“So now there are huge squatters’ camps all along the Chinese border, thousands of people with no food or water. They’ve already started to die of thirst and disease.
“And Anita is under house arrest! The local officials blame her for the deaths. They say her mission is supposed to be feeding the refugees — all of them!” She took a breath and tried to sound positive. “But she’s alive, and praying for help.”
It’s what Cho might have expected, if he’d taken time to think about it. But that didn’t make it any better. “I’m sorry that your friend—”
“But the news isn’t all bad,” Kary interrupted. “The South Korean army crossed the thirty eighth parallel two days ago, on the twenty-second, not even a full day after Kim died. They’re advancing quickly, and Pyongyang is their main objective. All we have to do is hang on a little bit longer.”
The news stunned Cho. He’d never really thought about a unified Korea. In his life, it had been enough to punish the Kim regime, to make them pay for what they’d done to his family. He’d never imagined the fatherland actually disappearing, being absorbed into a new whole.
He didn’t know what such a place would be like.
Cho found a quiet spot and used the phone to search the news reports. Media reports, especially in wartime, were unreliable, but it was clear that the Southerners were coming, and in strength. There were many photographs of them in Kaesong, a large DPRK city on the west coast, just north of the border, and fighting at the bridge over the Ryesong River, maybe ten kilometers to the north of that. Enemy scouts would be well forward of that.
But were they the enemy?
He didn’t trust the South Korean government any more than his Russian handlers or the Chinese. And as for the South’s American allies, he’d always thought of them as powerful enemies, as well as the South’s protectors. As far as his politics went, he wasn’t really for anything, but there were a lot of things he was against.
Helping Cheon Ji-hyo and her family had been one of the first positive things he’d done in a long time. This was something to work for.
The South’s goal was Pyongyang, of course. The Kaesong-Pyongyang highway would lead them straight here. Cho considered their progress. The Southerners would have — probably already had — complete air superiority. Any concentrations of KPA resistance would be pounded from the air and then smashed or bypassed. And the KPA was rotten, poorly equipped, and ineptly led. He had seen that with his own eyes. And now the North’s military was splintered and weakened by civil war. The real question was how long they’d last before collapsing completely.
At highway speeds, Southern troops could be here in half a day, but realistically, it might be less than a week, or much more. Or parachute troops might land here tonight.
He went to tell Kary Fowler what he’d discovered. They couldn’t tell anyone else, of course. There would be too many questions about how they’d found out. But he’d change his advice. In a few more days, everything might be very different. He couldn’t imagine what life in a unified Korea would be like, but for once there was cause for hope. Until then, he’d do whatever he could to keep this place, and the people here, safe.
For a brief moment, Cho thought about calling his Russian handler. Pavel Telitsyn was probably worried about him. The man had shown Cho some kindness, but either Telitsyn or his superiors had ordered him to Pyongyang — essentially a death sentence.
He was expendable in their eyes. If he called in now, they would only demand he go back and obtain the information they wanted or die trying. So be it. They had given him his final mission, and as far as he was concerned, he’d fulfilled it to the best of his ability. Now he had a new assignment, to do what he could to keep these people alive.
Contented, he went to see if Kwan, who was supposed to be keeping watch, had fallen asleep again.
The fighting in the city had been heavy all afternoon, if the rumbling was any indication. Even though they were outside the city proper, Cho could hear the difference between the deeper sound of artillery and the sharp crack of tank cannon. There was plenty of both. The other patients said it was the loudest and longest battle they’d heard.
Cho had coped with his worries by joining Kwan on lookout duty. Even with the meager rations, his strength was returning, although it would be weeks before his back was completely healed. Fowler said she’d take the stiches out in a few days, as long as he promised to take it easy. Laughing, Cho had promised to stay away from any battles.
Now, Cho tried to gauge not only the intensity of the fighting, but whether it was getting any closer. It was impossible to tell. Then he saw someone with a rifle running toward the mission. He tensed for a moment, but he spotted the red armband of a militiaman.
Cho found Kary in the kitchen. She had started preparing the evening meal with Ok Min-seo. “Fowler-seonsaengnim, a messenger has brought word that several people from the city are being sent here. He says they are very sick.”
She furrowed her brow. “I thought people from the city were supposed to be taken to the municipal hall.”
“The messenger also said that the mayor won’t let them into the hall, because they might spread disease, and ordered them brought here.”
She put down the knife and wiped her hands. “I’ll be there in a moment. I’ll examine them outside. Please make sure everyone else stays inside. And don’t you touch them either,” she said sharply.
Cho hurried out of the kitchen, shooing a few curious folk inside. He was still telling them it was “Fowler-seonsaengnim‘s orders” when he spotted six militiamen carrying loaded stretchers. Kary came out of the dispensary gloved and masked, and told Cho to bring several spare pallets from the beds to the east side of the dispensary, in the shade. Moon Su-bin helped him find and carry them outside, and by the time the stretcher-bearers arrived, the two had set up places for the patients to lie down.
There were three of them, a man and woman in their twenties or early thirties, and an older man, all in civilian clothes. The young man lay quietly, but the woman was coughing and retching. The older man was unconscious, and his breathing was shallow.
Kary tossed a pair of gloves to Moon, and to Cho as well, then knelt down to examine the woman. She was struggling to breathe, and Cho could see her eyes were watering, and mucous was streaming from her nose.
They didn’t have a portable respirator, but Kary sent Moon back inside for their oxygen bottle. She spoke to the woman, who was wide-eyed with confusion or fear. As she spoke, she placed her hand on the patient’s forehead. “No fever,” she remarked out loud, “but she’s soaked with sweat.”
Moon returned with the oxygen bottle. Kary placed the mask over the woman’s mouth. The woman calmed, but couldn’t lie still. Her arms and legs spasmed and twitched, even as her expression softened.
While Moon held the mask, Kary examined the woman for other symptoms or wounds, but announced “No trauma,” with a combination of relief and curiosity.
“How are her pupils?” Cho asked.
Surprised by the question, Kary answered, “Both pinpoint and unresponsive.”
Cho’s insides tightened, and chills ran through him. “Look for inflammation in her nose and mouth,” he instructed.
Kary used a penlight, then confirmed his suspicion. “Bright red, almost like a burn.” She stood quickly and turned to face Cho. “What is this?” she demanded.
“Nerve gas, probably sarin,” Cho answered. “Absorbed through the skin or inhaled,” he gestured to the female victim, “which is likely what she did.”