already? Had the camp finally noticed Jin-Sang’s disappearance? Did the police know that their truck had been stolen?
As Hyun Su brought the vehicle to a stop, Tang reminded him to keep his eyes down and remain deferential. They had been through these kinds of “checkpoints” together before and they knew how they operated.
The senior officer, a man about Tang’s age, stood with a pistol in a leather holster and his hand out in an officious stop gesture. The North Korean police reminded Tang of the Gestapo. The ones in the countryside seemed more prone to the spit and polish, rules and regs, than those in the city, who were a lot more lax about their duties. For some reason, police in the countryside were quasi royalty and they lorded it over all of the rural inhabitants.
Bowing obsequiously, Tang stepped out of the truck, canvas bag in hand. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he repeated in Korean.
“What are you thanking me for, you moron?” the officer demanded.
“The roads are safe,” he said, bowing again to the officer and then to his men. They all carried AK-47s and shared the same bored look. “You and your men have done a very good job. Very good.”
“What’s in your truck?” the officer demanded.
“Goose feathers!”
“Goose feathers,” the policeman repeated. “You must think we’re stupid.”
“No, sir. No, sir. Very intelligent indeed. And a man of good taste!”
A grin appeared on the cop’s face. “What makes you say that?”
“You look like a whiskey man to me,” said Tang.
As he reached into his bag, several officers brought their rifles up. They weren’t as blasé as they originally appeared.
Slowly, he removed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and held it up for the police commander to see.
The cop stepped forward, accepted the bottle, and addressing his men, said, “There seems to be a very good living to be made in goose feathers.”
Several of the men chuckled. The ones with their weapons raised remained expressionless. Tang was starting to get the feeling that this crew was more than a little dangerous.
“What else do you have in that magic bag of yours?” the policeman asked.
The CIA operative smiled and fished out three Playboys, but kept them clasped to his chest. “Something only real men, refined men, could appreciate.”
Slowly, Tang turned them around and showed him. There was a chorus of approval from the policemen who had just been chuckling.
The commander accepted the magazines and tucked them under his arm.
Tang smiled.
The commander looked at him. “That’s it? That’s all you have? A bottle of whiskey and a few magazines?”
“Please, sir. We are just trying to get home.”
“Sure you are,” the police officer said with a smile. “So are we. What else do you have?”
Tang produced the cigarettes.
“Aha!” the commander cheered. “I knew it! Hand them over.”
Tang did as he was told.
“Now, if only you could pull a hot meal from that bag, our evening would be complete.”
“If I could,” Tang said, “what kind of meal would you want?”
The police commander was suddenly frozen in thought. When he spoke, it was with an entirely different tone. “You have an unusual accent,” he said. “Where are you from?”
The CIA operative had worked hard on his dialects, but he knew they weren’t perfect.
Tang cited an obscure province near the border with China and said, “I know, I speak strangely. I was deaf for most of my childhood. Measles. At sixteen, some of my hearing returned, but not enough. I was unable to join our illustrious military because of it or become a fine police officer like you gentlemen.”
The man looked at him, unable to decide whether he believed his story.
Tang returned to the subject of food, something every North Korean fantasized about, even policemen.
“What hot meal would you like to see me remove from my bag?” he asked again. “Please, be creative.”
The police commander smiled once more and after thinking for a moment replied, “Duck. And barbecued pork.”
“Excellent choice,” said Tang. “How about grilled beef with vegetables, too?”
“And rice.”
“Of course. Lots and lots of rice.”
Never losing his smile, the police commander stated, “I’m now hungry, very hungry. I hope for your sake, as well as your colleague’s, that you have all of these things and more remaining in that very little bag.”
“But of course I—”
The commander held his hand back up in the stop position, interrupting him.
“Because if you don’t,” he said, “then there had better only be goose feathers in the back of your truck and they had better be going to someone very, very