by Glen Robins
Again, I waited. This time, after a few beats, he raised his head and said, “I don’t believe you.”
Robinson interjected again, demanding that I tell him what was going on. I translated the gist of our exchange and Mr. Lee’s two-word answer. “What doesn’t he believe? That we’ll grant him asylum or that we know he planted the bomb? I need more details.”
I signaled for Robinson to step out in the hallway with me. Lewis followed.
“Chances are, he understands English perfectly. So, let’s keep our conversations out of earshot,” I said just above a whisper. “He’s playing the odds. By being disbelieving, he is buying himself some time to sift out the nuggets of information we actually have versus what we claim to have. He knows time is working against us, so he’s angling for a deal by misdirecting the conversation.” I took sixty seconds and caught them up with more details on what I had covered with our prisoner. Both men nodded, grim-faced and serious.
“How are you going to get him to tell you where he put the bomb? And how we can verify his claim?” Robinson asked.
“Well, the first video helped me establish credibility. Any luck finding video of the big guy anywhere?”
“Not yet, but my guys are trying.”
“Well, then, the only thing I have as leverage is to keep threatening him with a one-way ticket to Gitmo.”
“What if we offer to send him home? You said it yourself, back in my office, the North Korean regime won’t tolerate mistakes, let alone defection. We tell him that we’re going to send him home after being caught trying to defect into Mexico. See how he takes that news.”
I considered Robinson with a nod of my head. “That’s good. I like it.”
“What if we don’t find that device and the plane blows up?” asked Lewis. “He seems set on stalling as long as he can, so that’s a real possibility, isn’t it?”
Robinson flashed a reptilian smile, like he was hatching some diabolical plan.
“What’s that look?” I asked.
“We need to shake this guy up. I say, we press on him for a while longer. If he doesn’t offer any credible info, we let him go.”
“What?” Lewis and I asked simultaneously.
“Look. We can send some trumped-up charges and photos to the Mexican authorities before we release this guy. Let him get a taste of a Mexican prison. Then we save him and offer to get him back to the US if he cooperates”
The thought was devious, but it made me smile, too. “I like the sound of that. I mean, the idea of letting him spend some time in a Mexican prison. I hear they’re pretty sketchy.”
Lewis guffawed. “That’s an understatement. The one just over the border here is full of the worst Mexico has to offer. All their coyotes, drug runners, pimps, and cartel enforcers who get caught at the border are either kept in Tecate or in Tijuana. Both are cesspools. If you want to make him sing to get out of a worse situation, this is your place.”
I thought for a beat. “OK. Let’s set it up. We have no time to waste. Do you know people over there?” I asked Lewis. “Could we make this happen in the next hour?”
Lewis raised an eyebrow. “I have a good relationship with my counterparts on the Mexican side, sure. I’ll get on the horn and set things in motion.”
“Let’s find something that happened on their side of the border recently. Something with major implications and lots of media coverage. Like one of those coyotes who abandoned a truckload of people and let them die in the desert. Tell them we have that coyote’s boss, the big man behind it all. Tell them to watch out for a Korean guy trying to sneak back in to do it again and give them the full description of his car.”
Both Robinson and Lewis nodded.
Lewis cocked his head and said, “Better yet, there are several teenage girls from one of the working-class neighborhoods who have gone missing recently. Suspected human trafficking for the sex trade. We send the Mexican police a tip and he’ll land himself in that prison. Should be interesting.”
Robinson turned to Lewis. “Your contacts on the other side of the border will cooperate with us and let him out before he’s harmed, won’t they?”
“If I ask, they will. Colonel Rodriguez from the Baja station owes me a favor. I’ll call it in to nail this scumbag.”
Chapter 24
Ministry of National Defense, Yongsan-gu, Seoul, South Korea
June 6, 11:16 a.m.; June 5, 7:16 p.m. California Time
“Jamkkanman,” he whispered into his phone as he marched double-time to his corner office. Just a minute. The General exited another tense debriefing on the situation with the airliner. Half the men in the room wore military uniforms, the other half business suits and ties. Nothing new had been discussed, and his presence was not essential. He excused himself pointing at his phone.
His tone was professional, revealing nothing to his subordinates or counterparts regarding the identity of the caller. Culturally, it would be shameful to leave an important meeting to talk to his wife. That would be even more unbecoming of a high-ranking officer. After closing the door of his expansive private office, he continued. “What’s wrong?” he said, trying not to bark at her. This was the third call in less than sixty seconds. It was obvious that there was something urgent. After thirty-seven years of marriage, even a man can learn not to ignore his wife when she has something important enough to interrupt during business hours.
The General’s wife possessed both unfading beauty and an indominable spirit.
“I’m worried,” his wife said. She offered no apology for interrupting his workday, as would be customary in a such a situation.
“You pull me from a strategy session to tell me you’re worried?” he huffed.
“Stephanie called again. She said Jeong Tae told her he is working on a security breach at LAX, but now is not answering his phone.”
