Everyone in the village must dutifully attend the briefing. Every man, woman and child. The infirmed, the feeble, the able and the not so able.
If it breathes and has fingernails instead of claws, it must attend.
After the briefing anyone over the age of twelve must read and sign a pledge.
It’s a pledge devoting themselves and everything they own to a higher cause: the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, now and until they draw their last breath. They have to acknowledge that anyone who speaks ill of or takes action against the Republic is a traitor to all and must be reported immediately to the authorities; for holding such information to oneself makes one just as guilty as the perpetrator.
This is how North Korea and big brother China create nations of rats, canaries and stool pigeons.
But that’s the kiddie version.
Government employees, including military members, have such garbage beaten into their heads constantly. Each of them signs a similar pledge, punishable by death if broken, each and every quarter of each and every year.
For example, they are forced to watch propaganda videos not every six months like the civilian sector of the population. But rather each and every month at their division stand-up.
In addition, once every ninety days they are called before an interrogator who grills them about their friends and neighbors and co-workers. Such interrogators are under a tremendous amount of pressure to initiate their quota of investigations and they’re looking for dirt on anyone.
It can be anything, even as small as scoffing at something said in one of the propaganda meetings or seeming not to pay attention.
“Surely you have something you can report to me,” a typical interrogator might say. “Your co-workers haven’t been shy about sharing your bad habits.”
It is believed by Pyongyang that anyone who puts up with such foolishness for twelve years without resigning or committing suicide must be a dyed-in-the-wool, hard-core believer in communism and the North Korean doctrine.
Hence, the twelve-year rule for anyone being considered for an overseas post.
The other requirements are more sinister in nature.
For example, no one could be considered for his first overseas assignment unless he had at least one living parent and a family.
The reasoning behind these requirements was sometimes said outright, sometimes merely implied.
It was understood by all, though: If you go overseas and do anything which betrays or embarrasses your country, you will pay a heavy price. And if you run or hide or seek asylum, someone else you love will pay that price for you.
It sounds like a brutal threat, and by western standards sounds very much like a bluff.
In communist regimes, though, it is anything but.
In communist regimes it’s a very effective tool to deter would-be defectors or traitors, or people trying to sell state secrets to make a little cash on the side.
In the event a defector seeks and is granted asylum in a foreign country, there is little Russia or China or North Korea can do.
But for “the one who got away” they can still gain some measure of satisfaction by torturing or imprisoning his loved ones. They can therefore punish him in another way: by cursing him with a lifetime of guilt in the knowledge someone he cared for died a miserable death for something he did.
-14-
On the day he formally applied to participate in the ambush of America, Pak Chung started taking some of his soldier buddies aside.
He confided in them that he’d finally made up with his birth father. When he was very young, he said, his mother had an affair with the mayor of his village, and he was the unfortunate result.
His father knew about it, of course. It was a source of great scandal.
For years they were forced to keep it a secret, due to the mayor’s distinguished position. The family lived in shame until Pak’s legal father was sent away and his mother died.
Pak told his friends that even then he was estranged from the mayor, who wanted nothing to do with “ancient history” or the mistakes of his youth.
It was only during a recent visit back to the village that the mayor finally called him “son.” They resolved to get closer in the years ahead.
The reason no one else in Pak’s village knew of the scandalous behavior of the mayor and Pak’s mother, or Pak’s illegitimate birth, was that it happened only in Pak’s imaginative mind.
It wasn’t real. It was made up because both of his parents were dead.
And in order to be accepted for the invasion he had to have one living parent.
Oh, and the mayor’s name: none other than Ri Myong-Guk, the bastard who tormented Pak Chung his entire life and tried to keep him out of the army.
Of course, Pak swore every friend he told to secrecy, lest it embarrass Mr. Ri, who had retired from his position of mayor and was now peacefully living out his golden years. But at least one of those “buddies” was more than eager to reveal the Pak family secret to investigators vetting Pak for the invasion team.
Pak didn’t have to lie about being married, for he was still legally wed to a woman he didn’t love. A woman who’d betrayed him from the very beginning.
A woman he’d sworn revenge upon years before and was waiting for just the right moment.
Pak met all the requirements and was accepted. He was fitted for a black suit and given credentials of a North Korean diplomat.
And he and another man were put on a plane to Mexico City, where they were met at the airport in a limo flying the colors of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.
He’d been at the embassy for two months, living in the basement with forty nine other men. Each of them had come to Mexico City the same way, and represented half the invasion force.
Come invasion day the other half would be hanging out in Cuba, ready to be ferried by helicopter into south Florida, courtesy of the Cuban government.
In the two months since he’d arrived Pak seldom left the embassy.
