As the leader of this mission, Chung-Cha knew that the assassination plan would go forward. They would not get another opportunity like this one. After the Americans were dead a note was to be left behind, written in English, that would detail the crimes that America had committed, crimes that had resulted in the North Koreans taking their revenge on the first family. This, it was believed, would hit the American public very hard. If nothing else, the American media would report anything, whether it made the government or country look bad or not. Such would be unheard of in North Korea.
She glanced toward the door. Min was in there, no doubt wondering what was going on.
Chung-Cha rose and walked into the other room. Min was still sitting in front of the fire, her teacup empty. Chung-Cha sat beside her.
“Would you like me to teach you a few words of English?” asked Chung-Cha.
Min looked surprised but then nodded eagerly.
Chung-Cha faced her and in English said, “I am Min.” In Korean she added, “Now you say that.”
Min’s words came out garbled. But they kept working on it until the three words came out clear.
“Now say, ‘I am ten.’”
Min accomplished this after five tries.
“Now put them together. ‘I am Min. I am ten.’”
Min said this and waited for more from Chung-Cha, who apparently was deliberating with herself, her features perplexed.
“What next?” asked Min eagerly.
Chung-Cha seemed to reach a decision and faced Min again.
“Now say, ‘Will you help me?’”
Min mouthed the words first and then struggled through them. But they kept working on it until she could say them fluently.
“See, now you can speak English,” said Chung-Cha.
“What does that last part mean?” asked Min. “‘Will you help me?’”
“It is simply a nice greeting. If anything happens to me—” Chung-Cha realized at once that she had made a mistake.
Min’s face was instantly full of alarm. “What will happen to you?”
“Nothing, Min, nothing. But one never knows. So if something does, then those words will be good to say. Will you repeat it all again? I want to be sure you remember them.”
They went through the words many more times. And as Chung-Cha put Min to bed that night, she heard the little girl saying them over and over.
“I am Min. I am ten. Will you help me?”
Chung-Cha closed her door, rested her forehead on the wood, and felt her chest and throat constrict and tears well up in her eyes.
She said under her breath, “I am Yie Chung-Cha. I am young but old. Will you help me too?”
Chapter
70
AFTER DINNER THAT NIGHT, ELEANOR Cassion met with Robie and Reel in the sitting room next to her bedroom.
“I want to thank you,” she began.
“For what?” asked Reel.
“Whatever you said to Tommy really seemed to have made an impression. He told me this afternoon that he’s going to control his anger at school and work more on developing friends.”
“He’s a really good kid, ma’am,” said Reel. “He’s just struggling with being part of the first family.”
“I know this is only a small step and there will be challenges ahead, but it is something very positive, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Glad we could help,” said Reel.
“I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. I don’t know where your last mission was, but I doubt it was as bucolic and relaxing as it is here.”
“It was most definitely not,” said Robie.
She looked at him. “Now, if my daughter gets to be too much for you, please let me know. She can be quite headstrong and believes that she’s already fully grown and knows everything.”
“It’ll be fine, Mrs. Cassion,” said Robie. “She’s, well, she’s a very confident young woman.”
“Yes, she is,” said Eleanor. “A little too confident, if you ask me.”
A bit later Robie was strolling through the rear grounds of the property and stopped in front of a faded flowerbed that would soon be turned under. The air was brisk and he zipped up his jacket.
He heard a door close behind him and turned around. Claire Cassion was advancing toward him. She had on another pair of skinny jeans and a long knitted sweater. In her front pocket he could see the outline of her smartphone. She had traded in the stilettos for clunky boots that were more suited to the wet grass. She gripped a mug of coffee with both hands as she walked up.
“Nice night,” she said. She held the mug up to her face and then said, “Nothing like coffee on a crisp night in Nantucket.”
“You like coffee?” said Robie.
“My mother doesn’t like me to drink too much. But when I pull all-nighters studying, it helps. And when I go to college I’m sure it’ll be part of my diet.” She set the mug down on a table next to a swing and pulled out her phone. “Hey, would you mind taking a picture with me? I’d like to post it on my Facebook page.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Robie.
“My mom won’t mind. Well, I’ll explain it to her.”
“It’s not that. It’s just that my work for the government requires me, well, to remain in the background.”
She put her phone away and her casual look and tone vanished. “Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“It’s not something either I or Agent Reel can talk about.”
She sat on the swing and motioned for him to sit next to her. Robie reluctantly did. She picked up her mug and looked over at a Secret Service agent who was patrolling the perimeter of the property. “Nothing like having armed guards with you all the time.”
“But think of the stories you’ll have to tell. There really haven’t been that many presidents, or that many first daughters. You’re in pretty select company.”
“I guess. It just doesn’t seem so, well, great right now.” She paused and studied him. “Have you known Agent Reel long?”
“Pretty long. We trained together way back when.”
“Is she good?”
“She wouldn’t have lasted all these years if she wasn’t.”
“Is she better than you?” Claire added playfully.
Robie looked at her with a serious expression. “In some ways, yes, she is. She’s also saved my life. More than once.”
Claire’s features turned serious again and she took a nervous sip of her coffee.
He said, “So, you like your school?”
“Yeah, I do. I’ve made some good friends.” She hesitated. “Mostly girls. The guys are—”
“You said immature? Sorry, that may not change much even when they get older.”
“It’s not so much that. But think about it. They have to come to the White House to pick me up for a date?”
“I can imagine your father can be pretty intimidating for a young man.”
“My dad’s a softie. It’s my mom who’s the tough one.”
“I’m sure she’s just looking out for you.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes she looks out too much.”
“What about your brother?”
“What about him?”
“You two get along?”
“He’s ten. I don’t have that much to do with him. He’s still just a kid, Will.”
“He’s also going through a rough time. He ever try and talk to you about it?”
“He would never come to me with something like that.”
“Why?”