APARTMENTS
PYONGYANG
Talmadge awoke with a start, his body drenched with perspiration. His shirt was damp. He sat up and looked at his clock. It was 3:44 A.M.
It was the second night in a row he’d awakened inexplicably. He lifted the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it on the floor. He stood up and stretched. He walked into the small bathroom and flipped on the lights. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, debating whether or not to take a sleeping pill or just get up, make tea, read a little, then go to the office early.
He knew why he was startling himself awake at such an ungodly hour. But he tried to put the thoughts out of his mind. He did his job. He planted the antidote. No one had seen him. Who was it for? he wondered. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to know. He did it, it was over, and that was the end of it.
Talmadge turned on the cold water and leaned down, splashing his face several times. He grabbed a towel from the shelf next to the mirror and put it to his wet face, drying it. The cool water made him feel better. He felt awake. He would get up and get an early start to the day. He finished drying his face and glimpsed himself in the mirror. He needed a haircut. Maybe he’d go to Mr. Gheng’s down the street from the office for a trim before work? As he finished drying his face, he kept staring into the mirror, feeling an odd sensation. Something was wrong. What was it? He put the towel down just as his eyes saw something in the mirror, just a small wisp of movement.
No, not movement. He’d seen another set of eyes, just behind his.
Someone was standing behind him.
Talmadge turned in shock, gasping. There—lurking just behind him—was a man.
It was General Yong-sik.
My God.
“Hello, Mr. Talmadge,” said Yong-sik.
“What are you—”
At the same moment two things occurred. Talmadge started talking to attempt a distraction as he slashed his right arm forward at Yong-sik, hoping to catch him by surprise. At the same time, Yong-sik raised his left forearm and easily deflected Talmadge’s punch as, with his right hand, he smashed Talmadge in the throat and, a half second later, delivered a brutal clenched fist into his nose, breaking bones, crushing Talmadge’s nose, blood spilling like a dam bursting from both nostrils as he groaned and reached for the sink, trying to recover, but Yong-sik didn’t give him time. Yong-sik charged one step then leapt, raising his right foot almost to eye level, then kicking. The sole of his boot struck Talmadge in the mouth, snapping his head back and breaking his jaw. A handful of teeth dropped like Chiclets to the floor. Talmadge was sent sharply back, ricocheting off the sink, tumbling to the bathroom floor. Blood already covered much of the floor. Talmadge landed on his side, trying to move, his hands scratching at the crimson-covered tile as he attempted to crawl toward the shower.
On his way to Talmadge’s apartment, Yong-sik had debated to himself whether or not to bring Talmadge to one of the prisons and try to elicit information out of him before killing him. But he decided against it. Yong-sik knew Talmadge worked for either the CIA or MI6. Which one? It didn’t matter. He also knew that torture would probably get information out of Talmadge, but he doubted there would be anything of use. Whoever Talmadge really was, whoever he was working for—he was deep cover. It meant he would have little information of value. Deep cover—especially in a hostile zone—was an island. Its lonely agents were told little if anything, and that was by design. If they got caught, as Talmadge had, it was precisely their lack of knowledge that kept secrets safe.
It was how North Korea worked. It was how all intelligence agencies worked. North Korea had agents scattered throughout the West—across Europe, in Central and South America, Mexico, Canada, and the U.S. They were there to provide intelligence and follow orders, even if an agent didn’t know why.
Talmadge reached the shower and reached his hand up to grab hold of the side of the tub. Yong-sik watched him from the door as Talmadge tried to lift himself up, but couldn’t. In addition to bleeding profusely from his shattered nose, his mouth seeped blood down his chin. He made a low gurgling noise as he fought to stay alive, to fight back. The kick had broken one of Talmadge’s vertebrae, Yong-sik knew, perhaps both.
Finally, Talmadge let his hand go, slumping to the floor on his back as blood trickled from his nose and mouth. He looked up at Yong-sik, as if expecting Yong-sik to ask him something. Where are you from? Who do you work for? But Yong-sik stood watching in silence. He wouldn’t give Talmadge the satisfaction of thinking he even cared.
Talmadge coughed, trying to say something, like a drowning man. Yong-sik moved closer as Talmadge’s eyes shut for several moments. When he opened them one last time, he looked calmly into Yong-sik’s eyes.
“I worked alone,” whispered Talmadge through clotted throat. “I chose to come here. I stayed after they said I could go home. I’ll always be grateful for the kindness of the North Korean people.”
Yong-sik watched as Talmadge fought the blood now filling his lungs. When his eyes shut, Yong-sik turned and went back into the apartment.
He opened the door to the apartment. Outside stood two men, both dressed in suits.
“Ransack the apartment,” said Yong-sik, rubbing his hand, still sore from hitting Talmadge. “I want a complete inventory. Put his colleagues under surveillance, but quietly.”
“Yes, General Yong-sik,” said one of the agents.
Yong-sik walked down the hallway toward the elevator. He pressed the button and turned.
“One more thing: return the body to its owners.”