The Devil's Playground Read online

Officers who were standing outside on guard. Their identities confirmed, the trio then walked into lobby of the outer office.

  This time they were met by the Director's Senior Secretary, a tough no-nonsense woman who had been with him since he had been the Station Chief in Moscow over twenty years ago and the two further Protective Officers from the Director's personal detail who were permanently stationed outside the entrance to his inner office and went everywhere with him.

  "Director Mansoor, you and your team can go on through," the Secretary said with a smile, opening the door for them.

  Because this was the first time that Rob had met the Director and he had heard that the man had a reputation for being prickly at the best of times, he decided today would be a good day to be on his best behavior. That meant no flippant remarks, something that had once or twice got him into trouble over the years, but he steadfastly refused to change.

  As they followed the secretary into the office, David Young was sitting behind his desk. He looked at them and indicated to the three of them to sit down without saying a word.

  Once his secretary left and closed the doors behind her, Young started the meeting.

  "Gentleman, thank you for coming on short notice. Firstly I wanted to take the chance to thank you for service, Mr. Ashley," he said using Rob's name, because in the Agency ranks didn't exist outside that of Director of Sections.

  "Your cleanup work on Golden Horn was quite outstanding," he continued, using the codename of the mission that had nearly brought the two superpowers of Russia and United States to war while looking contemptuously in the direction of Navjot.

  Although surprised the Director had decided to acknowledge his work, Rob was less so with regard as to why he had given such a frosty stare in the direction of his friend. The last two years had been hell for all of those involved in that mission. Including his wife. Each member of the team including the man sitting in front of him to the analysts in control room had been summoned before the secret Senate Select Committee on Intelligence known as SSCI to give evidence on what had happened and what went wrong.

  If it hadn't been for the fact that the Texan cartel of oil companies, who funded the Senators and had done extremely well out of coup due to Litchfield's generosity despite the cover story of the Russian Government was funding the deal, Rob was absolutely certain none of the team would have survived the aftermath.

  Yet because the Russians still had their piece of real estate on the Horn of Africa in the form of newly constructed Navy base less than 125 miles away from the U.S.'s main base in Djibouti that guarded twelve percent of the world's trade, it meant somebody had to pay the price. By the look on the face of Young, it appeared to Rob that the axe was about to fall on his friend. He felt sorry for him. They had been through a lot together over the years; starting from the day his friend had recruited him in Dubai at one of their mutual friend's parties.

  Rob parked his thoughts for the moment and acknowledged the complement of Young with a simple, "Thank you."

  "Now let's get straight to business," said the Director. "What can you tell me about O Su Lee that my analysts can't?" he asked Rob.

  The mention of O Su Lee by Young caught Rob by surprise for a second. It was a name he hadn't heard in over five years. He searched his memory banks. Then asked.

  "Sir? May I ask why?"

  "Because as of three hours ago, he is the new Head of State of North Korea," answered Young. "And it appears you're the only person in the Agency who has ever had contact with him, or indeed knows him," he continued.

  Nodding his head assimilating this information Rob replied, "He's the son of Marshal O Kang-Ru? ?"

  Young stopped him with a wave of his hand.

  "I know, that it was in your summary report," he said. "I am more interested in your personal impression of him, rather than his C.V."

  Rob nodded once more, and then started his synopsis.

  "Well, he is a Kim loyalist," Rob said, remembering the conversations they had in Pyongyang and Beijing before giving examples of this view. "Who, I believe, cares about the plight of his people," he continued drawing on the memories of O always showing shame every time a North Korean he met on the trip apologized for the state of the food they were served, another fact that he shared with the men in the room. "He detests public displays of wealth with a passion," he continued while remembering O's comments every time they passed a new car in Pyongyang.

  "And until what you told me, Sir," Rob said, pausing for a second while he gathered his thoughts. "I would have said he was a man who preferred to stay in the shadows," he finished.

  "Interesting," Young answered as he made notes. "Do you think he is somebody the Administration could do business with in the future?" he asked Rob, knowing full well that was the type of question the President would ask him.

  The former Fixer pondered on the question for a moment as he searched his memory banks one more time. When he had written that report all those years ago, he had deliberately left out the fact that O had spent the entire dinner when it was just the two of them asking him how the Sovereign Funds of the Middle East conducted their affairs and investments. Instead he chose to pack the report with the stories that he believed the analysts would be more interested in, like summaries of the key players in the leadership and how they were perceived internally, and O's career as a spy in Japan, China, Australia and Malaysia working with some of the more dubious individuals of the underworld.

  "Well sir," Rob started, knowing the man would need some kind of answer. "He did say to me that that liked the idea of being considered a humble servant," he said, leaving out the fact that it was he who gave him the title. "So, thinking about it, in my opinion I would have to say yes," Rob said answering Young's question.

  "Humble Servant," Young said, sitting upright. "That's interesting choice of words," he said picking up the summary in front of him. "Our SIGINT said they picked up traffic with that same 'call sign' being used just the day before the announcement by state television," he said, using the term for intelligence gathering by interception of signals and communications.

