CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Their compulsory sightseeing tour concluded, Sandor and his men were taken to the Yanggakdo International Hotel, a huge rectangular building of no architectural distinction which was set on a small island in the middle of the Taedong River.
On their arrival, Craig Raabe made a comment about the likeness between the setting of this large, monolithic structure and New York’s Rikers Island prison facility. Not only were they similar in style, but each was only accessible by a bridge. “Tourists here are like inmates in a detention center, right? Easily monitored and not able to enter or leave without permission.”
Mr. Choi was not amused. He was quick to point out that the Yanggakdo had a nightclub, assorted dining rooms, a revolving cocktail lounge on the top floor, conference rooms of various sizes, and spectacular views across Pyongyang and beyond. All of this was available to be enjoyed and explored by Sandor’s group under the watchful eyes of their ever-present guide and others who remained unseen but were obviously in attendance.
Choi shepherded them through the check-in process, explaining that they would be sharing two rooms, and that once the room assignments were given there would be no switching. Sandor glanced at Raabe. They understood that limiting them to two rooms made surveillance that much easier than four.
“Is there any way to pay for a single-room upgrade?” Raabe asked. “These jokers all snore.”
When Choi shook his head, Sandor said he would bunk in with Raabe, Bergenn with Zimmermann.
“You may rest now,” Mr. Choi advised them, “or have a look around our wonderful hotel. Almost two hours before dinner, in Dining Room Three. Six o’clock.”
“Dining Room Three?” Raabe asked. “Is that the steakhouse, or do I have it confused with Dining Room Two?”
Mr. Choi ignored him. “After dinner, you will be honored to attend the Arirang Festival.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Sandor said. Then the four of them followed Choi, their suitcases in hand, to the elevator bank.
They realized the rooms were probably wired for audio, and perhaps even video. Their discussions would therefore be limited, as would their ability to organize the explosives Raabe had secreted in his luggage.
Before entering the lift, Sandor said, “I’m not tired. After I clean up I’ll be heading for the revolving bar.”
The others nodded.
“Thirty minutes,” Sandor told them.
They were all staying on the tenth floor at the Yanggakdo, undoubtedly to further ease the surveillance of their movements. They were shown to their rooms by Choi, where they found the accommodations spacious but cold, in keeping with the character of the building. The rooms were identical, each containing two double beds, a square nightstand between them, and two rectangular dressers against the wall. There didn’t seem to be a curved line anywhere. A television was secured to the top of one of the bureaus. It offered exactly two channels, each broadcasting state-created news.
One side of the room consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor. Two others had large mirrors built into them, a perfect arrangement for covert placement of the audio and video equipment that was undoubtedly rigged behind the glass. Sandor and Raabe bid the others good-bye, then shut the door. They looked over the setup and then at each other. Neither man spoke, neither voiced the obvious need to find a way to remove the small charges of plastique and magnesium fuses from Craig’s bag without being observed.
Sandor headed for the bathroom, where he turned on the shower, all hot water, at full blast. With the door closed and the shower curtain pulled back, the mirror in there steamed up in just a couple of minutes.
He came back and said, “You want to shower first?”
Raabe nodded, grabbed his suitcase, and disappeared into what had developed into a humid cloud.
Sandor turned one of the small armchairs toward the large window and sat, treating himself to the panoramic view of North Korean countryside as it stretched out toward the horizon, wondering what the evening would bring.
Their plan was actually quite simple, but Sandor knew the execution was going to be complicated.
Inside the Rungrado May Day Stadium, where the Arirang Festival was held, they would wait for the conclusion of the first act. When the second act began, Sandor would leave his seat. Their guide would not want him wandering off on his own, so the other three would agree to accompany him, just to make it more convenient. Once they were out of view they would dispatch Mr. Choi in any manner they deemed best, then head up two levels to the private boxes. There they would need to locate the suite where their mole would be meeting with key players from Kim’s inner circle. It was Sandor’s assignment to find these men, extract whatever information he could without compromising their North Korean collaborator, then make an escape.
They had no weapons and no clear plan for extraction from the stadium, relying as they must on agents within the country to provide them help along the way. They would not be able to return to the van, since the driver, Sang, was certainly not going anywhere without Mr. Choi. This meant that timing, stealth, and luck would be imperative.
Not to mention the assistance of the young woman who had given Sandor those four pins at the Arch of Triumph.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rasa Jaber steered her late-model Mercedes along the Marand Road beltway, heading northwest from Tabriz, bypassing the town of Marand en route to the Turkish border. She realized that time was critical, but was careful of her speed, repeatedly forcing herself to slow the car. She knew that if she were stopped in Iran and her identity discovered, she would be taken into custody to face repercussions she could not even allow herself to contemplate. Ahmad had schooled her well, so she proceeded with caution, once again bringing herself back into line with the flow of traffic.
In the silence of her car, left to think about her husband and the predicament she faced, she became increasingly distraught. How had things gone so wrong? She had already suffered enough for the perils of Ahmad’s chosen life — they had lost both of their sons in the war with Iraq and had a tragic familiarity with how suddenly things could change. Over the years she was forced to admit to herself, infrequently and with the greatest reluctance, that death was a specter under which they constantly lived. But this was something else, a fate she had never imagined. This was a threat coming from her own country.
Her husband obviously knew of the coming danger. He had moved her out of harm’s way to protect her and, she told herself, had somehow managed to escape himself. But now so many days had gone by and there had not been a word or a message. He knew where she was, where she could be found. He could have sent her some sort of signal, could he not?
So where was he? What did he expect her to do? Had he abandoned her forever?
The visit to Tabriz had placed her sister’s family in jeopardy. Ahmad had been thoughtless in arranging that as her safe haven. Rasa left her sister’s home as soon as she learned of the explosion — remaining there would have been worse for all of them, and she hoped she had acted quickly enough so that her sister would not suffer. But now she was alone, on a journey into oblivion, to give herself up to the despised Americans, to seek quarter from those Ahmad had spent his life battling. She was traveling a route her husband had outlined for her long ago, in anticipation of the day when he was gone and she would be expendable in the eyes of his enemies. What lunacy, she told herself. Could her own people have become the enemy? If Ahmad was alive, as she was sure he must be, why had he left her to this fate?