Andrews gave a forced smile. “My pleasure. Wouldn’t have missed it, actually.”
Reel said to Earl, “I explained to Dr. Andrews her role in getting you and me back together. And also how that led to a very nice visit with your good friend Leon Dikes and his group of merry neo-Nazi freaks.”
“Yes, it was fascinating, Mr. Fontaine,” said Dr. Andrews, who looked like she wanted to pull a gun and fire a round right into Earl’s brain.
“I ain’t got no idea what you two gals are jabbering ’bout,” said Earl. “No idea a’tall.”
“Well, let’s see if I can make it crystal-clear for you,” said Reel. “First, Dr. Andrews has some terrific news for you.”
Earl looked at Andrews. “What news?”
“While your cancer is still terminal, it’s been determined that your condition has stabilized.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“That means that you can leave the hospital ward and this prison. You’re being sent back to solitary confinement on death row.”
Earl’s face collapsed. “But they can’t execute me.”
Andrews smiled. “Unfortunately, that’s true, but you can be cared for there, although I have to say it won’t be nearly as pleasant as here. And you will have no human contact with anyone other than the prison personnel.”
“You…you can’t do that,” Earl protested.
“Well, actually we can,” said another voice.
A man in a suit walked in with four beefy guards behind him.
“What the hell is he doing here?” exclaimed Earl.
Reel looked behind her. “The warden of this fine facility and his men are here to take care of your transfer back to death row at the Holman Correctional Facility.”
There was a flash of lightning at the barred window, followed by a vicious crack of thunder.
The warden waved his men forward. “Just roll the bed and all right out. The transport vehicle is waiting.”
“You can’t do this,” sputtered Earl. “You can’t.”
“Get him out of here,” ordered the warden. “Now!”
The guards unhooked Earl’s shackles from the wall and rolled his bed, with him screaming his head off, out of the room. They heard his shouts for another minute before a heavy door clanged shut and then Earl Fontaine was heard no more.
Reel turned to the warden and Andrews. “Thank you,” she said.
“No, thank you,” said Andrews. “To think that bastard used me to…to try and accomplish all these horrific things.”
“Damn right,” said the warden. “We might not be able to execute him. But we can make whatever time he has left as unpleasant as legally possible. And we will.” He marched off.
Andrews said, “When I got your call I really couldn’t believe it. I thought I was helping a father find his daughter. I should have known that Earl Fontaine was a man who didn’t care about that.”
“He took a lot of people in, Doc,” said Reel.
“But never again,” said Robie.
“No, never again,” added Reel.
After thanking Andrews again for her help, they turned and left the prison.
“Feel better?” asked Robie when they climbed into the car after running across the parking lot as the rain continued to pour.
“Actually, Robie, I don’t feel anything. And maybe that’s for the best.”
Robie put the car in gear and they left the Alabama prison, and with it Earl Fontaine, behind forever.
Chapter 49
The North Koreans had no facility like the Burner Box. They didn’t have the budget for it. No country spent what the Americans did on defense or internal security. But Chung-Cha felt like they made up with effort and dedication what they lacked in funding.
She ran through the streets of Pyongyang until she could run no more. And then she kept going. The State Security Department had a generic gymnasium facility where she built up her strength. They had shooting ranges deep underground where she worked on her aim, reaction time, and motor skills in the use of all sorts of firearms and other weapons. There, against only men who were far larger and stronger than she was, she drilled on certain close-quarter combat techniques, some of which she had employed to subdue Lloyd Carson in Romania.
Her training wasn’t only physical. She could speak fluent English as well as three other languages.
But what she really excelled at, in addition to remaining calm under the most extreme circumstances, was martial arts. There had never been a man to beat her. Not even several of them. She attributed this to her time at the camp. To survive the camp took herculean toughness. But that was not enough. To survive the camp and keep your human spirit, your belly fire, was nearly impossible. She had accomplished the impossible. And to survive the camp one had to think ten moves ahead. She had become adept at that. The same held true for the martial arts. She not only outfought her opponents, she outthought them as well.
Her department had spent much time and money in developing her ability to attack superior numbers and come away victorious. It was a combination of original tactics, superlative fighting skills, and the ability to assess and take risks, often turning a disadvantage into an advantage. She had shown that when confronted with the administrator and the prison guards. She had turned the strengths of her opponents into weaknesses and she had never stopped moving or fighting. It was as if her mind and her body were a single unit.
She returned to her apartment tired, but satisfied that her skill level remained undiminished. She was aware that with the upcoming mission she would be pitted against the best security detail in the world. She knew that the U.S. Secret Service was widely regarded as invincible, all agents willing to die to protect whomever they were guarding. But they had lost protectees in the past, so they weren’t infallible. Still, it would probably be her greatest challenge.
She ate her rice and drank her tea and listened to country music on the iPod that the Supreme Leader had given her. She looked out the window for the man who had been there every day. He was still there. It was as though he didn’t care now if she knew he was there or not. That actually said a lot to her.
In North Korea it was said that alliances were as fragile as ice on a hot day.
She left her apartment and got into her car. It was ten years old but still serviceable. And it was hers. Until they took it away, which they could at any time. And depending on how the next mission turned out, that time might soon be coming.
She drove out of Pyongyang. She checked her rearview mirror and was not surprised to see a black sedan following her. She drove slowly, well under the speed limit. She was in no hurry. She had no intention of losing whoever was back there.
Her trip would take her roughly seventy miles northeast of the capital into a mountainous part of South Hamgyong province, bisected by the Ipsok River valley.
The official name of where she was heading was Kwan-li-so Number 15. But most people simply called it Yodok. It was a labor camp or concentration camp or penal colony; Chung-Cha did not care which term was used. It all amounted to the same thing.
People taking away the freedom of other people.
For years she had had another name for it: home.
Like other labor camps, Yodok was comprised of two parts: the total control zone from which prisoners were never released, and the revolutionary zone, where prisoners were punished, reeducated, and eventually released. The camp was about one hundred and fifty square miles in size and had about fifty thousand prisoners. Electric fences and over a thousand guards made sure that no one left of their own volition.
Chung-Cha did not believe there was corruption at Yodok. The guards there seemed to do their duty with barbaric joy. At least they had when she was there. And she was still the only prisoner from the total control zone ever voluntarily released. But that release had come with a heavy price, perhaps heavier than if she had tried to escape.