  Rob did a double take.

  "That means O's behind the coup," he immediately thought to himself. He shook his head in amusement and admiration. His friend had stepped up to the plate.

  "Something amusing you Mr. Ashley?" Young asked. Rob smiled.

  "Sir, I have a gut feeling that O could be just the person that the Administration and the Koreans have been waiting for," he said before going on to explain why by describing how O admired the Sovereign Funds of the Middle East and how he saw it working in Korea. He left out the fact that it was actually he who had drawn-up the plan for O, preferring instead to give the credit to his friend. One thing working for the Sheikh taught Rob was that it was always better to be the "left hand of God rather than God himself."

  When Rob had finished, the Director looked at him and then turned to Ali.

  "I want you and Mr. Ashley with me when I brief the POTUS and the NSC tomorrow. I have a feeling they going to be very interested in what you just said, Mr. Ashley."

  Rob nodded.

  "This will be interesting," he thought. "I wonder if he will remember."

  The last time he had met POTUS was when he was still a modest Professor at the University of Chicago, looking to raise funds for his first election campaign as Senator. They were at a dinner where he was the representative of the Sheikh in Chicago in 2003.

  "I doubt it," Rob decided. "The check wasn't big enough!" he thought.

  3

  The White House

  The forty-fourth President of the United States of America listened carefully to the conversation that was taking place in front of him. As he did so, he pondered on his Administration thus far. With only a couple years left to go of his final term and in theory only one or two more battles that his Administration was, in reality, likely to win outside of his Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, what had begun to concern
him the most, like the Presidents before him, was what kind of international legacy he was going to leave behind.

  He certainly did not want to be remembered as the only winner of the Nobel Peace Prize that had actually done nothing, despite the various Administration spokespersons saying otherwise. Personally, though he never admitted this to anybody, he felt the foreign policy was in complete shambles.

  It started with the 'Reset' failure of his previous Secretary of State with Russia. That to his disgust had then allowed Putin to strut about as though he were a new Czar and re-establish what Putin perceived as Russia's traditional rights. Closely followed by the betrayal of Allies in Western Europe caused, in part, by Cyber Command and the NSA spying on them and their subjects; the moving away of traditional support for Israel by the Administration so it could push through a deal with Iran and worst of all, as far as the President was concerned, a muddled approach in Afghanistan.

  "I should have listened to my gut rather my advisers," he decided bitterly. "I was elected to end wars, not to start them," he thought, bile rising in his mouth. "I always wanted my foreign policy to represent liberal internationalism. Co-operation rather than competition," he continued remembering the tag lines of his original stump speech. "Transcending power and security," he added with a deepening sense of sadness. "I have achieved none of that," he concluded sadly.

  In an effort to boost his confidence, he thought, "If this new leader of North Korea is the real deal then the reunification of the two Koreas could be the ultimate achievement of my Administration."

  The Secretary of State's question brought the President out of his reverie and back to the present.

  "Director Young, how was this HUMINT obtained?" asked the Secretary of State because it ran contrary to what he had been told by his counterpart in the South Korean government-that their conclusions doubted whether O Su Lee would change a thing. "Through direct contact," answered Young,

  "Are you telling me the CIA has an asset that is close to him," he asked doubtfully.

  His run-ins with Young, a man he couldn't stand, were already becoming the stuff of legends; today was no different.

  "Yes, Mr. Secretary" Young answered, ignoring the doubtful rebuke.

  "Who is this Thesiger?" the President interjected, using the Rob's codename.

  Young paused then said, "He's the man sitting behind me, Mr. President." He looked at Rob who was sitting directly to his right by the side of Ali Mansoor.

  The look of collective surprise on the faces of the National Security Council told the whole story.

  "Mr. Ashley, please brief the President on the discussions that you and NIGHTSHADE shared when you were last together," Young ordered, using O's new codename.

  Twenty minutes later, once Rob had finished, the President looked at him for a few seconds. He had noted two things during the summary. Firstly that the agent had an English accent, secondly the information though valuable was over five years old, despite the SIGINT supporting the Agency's view that this was a coup through the use of the "Humble Servant" in communications traffic.

  "Positions change, so do friends and foes" The President reflected as the politician in him came to the surface.

  "Mr. Ashley, thank you for your thoughts," the President said while making a mental note to ask Young about the agent who had just briefed him, for he was sure they had met somewhere before but couldn't remember where. Putting his thoughts aside for the moment, the President considered the information. There was no doubt though useful it would still represent a risk for him to act on it.

  "John," the President asked.

  "Yes, Mr. President?" answered the Secretary of State.

  "What's your recommendation?" he asked.

  "I would wait for them to come to us," he answered without hesitation.

  The President nodded, as always, in comparison to his precessdor, he delivered sound advice.

  POTUS informed the room that is what they would do for now.

