Read Online The Expediter by David Hagberg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Hagberg
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sleep for a few days, so he wanted to get as much as possible in the air.
Mr. Lin was glaring at him.
“Both of us are on important missions, Mr. Deputy Ambassador,” Pak said. “Either telephone Dear Leader, or give the order for us to take off now.” He turned to the attendant. “In the morning I’ll want breakfast, and I’ll require that the crew patch BBC London back to me on my headset.”
The girl opened her mouth to say something, but Pak sat down, buckled himself in, reclined his seat, and closed his eyes. By the time the engines were started and began to spool up, he was asleep dreaming of the faces aboard the tourist flight to Beijing. One of the women had been the second assassin. For some reason the thought astounded him.
FOURTEEN
The interminable flight east over the vast Pacific Ocean was made bearable for Pak because he slept most of the way. In the late morning when he awoke, he took a sponge bath in the head, then ordered an American breakfast of bacon and eggs, which, according to the attendant, was quite impossible. He settled for a Tsing Tao Chinese beer and a cigarette, and sat by himself staring out the window at the continuous deck of clouds far below, wondering how it would be to return to California.
His four years at U.C. Berkeley seemed like a dream to him now. He’d enrolled undercover as a South Korean adult student so he’d been allowed to live in an apartment off campus. Blend in, he’d been told by his handler back in Pyongyang. “But take care that you do not assimilate. The culture is seductive.”
But he had assimilated, at least to a degree. It would have been impossible to operate undercover as a student otherwise. He’d developed a taste for Coca-Cola, but not for American beer and definitely not for McDonald’s hamburgers, though he liked the fries. Television had been too frantic for his tastes, traffic on the highways too intense, and most of the music too loud, too discordant.
But there’d been a girl, a graduate student in international studies, who’d come to live with him his last year. She’d be forty now, in a good career, possibly at the U.N., married with children. She’d said that she was in love with him, but that nothing could stand in the way of her career. Maybe later, she had told him.
He’d never married, never had the time or found any of the North Korean girls very interesting, and he thought about his U.C. Berkeley lover from time to time, wondering how it would have been had he defected, gone to work for the U.S. government, maybe even the CIA, and looked her up.
Deputy U.N. Ambassador Mr. Lin slipped into the seat beside him. “I just looked at the passenger manifest. You’re not on it.”
Pak turned from the window. “No.”
“How will I explain your presence when we land in New York?”
“It won’t be necessary, because I’m getting off in San Francisco,” Pak said. “So far as you and the crew are concerned I was never aboard.”
“You can’t just walk off an airplane. There will be customs and immigration officers, security police, officials watching our every move.”
“That’s not your concern, Mr. Ambassador. I simply ask that no matter what happens you have no reaction.”
“Impossible,” Lin fumed.
The attendant came back. “Captain Lee informs me that if you wish to listen to a commercial radio broadcast you will have to join him on the flight deck. We do not have the provisions to feed it here to the main cabin.”
Pak unbuckled his seat belt. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”
Lin got up and stepped back in the aisle. “I don’t think you’re going to like what you’ll hear.”
“I don’t think so either,” Pak said, and he went forward to the open flight deck door.
The flight engineer was in the galley drinking a glass of tea, and the pilot invited Pak to have a seat at the officer’s position.
“We can pick up BBC London on shortwave, Colonel,” the pilot said. “But if
Mr. Lin was glaring at him.
“Both of us are on important missions, Mr. Deputy Ambassador,” Pak said. “Either telephone Dear Leader, or give the order for us to take off now.” He turned to the attendant. “In the morning I’ll want breakfast, and I’ll require that the crew patch BBC London back to me on my headset.”
The girl opened her mouth to say something, but Pak sat down, buckled himself in, reclined his seat, and closed his eyes. By the time the engines were started and began to spool up, he was asleep dreaming of the faces aboard the tourist flight to Beijing. One of the women had been the second assassin. For some reason the thought astounded him.
FOURTEEN
The interminable flight east over the vast Pacific Ocean was made bearable for Pak because he slept most of the way. In the late morning when he awoke, he took a sponge bath in the head, then ordered an American breakfast of bacon and eggs, which, according to the attendant, was quite impossible. He settled for a Tsing Tao Chinese beer and a cigarette, and sat by himself staring out the window at the continuous deck of clouds far below, wondering how it would be to return to California.
His four years at U.C. Berkeley seemed like a dream to him now. He’d enrolled undercover as a South Korean adult student so he’d been allowed to live in an apartment off campus. Blend in, he’d been told by his handler back in Pyongyang. “But take care that you do not assimilate. The culture is seductive.”
But he had assimilated, at least to a degree. It would have been impossible to operate undercover as a student otherwise. He’d developed a taste for Coca-Cola, but not for American beer and definitely not for McDonald’s hamburgers, though he liked the fries. Television had been too frantic for his tastes, traffic on the highways too intense, and most of the music too loud, too discordant.
But there’d been a girl, a graduate student in international studies, who’d come to live with him his last year. She’d be forty now, in a good career, possibly at the U.N., married with children. She’d said that she was in love with him, but that nothing could stand in the way of her career. Maybe later, she had told him.
He’d never married, never had the time or found any of the North Korean girls very interesting, and he thought about his U.C. Berkeley lover from time to time, wondering how it would have been had he defected, gone to work for the U.S. government, maybe even the CIA, and looked her up.
Deputy U.N. Ambassador Mr. Lin slipped into the seat beside him. “I just looked at the passenger manifest. You’re not on it.”
Pak turned from the window. “No.”
“How will I explain your presence when we land in New York?”
“It won’t be necessary, because I’m getting off in San Francisco,” Pak said. “So far as you and the crew are concerned I was never aboard.”
“You can’t just walk off an airplane. There will be customs and immigration officers, security police, officials watching our every move.”
“That’s not your concern, Mr. Ambassador. I simply ask that no matter what happens you have no reaction.”
“Impossible,” Lin fumed.
The attendant came back. “Captain Lee informs me that if you wish to listen to a commercial radio broadcast you will have to join him on the flight deck. We do not have the provisions to feed it here to the main cabin.”
Pak unbuckled his seat belt. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”
Lin got up and stepped back in the aisle. “I don’t think you’re going to like what you’ll hear.”
“I don’t think so either,” Pak said, and he went forward to the open flight deck door.
The flight engineer was in the galley drinking a glass of tea, and the pilot invited Pak to have a seat at the officer’s position.
“We can pick up BBC London on shortwave, Colonel,” the pilot said. “But if
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