by Glen Robins
A strangely accented male voice spoke on the recording. The navigator couldn’t place the region from which this guy had come, but he sounded smart and familiar with the technology.
The voice helped him open the command prompt screen and instructed him what to type and what to look for before entering the next command. Officer Kim worked as quickly as he could, his trembling fingers finally relaxing enough to function at a higher speed.
He listened intently as the unfamiliar voice hissed through the earbuds, a pained, somber tone that told Officer Kim that the man was under duress. He prayed that the voice was telling him the truth. He prayed that these instructions were not a hoax. He prayed that he and his fellow crewmates and the passengers would not meet the same fate as his colleagues forty minutes earlier.
After completing the first set of directives, Officer Kim noticed a small box pop up at the lower left corner of his computer screen. It was an altimeter. It showed 5029 meters when it first opened, but that number was dropping quickly. Another box appeared that showed two sets of constantly changing number marked by the symbols for degrees and minutes. It was a GPS reading of the plane’s coordinates.
When he completed the next line of code as instructed, the numbers in the altimeter box showed 2850. He gulped as he realized how fast numbers were changing. At their current rate of descent, he had maybe a minute to disarm the bomb or he and everyone onboard would meet the same fate as Flight 5821.
Sweat beaded on his brow as he strained to listen and follow the prompts. Several times he had to pause, slide the progress bar on the phone backwards, and re-listen to sections of the recording to ensure he followed exactly. The indistinct words made it hard to understand some of the commands. Time and nerves were conspiring against him. He wiped his forehead and pulled in a deep breath. “Stay calm. It’s going to work,” he muttered out loud to himself.
The altimeter showed 1137 meters.
There was now twenty-nine seconds left of the recording. There was no time for replaying and double-checking for accuracy. He closed his eyes and listened hard.
The voice continued, assuring him that he was nearly there. Just two more things to do before the bomb was disarmed. Two things and maybe twenty seconds until they reached 100 meters above sea level, the trigger point on the detonator.
There were no sounds or beeps or flashes of light confirming that he was doing it right. No pop-up windows congratulating him on successfully completing each task and prompting him to continue on to the next level. Just the altimeter quickly counting down. 500 . . .400 . . .300 . . .200 . .
This was not like the countless online games he’d played. This was real life, and it was a look into a sinister plot aimed at killing him and the three-hundred ninety-three passengers onboard the jumbo jet.
Officer Kim exhaled when he completed the last command prompt and punched the “Enter” key. After a millisecond pause that felt like a lifetime, he was rewarded with a single, white-lettered word against the black backdrop. “Complete,” the blinking word said.
The altimeter at the bottom left corner halted, displaying “00109.”
He closed his eyes and began to count. A loud noise startled him. He swung his head in the direction of the noise and realized it was the landing gear. They were just moments away from touching down. A whoosh of air exited his lungs as he realized he’d been holding his breath for who knows how long. Relief flooded his system and he burst into a howl that was half celebration, half painful realization that things could have worked out much differently.
He scrambled to brace for the impact of the landing. He grabbed a handful of netting from the nearest cargo holder just in time to steady himself for the impact.
After the plane came to a stop, Officer Kim tried to stand. However, his knees buckled underneath him, and he nearly fell. That’s when he noticed that his light blue shirt had dark patches around the armpits and chest. Officer Kim took a moment to gather himself, then stumbled back toward the ladder.
Anxious flight attendants greeted him as he emerged. They chattered to him about how unusual it was for a flight crew member to go belowdecks during flight. They asked him if he was alright and what was going on.
“Nothing to worry about,” he lied. “Just had to manually reset one of the controllers.”
Chapter 54
Costa Mesa, California
June 6, 4:02 a.m.
Sunny and I were working as fast as we could, even before Robinson called ostensibly to warn me that they were on their way. I didn’t bother to ask him where they were on their way from since I didn’t want to give anything away. I figured if he had accessed the tracking function the FBI’s Ford, it would buy me about 11 more minutes. Not much time to clean up the mess, but it would have to do.
It was time to face the music. I wouldn’t run away. I would just wait for them, knowing the powers that be would figure things out. Sunny and Stephanie needed time to clear the area. Nothing good would come about by having my wife and her father at the scene where several international rules of warfare and laws regarding the treatment of prisoners were categorically violated.
Sunny and I had managed to clean up most of the mess, wiping up all the blood from the floor and the blood-tinged water from the shower. All of the duct tape was removed from my prisoners. All of the paraphernalia Sunny had brought with him was re-bagged. I checked a locator app on my phone and saw that Stephanie was still a couple miles away.
I needed for her and Sunny to never cross paths with the FBI. I was ready to pay whatever price my treachery and law-bending would require. But I couldn’t let either of them get caught up in any part of it. They needed to stabilize the rest of the family.
Sunny, who had looked over my shoulder and seen the moving blip that represented Stephanie’s location, said something that showed he was thinking much more clearly than I was. “Why don’t I just take these bags with me? My truck is only a few blocks from here.”
