Last Stop: Pyongyang

Bundang-gu, Seongnam, South Korea. Late autumn 2012. Cho Sang-wan hurried down the street to his apartment. The last leaves were falling from the trees. It was a day like any other, but today he felt a certain tension. Which had nothing to do with the cold autumn wind - the polar winds from Siberia that hit the greater Seoul area every year had been much more severe in his home country. The tall, slim man pulled his parka’s hood over his short black hair. In the dim light of the street lamps, he proceeded to his apartment building with his head bowed. Quickly, he typed in the access code and opened the door to the bare entrance hall. Once inside, he took the elevator to his apartment on the fifth floor. Strangely, he hadn't received any news. Someone should have gotten in touch by now. The matter was dragging on far too long. Sang-wan and his family had been living in the city of Seoul for more than five years. They had integrated well and gained access to the desired social environment. His career as a lecturer in English and Japanese was going extremely well. The perfect cover. Nevertheless, he was always on guard. Right after entering his apartment, Sang-wan proceeded to check all the communication channels, as always. He never knew through which one he would be contacted. All the required technical equipment was hidden in a small, windowless chamber that looked like a storage room. It was so cramped that only one person could fit in. Nevertheless, this was the right place. His kids should know as little as possible about what he really did. That evening, the two of them were already asleep. His wife Jae-hui had also gone to bed, as Sang-wan noticed upon taking a quick glance into the bedroom. No one was going to disturb him. An incoming message! Finally. He listened with anticipation. The brief instruction disappointed Sang-wan greatly. He clutched the old-fashioned cell phone with so much force that it almost broke. Despite the cool autumn weather, sweat was on his forehead. Out of sheer frustration, he became careless. He almost stumbled over the bulky computer. The Chos felt very much at home in the Southern part of Korea. Sang-wan and his family were doing extremely well. There was always enough food, even for those who were not part of the high class. They enjoyed a luxurious standard of living compared to his homeland’s. The schools imparted extensive knowledge, without constantly infiltrating the children with a leader’s cult, or encouraging them to spy on others. People in Seoul were much freer than at home and didn't have to pay attention to their every word and move. Where he came from, the smallest deviation from socially accepted norms was enough reason to be summoned and abducted – or worse, without warning or explanation. And damn it, he was a South Korean after all! Precisely, the son of a man who had been abducted from his hometown of Seoul and dragged to the North as a sixteen-year-old boy. This outright disaster for many of Seoul’s defenseless citizens took place in 1951 - during the Korean War. Sang-wan's father never saw Seoul again. Instead, at the age of forty, he was interned in North Korea for life, along with his wife and Sang-wan's two older siblings. Sang-wan, who barely remembered his biological family, had felt an overwhelming sense of happiness when he first arrived in his father's old hometown. Of course, he could not admit this openly. Apart from his wife, no one knew about his true identity or family history. He only dared to confide in Jae-hui after leaving North Korea. In fact, all his fears had been unfounded. Jae-hui reacted with surprise and understanding and encouraged him to keep his secret. She, too, knew what was at stake. If she denounced him, the whole family would be taken back to the North. She and her children, whom she loved more than anything, might receive severe punishment – a risk she was absolutely unwilling to take. Sang-wan's stationing in South Korea demanded the usual surveillance activities, including gathering secrets of all kinds and tracking down compatriots who had fled, so they could be brought back to the North and exploited for p********a purposes. Officially, these abductions were called repatriation of lost citizens. So far, Sang-wan had successfully evaded the issue. He truthfully reported to his homeland that North Korean origins were shameful in the South and discrimination was omnipresent. Hardly any Northerners revealed their true identity, so tracking down defectors was hard. Moreover, it served those traitors right that they had to lead a miserable life in the South, without any moral support. There was no way to help this pack anyway. Focusing on fugitives was less promising than his surveillance activities for the benefit and glory of the great state of workers and farmers, as Sang-wan claimed. Accordingly, the latter must definitely take priority. Sang-wan had long since internalized North Korea’s official language, although he saw things differently. His compatriots should be grateful for any opportunity to leave this run-down open-air prison behind. Never would he take anyone back there against their will. Since everyone was granted access to limited pieces of information in his paranoid state, no one had yet seen through his scheme. There was so much Sang-wan had not known. Life in the South was beyond his imagination when he arrived. He was suddenly able to access the media from all over the world, so his learning curve had risen steeply. Sang-wan would never have acquired so much knowledge at home! Yes, he had been taught many subjects the average North Korean citizen had never even heard about. Preparation for a life in the South had been part of his training, including some massive ideological brainwashing. Nevertheless, he was so overwhelmed upon arrival that he could not find the words to describe it. The sheer number of Anglicisms that had found their way into the language here had initially been a huge challenge for him and his wife. No language specialist in the world could prepare you for that. And now he was supposed to return to the North - within three days. Sang-wan took a deep breath. The order was clear, but he had no intention of obeying it. However, he couldn't just stay. Who knows what will happen to us if we do? His colleagues would track him down quickly. Surely, he was being spied on, too, so he acted in a particularly cautious way in all matters. Terrifying rumors had been haunting the spy community for a while. Despite serving their country faithfully, some agents disappeared without a trace after returning to the North, often along with their spouses, children, parents and even siblings. None of them were ever seen again. Sang-wan tried not to imagine what had happened to them. What would they do to him if he refused to comply - and to his family? Would he be executed upon return? His country did not show gratitude for service. This was an open secret, even among those stationed abroad. He had to protect his family, especially his kids. His son was almost eight years old, and his daughter only five. How were they going to cope without him? Where would they end up? Yodŏk? Hwӑsong? Sang-wan had long known about North Korea's internment camps for unreliable people, albeit second-hand. Those who spoke out about those places openly were risking their lives. After arriving in South Korea, he was able to collect much more information - the numerous media outlets reported freely about defectors from the North and their stories. Sang-wan let his thoughts run free. In fact, he was predestined to end up in a prison camp. However, shortly before his family got arrested, Park Ae-ran, a naval officer’s daughter, had risked her life to pass him off as her own son because she was unable to conceive. This had only been possible due to her husband’s promotion to a higher position - to the port city of Wŏnsan on the East Sea, which was a popular seaside resort in the North. Since no one at their new place knew the family, the sudden increase in numbers went unnoticed. Ae-ran's family had covered their backs and obtained papers for little Sang-wan by bribing a few officials. Collective punishment was common in North Korea, so they had no choice other than to conceal Sang-wan's true identity. If they didn‘t, none of the Parks would have escaped justice. Ae-ran's family, which included high officials, knew very well what this meant. Although her parents were furious about Ae-ran's dangerous solo action, they moved heaven and earth to protect the family. Which now included their grandson. Sang-wan was only three years old at the time. Ae-ran’s courage had not only spared him internment, for which he was infinitely grateful to her. His foster parents, who were unusually open-minded and liberal by North Korean standards, had always treated him with love and respect and tried to give him the best life possible.