Others went to the local Mercado, or shopping center, one or two at a time every chance they could.
Not Pak. He wanted to keep a low profile and only left the embassy grounds when he needed something.
Until today.
It was March 10th, and he’d been hearing rumors from some of his comrades the invasion was coming as early as April 5th.
Soldiers are alike the world over in that when they don’t know when a battle is coming they speculate. They make calculated guesses. They sometimes add two and two together and come up with seventeen.
And rumors among such men are as common as foot fungus and bad breath.
The truth was, Pak had no idea whether the latest rumors were true. Other rumors predicting earlier dates had proven false.
But as he saw it, North Korea had plenty of time to get all the pieces in place, and the invasion couldn’t have been too far off.
If he waited much longer he might never have the chance to stop it.
He strolled through the gate and onto the streets of Mexico City as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He might as well have been walking to the park to feed the pigeons, or to meet a friend for an early spring picnic.
No observer would guess he was about to betray his country.
And it wasn’t an easy decision to make. He’d struggled with it for years as he struggled to advance in a military system where he knew only a powerful few were in a position to make meaningful changes in the brutal government’s doctrine.
He finally realized he himself could never hope to attain such a position. That he couldn’t hope to make the regime less brutal, more humane.
And at some point he stopped thinking about what he could do to help the regime become better. He started thinking instead of ways he could help bring the regime down.
He was finally convinced that only by removing the Kim family from power and starting all over could the North Korean people be given back their freedoms and their d
ignity.
Being recommended for the invasion force was a gift he could only have dreamed of, and it fell right into his lap.
Now he had the opportunity to warn the United States of the invasion plans. He hoped it would anger Washington so much they’d want to punish Kim for his insolence.
Pak would recommend a small assassination team. He could help them get into the country by detailing train schedules, unit deployment schedules, tidbits about how and when key units go on maneuvers, and which units are left weakened in their absence.
He’d share all the useful information he’d gathered in his fourteen-plus years of service in the Army and would only ask one thing in return:
Whatever they chose to do to punish Kim Jong-un, please don’t take it out on the North Korean people.
They’d suffered enough.
-15-
The El Grande Cuidad Mercado was sixteen blocks from the Democratic People’s Republic’s embassy.
Pak Chung covered almost all of them.
Two blocks shy he darted into the street, flagging down a yellow taxi cab.
He said, in rudimentary Spanish, “Please take me to the United States embassy.”
The driver knew exactly where it was, a mile or so away on Paseo de la Reforma. It was a popular tourist destination for Americans and other foreigners alike.
Nobody ever wanted to go to the North Korean embassy.
Seven minutes later he was on the street in front of the American embassy, explaining to a security guard he was a North Korean who wanted to defect to the United States.
Nine minutes later, a United States Marine Staff Sergeant standing guard over his left shoulder, he sat in a wooden chair in a sparsely furnished room.
The room was officially called a “visitation room,” but several things gave away its true purpose. Two way mirrors along one wall. A camera in the corner of the ceiling which was aimed directly at the chair where Pak was sitting.
A door which locked automatically each time it closed.
This was an interrogation room.
Pak hoped he hadn’t made a dreadful mistake.
He hadn’t.
A very friendly aide to the ambassador came into the room after just a couple of minutes.
“My name is Bryan,” he said very slowly. “How is your English, Mr. Pak?”
Pak understood the question after pondering for a moment.
Finding the right words to answer him was more difficult. He wanted to improve his English skills, but finding an English language textbook in North Korea was impossible. Attempting to obtain one would have alerted authorities to his plan.
“I… English…bad,” he finally got out.
He smiled broadly, hoping it might help.
It seemed to.
Bryan smiled back and told him, “Yeogiseo gidal,” one of the few Korean phrases he knew. It meant (he hoped), “Please wait here.”
The embassy employed several full-time interpreters. Some of them were on hand at the time. However, they were proficient in more common languages: German, French and middle American Spanish.
An on-call translator who was proficient in the Korean language lived nearby. He wasn’t answering his cell phone, though, and his voice mailbox was full. They sent someone to his house to try to find him.
It was a hell of a way to run an embassy, but the ambassador was a political appointee. His only qualification for the post was that he was an old fishing buddy of the president’s who made a very large donation to the president’s election campaign.
Luckily the interpreter was at home and already dressed to go out.
He was delivered to the embassy within half an hour and reported directly to Bryan.
Bryan, in turn, briefed him and escorted him in to talk to Pak Chung.
“I apologize for the delay, Mr. Pak. I was at another engagement, you see, and I am the only Korean speaker assigned to the embassy.”
Pak was greatly relieved. He’d been searching his memory for any stray English words he could string together to make a semi-coherent sentence.
