by Glen Robins
He nodded but said nothing.
“While we wait for our transport, I wonder if you would humor me and tell me about that night in the DMZ, the night you and your Comrades shot up my team and infiltrated our country.”
His eyebrows shot up and the corners of his mouth pulled tight as he considered my request. He seemed amused by it, but more than willing to share his heroics. “You were on patrol. We knew that,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“How could you know our schedules and assignments?” I said.
“It’s not that hard to figure out. Your command ran like clockwork. Very predictable.”
I said nothing. What could I say? I gestured for him to continue.
“I was on patrol along the border near Chorwon. You were stationed at Yeoncheon, just a few kilometers to the south.”
I signaled with my hand in a rolling motion for him to move it along faster.
“Those of us who volunteered for this mission did not come from privileged families. We wanted to make our lives better. Doing duty along the DMZ and taking on very dangerous tasks was one way to prove ourselves. Our families would be provided extra rations if we performed our tasks well.”
Deep in my heart, I understood the draw. Protecting your people is a noble calling. He and I had both answered that call. I also understood the desperation from defectors I had interviewed. “Pretty dangerous assignment, especially when you consider that I shot most of your team that night. What kind of reward did their families get for that?”
“That I wouldn’t know,” he said. “That is not up to me.”
I shook my head and kept plowing forward toward the information I really wanted. “That family was just a decoy, weren’t they?”
“In a sense, yes. They had been caught trying to get through the barriers. Our team leader was told to send our least threatening soldier to intercept them. He befriended them and told them he would help them escape. But they had to follow his instructions precisely. Instructions were passed to them daily. Secret messages were provided to them in a variety of ways. I don’t know all the details. These people were led to believe that he would help them escape. The time came, the signal was given, and that soldier met them at the designated spot. He let them through the fence and said he would distract the other guards long enough for them to get away.”
“Your leaders filled them with false hope?”
Yong Byun paused, cocking his head slightly as my words sank in. “They were given the opportunity to play a role for the greater good.”
“Clever how they twist things.”
“They performed convincingly, and you came to their rescue, as predicted.”
While there was more to explore, I didn’t have time to satisfy my every curiosity, so I went straight to the heart of the matter. “Why didn’t you kill me?” This was the crux of it for me. Ever since Yong Byun revealed that I was targeted because of my father, I suspected the reason. But I wanted to know for sure.
“Easy. You were to live. That was the order given. If you died, you would become a martyr, a hero, and your father would win the Blue House without a contest.” He waved his hands dismissively.
I said nothing.
“We were told to shoot everybody else,” he continued. “I believe we were successful, were we not?”
A cold hollow sensation ran through me as I thought about what he said. That young family were sent out as bait in a trap and my team mercilessly slaughtered, but I was kept alive as political leverage. “So, while the other soldiers had me pinned, you and the other twenty-four exfiltrated across the opening and killed the rest of my men.”
“That’s right. It was designed to discredit you, to raise questions as to why you would attempt something so foolish.”
“So you could also discredit my father?”
“Your father is a threat to the Supreme Leader. His harsh words about bringing the North to our knees were not taken lightly.”
“I see. So, you lured me and my patrol into the fences and ambushed us to discredit him.”
“Yes. The plan was designed to bring shame to your family.”
“Shaming me, shamed my father and ruined his attempt to run for president.” This sickening thought hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut, stealing my breath for a moment. “Was I targeted today, as well?”
Mr. Kim cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know for sure, but it’s possible.”
My fists balled up and my muscles tensed as I thought about the sixteen students, their mothers, and Jin Sook aboard that doomed plane. I breathed in deeply, trying to engage my brain before my weapons, as I had been taught, but the rage was building and I feared I might strike him again, only harder this time.
Just then my phone rang. The call was coming from Seoul. My rage cooled instantly as I wondered who it might be. Curious, I answered in a calm, polite tone and heard a familiar, though tense voice say, “Jeong Tae, this is your father.”
Chapter 33
Port of Entry Station, Tecate, California
June 5, 11:01 p.m.
The rage was gone, replaced by an odd mixture of emotion. I felt a familiar sense of connectedness with my father, absent for so long. At the same time, a sense of melancholy stretched across all those wasted years. But more than anything, I felt his sense of urgency and desperation. He needed me to complete the mission I had started, and he needed information from me that he could pass on to the rest of the nation. He wanted me to be able to say, “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right.”
But I couldn’t.
I didn’t say much, not with Yong Byun in the room. I just listened and gave short responses, assuring him that I was getting closer to a solution.
Then he said something that jarred me. “I watched much of your interrogation with the North Korean. You did very well.”
“Uh, how did you manage to do that?”
“The feed from the camera in the room. We were patched in.”
“I had no idea—”
“There is no time to waste. You must now use him to find his controllers. Surely one of them will know where the Bluetooth signal codes are located.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Redundancy. It’s a North Korean staple. As is tight supervision and reporting. They will be expecting him to go to ground, so take him there. Take him back to his apartment and the market. Find those people and get the codes we need to break the connection.”
