quite sure there was something harmful in that bag and that we needed to ground the airplane and do a more thorough search.
“It’s too late to ground the plane, I’m afraid. It departed fifteen minutes ago—after a complete rescreen of every bag in that cargo area. We also sent in bomb-sniffing dogs. We found nothing. Not even a trace of residue.”
My stomach sank at those words. Dread crept into every muscle of my body and my head drooped until my chin met my chest. I had failed my students and everyone onboard that aircraft.
Chapter 7
Seoul, Korea
June 6, 6:11 a.m. Local Time; 1:11 p.m. on June 5, Pacific Daylight Time
President Jang Ho Shin rose as the General entered the room. Once rivals vying for their party’s nomination to the office which Jang now held, the two had developed a mutual respect and working relationship. Shortly after taking office four years earlier, President Jang asked the General to be Chief of Staff of the Republic of Korea Army, a job for which he was well suited. The General was a trusted military advisor and planned to run for the presidency in the general elections in one year’s time. Since 1988, the President of Korea was only allowed to serve for one five-year term. The General had been forced by Party officials to bow out of the previous race during the exploratory phase of candidacy due to a scandal involving his son.
“Good to see you this morning, General.” President Jang, gracious and polite as ever, bowed slightly at the hips and held out a hand. “You’re up early, as usual, I see.”
“Yes, sir,” said the General, clasping the outstretched hand with both of his, bowing slightly deeper than the President. As he rose and pulled back his hand, he added, “This is normally my favorite time of the day. I enjoy the calm of the morning and the stillness prior to sunrise. Thank you for agreeing to meet me at this early hour. I trust you have eaten this morning?”
President Jang smiled. He, too, was a morning person. His reputation for working long hours matched the General’s. Early morning meetings were not unheard of between the two of them, but this morning’s arrangement was hastily made. “Is all well with you, General?”
The General cocked his head and sucked in a breath. “Well, sir, that’s what I had hoped we could discuss.”
“What’s troubling you?”
The General spoke in halting words, exercising caution. Unsure of whether to share the communication he had received from the National Intelligence Service Director, General Noh treaded carefully. “We have a situation that has both national security and personal implications, sir. It needs to be handled swiftly and quietly, but not necessarily in secret. For the sake of the public, it is best if we contain the information to as few people as possible. However, I know because of the personal implications, that doing so will create the illusion of a cover-up. I am being forthright with you, sir, because I trust you will understand the gravity of the situation.”
President Jang furrowed his brow. “Please explain.”
The General told the President everything he knew, but did not disclose his source, nor did President Jang ask. The General would have been embarrassed to explain the phone call his wife had received.
The President clucked his tongue against the back of his front teeth to signal his understanding of the delicate situation. “I trust you have been successful in making contact with your son.”
“Not directly, sir. However, my office relayed all of the information in his file, as requested by the Americans.”
“Do they have someone who can read it, General?”
“Perhaps they do, but we sent the English translation just to be sure. We always have both English and Korean files for soldiers who interact with the Armed Forces here in-country.”
“That is good. Time is of the essence, I’m sure.”
“Yes, sir, especially if what my son told the TSA is to be believed.”
President Jang’s eyes widened. “Is that even possible? I mean, after what happened before, it seems it would be difficult to believe his story, based on his prior record. Surely they have read his file and know of the incident in question.”
General Noh Tae Sung lowered his head, averting his gaze to the ground rather than allowing his President to see the anger and disappointment in his eyes. His jaw muscles flexed involuntarily as he stifled the rising emotions within. “Mr. President, sir, my son is an honorable man. I am sure there’s an explanation behind his being inside the cargo hold of that airplane. The transcripts from his interview indicate that there was suspicious behavior that warranted him following through. As for his prior incident, I have my regrets in regard to what happened that night and how I handled the aftermath, but that is a discussion for another day.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. I heard about his arrest just before you arrived. My assistant alerted me after they received a call from the TSA. Your son still carries his Diplomatic Corps ID and the Americans wanted to be sure we knew they were treating him with the utmost respect.” President Jang paused, tapping his desk with all five fingertips of his right hand as he stood next to it. He watched his own hand moving up and down. His cadence matched the movement of his hand. “It’s a very unfortunate situation we have here. Unfortunate for him that nothing was found onboard. Unfortunate for you that you are once again dragged into a highly sensitive security situation. I assume that is why you requested this meeting.”
