He spoke in Korean, which the translator converted, but his voice was even and easy to hear, so Adam understood the gist of his words even before they were relayed in Chinese.
“Good morning, and welcome to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. My name is Hwang Min-ho, and I am the director of Korea Natural Resources Trading Corporation. It was I who invited you here, so I am very glad to see you all.”
Adam thought the man sounded somewhat meek and pleasant, especially in comparison to the harsh voices from most of the guards and minders he’d been in contact with since his arrival.
Hwang spoke for a while about the mine, the history of North Korea’s partnership with China on other projects, and his respect for both the nation of China and its abilities in the mining sector. His words seemed more literal, less jingoistic than those of the woman who had spoken before him, and Adam could easily read the crowd and discern their sense of relaxation.
Hwang then offered a surprisingly frank assessment of the conditions at Chongju. “You will find this facility to be more rudimentary than what you are accustomed to. We ask your patience while we build a processing facility that is state-of-the-art. It will take time. For now, however, we will start slowly and grow to greatness.”
Yao was surprised that Hwang did not show the same near-psychotic level of reverence for his own nation’s capability. Even the fact that Hwang was here addressing the Chinese workers in the first place was fascinating to the CIA non-official cover officer. He hadn’t expected to see this man in person at all.
Hwang said, “You are guest workers, but you are to be treated well. Your contract says you will work for eight weeks. Then you will be allowed one week for vacation, or, if you prefer, you can continue to work.”
A man near the front raised his hand and asked, “What is there to do around the mine on vacation?”
The director at the lectern shrugged. “Work.”
There was laughter throughout the room.
When he was finished with his presentation, Hwang Min-ho thanked everyone again and then asked, “Are there any questions?”
Adam hoped that the rest of his group would be smart enough to keep their mouths shut, but several hands shot up at once.
A middle-aged man who Adam had been told worked with electromagnetic milling machines was called on by Hwang. He asked, “Director, sir. Can you tell us about the electrical grid we will find at the facility?”
Hwang smiled a little. “We have electricity from a hydroelectric dam nearby. For times when the dam is not generating power, which is often, but not too often, we have oil generators from your country that can keep critical functions up and running. It is not Shanghai, all lights and electric trains, but electricity at Chongju is a priority during the workday.” He smiled again. “At night you must all sleep so you can work the next day. You don’t need light to sleep.”
Adam already knew the facility and even the entire city of Chongju were “lights out” for about twelve hours a day because the electricity didn’t run. He’d seen the sat images.
Another person asked the one question Adam most wanted to know the answer to. “I understand the facility is still under construction. May we know when you expect to be operational?”
Hwang replied, “Construction of the property is complete. We just received a shipment of computers that arrived last week. You all will be responsible for getting them installed and running at your various workstations. Also, there is a new shipment of industrial powder-processing equipment, and some milling equipment at the refinery that needs to be installed and tested. Other than that, there is one shipment of large equipment still on the way. It should be here very soon. My fervent hope is we will be producing refined metals within one month.”
After saying he would be spending a lot of time at the processing facility in the next few weeks to oversee the opening, Hwang left the riser to polite but genuine applause from the Chinese nationals.
The bus delivered the technicians to the airport and drove them directly onto the tarmac and up to their aircraft. Adam climbed out of the bus into a blustery wind that foretold a thunderstorm. He looked into the early-evening sky and saw thick dark clouds just west of the capital.
Adam found this ominous, even more so when he turned around and looked at the airplane they’d be flying to Chongju.
It was a Boeing 737 wearing the red, white, and blue markings of Air Koryo.
Adam had read somewhere that Skytrax, the world airline rating service, had reviewed and rated nearly seven hundred airlines over the globe, and they had given out but a single one-star rating.
Air Koryo, North Korea’s national airline, was the recipient.
Adam didn’t remember where he had read this fact, but as he climbed aboard the plane he wished he had forgotten it.
The Air Koryo flight was bad, but Adam had been on worse flights in the USA. It landed without incident at Kwaksan Airport in an evening rain shower, and the men and women were led onto another bus, and then were driven on surprisingly good roads to the city of Chongju.
On this bus ride, as on the other, several armed guards sat at the front, and an olive-drab truck full of troops followed close behind. Adam wondered if the North Koreans were fearful a Chinese technician would leap from the moving vehicle and run out into the hills around the road. It occurred to him that if these people really believed North Korea was the paradise the woman at the welcome meeting this morning had claimed it was, then it stood to reason they’d need to watch out for foreigners trying to break in to reap the nation’s bounty.
The city of Chongju was all but blacked out, obviously because there was no electricity running this evening. Beyond the lights of the bus he could see only the illumination of a few other vehicles on side streets, plus cooking fires, the odd flashlight, and the glow of cigarettes from people on the sidewalks in the darkness.
There was one major exception to the darkness. The bus entered a large driving circle, and in the middle was a forty-foot-high statue of Choi Ji-hoon in his military uniform, holding a pair of binoculars in one hand and pointing northward toward China with the other. The entire statue was bathed in bright yellow light, and a tiny street market had been set up around it to take advantage of the glow of the Dae Wonsu.
The bus made a turn and Adam leaned into the window glass and felt a sudden lump in his throat as he saw the entrance to the temporary housing facility. He’d spent a great deal of time in the past weeks studying this very place in satellite images. To be rolling through the front gates of the complex — it looked like some sort of prison camp from a World War II film — made him feel so much farther from home.
Orders were given in Korean and then translated into Chinese by a minder, and soon Adam was lined up in front of the bus with the rest of his group. During a short wait in the darkness, Adam had a moment to recognize that the last time he’d looked at this parking lot in the center of all the metal trailers, he’d been sitting in a tidy and efficient conference room in the ODNI building in McLean, Virginia, with a Starbucks latte in one hand and a cinnamon roll in the other. Now he was here, queuing up single-file to be counted and checked in and given a cot.
Even for a NOC who’d played a lot of roles in his career, this felt surreal and otherworldly.
49
Three days before the arrival of the President of the United States in Mexico City, Iranian bomb maker Adel Zarif was driven back to the parking garage construction site on the corner of Vidal Alcocer and José J. Herrera.
It was seven p.m. and the evening rains had ended, dusk was falling quickly on the area, and the street market had closed. But the area was not quiet. The sounds and lights of construction were obvious as soon as he climbed out of Emilio’s truck. Zarif had been told a group of six Maldonado men with experience in construction had been working at the site all afternoon; they had a cement mixer and some portable lights and would be kept away from him while he was here, but they would be all his when he needed them.