Sandor nodded, then had a look around the almost empty bar. “Not exactly doing land office business, are they?”
“Maybe it’s too early for most tourists,” Jim Bergenn suggested. “They’re probably still out there oohing and aahing over the Arch of Triumph.”
“Quite an authentic history tour,” Raabe said. “Sort of like visiting Epcot Center in an alternate universe.”
Bergenn and Sandor laughed.
“We’ve got company,” Kurt Zimmermann told them as he spotted Mr. Choi making his way across the room to their window table.
“Gentlemen,” the slightly built Korean greeted them. “You are enjoying our beautiful views?”
“Oh yeah,” Craig Raabe told him. “Breathtaking.”
Sandor took a sip of his scotch — no American bourbon was in evidence — and looked up at their guide. “I thought we were going to be allowed some time on our own.”
Choi gave a theatrical look at his watch, then said, “Just wanted to remind you, dinner in forty-five minutes.”
Raabe nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks for the update. You’ll be coming by every fifteen minutes, I expect, like a town crier?”
Choi began to say something, then stopped, turned, and headed off to whatever vantage point they had assigned him to keep an eye on this foursome of travelers.
Bergenn was about to speak, but Sandor held up his hand. “How about those Toronto Blue Jays,” he said. Then he laid three pins on the table. He was already wearing his. “Put these on,” Sandor said. “You’ll feel like a local.”
Dining Room Three was as cavernous as the penthouse bar upstairs and as antiseptic in décor as their rooms. The four men suffered no surprise to discover the cuisine was consistent with the surroundings. What the food lacked in visual and culinary flair it made up for in the variety of hot sauces offered, each intended to mask the inferior quality of the ingredients. Mr. Choi joined them for dinner, which Sandor did not see as any particular hindrance, since open conversation was out of the question anyway.
Shortly after their plates were cleared and tea was served, Choi announced that it was time to go. They followed him downstairs, out through the lobby, and into the van, where the reliable Mr. Sang awaited their arrival.
Each of the four men was carrying a small bag, knowing they would never see the Yanggakdo Hotel again. As they took their seats, Choi frowned, then told them, “You will not be able to bring anything into the stadium.”
Sandor did his best to look surprised, then said, “Well, that’s okay. We’ll just leave them. We all trust Mr. Sang.”
Choi appeared to be thinking that over, then with a short nod gave permission to Mr. Sang to set off. As the van pulled away from the curb, Choi said, “You should be prepared for one of the world’s greatest spectacles.”
He was not wrong, but he had no idea the spectacle would not be provided on the field.
The arena, Rungrado May Day Stadium, is a colossal structure housing one of the largest arenas in the world, seating more than 150,000 spectators and accommodating more than 100,000 performers. The Arirang Festival is part circus and part gymnastics performance, famous for the human mosaics that are so intricate and so precisely executed they dazzle even the most jaded observer.
As they approached the stadium Mr. Sang circumvented the throngs of native attendees who were coming on foot toward the eight main entrance gates. Sandor had not discerned any special markings on their van, but somehow they were allowed to bypass these pedestrians, as well as several remote parking areas and the ubiquitous security checkpoints, eventually finding a special access area reserved for foreigners and dignitaries.
Sandor tapped Mr. Choi on the shoulder as they came to a stop. “This is rather an elitist entrance for a socialist country, don’t you think?”
Choi fixed him with a cold stare. “I understand that you and your associates enjoy your Western sarcasm. It would be best, however, to refrain from such comments while you enjoy the festival.”
Sandor returned the hard look. “Best for whom, Mr. Choi?”
The Korean gave no answer. He stood and faced the four of them. “You will leave your bags on your seats and follow me. I have your tickets. It is most important that you remain close to me at all times for the rest of the evening, gentlemen. Do you understand?”
Craig Raabe said, “It’s good to feel loved, Mr. Choi.” When their guide did not react, Raabe said, “I don’t suppose this show opens with a stand-up comedian from Pyongyang?”
At least that earned him a frown. Then, without giving any instructions to Mr. Sang, Choi led them off the bus and into the crowd.
The DPRK often hosts large excursions of honored guests at the Arirang Festival, particularly from the People’s Republic of China. Those contingents are typically accompanied by several thousand Chinese security personnel, making the arena virtually impenetrable. Byrnes and his team checked timing with the KCIA to be sure that Sandor’s team would not be encumbered by that additional problem.
The four men followed Mr. Choi, wading into the crowd around the perimeter of the stadium. The walls were buttressed by massive support arches that covered the entrances. Inside there were several stands featuring posters, soft drinks, tiny mementos, T-shirts, and the ubiquitous Korean pins. “So this is where we can stock up on souvenirs,” Sandor said, but Choi hustled them past, clearly not wanting any of his charges to become lost in the crush of people on either side of the exclusive, narrow entryway. “Come,” he said, and hurried them inside.
They obediently remained in lockstep, following Choi through the gateway and along a series of concrete ramps to an upper level. There they were handed programs and led to the front row of a mezzanine section. Sandor noticed the military presence everywhere — on the field, in the stands, and, to his dismay, on guard within the interior corridors behind them. He and Bergenn exchanged concerned looks, but said nothing. The only good news was the continuing mystery about the health of the Great Leader. As Sandor and his team knew, Kim Jong-Il had not been seen in public for months and was certainly not going to be at tonight’s performance. That meant the security, although in evidence, was at a much lower level than it would have been if Kim were on-site.
They found their seats, Jordan taking the aisle and Choi placing himself in the middle of them.
The field below, which was the size of several football fields, was already populated by more than seventy thousand people, all of whom were working with a series of colorful cards, readying themselves for the upcoming display of coordinated colors that would depict everything from vivid sunsets to martial arts to pictures of Kim Jong-Il. In between, acrobats of all ages would perform.
Choi chattered away about the spectacular colors and precision movements and how it all served to exemplify the Juche ideal.
Sandor tried not to yawn.
Following a preliminary array of automatonic card flipping that was a sort of visual overture, Act 1 began. The programs they had been provided contained several languages, thankfully including English. A quick review informed them that they were about to sit through a pictorial history of the North Korean motherland in all her resplendent glory. Amazing, Sandor thought, that they can mount a production like this while their people are starving to death in the countryside nearby. He waited impatiently as the show slowly made its way through displays of carefully chosen historical events, a few of them real, but most of them imagined. The finale was an enormous replica of the North Korean flag presented by two hundred thousand perfectly aligned hands wielding small cards. As this first act concluded, the performers began rearranging themselves for the next series of choreographed moves. After a long break, when they were almost ready to begin Act 2, Sandor stood up.