The Orphan Master's Son_ A Novel - Adam Johnson [185]
“But where was the picnic table, the chuck wagon?”
“We moved those.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why, why not?”
“Because this mystery is the only reminder to the Dear Leader that what happened to him is real, that something happened that was out of his control.”
“What happened to him?”
“That would be a good question to ask him.”
“But this isn’t about the Dear Leader, it’s about a kid who made a mistake.”
“It’s also the only thing keeping me alive.”
I appealed to his reason. “You’re not going to live through any of this,” I said.
He nodded in acknowledgment. “None of us will,” he said. “Do you have a plan? Have you taken steps? You still have time, you can choose your terms.”
“In whatever time you have left,” I said, “you can save this kid, you can atone for whatever heinous thing you did to the actress.” I pulled his phone from my pocket. “The pictures that arrive on this phone,” I asked him. “Are they meant for you?”
“What pictures?”
I turned on the phone, let him see the blue glow of its charged battery.
“I must have that,” he told me.
“Then help me,” I said.
I held the phone in front of his face, showing him the image of the star on the sidewalk.
He took the phone from my hand. “The Americans refused the Dear Leader’s hospitality,” he said. “They wouldn’t leave their plane, so we moved the Texas village to the airport.”
“Thank you,” I said, and just as I turned, the door flew open.
It was Q-Kee on the threshold, the rest of the Pubyok behind her. There was gore on her smock. “They moved to the airport,” she declared. “That’s where the actress disappeared.”
“Makes sense he’d know what was going on at the airport,” one of the Pubyok said. “His dad is the Minister of Transportation.”
“What about Jujack?” I demanded. “Where is he, what’s happened to him?”
Q-Kee didn’t answer. She looked to Sarge, who nodded his approval.
Steeling her eyes, Q-Kee turned to face the Pubyok assembled in the doorway. She assumed a taekwondo stance. The men backed up, gave her a moment to compose herself. Then, together, they said Junbi. Hana, dul, set, they counted, and when they shouted Sijak! Q-Kee’s hand struck the stainless-steel door.
There was a long, shuddering inhale, and then she drew several sharp breaths.
Slowly, she pulled her broken hand to her chest and sheltered it there.
Always the first break is a chopping strike to the outside of the palm. There will be plenty of time to break the knuckles, a couple at a time, later.
Calmly, carefully, Sarge took her arm and extended it, placing her broken hand in his. With great care, he gripped her wrist with one hand then pinched her last two fingers with the other. “You’re one of us now,” he said. “You’re an intern no more. You no longer have use for a name,” he added as he pulled hard on her fingers, snapping the cracked bones straight for a proper heal.
Sarge nodded his head my way, as a sign of respect. “I was against having a woman in the Division,” he told me. “But you were right—she’s the future.”
IT WAS afternoon, the sun bright and heatless through the windows. Commander Ga sat between the boy and the girl, the three of them watching Sun Moon restlessly wander the house, her hands lifting certain objects that she seemed to consider anew. The dog followed her, sniffing at everything she touched—a hand mirror, a parasol, the kettle in the kitchen. It was the day before the Americans were to arrive, the day before the escape, though the children didn’t know that.
“What’s wrong with her?” the boy asked. “What’s she looking for?”
“She acts like this before she starts a new movie,” the girl said. “Is there a new movie?”
“Something like that,” Ga told them.
Sun Moon came to him. In her hands was a hand-painted chang-gi board. The look on her face said, How can I abandon this? He’d told her that they could take nothing with them, that any keepsake might signal their plan.
“My father,” she said. “It’s all I have of him.”
He shook his head. How could he explain to her that it was better this way, that yes, an object could hold