That made too much sense. Why didn’t I think of the simple solution?
He just smiled at me as he placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’ll call Stephanie and tell her to head back to our house.” He moved toward the door, then stopped. “Don’t worry, Jeong Tae. You did the right thing. It wasn’t pretty, but it was the right thing.”
Sunny took the garbage bag full of duct tape and blood-soaked towels in his free hand. The other arm had the loops of shopping bags lined all the way up to his elbow. He gave me an approving nod and a reassuring smile as he pushed his load through the door. I watched him hurry away, quickly melting into the shadows. He disappeared in a matter of seconds.
When the door slammed shut, I felt all alone, depleted. Sure, I had the company of the two North Korean terrorists, but they were in no shape to speak, laying there all unconscious and still.
My detainees had been prepped on what to say if they wanted freedom. If they played it right, they could circumvent the worst of the justice system and get out on good behavior after a few years at a federal prison, also known as “club fed.” I hoped that their innate desire to live free would overcome their desire to do the bidding of the twisted regime that ran their country.
As I worked on disinfecting and bandaging their wounds, I talked of my wife and children and life in America. I spoke to them about the promises that had been extended to them via my father and the United States government, as well.
When I heard the cars pull up to the back door, I was kneeling next to the woman, adhering the last bandage in place on her shoulder. Color had returned to her face and with the help of a hair dryer I found in a gym bag under the cabinet, she was mostly dry. Although they had each lost a fair amount of blood, they seemed to be stabilized now that they were laying down and covered with white doboks, the uniforms my students and I wore during class. I hoped the doboks would help ward off further shock.
Robinson rapped his knuckles on the steel door just a few feet from me. I thought that was very mannerly considering wha
t I had done to him.
Even though I expected his arrival, I froze. On the other side of that door lay an uncertain fate.
“Come on, JT. I know you’re in there.”
I finished applying the bandage, and stood, exhaling as I did. The ten feet to the door seemed like a mile. I opened it in a slow arc, showing my hands, and invited him in. He flashed me a knowing smile and gave a slight bow as he slid past me into the cramped space of my office. Three other agents of some ilk or other followed. They began examining every inch of the place.
“I don’t know how you did it,” he said, squinting at me. “And I don’t care. That plane from LAX has landed safely. No explosion. No lives lost.”
I didn’t say anything. Instead, I nodded, bowed, and put the stone face back on.
Over the course of the next twenty-five minutes, the two North Koreans were strapped to gurneys and taken away in ambulances. I didn’t ask where they were going.
The FBI agents scoured my office, the bathroom, and the main gym. They shrugged at Robinson and announced that they didn’t find anything.
Based on a brief conversation with Robinson about how I got the information that ultimately led to the remaining four planes landing safely in Incheon, I hoped the Department of Homeland Security would follow through on the promises I had made to these two. There needed to be a path to redemption for the roles the two North Koreans played in saving so many lives because they had done the right thing in the end. They had lived their entire lives under the influence of a corrupted and unstable group of leaders, but I believed in their ability and willingness to change. I offered to be their sponsor if they wanted to seek asylum in either the United States or South Korea, since I had dual citizenship.
Robinson shook his head. “You are an optimist, aren’t you?”
“I guess so. Most people will do the right thing given the opportunity and the right incentives.”
“Is that why you brought them here? To give the right opportunity and incentives?”
“Exactly. Life is all about choices. Some people need a little more encouragement to choose the right.”
Robinson looked at the blood smears on my shirt and pants and raised an eyebrow. I just shrugged.
“It all comes down to the path we choose in life. These guys all started out with the destination of a better life fixed in their minds. They come from a closed and backward nation where there’s very little hope. Then this so-called ‘Chammae Boksu’ mission came along with its promise of a better life for them and their families. What would you have done?”
Robinson shook his head. “I guess for me it’s hard to get into the mindset that says, ‘Yeah, I’ll go kill thousands of people so that I can live a better life.’”
“Look, I know it’s screwed up. Their whole society is. Nothing we can do about it, really. Desperation breeds desperation and these kinds of things are the unfortunate results.”
“Are you saying they shouldn’t be executed for the four hundred lives they helped take?”
“No. I’m saying we’ll never bring the true culprits to justice. I’m willing to bet that there is no clear connection between the masterminds and those who carried out this mission. Trying to press the issue would only further destabilize the region and the world. As far as punishment goes, these two will have a lifetime to ponder the consequences of their actions. Their families will suffer immensely, as will those of the victims.”
“Hell of a thing they’ve done.” Robinson glared at nothing in particular, his jaw muscles tensing as he spoke.
“Could have been worse had they chosen not to spill their secrets.”
Robinson was about to say something else when his phone rang. His whole body stiffened, and he stood straight and tall when the voice on the other line introduced himself. He then retreated outside, not to return for several minutes.
Chapter 55
Costa Mesa, California
June 6, 4:27 a.m.
