HWANGJU, NORTH KOREA
SOUTH OF PYONGYANG
Dewey crouched at the fence and looked in both directions, searching. He saw something far in the distance to his right, perhaps a mile or so, a tiny object alongside the roadway. He stepped back into the trees and started moving parallel to the chain-link fence, hidden from view. He ran at a medium-paced jog, trying to will himself to go faster, but he couldn’t. Still, he kept going until he was close. Through the trees, he saw a small gas station on the side of the road. It looked like it was built in the 1950s, a simple concrete building and a lone gas pump. He watched as a young North Korean man walked to a car and began pumping gas into a small white sedan.
Dewey started climbing the fence when he overheard the distant hum of a helicopter. He quickly climbed back down and sprinted to the line of trees a few dozen feet behind the fence, lunging for cover behind the trunk of a tall pine tree. He looked up and saw the black apparition as it approached from the east, moving low over the roadway. The helicopter grew louder. Several cars moved to the side of the road as it coursed just a few dozen feet above the lanes of traffic. The chopper slowed as it came to the gas station. It hovered overhead for several moments, circling and searching. Then it bent left and swooped back above the road, continuing on its mission.
Dewey waited until the chopper was out of sight. He moved until he was behind the station, out of view from anyone who might be inside. He climbed the fence and jumped down to the other side. He reached for one of his guns but then looked in both directions, watching as vehicles sped by. He didn’t pull the gun out. Instead, he walked with his head aimed down, slouching, trying to not look as tall as he was, or as big as he was, above all hiding his face. He crossed a hundred yards of dirt and gravel, making it to the back of the gas station. When he got there, he didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his gun from beneath his left armpit and stepped to the side of the small building. He went around the corner and walked along the front of the gas station, then ducked quickly into a grubby garage, swinging his gun in the air, scanning for people, but there was no one. He pivoted, looking at the gas station attendant. He was still at the gas pump, his back to Dewey.
Dewey looked around. He saw a cardboard plate with a small, half-eaten sandwich on it. He broke off a piece of it and stuffed it into his mouth. He glanced back outside through the front window. The attendant was hanging the nozzle back on the pump. The man went to the driver’s window, took some money, and turned. He walked back toward Dewey.
Dewey stood just inside the door, blocked from view by a wall. He raised the gun. As the attendant entered, he didn’t notice Dewey. Dewey wrapped his arm around the man’s neck, then lifted him up, squeezing tight. It would have been easy to simply snap the man’s neck, but Dewey didn’t. He held him up in the air for a dozen seconds, restricting his air flow. When he felt him go limp, he let him drop to the ground, then moved through the door. He walked to the small, light yellow sedan waiting at the pump. The driver was an older man, frail-looking and thin. Dewey raised his gun as he came to the window, pressing it against the man’s neck. He reached inside the car and opened the door, keeping the end of the suppressor pressed tight into the old man’s neck. He grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up from the seat. Dewey led him into the garage—suppressor jabbing into the man’s back—then wrapped his arm around his neck and tightened, holding the man as he tried to kick and punch at Dewey. After several seconds, the man weakened and fell unconscious. Dewey was gentler with the old man. He set him softly on the ground next to the gas station attendant.
He bound both men’s hands and feet and gagged them. He walked back to the car, climbed in, adjusted the seat, and started driving.
The car was old, small, and slow, with a standard transmission. Driving it reminded Dewey of his father’s tractor, though the car was slightly faster.
Dewey punched on the SAT phone and brought up the map Jenna had uploaded, with Talmadge’s apartment preset as the destination. He was just a few miles away. He fell into the slower lane of traffic and slouched down, assiduously avoiding eye contact with other drivers. The road took him into downtown Pyongyang, to the Taedong River, which he followed along the southern bank. The road was crowded and he slouched down even further in the seat, trying to hide his face as best as he could. When he saw the third island in the middle of the river, he took a left and drove across a bridge. He saw the arch in the distance.
Dewey went left a block away from the building. He drove for two blocks and saw a two-story parking garage. As he pulled in, he began to feel his eyes become foggy again, then saw patches of black as the poison returned. He sped to the back of the half-filled garage and parked in the corner just as he went into total darkness. He shut off the engine and lay down across the front seat of the car, gun in hand, praying for his sight to come back before it was too late.
Half an hour later, Dewey felt strong enough to move. He climbed from the stolen vehicle and skulked along a series of alleys until he arrived at the back of Talmadge’s building. He spied around the corner, waiting until he didn’t see any pedestrians. The sun had set and dark shadows intermingled with headlights on the busy city street where Talmadge’s building was located. Dewey was within one block when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Parked across the street from Talmadge’s building was a white sedan. Four passengers were seated inside. One of the men was looking up into Talmadge’s apartment building with binoculars.