“Indeed, it is, Sir.” General Noh took a deep breath and held it for a beat. Despite their amicable working relationship, he sensed Jang, a career politician, was posturing. Since there was nothing left for him to accomplish in the political realms of South Korea, the General assumed force of habit caused Jang to always exert the upper hand. He ignored it. “As I said before, I believe what my son told the Americans. He would have no reason to breach a secured area otherwise. He is too smart for that. He knows right from wrong; legal from illegal; suspicious from strange. He knows civilians like himself cannot be in the baggage loading areas. Only the strongest premonition would cause him to do such
a thing. If his premonition was that strong, I must trust his instincts and offer whatever support we can offer … using the proper channels, of course.”
President Jang scratched his chin. “Of course. But proper channels may not be enough. We should consider asking for diplomatic immunity.”
General Noh bowed his head and nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right. I was hoping not to use his diplomatic status because that can lead to some very bad press if the media were to learn of it. All I know, sir, is that I cannot leave my son without support. Not again.”
“Something like this could have very damaging effects on your status as the leading presidential candidate at the next election.”
“I realize that, but it’s a chance I must take. I believe the damage to my relationship with my son last time has been far more devastating to me than having to relinquish my candidacy. I cannot stand by idly watching this time. I must do something, anything, to help him. I know his heart. It is in the right place. He is not a criminal, nor is he in league with any terrorists.”
“You are an honorable man, General Noh. If this gets out, the press and—therefore, the public—will not see things the way you do. I believe your son is innocent of wrongdoing, but without all the facts, his actions could be branded as rash and even foolish. But if we do this and ask for this favor, the press could eat you alive. Are you willing to put aside your aspirations to run for the presidency for the sake of your son who has already shamed you once before?”
“With all due respect to you and the office you hold, my son is ultimately more important to me than the office I seek.”
President Jang considered the General for a long moment, nodding in appreciation. “Very well, my friend. I will contact my counterpart personally and make a request. I’m sure we can arrange something with our ally.”
Chapter 8
Interrogation Room, Los Angeles Airport Police Station
June 6, 1:24 p.m.
I was struggling to keep my cool while worrying about my wife, my children, and especially about my students aboard that doomed plane. In my mind, there were too many question marks about that plain-Jane black roller bag. I couldn’t help but think that we were wasting time repeating the same questions and the same answers. I didn’t care that their scanners didn’t pick up on any explosive material residues. I know plastique, also known as C4, could be handled in such a way that it was nearly impossible to trace.
Thinking it through, I was convinced that the three men I had encountered were North Koreans. The few words I had heard them speak clued me in. My opinion of the North Koreans and their abilities and determination rose sharply. They must have been committed with a full team in place to pull this off. I just wished that I could get someone to believe me. So far, nothing I said seemed to influence anyone’s opinion. These American cops must have thought I was nothing more than some crazy Asian chasing an imaginary enemy.
The only things that had changed in the past hour and a half while I sat in this chair were that the plane, and all other flights coming and going at LAX, had been cleared for take-off and landing. Airport operations were trying to get back to normal. Robinson had said that the Korean airlines flight I should have been on was underway. I prayed that the mysterious bag, which was not in the rack where I had seen the third guy put it when I pointed to it for the arresting officers, was not onboard.
The longer this questioning lasted, the frailer my story became. The constant haranguing from the interrogators had managed to plant a tiny seed of doubt in my own mind. I began wondering if maybe I was crazy. Were my suspicions about two random people completely unfounded? Had my longings to return to my days on duty overcome my sense of rationality?
I sensed that that was the sentiment among the American authorities. Because nothing unusual or suspicious was found in any of the bags onboard the Korean Air Line 747, and because the dogs didn’t smell anything, I was now treated as a veritable nut case.
To further solidify this fact in the cops’ minds, no bodies had been found. How could that be? I left them right where they fell, and they were far from ambulatory. I was pretty sure I hadn’t dreamed up the confrontation. But, without proof, who would believe me? It was apparent that no one had seen anything, either. I was completely out on a limb, alone and defenseless.
Again, my assessment of the North Koreans ratcheted up. Their team was more committed and more focused on details than I would have ever guessed possible.