The first words of praise I had ever heard from him came at a point when I was not really feeling worthy of it. They were simple words, uttered for the first time in my recollection, spanning some thirty-five years. “I’m proud of you, son. Your work today was admirable—more than admirable, extraordinary.”
Those words from my father should have lifted me out of the quagmire my soul had sunk into. I had never dreamed of torturing another person, but I had done it that day. Guilt and shame and the melancholy that accompanies the realization that you have committed some serious misdeeds against a fellow human being threatened to swallow me. I had stooped low enough to treat a woman with the same brutality as a man—something that ran counter to everything this same father who now praised me had taught me all my life.
Yes, many may say that the ends justified the means, but my heart took little comfort in that thought. I had stood on the precipice of committing cold-blooded murder in order to save sixteen-hundred souls. I had looked over the edge and caught a glimpse of the abyss. It chilled me to the core to examine what I contemplated doing had that plane full of passengers from Los Angeles, sixteen of which were my young students, exploded.
My father’s reassurance aside, my self-reflections were dark and brooding. No one except me, Sunny, and those two North Koreans would ever know what took place in the back office of my gym in the wee hours that morning. No one outside of a handful of people would ever know how terribly close we came to experiencing another 9-1-1. The world at large would never realize that World War III, with the very real possibility of a nuclear strike, had been averted because the Geneva Convention had been summarily, but temporarily, dismissed for the purpose of avoiding such a chilling prospect.
But my father knew and that should have been enough. Nonetheless, I sat at my desk in the back of my Do Jang with my head in my hands for twenty minutes after the ambulances left.
Robinson sat across from me, just staring at the wall. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved.
I contemplated the path I had chosen that day, recalling the thoughts I had had in the airport eighteen hours earlier. My day had turned out much differently than I had expected, which matched the way my life had turned out compared to my high school and college-day dreams. Though I hadn’t found the time to contemplate my future, I had come to a decision by the end of it all that there would indeed be a career change—soon.
I heard another car pull up to the back door. Robinson stood, slowly extending his torso to its full six-foot-three-inch stature. He tapped a pair of handcuffs fastened to his belt. “Sorry. Protocol. You know how it is?”
I nodded and rose with my hands held out in front of me, still staring blankly at nothing in particular.
“We’ll get this all sorted out, Mr. Noh.” He clicked the steel bracelets in place loosely just as someone began pounding on the back door. He paused, looked me in the eye, and spoke from the heart. “Our country owes you a debt of gratitude for all you’ve done here today. I’m sure the Korean government must feel the same, as well as the passengers and their families, blissfully ignorant though they may be. Along with the lives you’ve saved today, many careers, mine included, have been spared. Thank you. That may be as much as you ever get, but it’s sincere.”
I nodded again, not knowing what to say. I knew Robinson was right. No one else would ever formally thank me for the unsavory deeds I had performed. It would all be swept under the rug and the world would continue on as it always does, tumultuous and harried.
Gripping the door handle, Robinson added, “You’re a hero in my book.”
I smiled as I soaked it in. The path before seemed clearer now.
Epilogue
My wife was hurriedly re-packing her and the kids’ bags. Mine were waiting for the Bell Captain by the front door of the fifteen-hundred square foot Ritz-Carlton Suite atop the luxury hotel at Marina Del Rey, just five miles north of LAX. I stood in front of the picture window, gazing out at the ocean, watching the planes taking off from the northern runway and climbi
ng into the sky. The limousine Korean Airlines had hired to drive us to the airport would arrive in less than five minutes. Our first-ever trip in first class, the hotel, and all the food we could eat would be paid for by the airline as a “small token of their appreciation,” though appreciation for what was never specified.
My students would complete the first day of competition without me. With Jin Sook coaching them and because of their diligent preparation, I was confident they would shine. My heart was still with them but now my head was in a different place. The rust that had accumulated over my true identity as a soldier and protector had been shaken off. A sense of duty was calling me down a different path, down a path more similar to the one I had originally chosen. As much as I loved my students and teaching them Tae Kwon Do, I knew I could never return to it with the enthusiasm and commitment those kids deserved. Nor could I ever enter the back office without recalling what I had done there. That location would forever be tainted in my memory.
My career had already come to a fork in the road. Job offers had already been floated out there, though few details accompanied these discussions. One choice was to return to my homeland and accept a position within the Korean Army’s intelligence corps as a lead investigator. My record was to be expunged as the details of what had transpired six years prior had been brought to light and my innocence proven. The other and even more intriguing option was as a liaison with the United States Department of Homeland Security, working with Alan Robinson, the soon-to-be-appointed West Coast Director of Airport Operations for the Transportation Safety Administration, to beef up security protocol at every international airport from San Diego to Seattle and from Denver to Honolulu. The specific assignment would be to identify, track, and monitor all known North Korean travelers. I would work closely with counterparts in Seoul and Beijing, mostly. With all the tension between the Hermit Kingdom and the rest of the world, and with the US’s recently exposed security deficiencies, this would be a monumental and high-profile position.
