A
FTER 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?”
“I mean, I’m almost six years older than he is. And he’s a boy. And I’m, well, I’m a
woman
.”
“I guess there is sort of a big gap in age between the two of you.”
Now Claire looked pained. “My mom, um, she had a miscarriage when I was about three.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Claire looked shocked that she had divulged this information. “Oh my God, please don’t tell anyone I told you that. I mean, very few people know and it never came out during the campaign and I know my mom would—”
Robie said, “Claire, I don’t repeat things people tell me to anyone. Ever.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”
“But back to your brother. Did you two used to talk?”
“Sure, I mean, before Dad got elected. He was a governor before then. We lived in the executive mansion and everything, but it was nothing like this. Tommy was a sweet kid. He looked up to me.”
“I think he still does.”
She smiled. “There was this one year we went trick-or-treating? Dad went with us, on the sly so the camera crew wouldn’t follow us. You know what he was dressed as?”
Robie shook his head. “What?”
“Maleficent. You know, the wicked character from Disney’s
Sleeping Beauty.
Everybody thought it was my mom. But she was in really high heels and was dressed as Darth Vader. That’s who they thought Dad was. It was really fun. It was like our own family secret. Something only we knew, when, you know…”
“Everybody knew everything about you?”
She looked at him. “Yeah,” she said ruefully.
“I saw you had on a Yale sweatshirt. You thinking of going there in a few years?”
“If I get in.”
“The president’s daughter? I think you’ll be fine.”
“But that’s not how it’s supposed to work. I don’t want to get in because of him. I want to get in because of me.”
“That’s a great way to look at things,” said Robie.
“Besides, my dad went to Yale. My mom went to Columbia. I’m thinking of UVA. I went there a few times. Charlottesville is beautiful.”
“Mr. Jefferson’s university. The man who could not live without books.”
“Not a bad guy to emulate.”
Robie was about to say something when he heard the bang. In a second he had Claire down on the ground, shielding her with his body, and his gun was out, making sweeping arcs in front of him.
He heard feet running toward them and his finger slipped to the trigger guard as he crouched down, keeping his free hand on Claire’s shoulder.
Claire said in a quavering voice, “What is it? What’s happening, Will?”
In a low voice he said, “Just stay down, Claire. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
A Secret Service agent came running around the corner of the house and saw Robie. “Stand down, stand down, Agent Robie. There’s no threat,” he yelled.
Robie did not yet lower his weapon. The back door of the house opened and Reel and the First Lady came out, surrounded by agents.
Reel called out, “It was a backfire, Robie. Car passing the house.”
Robie put his gun away and helped Claire up. “You okay?”
She was shaking but nodded. “Thanks, Will. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody move that fast.”
“Claire, honey?” said her mother anxiously.
Claire ran to her mom and the two women hugged.
Reel walked over to Robie. “Great, now you’re really her hero.”
“They sure it was just a backfire?”
“That’s what they reported.”
“Okay,” he said, not looking convinced.
“Why, you think otherwise?”
“I always assume the worst. That way I’m rarely disappointed.”
T
HE TEAM CAME TO THE
cottage very late at night.
Min was in bed. Chung-Cha received them at the door and ushered them in. They sat at the table in the kitchen and spoke swiftly in Korean.
One of the men and the woman were the same ones who had ridden on the train to D.C. with Chung-Cha and Min. Another of the men was Kim Jing-Sang, a highly skilled operative from North Korea’s Interior Ministry who had arrived two days ago. They all discussed and Chung-Cha quickly vetoed the idea of postponing the mission because of the presence of Robie and Reel. No one questioned her decision.
They spread out pictures and diagrams and maps and briefing papers on the table. They were calmly discussing it all as if it were a college midterm team project rather than the plans to assassinate a family.
Chung-Cha held up seven fingers. “That is the number of Secret Service agents. The staff is irrelevant. They are not armed.”
The woman said, “But there is local police support.”
Chung-Cha shook her head. “I have observed them the last few days. They are nothing. They will be no problem.”
“And the man and woman?” said one of the men. “That helped free General Pak’s children?”
“A good thing for us,” said Chung-Cha. “Two birds with one stone, I think is what the Americans say. We will kill them at the same time.” She looked at Jing-Sang. “My colleague will now discuss what will happen after the targets are eliminated. And his words come directly from the Supreme Leader.”
Jing-Sang took from his pocket a small vial. “The Supreme Leader wants the world to know who did this. He wants them to understand that the United States cannot impose its will on our people without retribution. In order to ensure that such is the case, we will each be given a vial such as this. We will then take the contents of the vial after the mission is complete. It is fast-acting. We will be dead within a few minutes.” He looked in the direction of the bedroom where Min was asleep.
