Traffic was light, and three trucks in company should have attracted more attention, but there were few people about, and the military units they’d passed on the road had ignored them, headed either north or south at speed. The country looked empty. They were still about a hundred kilometers from the southern border by road. The advancing South Korean army was closer, maybe half that distance. Kary wondered how many people had left their homes to go south or just avoid the fighting.
They’d been stopped twice at checkpoints, but Mayor Song’s paperwork and a story about orders to take an American woman south had been enough to get them through, along with a few bills as bribes. North Korea might be in upheaval, but people always needed money.
Kary, comparing the farmer’s map with the landscape, announced, “Here.” They turned off a two-lane macadam road onto gravel. The restaurant, if that’s what it was, sat alone a hundred meters off the main road, surrounded by cultivated fields. Most held ripening crops, although more than a few were fallow. It was a low, one-story building, but large enough, with thankfully plenty of space for the three trucks to park.
It also seemed to be abandoned. There were no other vehicles nearby, nobody outside or visible through the windows, and no smoke coming from the kitchen’s chimney in the back. Painted a faded yellow, the sign in Hangul under the obligatory photo of the Supreme Leader simply read “Good Food.”
Picking up a small medical bag, Kary said, “I’ll check on my patients while you see if anyone’s home.”
Cho put a hand on her arm and asked, “Why don’t you come with me? That farmer kept glancing at you while he dickered with me. A beautiful, exotic American woman might help with the negotiations.”
Kary nodded, but was a little flustered. She hadn’t paid any attention to her appearance in a long time. And Cho was smiling as he said it. Was he joking? What if he wasn’t?
As the two got out of the truck, others hopped out from the other two cabs and the back. Moon Su-bin and her cousin Ja Joon-ho were in the second truck, and Kary told them to keep everyone close while they looked for gas.
A thick man in his mid-forties stepped out of the front door and looked over the group. “We’re closed,” he said harshly.
Cho nodded his understanding, but approached and offered him a paper. “I have a note from Do Han-il.”
The man pursed his lips, and took the note Cho offered. He asked, “Is he getting any business at that run-down appliance shop?”
Did he glance in Kary’s direction? He has to be curious about who I am, she thought.
“He was a farmer when I talked to him,” Cho answered.
“All right.” The proprietor seemed satisfied. “I might have enough for all three trucks, but it will cost you.”
“I have the money.”
“Let’s see it.”
Cho showed him the corner of a single American twenty-dollar bill. “Let’s see the gasoline,” he responded.
The man stepped back inside, and came out with a twenty-liter plastic jerry can. “One bill, one can.”
“We need six cans. Two bills.”
“Five is all I have. Four bills.” He definitely looked in her direction. Kary wasn’t thrilled at being a negotiating tool, but it was for a good cause. And she was glad Cho was handling the negotiations. She’d learned how to dicker well enough, but lacked a lifetime of experience.
“We’ll take them all. Two bills.”
The gasoline dealer remarked, “Why do I get the idea you only have two bills?”
“Forty US dollars is going to be worth a lot, unless you’ve got South Korean won,” Cho countered. “Yuan notes will be worthless after the South Korean army gets here.” He pointed south. “They’ll be coming up that road tomorrow or the next day.”
The man shrugged. “Then why not just wait?”
“We’ve got injured and sick people,” Cho explained. “We can’t wait.”
“And the Southern army is really coming?”
Cho took out his satphone and called up pictures and maps that showed the progress of the ROK forces.
“All right, I’m convinced. Four cans for your two bills, and that’s my final offer.”
They were on their way twenty minutes later. Grateful for the gasoline, nobody had asked about food. As Cho started their truck, Kary leaned over and tapped the gas gauge, hoping it was stuck. It was up from near empty, but read just a little over half full. “It should be enough,” she said hopefully.
“It has to be,” Cho answered, “since I’m now out of both Chinese and American currency.”
“I’ll repay you,” Kary assured him.
He waved it off. “Don’t be silly. It was the Russians’ money, anyway.” After a short pause, Cho asked, “Have you given any more thought to calling your father?”
Kary shrugged, hoping Cho would let the question pass, but he pressed his point. “You said he was a very powerful man in the American government.”
“Yes,” she answered simply, but did not elaborate. She knew where the national security advisor fit into the US government, but she’d remained willfully ignorant of his exact duties. After a pause, she added, “He’s retired now, anyway. He’s head of a foundation somewhere.”
Cho sighed, and she could hear his frustration. They’d driven through the night, talking to keep each other awake. Cho had kept his promise. She’d asked her questions about who Cho Ho-jin really was, and after getting over her surprise, learned about his youth and the reasons for spying for the Russians.
That had led to stories about her growing up with a famous father, who’d been gone too much and whose business seemed to be imposing American power on the rest of the world.
Her generation had grown up with armed conflicts on the television news every night, and she hated the images of shattered families and wounded innocents. Unlike many around her, the people suffering on the screen were never foreign or strange to her. They needed her help, and at the earliest possible age, she’d joined Christian Friends, already experienced from work she’d done with refugees during summer breaks from college.
Driving at night, with no light but the dashboard and headlights in front of them, it had been easy to talk, to tell Cho about things she hadn’t spoken of in years, and later of things she barely admitted to herself. Cho had also been open with her, glad to have someone to trust after many years of being more than just alone.
“When was the last time you spoke with your father?” Cho asked in a noncommittal tone.
“A few months ago. Early June, on his birthday.”
“I wish I could do that. I don’t have many memories of my father. Like yours, his duties kept him away from us, but I remember my mother being very happy when he was home, and his plans for me. He never returned from the war. Once it was clear the North had lost, he was simply arrested and shot as a traitor. There’s no grave that we know of. He’s lost to us forever.”
Kary could feel the weight of his arguments, but procrastinated. “He’s been out of the government for twenty years. And I’ve always been the one pushing him away. I’d thought about reconciling with him when I went home for my next visit, but I can’t just phone him up and say, ‘Hi, I need your help.’”
Cho shrugged. “Maybe it’s different in America, but in Korea, you go to family first. Families fight with each other, and do foolish things, but they are still family. And the help isn’t for you personally.”