“That is no problem,” he said in his native language. “Thank you for coming.”
“I understand you wish to defect and become a United States citizen?”
“Yes, I do. And as a consideration I bring you information of the utmost importance.”
“I see. And just what is that information, if you please?”
“I bring a dire warning to the President of the United States. The Premier of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea is planning an invasion of the United States. The attack is imminent. I don’t know the exact date, but I know it will be soon.”
When the translator turned the words into English Bryan’s eyebrow went up.
He wasn’t freaking out, exactly. For he was a man trained never to take anything a defector or asylum seeker said at face value.
On the other hand, the gravity of Pak’s words definitely got his attention.
“Please go on,” he instructed the translator to tell him.
“I have not been briefed on the full plan,” Pak said. “They were careful only to tell me of my role.”
“And what is that role, Mr. Pak?”
“I am one of a hundred man force which is to be airdropped into a southern state. Arizona or New Mexico, I think. I am a highly trained sniper who can take out a man-sized target from nine hundred meters away.
“My assignment is to stay hidden and to take out targets of opportunity. To take out men of authority. Policemen and firemen. Or military men who happen into my range. And, when those targets weren’t available, I am to take out civilians.”
“And why would that be important to an invasion?”
“Mr. Kim believes such action would soften up our target. Not only would it reduce the number of leaders who would rally the civilians against us, it would also create havoc and chaos among the civilians.
“It would make them afraid to leave their houses for fear they might be shot as well. When the invasion comes, instead of taking to the streets to help repel our forces, they will be cowering in their homes, hiding behind mattresses.”
“What else can you tell us?”
“Only what I have been briefed. That I am part of a hundred man team. Half of us are waiting for the go signal in Mexico City, the other half are in Cuba. At some point after we soften our targets and create chaos the rest of the invasion force will attack from every direction, by land and by sea.”
“And how big is the invasion force, Mr. Pak?”
“One million members of the North Korean Army.”
-16-
It was Pak’s last sentence which cast doubt upon his sanity.
As Bryan briefed the Ambassador, another aide sent a secure cable to the State Department, detailing the news about Mr. Pak’s arrival and the information he’d delivered.
“I find that impossible to believe,” Ambassador Metcalf said. “A million man invasion force, in a nation of only twenty five million men, women and children? I don’t think they have a million people in all branches of their military combined. I think the man is a fruitcake.”
Ten minutes later the Secretary of State’s office responded by return cable:
PLEASE ESCORT SUBJECT TO
STATE DEPARTMENT NEXT AVAILABLE
FLIGHT FOR FURTHER QUESTIONING
AND MEDICAL EVALUATION
“There you have it,” Metcalf said. “They think he’s crazy too.”
Pak wasn’t crazy at all.
He was merely misinformed.
In a closed society like North Korea, citizens live in a bubble. They have no internet or news from outside their sealed up little world.
The only news they get is what their government spoon-feeds them.
They only hear what their government wants them to hear.
They only believe what their government wants them to believe.
In that regard they’re like Americans who only listen to one news source. Sinc
e they never hear other opinions or versions, they’re highly susceptible to being brainwashed.
The only difference is that Americans choose that path for themselves. They have the option to look for other news sources and points of view.
They just choose not to.
North Koreans, on the other hand, have no choice.
If they want to watch the news they have only one choice: state run television.
If they want to listen to the radio they have one choice: state run radio.
If they want to read the newspaper they have one choice: a state run newspaper.
Given all that it’s not surprising that all North Koreans firmly believe that North Korea is the premier power on the world stage. That their premier, Kim Jong-un, is loved and respected around the world. That North Korea has the most powerful military in the world, and that it could squash that pesky bug, the United States, any time it wants.
It just hasn’t done it yet out of kindness.
North Koreans believe all that nonsense because it’s all they hear, all the time, every time they turn on a television or radio or pick up a newspaper or magazine.
It’s also why their travel abroad is tightly restricted; so they don’t learn the truth and take it back to share with their friends.
Kim Jong-un, the fat little man with the ridiculous haircut and bad suit, can tell his countrymen anything he wants and they’ll buy it.
That’s because, as we all know, if a lie is heard enough times certain people will start to believe it’s true.
And that’s as true in North Korea as it is anywhere else in the world.
Kim Jong-un considered it a slap in the face when Chairman Xi of China and President Putin of Russia invited him into their invasion plans. And then told him he could only bring a hundred of his little soldiers.
Oh, he professed gratitude, sure.
He knew he had to or the two leaders would tell him to take a hike, then laugh him out of the room.
In the back of his mind he was thinking of ways he could spin his minimal role in the operation.
Without Warning Page 5
