| |
“You say your partner was captured?” The man’s eyes darted back and forth.
Simon nodded but kept his gaze to the floor. “Two weeks ago now. I came to warn you.”
“Warn me?”
He lowered his voice. “You were one of the names on her list.”
“I was on a list?”
“I have it here.” Simon patted his pocket. “You were going to be her last delivery. I only thought it fair to tell you.” He unzipped his backpack.
“What are you doing?”
“They didn’t find our Bibles. I still have some for you.”
The man took a step back. “You couldn’t pay me to touch those.”
Simon reached into the bag. “I could just leave you a few ...”
He shoved the backpack against Simon’s chest. “Take your books and your list and get as far away from me as possible.”
Simon hung his head. “If that’s what you want.”
“And don’t ever dare contact me again.”
Simon left the dilapidated cabin, trying to fight his feelings of dejection that weighed heavier than his half-full pack. Would he have accepted such dangerous materials under the same circumstances? All of the Christians he met with in the past two weeks were concerned, to say the very least, when he told them about Hannah’s arrest. A few others refused the Bibles, though none with that same degree of vehemence.
He had hurried to meet her contacts as fast as he could, sometimes venturing forth in broad daylight to save time. The National Security agents would do everything to coerce Hannah to remember every detail of her mission, and he wanted to be several steps ahead of the guards when they went out to investigate. If Hannah was alive, she would talk. That was just the way the agency worked. As long as she was in custody, he was in constant danger. The fact he was alive and free was unsettling. Was Hannah still alive? Then why hadn’t they caught him yet? Was there anybody left for them to interrogate? He wasn’t even sure how to pray for her. Should he trust in God for her miraculous release? And if she was already dead, would his prayers make any difference whatsoever?
Shouldering the backpack, he headed out from the village. There was nothing left for him here. He couldn’t blame the man for refusing the Bibles, but did he have to be so rude? He thought about Mr. Stern’s old saying: “Never judge someone who fails a test you yourself have yet to pass.” Simon was keenly aware of his own shortcomings. He had neglected his entire mission so far and had focused only on Hannah’s. He knew the Sterns would be disappointed.
He had contacted everyone on the list. Hannah’s mission was complete. Now it was time for him to focus on his own assignment. He thought of the kilometers ahead of him, the sleepless nights traveling, the chilly days hiding. His limbs were heavy as he trudged on. Why hadn’t the National Security Agency found him yet? Surely Hannah had told them everything by now. If she were still alive, at least.
An owl flapped overhead. Simon thought about his words with Mr. Stern just a few weeks ago. It was the closest Simon ever came to contradicting his mentor. “I still think it might be a better idea to send us out in pairs, even in spite of the risks.”
Mr. Stern rubbed the hairless spot on the back of his head. “I know you want to stay with her, but I still say it’s too dangerous.”
Simon had blushed when Mr. Stern read his thoughts so clearly. “She’s so young,” he protested.
“And you’re obviously in love and not fit to make rational decisions.” The comment was meant in good humor, Simon was sure, but it pricked at him. Did Mr. Stern know what it was like to love somebody who was more likely to die from a firing squad than from sickness or old age? Did he know what it was like to be forbidden from staying with her as she marched off to her doom?
He stared at his benefactor. “Maybe I’ll just marry her. Then you’ll have to send us out together.”
Mr. Stern reached out his hand. It pressed down heavily on Simon’s shoulder. “If you were married, just think how easy it would be for the National Security Agency to get you to talk if you were captured. All they’d have to do is put a knife to your wife’s throat ...”
“All right. I get it.” Simon held up his hand. “You made your point clear enough.”
Mr. Stern’s sigh was strong enough to flutter the pages of the Bible on his lap. “I know you love her. But if you’re both committed to going back to North Korea, well ... Trust me here, son. It could never work.”
Weeks later, the pronouncement sat heavy on Simon’s chest. Never work. Even though he loved her. And she loved him, he knew. Never work. It didn’t seem right that this American missionary, this man of God, the one who had baptized them both, would have such little faith. Or did he just have more logic and reason? After all, Simon had tried to be with her. He hadn’t kept her safe and only succeeded in proving Mr. Stern right.
He heard a noise and instinctively reached for the backpack. He chided himself for daydreaming. Why wasn’t he paying better attention? He paused for only a second before he saw the flash of movement in the distance. He darted forward even before his mind fully registered the danger. His boots trampled on branches and dried leaves, and it must have been an act of God that he avoided tripping on any roots. He just had time to brace himself before someone plowed into him from behind. They both fell to the ground. Simon swung toward the man’s nose. The attacker elbowed Simon’s sternum, stealing his breath. The struggle was over in a matter of seconds. The olive-green cap was askew as his assailant stared down at him and raised the butt of his revolver. Simon knew he was doomed. Before he was knocked out, his one thought was that at least he had finished Hannah’s mission for her. Maybe his life wasn’t a total failure after all.
***
Hannah couldn’t remember how much time had passed since her arrest. A month? More? Every few days, the guard would drag her to the interrogation room and barrage her with questions about her mission and her partners. She had to assume Simon was still free or the men wouldn’t be asking. Besides, the alternatives were too horrific. “There are no good-byes in the kingdom of heaven,” she had whispered to him before they both left Yanji. She wanted to laugh at herself. How little she had known back then.
She still hadn’t told the agents about Simon or the other Christians she was supposed to contact. One leg was rendered completely useless. The worst part wasn’t the pain, but the complete isolation. They kept her locked in darkness for days with no reprieve or human contact whatsoever. She spent all her mental and spiritual stamina wrestling with the temptation to tell her captors everything just so she could see light again.
Twice a day or so, someone passed a bowl of tasteless gruel into her cage, but there were no toilets or sinks, no bed to lie down on or chairs to sit in. The ceiling was too low for Hannah to stand up, and her back ached for the chance to stretch. At some point during her incarceration, she started shivering. She hugged herself and rubbed her arms until she chaffed the skin. Nothing warded off the chills. Within a few more days, her throat was so swollen she couldn’t swallow a single bite. Was this how she was going to die? Alone and forgotten in a windowless cell?
She slept fitfully, waking up to phantom sounds of iron doors and metal chains. Strange voices whispered in her dreams, calling her name, reaching out to her in the darkness.
“Hannah?”
The sound came from only a few feet away, right in the cell. Was she delirious, then? Was the fever that bad?
“Hannah?”
She froze. She knew that voice. It couldn’t be. “Brother Simon?” she croaked. “Is that you?”