Chapter 10: Capture Alive, Not Shoot Dead

TL: LittlePeach

The punks who'd surrounded my curled-up body and stomped away with gusto for a good while soon stopped kicking, wiping the sweat from their faces.

They'd remembered they still had plenty of territory left on their collection rounds.

"Hah. Haah. Now you know, hah, just how terrifying we are, right?"

"By tomorrow, haah. Five thousand yuan in protection money. You'd better have it ready, starting now. Got it?"

"Argh! Making us burn all this energy for nothing, fuck!"

With no strength left to smash the shop's fixtures, they staggered out of the restaurant, gasping for breath.

Their swaggering backs as they strutted off looked downright fulfilled.

"...."

"...."

Only once I felt their voices had faded far enough did I spring up.

"Whew!"

I planted a hand on the floor, stood up like nothing had happened, and lightly brushed the dust off my clothes.

Pat pat.

The couple stared at me, dumbfounded, and of the two, Chae A-ra was the first to come to her senses.

"Y-Young Master. Are you all right? I shall fetch some ointment at once!"

"I'm fine, hyeongsu-nim. Not a scratch on me."

"No, even so...."

Paying my words no mind, Chae A-ra hurried off into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Kite No. 3, slumped some distance away, cautiously studied my face.

I answered his gaze with a grin.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I let them hit me on purpose."

"...I know. But it looked awfully real. It hurt just watching."

"All three of them hit like wet noodles. Didn't hurt at all."

"Seriously? You were getting pummeled so deliciously.... There's no way that didn't hurt...."

"If even you were fooled, sunbae, my acting talent must be natural-born. I should've debuted as a stuntman ages ago."

I deflected glibly.

The only reason Kite No. 3 had stayed put and simply watched was that every time our eyes met while I lay curled up taking the beating, I'd signaled him not to step in, no matter what.

One wrong punch here, one grudge earned from the local punks, and our cover lives going forward would become exhausting beyond words.

Far better to just take a thorough beating like this than to half-step in and make enemies of the gangsters running this turf.

Thanks to that, both Kite No. 3 and I had played our roles as ordinary neighborhood residents to perfection.

'If someone had to take the beating, it was only right that it be me.'

And setting all those complicated calculations aside, Kite No. 3 was, first and foremost, a patient in need of rest.

Besides, to this body of mine, the kind that deflects bullets, their kicks didn't even tickle.

"Do wipe your face with this first."

"Thank you, hyeongsu-nim."

Grateful, it seemed, that I'd taken the mob beating in her husband's place, Chae A-ra brought me a towel soaked in warm water.

I took it and scrubbed the dust off my face.

"Ooh, that's warm. So why did those bastards with zero business ethics suddenly come collecting today?"

"Who knows.... They must be strapped for cash over something. Give it a few days and the Red Earth Gang, the ones who originally ran this turf, will respond one way or another."

"Then should we watch a few more days and stall on the protection money a little longer?"

"Weren't they vowing to storm back first thing tomorrow?"

"I'll take the beating for you again. That's how it works, isn't it? Trade enough punches and you end up growing fond of each other in spite of yourselves."

"You really are something.... What if you actually get hurt?"

"If my body could get hurt by those wet-noodle kicks, I'd have to retire as a black agent that very day. Anyway, what is Chinese Public Security even doing with their lives? Why aren't punk bastards like that behind bars?"

When I nudged the subject aside, sunbae clicked his tongue and shrugged.

"Most Chinese gangsters are wired straight into the top brass at Public Security, so there's nothing to be done. Feed them the right bribe and they won't arrest you even if you shoot a man dead in the street in broad daylight. That's how Public Security makes its money."

"Ah, the mainland...."

What a truly terrifying place.

Its sheer grandeur nearly made me piss myself.

Shudder.

*****

The day's business was over, and I'd even finished a quick shower.

Just as I sat down in a corner of the restaurant to finally catch my breath, I opened the laptop first.

With Kite No. 3 no longer able to type properly, checking for messages from headquarters had become entirely my job.

Ding.

"Oh."

The moment I sat down at the table with a nice cold beer, one message had arrived with perfect timing.

[All agents in Dandong, report current situation and status]

About to crack the can open, I stopped and set it on the table with a sour look.

For field agents like us, messages like this, with the actual business vaguely bundled up inside, were downright exhausting.

'What tedious chore are they about to dump on us now.'

It had been only days since we'd pulled off the Sinuiju operation, smuggling out Minister Hyon Yong-chol, and they were obviously scheming to toss us yet another order already.

Why can't those upstairs types stand to watch a subordinate catch his breath for even a single day?

Wearily, I clattered away at the keyboard.

[Report]

[Sparrow No. 7, no physical abnormalities. Able to continue operations]

[Kite No. 3, minimum 30 days required for recovery. Unfit-for-duty assessment remains valid]

[Note, Dandong Public Security is collecting information on patients with gunshot wounds. Presumed target is Kite No. 3, who sustained a gunshot wound during the firefight in Sinuiju]

I summarized our situation as dryly and factually as I knew how, and hit send.

Just in case, I kept my eyes fixed on the laptop screen.

Ding.

"I knew it."

Not even five minutes later, a cheerful notification chimed.

[Urgent]

[Sparrow No. 7 will make contact with Crane No. 13]

Looking at the message on the screen, the first thing I did was click my tongue.

Firing off a bare notice like this, without a word of context, meant they'd dumped every ounce of authority and responsibility for the operation onto the field agent in question.

"...Beer goes back in the fridge. Ugh."

In truth, the Sinuiju operation, meticulously planned from the top down, had been the unusual one; work in the overseas division generally ran at this kind of breakneck pace.