“Don’t worry. I already arranged Jeong Tae’s release. He is a free man.”
“That’s not what I mean. I already knew you did that much.”
“What do you know? And how?” His tone was laced with curiosity.
“I know you, Tae Seong. I know how you think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The surprise in his voice expressed more hurt than he was prone to show under normal circumstances.
“I knew you would be concerned about your reputation and how having your son in trouble could tarnish it. With your campaign ready to launch, you would make sure it couldn’t happen again. So much easier when it’s in a foreign land and the local media is not there to record and comment on every detail.”
While she wasn’t the stereotypical Korean wife and mother of their generation—she had never allowed herself to be the silent trophy wife of the rising star—she had never called him out for his actions while at work.
The General paused. When he answered, it was just above a whisper. “I did what I had to do for our son.”
She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth with a “tsk” sound. “And for yourself. Please don’t patronize me, Tae Seong. You know me better than that.”
“OK. Maybe it was somewhat self-serving. But I also had Jeong Tae and my grandchildren in mind. It’s not good for children to have a father in prison.”
“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “It’s also not good for a presidential candidate to have a son arrested on the day he launches his campaign.”
General Noh huffed again. “It’s not like that. Not completely.”
“Oh, no? Are you certain?”
“When you spoke to Stephanie this morning, I felt more than just a twinge of guilt. I realized that you have a relationship with her. I don’t. She trusts you and you care about her. Suddenly, I felt like an outsider in my own family. So, I called her. It was awkward … for both of us. I could sense that she was as uncomfortable as I was. I regret that.”
“What are you going to do to fix it?”
“Now is not a good time to worry about . . .” The General started to speak but stopped. Hi
s wife was, as usual, putting the needs of the family first. She had always said that everything else in life falls into its proper place when one had his or her priorities straight.
She continued, her voice calm and soothing. “I know how you have fretted about the situation for years. I know the distance between you and our son is eating you up inside.”
“Why do you say that? It’s untrue. I’m at peace because I have tried.”
She paused a beat so he could reflect. “Is that why you felt awkward talking to your own daughter-in-law? Is that why you watch your friends so longingly when their grandchildren come to visit?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. I see how you react. You’re just too proud to talk about it.”
“Pride has nothing to do with it.”
“That’s not true. It has everything to do with it. Your pride in your position and your reputation and your accomplishments is the reason you don’t have a relationship with your son.”
General Noh said nothing. The seconds ticked by, each feeling like an eternity. When he spoke, instead of arguing, he simply replied, “I know. You’re right.”
There was a pause. When Mrs. Noh began to speak again, her voice was choked with emotion. “Then do something about it while you can. Becoming president will mean nothing if you lose your son. This may be your only chance.”
“I’ve done what I can do.”
Mrs. Noh was not one to argue with her powerful husband. Not unless she knew she was right. When it came to family matters, she did not back down. “Is that why Stephanie feels like Jeong Tae is being set up for failure? She fears that because he has been put in charge of this investigation, he will be the one to blame when that plane explodes. Is that the sum of your efforts? Have President Jang release him and make him the scapegoat for a doomed assignment?”
“He will not fail.” The General’s voice was soft, but full of conviction.
“What if he does?”
“Do you think I had an alternative? The US President said he would only release Jeong Tae if he promised to cooperate with the investigation. Then he changed it and said he should be the one to lead it since he has the most experience with North Koreans. What more can I do?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
Chapter 25
Tecate Port of Entry Station
June 5, 7:39 p.m.
Mr. Lee had regained his disinterested façade by the time we returned to his holding cell. He tried to look tough and defiant.
In the Korean language, there are three basic levels of speech to show deference, familiarity, or lower social status, usually based on age, rank, or accomplishment. In the beginning of our conversation, I wanted him to feel respected and important, so I had used the highest form of verb conjugation. After a short while, I switched from honorific to the more familiar middle form, showing that I felt we were equals. With his contempt and defiance, I felt it necessary to speak more commandingly. This is when I changed to “pan-mal,” or “half words,” where the conjugations are either dropped off or abbreviated. Using this low form of speech showed him that I did not hold him in high regard and that I was in a position of dominance or authority over him.
“That’s right. We saw the video of you driving a stolen airport truck, exiting through the employee gate on the west side.” I waited a beat. “I assume that is the body of the smaller guy. No way was he getting up.”
He squinted at me again, but the contempt was starting to look more like fear.
“You’re out on your own now, aren’t you? You’re running away.”
He averted his eyes for just a split second, but it was enough for me to know I was on the right track.
Since Robinson had received some intel from his team during our flight down, I thought now would be a good time to bring up what we had learned. I pulled out my phone and opened the photo we had received and turned the screen so Mr. Lee could see the image of smoke billowing from what remained of a building in an older commercial neighborhood.