All I said was, “Yes, yes. I’m working on it.” I found it interesting that he felt the need to affirm the course of action I had already laid out.
“I want you to keep in touch with me. Whatever resources you need, I have available. They will be at your disposal, just a phone call away.”
“Thank you,” I said politely. “That is very helpful.” I eyed Yong Byun as I spoke, wondering what he was thinking.
“One more thing. I know it was not your fault.”
I paused, thinking that was an out of place comment.
“Last time, my candidacy. I heard him say it. They targeted you to get to me. And it worked. Not your fault. I am really sorry about…everything.”
Yong Byun was looking at me, so I had to shake my head to fight back the emotions. My father’s tone was soft and apologetic. I was startled and touched. I had never heard those words from him. “It’s all right,” I said.
“Jeong Tae,” my father added in a soothing parental voice that took me back to my childhood, “Your country is counting on you. I know you can do this. I trust you.”
As I fumbled the phone back into my pocket, a warm fog had filled me, slowing every thought and every movement to half speed, like a slow-motion replay. The feelings were both penetrating and unburdening. As my brain fought through the haze to process the meaning behind those few simple words from my long-estranged father, my coordination faltered, and I dropped my phone on the floor. Yong Byun’s eyes grew wide and his eyebrows arched upward.
I wanted the pleasant sens
ation to last. I wanted it to spread backward through the past six years of uncertainty and shame. I wanted to talk through all the tangled cobwebs of our dormant relationship. But duty called and snapped me out of the moment.
“It’s time to go find your friends.”
“They’re long gone,” he said.
The uncertainty in his eyes told me otherwise. “I doubt it. I think you just don’t want to see them again.” I opened the door and asked the MPs standing guard if they would unlock the cell.
The MPs said that they could not because they had their orders. Unless it came from the Attorney General, they would not release him. It would take time, they explained, especially at this late hour, to obtain his consent. I realized there would be some sorting out to do before we could board the helicopter and be on our way.
“I can hardly blame you,” I said to Yong Byun when the door closed again. “But today you’re going to do the right thing and save thousands of innocent lives. It’s going to make you feel better about yourself and make your freedom that much sweeter.”
In the other half of my brain, thoughts about my family stirred. I knew Stephanie would be worried since I hadn’t spoken to her for several hours.
“We’re going to have to wait for all the paperwork to be done before we can go see them,” I said to Yong Byun. “I’ll be back to collect you.” I stepped out of the room and walked down the hallway, dialing Stephanie as I went.
“What’s going on, JT? I’ve been worried,” she said as she answered.
“I can explain more later. I’m working with the TSA to apprehend a suspect—”
“A suspect? I thought you were just giving them advice about security—”
“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that. I don’t have time to go into all of it.” I paused. My feelings were still tender and muddled. “I need you to know that I love you. And the kids. I’d do anything and everything to keep you safe. I need you to know that.” My voice was uncharacteristically choked with emotion.
Now Stephanie was the one who paused. “Are you sure you’re OK?”
“I’m sure,” I said, with much more confidence and conviction than I felt. “I . . . I don’t know, I just had to tell you that. It’s been a weird day.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s see. First, I get a panicked call from Jin Sook. Then I see you being crammed into a police car on TV. Thankfully, they never showed your face and haven’t identified you.”
“I thought once the plane left the news would stop caring.”
“Yeah, but they don’t have much else to talk about today. Just more about the tensions between North Korea and the US. But the strangest part of my day was when I got a call from your father. In five and a half years of marriage, he has talked to me exactly one time before today. That’s why I know there’s a whole lot you’re not sharing with me.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ll tell you all about it, but not right now. Too much to do.”
“Well, at least your mother has told me something.”
“My mother?”
“Yes, she got it out of your father and thought I should know what’s really going on.” She stopped. “I want you to know that I believe in you. If anyone can save those planes, it’s you.”
She never ceased to amaze me. The way she conducted herself under stress and her calmness and faith in me lifted my sagging spirits. I told her again how much I loved her, then headed back to the room where Yong Byun was jailed. Before I got there, Robinson met me in the hall. “We need you in here,” he said, pointing to a room further down the corridor. “Come with me.”
We entered a large rectangular room with an oblong table. A conference phone with a starfish-shaped microphone/speaker sat on top of it. I could hear voices conversing through the speaker. Robinson interrupted and said, “Mr. Noh is now with me.”
A group of men and women on the other end of the line introduced themselves. I couldn’t remember all of their names, but I recognized the fact that two of them were also Koreans—an Agent Kim and Agent Kwon. They were leading the translation team that was working to decipher the cryptic instructions from the thumb drives.