A field agent with sufficient authority drafts an operation on his own initiative and sends it up, and headquarters, which doesn't really understand conditions on the ground, sits back with folded arms and simply stamps its approval.

If things go well, the credit goes to headquarters; if the results turn to mush, it gets pinned on the field agent as his failure, and the tail is cut off nice and clean.

That's how the NIS always does business.

Shallow and irresponsible to the last degree, but big jobs always arrive unannounced, so what could anyone do.

"Crane No. 13...."

Crane No. 13.

The agent who, during the transport of Hyon Yong-chol's family a few days back, had put me in his car and cruised all over Dandong like a tour guide, shaking off our pursuers.

Reminded of him, I dug through my pocket and pulled out a crumpled business card.

[Wang Chil Taxi]

[Anywhere in Dandong within 10 minutes]

The tacky slogan on the card made me snort.

Having only seen him drive at that leisurely pace, I'd never guessed that he was apparently a black agent seasoned enough to submit operation drafts directly to headquarters.

'Come to think of it, no wonder his dark circles hung all the way down to his chin.'

Crane or Kite, the codes assigned to black agents weren't the sort of thing you could ever explain in one clean line.

They changed whenever the need arose, and it was common for one person to carry two or three codes at once.

So you couldn't be certain of someone's identity or years in the trade from a code alone, but if there was one exception, it was the Sparrow code I carried.

Waah.

"Chunsam hyeong-nim, you still awake?"

I raised my voice from the first floor, calling up to Kite No. 3 on the second.

The commercial buildings here were packed wall to wall with terrible soundproofing, so we made a point of speaking Chinese even in daily life.

"Yeah. What is it?"

"I'm stepping out for a bit."

"Something going on?"

"A friend of mine happens to be passing by, says let's grab a drink."

That much should be enough for him to catch on.

Kite No. 3 was silent a moment, then responded quickly.

"Don't drink too much. We've got a business to run tomorrow."

"Got it."

Why Crane No. 13 had called for me was something I'd only learn by going.

But hey, if they say do it, you do it. Such is the fate of us subcontractors, isn't it?

I was used to working overtime anyway.

*****

This is a bit of a tangent, but agents assigned the Kite code held one very special privilege.

I say privilege, but in truth it's a duty not to report one's location to headquarters in real time.

NIS headquarters receives regular weekly or monthly reports on agents' locations and status, but a Kite-code agent makes no mention whatsoever of his position or radius of activity.

Because their role is to weave themselves in among the locals and genuinely pass as one of them.

Which meant that if I contacted Crane No. 13 from my current location, I would effectively be handing over the location of Kite No. 3's hideout, however indirectly.

- Yes, this is Wang Chil Taxi. Where shall I pick you up?

"Sparrow No. 7. Come to the front of the Arirang Restaurant in Donggang."

- ...In front of the North Korean restaurant? You've got some nerve. Understood, sir.

So I made a point of leaving downtown Dandong altogether.

Only after taking a taxi to the neighboring city of Donggang and wiping my trail completely clean could I finally call for Crane No. 13's cab.

"Judging by that glow on your face, you've been resting well, I take it?"

Crane No. 13, seated at the wheel, glanced at me in the rearview mirror and tossed the remark my way.

The moment I climbed into the back seat, the smell of the cheap air freshener he'd put there to mask the cigarette smoke hit me in a wave.

"I rested plenty, but you clearly didn't, Wang Chil hyeong-nim. It's fine if I call you hyeong-nim, right?"

"Call me whatever you like."

Unlike me with my jokes, Crane No. 13 wore the hollow look of a man who'd pulled several all-nighters straight.

A scruffy beard, eyes pickled in fatigue.

The perfect picture of a Chinese taxi driver.

With cover this airtight, it wouldn't have been the least bit strange if he carried a Kite code of his own.

"Before I brief you on this operation, one question. You said Kite No. 3 is down with a gunshot wound right now?"

"Yes. That's right. His body's got a few extra holes in it."

"And do you know who's crossed over into Dandong to find that Kite No. 3?"

"Beats me. Did the State Security Department Minister himself grace us with a visit?"

"...I knew you had guts, but you aim high too, huh? Not quite that far up the ladder."

At my reply, Crane No. 13 gave an awkward laugh.

"The State Security Investigation Bureau director is in Dandong right now."

"Oh."

State Security Department Investigation Bureau director So Se-hyok.

A man I knew well myself.

His name had come up on the watch lists countless times, ever since my days serving in the Defense Intelligence Command.

Headquarters rated him as the real power second only to the State Security Department Minister, in other words, the number two of North Korea's State Security Department.

A man armed with the overwhelming authority to arrest anyone on the spot without legal procedure or warrant and throw them into a political prison camp, and even to draw his pistol right then and there and carry out a summary execution.

"More than ten of our agents have been tortured and torn to death at that man's hands. And the innocent North Korean civilians he's killed while claiming to hunt down our agents' trails number around a hundred. It's been nearly three years since that son of a bitch last crawled outside North Korea."

North Korea's Gestapo, with power enough to knock a bird out of the sky mid-flight, the State Security Department.

Inside that sealed-off country, under the banner of preserving the regime, the human rights atrocities this State Security Department commits truly beggar the imagination.

If unification ever came under South Korea's lead, the State Security Department's officials, past and present, would very likely all be treated as war criminals and punished accordingly.

And even within that State Security Department, this man So Se-hyok suited the title of Investigation Bureau director with a chilling kind of perfection.

"Sounds great. So all I have to do is put a bullet through that bastard's skull?"

At my breezy question, Crane No. 13 shook his head, his voice sinking low and heavy.

"No. The objective of this operation is to abduct So Se-hyok alive."

Capture alive, not shoot dead.

That one phrase sent the operation's difficulty into a sudden vertical climb.

*****

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