During our conversation, I said to Robinson, “Check your security camera footage. I’m sure you’ll see something that will corroborate my story.”
“No such footage,” said Robinson.
“Isn’t that strange to you? Your footage doesn’t even show me in a secured area?”
Robinson had thought about that for a moment, then left the room.
When he returned, he simply said. “We’re looking further into that.”
It was time for me to assert myself. I knew I had to be subtle, yet persuasive. “You found the tape on the door I went through, just as I had said, right?”
Robinson nodded.
“I could not have entered that door otherwise, right?”
He nodded again.
“There’s a camera in that hallway, right?”
“I see where you’re going with this, Mr. Noh,” he said. “But it doesn’t explain why we didn’t find anything the way you describe. No mysterious, overweight bag. No bodies laid out on the concrete. No blood, even. Not even an Asian baggage handler matching the description you gave on duty this morning.”
“No? Did you ask the other baggage handlers who were with me in the cargo hold? One of them must have seen the guy.”
Robinson shook his head. “That’s the only thing you’ve got going for you so far. Two of them say they saw an Asian guy. But they all said they knew him. A Mr. Lee, they said. He’s their supervisor. Nothing unusual about him being in or around the aircraft.”
“OK. That’s a starting point. There are cameras in the baggage loading area. I saw them myself. You should have footage showing me climbing up the loader,” I said. “Should be easy to determine it was tampered with if I never appear on your security video. Your guys will just have to look for an anomaly. It should all fit in the timeline.”
“They’re working on it now.”
“And there’s no blood on the tarmac?” I asked. “No sign of a stain?”
“We’ve got someone looking into that, too,” he said, waving an arm at the space between us, as if slapping away the very idea.
“If I’m right, doesn’t it look to an orchestrated mission with some serious resources? They have covered their tracks thoroughly.”
“Yes, they have,” Robinson agreed. “And that’s a problem for you.”
“And those passengers. Four hundred of them. The longer you keep me here telling you the same story over and over, the less time we have to save lives and figure out what is really going on here. Agreed?”
“We? Let me remind you, Mr. Noh, that you are being detained on suspicion of terrorist activity on a passenger aircraft.”
I didn’t flinch. “Let me remind you that there are four hundred lives on the line, and I have the experience, knowledge, and skills to help you evaluate the situation and act on that evaluation better than anyone else you’re going to find. Anywhere. Look at my file again if you don’t believe me.”
Robinson just stared, didn’t say a word for a long time.
Neither did I. If I were to speak first, I would lose. I knew that. He probably did, too.
The stand-off ended when the Korean lieutenant burst into the room. “Director Robinson, sir, I’ve got something for you.”
Robinson turned his gaze to the lieutenant and huffed. He slammed the door shut behind him and left me to my thoughts, which were jumbled. Deep breaths, I told myself. Control the facial expressions. I had to avoid unwanted scrutinizing from those who watched me from behind the glass. If something went wrong, I knew th
ey would analyze the video footage of me to bolster their claim of my guilt.
When he returned three minutes later, consternation mixed with defeat enveloped Robinson’s face. He paced in a full circle between the door to the mirrored wall, stopping at the chair opposite me without saying a word. At length, he repeatedly jabbed the manila file folder still sitting unopened on the corner of the table with his long, thick index finger but didn’t say anything for a full minute. Then he said, “We need to talk.”
Chapter 9
Southbound Interstate 405, Garden Grove, California
June 6, 1:37 p.m.
Traffic was snarled. Typical and to be expected in the metropolitan Los Angeles area, especially on this freeway. It seemed that nothing could go right today. Not since that South Korean soldier had showed up.
Crawling down the 405 Freeway slower than he could walk was not helping Kim Yong Byun’s rising anxiety. It only exacerbated the sense of doom that was closing in around him. The morning started out fine. Everything was going according to plan until that guy in the blue jacket showed up. It took some fast thinking and brave actions by one of Yong Byun’s teammates to salvage a yet-uncertain victory. Only time would tell if that teammate had successfully reinserted the explosives on the plane. Either way, Yong Byun knew his future was in jeopardy.
The more he thought through the problem, the more he realized he was doomed regardless of the outcome of the overall mission. He had not pulled off his part flawlessly and undetected, as the Council demanded. There would be hell to pay—but only if they could find him.
