give in immediately to all of Commissar Oh’s demands. Instead, I fought the urge. I bargained.
“I want to be paid in dollars,” I said.
Oh stared at me from behind the glowing ember of his cigarette.
“There’s no pay. You must work out of loyalty to the Great Leader. Otherwise, I could keep you here forever.”
“My embassy would find out.”
He shrugged. “What could they do?”
“I want money,” I said, putting as much stubbornness into my voice as I could. “Then I will work for you.”
Commissar Oh lowered his almost-finished cigarette and flicked the burning tip onto the brick floor. It sizzled for a second and flamed out.
“Only after we confirm your information to be genuine,” he said. “Then we will pay yen, not dollars.”
Japanese currency would be good enough. “Yes,” I replied, “but I want some money up front.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Commissar Oh barked a laugh. Then his face hardened. “First, before you receive any money, you will prostrate yourself before the Great Leader. You will beg his forgiveness. You will ask him to cleanse you of your foreign ways and enlighten you in the path of his shining leadership. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “I understand.”
Commissar Oh swiveled, flourishing his cape as he did so. On the way out the door, he shouted, “Get him cleaned up! I want him in the Great Hall in half an hour!”
I was being washed again.
The difference this time was that the woman doing the scrubbing was cute, and she wore only a bra and panties. After a couple minutes of sponging, I stood up, grabbed a bucket, and started pouring water over myself to wash off the soapy lather. The woman seemed worried and kept pointing for me to lie back down. Instead, I grabbed a towel and dried myself off. I sloshed across the moist floor and swung open a wooden door. A blast of cold air hit me as I stepped outside onto dry tile.
My body ached and I could see bruises on my arms and shoulders and legs. Nothing I couldn’t survive.
I wasn’t sure exactly where I was. The guards had kept the shackles on while we climbed three flights of stairs. In a holding area that reminded me of a South Korean police station, they unlocked my chains and allowed me to slip back into my Warsaw Pact uniform. Then they shoved me in the back of a quarter-ton truck. I sat huddled on a narrow wooden bench as we turned onto a long boulevard. I inhaled deeply. Fresh air, available even in the center of this country’s most densely populated city. Still, I thought I could taste the filthy water in my throat and fought back the urge to vomit.
After a couple of miles, the driver turned off the main road and soon we were winding our way up into the forested hills. I wondered if Hero Kang and Doc Yong would ever figure out where I was. Maybe. But it was up to me to get myself out of this mess and find them. As we continued into the hills, the scene around us changed. In the distance, elegantly carved pagodas stood above walled homes, and behind them lurked hidden ponds, gardens, gingko trees, and crimson dragons guarding wood-carved gateways. Beverly Hills come to Pyongyang. Just reward for the self-sacrificing vanguard of the people’s revolution.
Uniformed guards opened an iron gate and we pulled into a long driveway. Unceremoniously, I was yanked out of the truck and ushered downstairs, and for a moment I thought I’d be locked up again. Instead, I was treated to another steam bath.
Commissar Oh had called the building I was in “the Great Hall.” It was a vast affair with elegantly carved wooden buildings and gardens and pleasure halls, like an ancient palace preserved as a museum that’s not open to the public. Hero Kang had described it to me earlier: the main cadre’s rest and recuperation area and the Pyongyang headquarters of the Joy Brigade. I’d ended up where I’d wanted to go all along. Not as an honored guest, but as a supplicant who was under orders to grovel in shame and prostrate himself in front of the Great Leader. And as a spy for Commissar Oh.
But at least I was here.
I didn’t know the name of the woman I was supposed to find, or even what she looked like, but there was a password. She’d say it and then I’d respond. Although why I had to verify my identity, I wasn’t sure. At the moment, I felt completely conspicuous, as if I were the only round-eyed foreigner in two provinces.
It was beginning to dawn on me that one of the reasons my identity as a Romanian soldier was holding up so well probably had to do with North Korean provincialism. In all the propaganda posters I’d seen so far, American soldiers-while performing various atrocities-were invariably portrayed as blond, blue-eyed, their narrow faces supporting enormous, grotesque proboscises. As a Hispanic male-with black hair and brown eyes and a nose that fit my face-I didn’t match that stereotype. So far, this had worked in my favor.
I walked behind a wooden divider and found my clothes, which had been washed and pressed. Although the uniform was still damp, I didn’t mind. My body heat would dry it off soon enough.
The half-naked masseuse helped me dress, even squatting in front of me to tie my shoelaces. She was a cute girl, very cute, with straight black hair tied in pigtails and a round, pleasant face. In other circumstances, I probably would’ve tried to spend more time with her in the steam room. But not now. I was too nervous. And the gaping maw of that dungeon was still fresh in my mind. All I could think of was finishing the job so Hero Kang and I could get the hell out of here and find Doc Yong.
When I was fully dressed, I combed my hair and pulled on my cloth cap and pushed through a pair of double doors that led out into a long gallery. Confused as to which way to go, I glanced back at the girl. She smiled and pointed to her right. I nodded and marched down the hallway.
Varnished wood slats squeaked beneath my feet, interspersed every few yards with wooden pedestals holding celadon vases stuffed with flowers. Oil-papered windows looked out onto well-tended gardens on either side, illuminated by a three-quarter moon and the soft glow of Chinese lanterns. Again I thought how well these party cadres lived. It pays to cozy up to the Great Leader.
Voices murmured up ahead, dozens of them. The hallway wound to the left and back to the right and finally I arrived at an ornate wooden door with large brass handles in the shape of fire-breathing dragons. The voices behind the door were louder now. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
It was a vast hall. Most of the space was filled by an elevated floor covered in tatami mats. Sitting behind a short-legged table on a dais were Commissar Oh and four or five political lackeys. All of them wore traditional silk pantaloons and red vests, looking like courtiers from the Chosun Dynasty. The venerable General Yi, Commander of the First Corps, was nowhere to be seen.
In front of the dais were many small tables, only a couple of feet off the floor, and sitting around them cross- legged were dozens of men, all of them young and athletic-looking. Before the tournament, Hero Kang had briefed me about what to expect if I made it this far. This was an awards banquet in honor of various teams-soccer, volleyball, and Taekwondo-that had won tournaments within the last few months. I recognized the athletes of the First Corps Taekwondo team. All of them glared at me. Except for the older men on the dais, everyone wore military uniforms. Each table held a charcoal brazier and sizzling atop it were succulent chunks of beef. The aroma of charred meat filled my nostrils, accompanied by the sharp tang of pickled cabbage and roasting garlic, causing me to salivate. A young woman knelt in front of each brazier, using shears to cut raw meat into edible pieces and chopsticks to flip burning morsels deftly atop the flames. The women were very young and attractive and they all wore the short-skirted uniform of the Korean People’s Army.
All eyes were on me. None of them exactly pleased to see me.
I held my breath. With one word from Commissar Oh, these men would rise up and tear me limb from limb. I scanned the room. No Hero Kang. Another thing I noticed: fifth-level black-belt Pak wasn’t here either. I hoped the erstwhile First Corps champion hadn’t been seriously hurt, but even if he hadn’t, the loss of face at being knocked out by a foreigner would be too much for him. It figured that he wouldn’t make an appearance.
The young women serving the older dignitaries at the head table were not wearing military uniforms. Instead, they were decked out in the beautiful full-skirted chima-chogori traditional Korean gowns. Commissar Oh frowned and motioned with his chopsticks and one of the girls knelt next to him. He whispered something in her ear. She bowed and, keeping her head lowered, backed away respectfully.
All talking stopped. The only sound was of meat sizzling. I stood alone, not knowing what to do, feeling as
