“Perhaps. But it had to be done.”
“How does Kim Yong Jin figure into the equation?”
That was a new name. Twelve hours ago Harriett had specifically directed her to send Malone inland to observe a North Korean cash transfer. Some background intel on an insurance fraud scheme had been provided, which she’d passed on to Cotton. But there’d been no mention of Kim.
Harriett said, “You told me about that money transfer and that Kim Yong Jin was in the neighborhood. You asked if I had an asset near Venice, knowing, of course, that I did. Then you asked me to send that asset over to witness the transfer.”
More news to Stephanie.
“What I wanted was to get Malone off that ship.”
It seemed the man on the other end of the line definitely knew more than they did.
“Can you be at the DC federal courthouse at 11:00 P.M.?” the secretary asked. “Sixth floor. I’ll leave word with security to admit you.”
“I’m bringing Stephanie with me.”
“I’d prefer you not.”
“That’s non-negotiable. She’s my eyes and ears.”
Another pause.
“All right, Harriett, we’ll do this your way.”
The call ended.
“You never told me about Kim or that Treasury wanted Cotton at that money transfer.”
“I was told not to. Stupid me respected that request.”
“How did Treasury know Cotton was even on that ship in the first place?” she asked. “Their first contact with Terra came after the cruise left port.”
“I’m assuming they have someone there, watching Larks, too. Once they tagged Malone, they zeroed in on the Billet.”
Thankfully, she’d taken precautions and ordered Luke Daniels to provide backup in case Cotton ran into trouble. Still, she was baffled. “What’s going on? This is a lot of trouble for some copied documents. What’s so important?”
“I don’t know. So let’s get our butts to Washington and find out exactly what we’ve managed to get ourselves into.”
NINE
VENICE
Hana Sung stared at the closed door for Paul Larks’ suite. Her father had once again thought ahead and prepared them for any contingency. He was smart, of that she was sure.
But why would he not be?
He was a Kim.
She had faithfully learned the family history. The first Kim, her great-grandfather, had been born near Pyongyang. Legend said he was the son of a poor farmer, but actually his father was a teacher with an above-average income. He fought the Japanese in the 1930s when they occupied Korea, and was there in 1945 when the Soviets liberated the country. His greatest mistake was not insisting that his allies claim the entire peninsula. Instead Stalin respected an agreement made with Roosevelt, dividing the country in half, creating the more populated, agricultural south and the industrialized north.
That first Kim became the north’s Great Leader and ultimately convinced Stalin that he could retake the south. In 1950 he led the Fatherland Liberation War, but American intervention had prevented reunification. Eventually, as she now knew, a cease-fire had been arranged, the country remaining divided, the war never over. Interestingly, if anyone in North Korea were asked about the outcome of that great conflict, they would unhesitatingly declare that the south invaded first and Kim had won. Ignorance seemed to be a national trait. But who could blame the people? Everything they saw and heard was controlled.
The second Kim easily assumed power and bestowed the name Eternal President on his father, taking Great Leader for himself. The cult of personality that had started with the first Kim only intensified with the second. A philosophy of self-reliance labeled juche became a national obsession. The country gradually withdrew into itself, looking increasingly only to Kims for salvation. A mistake, but one few within North Korea would ever realize.
She’d been taught that the first Kim was a mighty general who rode a white horse and carried an enormous sword that could fell a tree as if slicing bean curd. He turned pinecones into bullets and grains of sand into rice, crossing rivers upon paths of fallen leaves. Both Kims showered the people with fatherly love. They portrayed themselves as noble and caring, even immortal. And in a sense, they were. Both rested in the magnificent Palace of the Sun, inside glass sarcophagi, their heads upon pillows, a workers’ flag draping their bodies. She’d visited there twice. A surprisingly emotional experience, made even more so by the fact that their blood flowed through her veins. The spiritual pillar and lighthouse of hope. Prominent thinker-theoreticians. Peerlessly illustrious commanders. A solid foundation for the prosperity of the country. That was how the Eternal President, Great Leader, and Dear Leader all described themselves.
And she wondered.
Would that praise include her, too?
She doubted it.
Her father had sired nine children, with only three being legitimate. She fell into the illegitimate category. At twenty-three, she was the youngest. The others were all married, with children of their own, still living within North Korea. They’d abandoned their father once he fell from grace. She alone had stayed with him. Her mother had been his mistress, one of many he’d maintained back when he was still in line to rule.
So no offspring of their’s would become a Kim.
Instead, she was Hana Sung.
Hana referencing the number one, singular, important. Sung meaning “victory.” Her father had eventually wanted her to change it, but she’d politely refused. And he hadn’t insisted. A flaw in him, for sure, since he never could insist on much of anything. Yet he could kill a helpless old man without a thought, and order another, who’d interfered with the money theft, eliminated. Was that a contradiction? The world thought him stupid and lazy, a drunk and a gambler. She’d come to know those were but carefully crafted illusions.
Her father was a Kim.
And this third generation, which included his half brother, was just like the first two.