He could not deny that he missed Cassiopeia Vitt. Loneliness, for him, was like a periodic disease. He’d just grown accustomed to having someone special back in his life, but now she was gone. He’d been divorced awhile. His ex-wife still lived in Georgia with their teenage son, Gary. Their marriage had not ended easy, and it had taken some effort for them both to find peace. Life was good between them now. Unfortunately, he could not say the same for himself and Cassiopeia. And being back at the bookshop would only provide him more time to think about that failure.
He felt grimy from his dip in the lagoon. He’d rinsed off the mud from his trousers and shoes while on the boat ride, but he definitely could use a shower and some sleep. Tomorrow he’d be ready to follow when Paul Larks debarked. He’d see where the older man would lead him, and if that was to the airport and a flight home, then his temporary job would be over.
He approached the door to Larks’ suite. Pricey accommodations for sure, and he’d wondered how a former civil servant could afford them. Everything was quiet and he was about to leave when he noticed the door was ajar. Each cabin came with an electronic lock and spring-loaded hinges that ensured the latch engaged. There was also a dead bolt for added security. Larks’ had been engaged, its steel extended, cocking the door open.
Odd.
He checked his watch. 12:48 A.M.
Larks had been an early-to-bed guy for the past ten days.
Nothing about this registered right.
He stepped close and listened, hearing nothing. He gently knocked and waited for a response. None came. He rapped his knuckles again, this time loud and insistent. Still no reply. He pushed the door inward and stepped inside. The suite was dark, some ambient light spilling past the glass doors to the balcony and more from the hall outside.
“Mr. Larks,” he said, his voice low.
A short entranceway led into the main salon, an open doorway to his left into what was most likely the bedroom. He saw the outline of someone lying down. One arm was draped over the mattress edge, the hand angled askew.
He checked for a pulse.
None.
Paul Larks was dead.
He wondered about the Tumi satchel and stepped out into the salon, making a quick search and finding nothing. Back in the bedroom he scanned the bathroom and closet, switching the lights on, then off.
No satchel.
He left the bathroom light on and came back close to the bed. No evidence of violence was anywhere to be seen. He wondered if Larks had simply died of natural causes. But if so, how coincidental would that be? On the bedside table he spotted an insulin kit with syringes. He was about to reach for the phone and call for assistance when something pricked his right leg.
Sharp.
Stabbing.
Like a needle.
He recoiled.
The room spun. His mind fogged. Muscles throughout his body began to surrender their strength. His legs buckled. Stunned and dizzy he fought for balance. His knees found the carpet. The world blinked in and out and he saw a figure emerge from the other side of the bed. Someone had been beneath the mattress. That sight made him think of another night, from a few years ago, in southern France. Dark and windy, when someone had been shooting at him.
Cassiopeia Vitt.
Their first encounter.
And then before he blacked out, like in France, this time he also thought he saw the outline of a woman.
ELEVEN
Kim switched on his laptop and settled down in the chair. His suite came with several rooms, including a dining area with a polished mahogany table. He’d ordered dinner—some gazpacho, braised pheasant, and an array of cheeses, complemented by a Loire wine and aged claret. Most of his meals had been enjoyed right here, which had allowed him to keep a low profile. His only ventures out had been to the spa for several delightful treatments. He’d hoped that a jovial European atmosphere aboard ship might open the lines of congeniality among himself, Howell, and Larks. But none of that had occurred, and the presence of a former American agent had changed things even further. Now Hana would deal with Malone. He was fortunate to have her. North Korea was indeed a man’s world, but that did not mean a woman could not be useful.
The laptop announced that it was ready to work.
He’d first written while in college, and quickly discovered that he liked the experience. An English professor told him that all writers had a little voice in their head, one that didn’t say write a bestseller or sell lots of books, it simply whispered for them to write every day. If listened to, the voice went silent. If ignored, the urge never relented. He’d long ago learned to listen to the voice. Writing freed his soul and allowed his imagination to wander. When his father had stripped him of his birthright, writing had been what saved him. And where reality had seemed always defined by others, his creative life could be shaped exactly as he wanted.
His rereading of The Patriot Threat and his visit with Paul Larks had sent his thoughts reeling.
He needed to soar.
The envisioned scene became clear.
The day his father disowned him.
“You will not succeed me.”
He’d expected a rebuke, maybe even some discipline, but never those words.
“Your actions have caused me disgrace and embarrassment. My advisers have concluded that you must be replaced.”
“I was unaware that you listened to advisers. You are our Great Leader. Only your word matters. Why do we care what others think?”
“And that is why you cannot succeed me. You have no understanding of what it takes to rule this nation. My father led this country and tried hard to reunify it. He invaded the south and fought the great war and would have prevailed, if not for American intervention. His leadership is still remembered. Five hundred statues are erected in his honor. After every wedding newlyweds find the nearest likeness of him and lay flowers at his feet. His body rests in a glass coffin where hundreds of thousands come each year to pay their respects. You could never garner such feelings from the people.”
He did not agree, but he stayed silent.
“What were you thinking?” his father asked. “Going to Japan and an amusement park? What possessed you?”
“The love of my children.”
“You show love for your children by not dishonoring your parents. That way they see in you what you expect from them. You have shown your children nothing but disgrace.”
He’d had enough of the insults. “I am a patriot.”