“The little bitch must be taken care of too,” he reminded her.
“I will deal with her myself,” said Chung-Cha.
Jing-Sang nodded. “Of course, Comrade Yie. And it was good cover to bring her in the first place. Americans never see evil in children. She is from Yodok, correct?”
“Yes.”
Jing-Sang continued. “Then it hardly matters. It is not like anyone will miss her. It is not like she is one of the core and thus has value.”
“Absolutely,” said Chung-Cha.
But under the table her fingers curled into a fist.
I am also from Yodok
, she thought.
Out loud she said, “Now there only remains the details of the actual attack. We believe that we have it in place and that it will provide us the best opportunity for success.”
She drew a paper from a file and unfolded it for all of them to see. “There is a holiday that the Americans celebrate where they dress in costumes,” she said.
“Halloween,” added Jing-Sang.
“Yes. It is a stupid thing that they spend much money on. There is a parade that begins in the downtown section in front of a church. It proceeds through the main streets.”
“But there will be many people around,” said one of the men. “That means distractions and obstructions and potential chaos. How can we be assured of our targets and reliable sight lines?”
Chung-Cha said, “For one simple reason. Our targets will be gathering at the town hall before the parade for a meeting with the person who is the mayor of this Nantucket and a few other important local people. The town hall will be otherwise empty. The parade does not start until two hours later. We will strike there and we will strike hard. We will pierce the outer circle of security and then the inner. And then we will complete our mission.”
Jing-Sang said, “How did you come by this information? Is it reliable?”
“We have a person who helps to clean the mayor’s office,” Chung-Cha said. “He overheard them talking. And the itinerary for the town hall event was left on his desk last night. Our person photographed it. It is reliable. I have verified it myself.”
Jing-Sang nodded. “Excellent.”
“And now this holiday, Halloween, gives us the perfect way to breach their security wall,” noted Chung-Cha.
She knew that the Secret Service was prepared to die to protect its charges. But then she was prepared to die in order to kill those same charges.
They finished their meeting and said their goodbyes. Before he left, Jing-Sang pressed two vials into Chung-Cha’s hand.
“To the glory, Comrade Yie. To the glory.”
She closed the door behind him and pocketed the vials.
Chung-Cha sat in front of the gas fire and finally fell asleep. She awoke with a start when she heard the noise. Her hand slipped to her pocket and closed around the knife. It was the same knife she had used to kill the British envoy.
The cottage was dark, the fire the only illumination. She heard cautious footsteps coming from the kitchen. She silently made her way to that spot and peered around the corner.
Min had poured out a glass of milk and was drinking it at the table.
Then Min stopped, put the glass down, and picked up the photo. The photo that Chung-Cha had foolishly left on the table; she had fallen asleep before picking everything up and hiding it.
Chung-Cha went into the kitchen and Min looked up at her.
“Why do you have this, Chung-Cha?” she asked, turning the photo around.
Looking back at her from the grainy photo were Eleanor, Claire, and Tommy Cassion.
Chung-Cha fingered the vials in her pocket and eyed the glass of milk. Death by cyanide was relatively quick but not painless. Would a bullet be better? Quick, no pain. Min would never know it was Chung-Cha who had done it.
She said, “A friend brought those by. He was just taking some different pictures of people and places here.”
“These are the people from the beach. The boy picking seashells.”
Chung-Cha came over to her, took the photo, and looked at it. “You’re right. I had not noticed that.”
“I did not hear anyone come tonight.”
“It was late. You were already asleep.” Chung-Cha ran a hand down Min’s hair. “Now you should go back to sleep, Min.”
The little girl was gazing down at the picture, and then she looked up at Chung-Cha. Her lip trembled and Chung-Cha recalled that the reason she had picked Min to take from the camp was her obvious spirit. And intelligence.
“Chung-Cha?” began Min.
“Not tonight, Min. We will talk about things tomorrow. But not tonight.”
She put the girl back in bed and lay with her for a while until Min was breathing evenly and eventually fell asleep.
Then Chung-Cha did not go to bed, but went outside and sat in a wooden chair and stared at a sky that was filled with stars while a breeze lifted her hair and the smell of the nearby waters filled her nostrils.
She took the vials of poison from her pocket and held them in front of her. They were small, yet deadly.
Just as she was.
She envisioned herself lying among the dead at the town hall. The police and American agents swarming all over the scene. The world coming to understand what had happened. Perhaps the Americans and her country would go to war over this, with only one inevitable outcome.
Then she put the vials back in her pocket, laid her head back against the rough gray wood of the chair, closed her eyes, and thought of being in a place and a life that was as different from hers as it was possible to be.