Agents Kim and Kwon detailed the information they had been able to glean from the drives. Much of it corroborated what Yong Byun had told me, so they sped through those parts. One of the thumb drives, they said, contained a detailed explanation of how to arm the C4 packs, how and where to load them in the cargo hold, and how to set the detonator. Each detonator was hooked up to a cell phone via a Bluetooth connection. GPS and altimeter apps had been specially tweaked to send a signal via Bluetooth to the detonator when the plane entered the airspace over Seoul. If, for whatever reason, the plane didn’t go over the city, the detonator would activate when it dipped below one hundred meters.
The cell phone was to be packed in a separate bag. The two bags were to be as nondescript as possible. A plain black roller bag purchased at Walmart or Costco—the type that dozens of other travelers would be using.
The logic was clear. Hide the bomb and the timer in plain sight, make it difficult to track and find. Make it a two-step process to further prevent their enemy’s ability to thwart the plan. It was devious and ingenious. Nearly foolproof.
Agent Kim spoke English very well. I assumed he was second generation by the fact that he had virtually no accent. “The information on the first thumb drive confirms everything Mr. Noh learned. The plan to place five bombs on five different planes is detailed with flight numbers and departure times. We’re tracking their locations now using satellite.”
“That’s right,” said Agent Kwon in a lovely female voice touched with a delicate accent. “Each bomb was to be concealed in a thick Teflon casing. To a scanner it might look like a case for transporting collectible glassware items or fine art. It is not uncommon for people traveling internationally to deliver such goods to family or friends or businesses using a similar casing.” Agent Kwon paused a beat in case there was a question before moving on. “Each bomb is set to explode over the city. The range of the coordinates covers the typical flight paths for aircraft coming from North America. Wherever they blow up, there will be a large civilian population directly below.”
“Murphy Griggs, Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security.” The voice broke in with an official tone and demeanor. “Let me remind everyone on this call that South Korea is a staunch ally of the United States. Let me also remind you that Seoul is one of the planet’s most densely populated cities. Let me spell it out for you: this could lead to all-out war. We’re dealing with a major crisis here that I’m sure we would all rather avert. So, how do we disrupt the connections to the detonators?”
“It’s simple, sir.”
“Is that you, Hank?” said Griggs.
“Yes, sir.”
“Everybody, this is Hank Stevens, Head of Cybersecurity at the NSA. “Go ahead, Hank.”
“The only way to save lives is to disable the bombs. The only possible way to do that is to scramble the Bluetooth signal between the cell phones and the detonators. It’s simple if you have the right equipment.”
“Somehow, Hank, I believe there’s a caveat coming,” said Griggs.
“Of course, there is. It’s highly unlikely any of those planes have the proper equipment onboard.” The guy sounded too young for his title but extremely knowledgeable. He spoke with a sort of confidence that comes from expertise.
Murphy Griggs interjected. “What kind of equipment are we looking at here, Hank?”
“Bluetooth is set up to use a wide band of frequency channels and uses FHHS to keep the strongest possible signal between—”
“In layman’s terms, please,” barked Griggs.
“Oh, yeah, OK. Um, let’s see. What that means is that the paired devices can hop between frequencies thousands of times per second and with seventy-nine channels to choose from, it’s like impossible to send out enough interference to break the conn
ection unless you have some specialized equipment.”
“We’re going to assume, Hank,” said Griggs, “that they don’t have that equipment on the planes.”
“Yeah, that’s a good assumption to make. So, let’s see. The only other way to disengage two devices connected via Bluetooth is to know the pseudorandom sequence they are using to perform what’s called Adaptive Frequency Hopping. Without the right equipment, knowing and disrupting the pseudorandom sequence is the only way to effectively and permanently jam the frequencies and break the connection.”
“Mr. Noh,” said Griggs. “Can you get those pseudorandom codes Hank’s talking about?”
Chapter 34
Cheong Wa Dae, Jongno-gu, Seoul, South Korea
June 6, 3:30 p.m.; June 5, 11:30 p.m. California Time
Outside, the weather was idyllic. Blue skies were framed between lush green trees and the distant mountains and dotted with puffy white clouds. Weather-wise, it was shaping up to be a spectacular day. In early June, temperatures and humidity in Korea did not reach the high levels they would later in the month and throughout most of the summer.
Early that morning, during his routine speed-walk through the massive governmental complex that housed his office, just north of the Han River, which ran through Seoul, General Noh soaked in the peaceful atmosphere knowing it couldn’t last. Soon enough, a stiffening breeze off the Yellow Sea would bring with it stormy weather. Later in the month, thick clouds would replace the billowy, cotton ball-like ones that decorated the sky that morning. By the end of June, the Korean Peninsula would be enveloped in monsoon season with its drenching rains and soaring temperatures. In a few short weeks, the pleasantness of Spring would give way to the months-long sauna known as summer.
Within the walls of every office in his building, as well as those of the Executive Branch, a similar pattern was evolving. Atmospheric pressure was rising, brought on by the spiraling bomb crisis had obliterated what could have been the perfect day for a press conference to announce one’s candidacy for the nation’s highest office. Metaphorical pleasantness had given way to unyielding heat, much like the changing weather.
