“I’m tired of those filthy things and their smell,” Hwang snorted at Suk as he sat at the table, sharpening a knife. He inspected the large blade. The missionary’s blood had long been washed off. “Let me skin them and put them out of my misery,” he sneered, testing the edge of the sharp knife.
“All in due time.” Suk stood in front of the row of cages against the wall. He petted one of the ferrets he had removed from its cage. “You served your purpose well, my little friend.” With affection, he held the creature in front of his face.
“All I know is they stink,” Hwang frowned. He stood and holstered the large hunting knife into its sheath strapped to his back.
Suk put the ferret back in its cage. The wall of caged ferrets erupted in a choir of chortling and clucking sounds, anticipating their breakfast.
“Shut those things up while you’re at it,” Hwang groused. “I’m going to find Cho.” He left the room, slamming the door.
Suk looked around the room. He was going to feel sad to leave this place. He had more freedom and autonomy here than ever in his life. In this place, he was the decision maker. The hard part had been keeping Cho and Hwang in check.
Suk trained in microbiology in London, but he liked Guatemala, especially its Gallo beer. He had rented a house in San Benito on Lake Petén Itzá four years earlier because of its proximity to the old Maya ruins in Tikal and the villages in northeastern Guatemala. It was the perfect location because it held the only other international airport in the country, aside from Guatemala City.
He had not been back to North Korea for eleven years—not long enough to forget how difficult life was there. He shuddered to think of going back.
Maybe I’ll be reassigned somewhere else.
As he walked down the row of cages, pouring food into the dispensers, the ferrets settled.
“I guess I’ll release you guys before we go,” he said to the small weasels.
They had been perfect hosts. Hosts for the virus.
He wondered about his longtime mentor, Professor Kwon, the one person he missed from North Korea. He had no idea if Kwon had received the vial of ferret blood or his note.
I hope the Professor is pleased.
Professor Kwon was a decorated national hero, developer of all of the biological warfare for the country. He had overseen the development of thirteen different biological agents that could be weaponized, including anthrax and the plague. Kim Il-sung personally awarded him the country’s highest civilian honor for his work with smallpox.
Suk poured a little extra food for one of the large male ferrets.
Regrettably, six months after Kwon received the award, his uncle was caught with a counterfeit U.S. twenty-dollar bill he had lifted from the government-sanctioned counterfeit presses where he worked. The punishment was swift and firm. The entire family was rounded up and sent to the northernmost prison—Hoeryong Political Prison Camp. Kwon’s wife and three-year-old son had been included in the incarceration.
Suk vividly remembered that day. He was working alongside Kwon when the government police came into the lab to inform him of the arrests. Kwon was told that because of his status, he was allowed to remain in his position, but his wife and son were gone.
Kwon showed no emotion at the news, but shortly after they left, he collapsed. With over 50,000 prisoners and close to a fifty-percent mortality rate due to malnutrition, he doubted the family would survive. Suk had pledged to the professor that he would do anything he could to help exact revenge.
Suk opened one of the top cages and pulled out his favorite ferret. It purred as Suk nestled it against his neck.
Kwon’s genius had brought them to Guatemala as an NGO. The non-governmental organization was registered in Seoul, quite a coup in itself. It was called The Friends of Children Organization; FOCO was its acronym. It was well funded, ironically, with profits from counterfeiting.
Because Suk was not only a world-class microbiologist, but also a student of world history and war, it did not escape his attention that the foco theory details rebellion by way of guerrilla warfare—revolution accomplished using small, nimble rebel groups that provide a focus—foco, in Spanish—for popular discontent against a sitting regime.
I wonder which came first, the acronym or the name?
Suk replaced the ferret gently in its cage and filled its food dispenser.
Their NGO status gave them easy access to the villages of Guatemala. They had one of the most advanced well-drilling rigs in the country, and the communities welcomed them with open arms.
Hwang and Cho came through the door, interrupting Suk’s thoughts. Cho was shirtless and sweating. He had been working out on the heavy bag, and he began to unwind the wraps that protected his knuckles. He was a short, stocky man with a shaved head. His face and chest were covered with terrible acne, a condition made worse by Guatemala’s humidity.
With an abundance of food and beer. Cho had gained fifty pounds in Guatemala. He saw Suk staring at his big beer belly. He slapped his abdomen with both fists. “All muscle, you geeky scientist.”
Suk watched Cho flex his biceps in the mirror hanging in the entryway. They would betray him in a heartbeat, and he was constantly on guard.
Hopefully, I won’t have to put up with these two much longer.
“We should be going,” Suk addressed them both. “We still have work to do. Do you have the spraying equipment ready?” he asked Hwang.
“Where are we headed today?”
“We will be going south, to the village of La Libertad.”
“How much longer until we leave Guatemala?” Cho asked, pulling on a shirt.
“I suspect three months, if they received the vial.”