While stealing was a death penalty offense in the camps, as a husband and father, Billy Tang had no doubts that there were certain things worth dying for.
But it didn’t matter who was coming, or why. Whoever it was, he was a threat. Children were one thing, but adults were something completely different. Adults were most definitely a threat.
Despite that snap realization, Billy Tang didn’t fire his weapon the moment the booted footfalls stopped, just feet away from him, and the sheet was snatched back.
Instead, he looked up and saw a Chinese military officer, his left hand wrapped in a bloody towel of some sort. His Korean was excellent. “You, there,” he barked. “I need help. Right now.”
The soldier must have believed Tang was the doctor’s assistant.
“Please go to the exam room. I will be right with you,” Tang replied.
The soldier drew his pistol. “You will be with me now. Let’s go.”
Tang’s hand was wrapped around the butt of his SIG beneath Hana’s blanket, his finger on the trigger. He could have shot the officer, but if he had missed and the man got off a shot of his own, the guards would come running. Letting go of his weapon, he decided to leave it under the blanket.
Standing up, he gestured for the officer to follow. The man stepped back as Tang passed and then fell in behind him.
They walked into the exam room and Tang told him to sit on the table.
“What happened?”
“What do you think happened?” the Chinese officer snapped. “An accident.”
He was arrogant, but Tang let it pass. “What kind of accident?”
“I cut myself.”
Tang set down Jin-Sang’s canvas bag and approached the table.
The officer looked at him. “Do you have proper medical training?” he demanded.
Tang nodded. “I studied in Pyongyang and was a practicing physician before circumstances brought me here.”
The answer seemed to satisfy the man, who had made no comment on the way Tang was dressed. He likely had no idea how things operated in the camp, much less the infirmary. The fact that he had shown up in the middle of the night seeking medical assistance confirmed it.
“I was demonstrating something with my knife,” the officer said. “It slipped and I cut my hand. Badly.”
“I’m going to need to take a look.”
“Don’t you want to turn on the lights?”
Tang forced a smile. “They don’t trust us with lights.”
The officer grunted as Tang unwound the bloody cloth around his hand. “Here,” he said, fishing a small flashlight from his pocket with his good hand. “Use this.”
“Are you allowed to use flashlights?” Tang asked as the officer clicked it on and handed it to him.
“This is an emergency. Besides, do you think we’re sending our people without flashlights?” he replied with a grimace. “If so, you’re as stupid as the Americans.”
The CIA operative smiled. “You are indeed embarking on something exciting and worthwhile.”
The Chinese officer paused and looked at him. “What would you know about it?”
“Me?” Tang replied. “Nobody talks to me unless they have a problem. All I know is what the rumors are around the camp.”
The Chinese officer seemed to relax. “Tell me about the rumors,” he said. “While you’re seeing to my hand.”
A good intelligence officer was adept at putting people at ease. If you were a good listener and could get them talking, it was amazing what you could pick up.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Tang said as he removed the final layer of wrapping. The cut was bad, and blood instantly began pulsing from the wound.
“We’re going to need to slow the bleeding,” he said, placing the bloody cloth back against the man’s hand. “Hold this and keep pressure on it.”
The officer had no choice. Holstering his pistol, he used his good hand to press down upon the cloth.
“You’re going to need stitches,” Tang explained. Stepping to the cabinets along the wall, he found one that wasn’t locked. There was no medicine inside, but there was an almost empty bottle of antiseptic and some clean bandages. Tang removed them and made a show of preparing a tray.
He was fully aware that his five minutes were now up and that Jimi Fordyce had undoubtedly seen the Chinese officer enter the infirmary. Even so, he felt the opportunity was worth the risk.
He wished he could activate the camera in his pocket and record the conversation, but that was as good as begging to be shot. One electronic chirp and everything would be over.