“How long did you think it would take us to connect you to the fire at that warehouse? I guess you figured you’d be over the border by the time we figured it out, right?”
Mr. Lee’s shoulders rose and fell with the intake and expulsion of a deep breath. The tire was flat; the wheel now resting on its rims.
From there, I went with gut instincts, but also knew I was going out on a limb farther than I wanted with some of my assertions. I knew he understood me, despite the differences in dialects between North and South Korea. “I know you recognized me in the plane. I know the bag you hauled into the plane was heavy. You struggled with it as you lifted it on the loader.” I kept watching him. He was trying hard to maintain a stone-faced expression, just as I had done earlier, and I hated him for it. “I know had an explosive device in that bag, probably C-4. It’s the only way it went undetected.”
Mr. Lee said nothing, but his facial muscles betrayed him.
“I know you moved it out of the plane so the scanners could not find it. Nor could the dogs. Our people searched the cargo area thoroughly and found nothing, so I know you did something with it. What did you do? Where is that bag right now?”
I paused to give our suspect a moment to reflect on what I’d said. His eyes were downcast at first. When he leveled them to meet my gaze, there was a latent defiance, but it was withering. “I don’t know,” was all he said. Nonetheless, I could see a shift in his posture and in his countenance. I had hit a nerve.
“You are on U.S. soil, trying to cross an international border after planting explosives on an airplane destined for Seoul, Korea. This is not a good situation for you. Failing to cooperate will only make things worse. Remember, things are much more lenient in the United States than in Korea. In Korea, the situation will be much different, much more immediate. There is truly no mercy for such a person.” I stopped to let that salient information seep in. He had been trained to resist interrogation. That much was obvious. Despite his training, however, as the minutes rolled on, involuntary muscle twitches betrayed him. He was suppressing his rising anxiety. I broke the long silence. “If you cooperate here and now with the US authorities, we can petition to avoid extradition to Korea and save you from a much harsher punishment.”
“The bag was in the truck. It burned.” His voice was raspy, just above a whisper.
“You’re lying. There was no sign of a suitcase. Our investigators checked.”
Robinson nudged me, imploring for the translation with his eyes and facial expression. I translated in a whisper while “Mr. Lee” digested my last words. Robinson suggested I prick his conscience with talk of all the innocent people, especially the children, on board that flight.
I returned my focus to our suspect on the other side of the bars. “You’re lying to me. I know it and I know you know it, so stop the games.”
I studied his reaction. He kept his head low, but his body grew perceptibly more rigid. His movements became stilted and robotic. He sucked in another breath, more audibly this time. “I don’t know where the suitcase is. Un-Chul took it.”
“Is Un-Chul the big guy?”
He nodded.
“His arm was broken. How could he have taken it?”
“He’s a strong man. Well trained. Very determined.”
I translated for Robinson because he kept nudging me. This made Mr. Lee smile, though he tried to hide it. He obviously understood English well enough.
I gave Mr. Lee a hard stare. “Let me remind you, this is your one chance at freedom. You can go free only if you cooperate fully and completely. You tell me now where that bag is, and help us land that plane safely or you will lose that chance forever.”
He raised his head and said, “I told you. I don’t know.”
“Mr. Lee, this is your only chance.”
He looked down, then brought his eyes up to meet mine. “I don’t know where the bag is, but if I know Un-Chul, he put it on the plan
e.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. But I am willing to bet my life on it.”
“OK. Good,” I said in English so Robinson could understand. “Un-Chul put the suitcase back on the plane somehow. Mr. Lee is willing to bet his life on it. So now all we have to do is find it and disable it.” I nodded as I clapped my hands once and turned for the door.
“That won’t do you any good,” Mr. Lee added.
“What do you mean?”
“The explosives are controlled by a cell phone that I hid in another bag. The signal is unbreakable.”
I stopped in my tracks and turned back to face the prisoner in his cell.
“It’ll blow up no matter what you do.”
My stomach tightened and a chill flashed through my body. Everything froze. My thoughts went immediately to my students, especially those two little eight-year-olds. Through gritted teeth I said as I lurched towards the bars that separated us, “You’re going to tell me everything we need to know to save the kids on that plane.”
Chapter 26
Tecate Port of Entry Station
June 5, 8:13 p.m.
I spent half an hour questioning our suspect and promising him a better life in America if he cooperated. Despite my attempts to build rapport, he remained aloof. The few times he spoke, his speech was so full of vitriol and contempt for all things Western and capitalistic, it made me realize the depth of the brainwashing that takes place with North Koreans, especially among their military operatives.
This man was a soldier who had been indoctrinated from a young age to believe that the leaders of North Korea had all the answers for all of life’s problems. His role was to defend, protect, and maintain the honor and sovereignty of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea against all enemies. He was steeped in the socialist dogma, or at least he comported himself that way. Everything he said ended with a criticism of the two countries I called home or with some reference to one lowly breed of animal or another. I would have been amused had I not been under so much time pressure.
