KPA HEADQUARTERS
PYONGYANG
Yong-sik paced behind five men, each of whom was staring at a computer screen, watching the same thing: video from the portrait gallery. The job was simple. Capture and print a screenshot of every individual who sat on the bench where the antidote had been planted.
Yong-sik didn’t tell them who they were looking for. He suspected it would be a Westerner, but there was also the possibility the Americans had an actual North Korean on their payroll.
Since returning from Macau, Yong-sik hadn’t gone home. He wouldn’t go home until he found his quarry.
The men fast-forwarded through their respective sections of tape. Certain sections of tape were crowded with visitors. Every time someone sat down, the photo was printed and given to Yong-sik, who studied each one carefully. But no one looked suspicious. Virtually every man or woman who sat down on the bench was elderly.
After several hours, one of the men stood up.
“General Yong-sik, sir,” he said.
“What is it?”
“A Westerner.”
Yong-sik walked behind the man. On the screen was a man with neatly combed blond hair. Yong-sik made him rewind the tape, then watched as the man sat down and slipped his hand beneath the bench.
“Can you get closer?” asked Yong-sik.
“Yes, sir.”
The camera zoomed in on the Westerner’s face. Yong-sik recognized him. There were a total of sixty-one Westerners allotted work visas and allowed to live and work in Pyongyang. He was familiar with them all, if not by name at least by photo. Yong-sik was one of the people who approved the visas and then reviewed them every month. But he knew this one by name. Yong-sik had sat for an interview with him a few years before. The man was a reporter for the Associated Press.
Talmadge.