The Mary Shelley Club by Goldy Moldavsky (ebook reader for manga TXT) 📕

people?” He pressed his fingers into the deeply furrowed wrinkles of his brow. The veins in his temple pulsed. “Shit!” Stark looked at his watch. “DHS is sending an FBI agent over. Is there a way to get a hold of Johnson?”

“No, sir, at least not directly,” said Wyatt. “He has no phone, or even electricity, at his place. I could call Bannock back and have him relay a message for us. Bannock also said that they identified the vehicle with the men who escaped. It’s a white Chevy Suburban, recent model. He’s faxing me a photo of the truck and the license plate.”

“Get that plate run and let me know when you get the response. In the meantime, let’s hold off on contacting Johnson till Homeland Security gets here. I am sure he and those SEALs will be working on the prisoner, and it’s probably best I don’t know how they get their information from him. I want you to talk to Kim, and see if you can get anything out of him.”

“Will do. I’ll head over there now.”

She walked back down the hallway to room 16, where Mr. Kim was being kept under suicide watch. Three troopers stood inside the room making sure Mr. Kim didn’t try a repeat of what happened earlier in the evening.

Kim lay on a bed. He had no IVs or tubes in him and was not restrained like Ho had been. The angry-looking Korean man sported a lump on his head, and his shoulder throbbed from the fight with Trooper Wyatt. He was otherwise in good condition.

As Wyatt entered the room, Kim looked over at her with an expression like had just eaten a turd. He turned his head away in disgust. She came near the bed, but stayed out of arms’ reach.

Wyatt put her hands on her hips in an authoritative stance. This would irritate the hell out of Kim, and she was going to enjoy it.

“Colonel Kim.” Wyatt spoke in Korean. “Lieutenant Ho is dead. He killed himself after he realized he told me too much. You had better come forward and tell us what you were doing, and what Adem and Nikola were doing at your house.”

Kim ignored her.

“Colonel, why were a dozen North Korean commandos digging into the frozen ground on Eielson Air Force base? What was Choi looking for?”

He continued to look away. His cheek twitched involuntarily just beneath his eye. Wyatt’s words had hit on something in his conscious thought.

“Yes, we caught them. As a matter of fact, all but a few of them are dead, too. Their bodies are freezing in the snow right now. The prisoners will soon be talking, just like Ho did.”

Kim turned toward her and snarled, “I do not speak to women who think they are men.”

“That’s too bad. Because you can either speak to me, or Trooper Wakowski over there can take the information from you in ways more like those to which you would be accustomed at home in North Korea.”

She pointed at Trooper Glen Wakowski, who stood near the door to the room. Wakowski, a former preschool teacher, was average height, but this in no way lessened his intimidating demeanor. His massive chest brought to mind images of four-hundred pound bench presses and bent iron rods. His arms, thicker than Kim’s legs, bulged through the blue cloth of his uniform.

Kim was unfazed. “Do not try to intimidate me, woman. I know you cannot torture in this country, regardless of your boasts. I am here on a legitimate business visa. I have broken no laws. It is you who broke the law by entering my house and assaulting me. I will speak no more without a lawyer present.”

“Funny thing about your visa. It is for one Kim Suk No, businessman. It says you are self-employed. But Ho said you work for a general. What do you do for that general, Mr. Kim?”

No response.

“You were illegally in possession of automatic weapons and were witnessed aiding known terrorists. This association, by logical deduction, means that you are now considered to be a terrorist.” She paused for a moment. “Do you like the tropics, Colonel?”

Wyatt waited for him to answer.

“I hope you do. We send terrorists to a special camp in Cuba called Guantanamo Bay. There, the US Marines keep you safe and secure. FBI agents are on the way here right now to process that paperwork.”

Kim turned away and stared at the wall, effectively ending the conversation.

“Too bad you won’t talk to me. It would have been much better for you if you had.”

As she turned to leave, the door swung open and the evening janitor walked in. He was a Korean man in his late forties. On the ID badge pinned to the janitor’s smock was printed a name in big black letters, ‘Chun, Joseph’.

“Oh, excuse me,” he said in accented English. “I didn’t know the room was occupied.”

“No problem,” said Wakowski. “Go ahead and take the trash.”

Chun moved toward the trashcan beside the bed. He reached down with his rubber-gloved hand to pick it up and started to move away. Kim turned his face toward him.

When their eyes met, the janitor froze. The half-raised trashcan hung in Chun’s hand. “You,” growled Mr. Chun in Korean. “I know you.”

“I do not know you,” replied Kim.

The janitor’s face became stone cold and serious. “But I know you, Kim Cho Pil. I could never forget your face.” Chun backed away like a wary animal cornered by a carnivorous beast.

“Cho Pil? You obviously have me mistaken for someone else, Mr. …uh…” He squinted at the nametag, “Chun.”

The janitor turned and walked back to the door. He glanced into the eyes of both the troopers as he left. His eyes were filled with both fear and sorrow.

Wyatt followed him out the door. “Mr.