  4

  Hong Kong

  Two weeks later a commercial attach? from the DPRK consulate in Hong Kong walked into the Landmark's Gloucester Tower, located on Des Voeux Road, on 'The Island' of the city. Having found the floor of the office he was looking for on the office tower's address board, the attach? quickly made his way to the elevators unnoticed by the legions of Chinese in the mall. He then took a lift to the tenth floor. It took the man merely moments to find the office at the end of the corridor.

  Seeing that there was a young pretty secretary manning the reception desk inside, he pressed the bell on the side of the entrance. The young lady smiled at him and then buzzed the door. The attach? walked in and smiled back at the woman.

  "Is Mr. Ashley in the office today?" he asked in Cantonese as he handed his business card to her.

  "I am afraid not," the woman answered as she took the card from the man.

  "Will he be back later?" he asked with a concerned look on his face.

  "Not for a least four weeks," she answered.

  The man pondered for a moment. The Chairman had told him to personally deliver the letter, but now it appeared as though this wasn't going to be possible. He wondered what he should do.

  He knew returning back to the consulate with the letter would result in his immediate transfer back to Pyongyang and his career ending on the spot, worse still a transfer to a reeducation camp in the mountains. With a wife, a young baby on the way, and a privileged position in Hong Kong, he didn't want that to happen.

  "I will take the risk," he concluded.

  He reached inside his briefcase and pulled out a wax-sealed letter. He looked at the woman once more.

  "Please, would you ensure this is couriered to Mr. Ashley today? It is most important," he smiled and asked in Cantonese.

  The woman took the letter and placed it in her in-tray. She promised the nervous looking man she would do as he asked. Satisfied with the response of the woman the man quickly left the office, hoping she would do as she promised.

  Once the woman was alone, she picked up the telephone and dialed the number her employer had left for her as per her instructions when anything ever arrived at the office.

  "Mr. Ashley's answering service," the American sounding voice said.

  "This is May from the Hong Kong Office, I have a letter for Mr. Ashley that needs to be picked up."

  "Who is the letter from?" the voice asked.

  "It was delivered by a Mr. Nam-Choi from the Consulate-General's office of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea," May answered, reading the man's business card. "It is a sealed letter from somebody called 'Humble Servant,'" she continued with a look of confusion on her face.

  "A courier will be there to collect it within thirty minutes," the voice answered without further comment. To which, the young woman said thank you, put down the telephone and went back to her magazine.

  A day later the letter addressed to Robin Ashley from the Humble Servant was delivered via the safe hand courier to Langley for examination for Bacterial Agents before opening.

  Three hours after that, the letter was opened by Rob, in front of another member of the Special Activities Division as per procedure when dealing with letters from a foreign power addressed to intelligence assets of the United States of America.

  Thirty seconds after that, the same word was uttered out of both Rob Ashley and Navjot Sidhu's mouths after they read the letter.

  "Jesus."

  5

  Pyongyang

  The Air China Boeing 737 taxied and bounced along the long cement runway of Sunan Airport, the international airport, of Pyongyang. As it did so, Rob's mind was going through his final mental checklist of things he needed to cover during this trip. The personal letter from NIGHTSHADE had been a surprise, not just for him but everybody at Langley.

  "An invite to discuss business opportunities with him," Young had said, not quite believing it after Rob and Al had shown him the handwritten letter from the man himself.


  "You have to go," Young had ordered. The chance for the CIA to gather first hand intelligence on a North Korean leader was positivity unheard of in the history of the Agency.

  So go Rob did, with a loving flea in his ear from Clara who had only just given birth to their son,?a boy they called Ethan Eduardo Ashley.

  "Be safe," was all Clara had said as she kissed him as he left their home.

  "I will be back next week," Rob had answered as he kissed his son's head and received a little burp in response.

  "Don't make promises you have no control over," she had replied, using the line that the loved ones of agents had used for ages.

  Making contact had been a relatively painless process, just as O had promised in his handwritten letter. Doing as he was instructed, Rob had contacted the Embassy in London, whereupon he had been immediately transferred to the Ambassador, who had promptly emailed him a letter granting him permission to travel to North Korea once he had sent the details of his flight.

  "Make sure you have the letter on your person when you check-in for the flight to Pyongyang," the Ambassador's return email had read.

  To an NOC (Non-Offical Cover Officer) and seasoned traveler like Rob, the idea of turning up to a check-in desk with a reputation of being the most security obsessive nation with just a printed letter from what could have been anybody was something he had found extremely amusing. Even more so when it worked!

  The "Welcome to Pyongyang" announcement and closing down of the engines of the aircraft brought Rob's mind back to the present.

  Once the plane doors had opened, a man of about thirty-five years of age dressed in a dark business suit came onboard and spoke to one of the stewardesses. The young lady instantly nodded and then promptly walked up to Rob with the man following behind her.

  "Mr. Ashley, would you please go with this gentleman?" she asked with a warm smile.

  "Of course," answered Rob, who promptly rose from his seat, took down his briefcase from the overhead locker, and followed the man out and down the steps of the aircraft leaving behind the various nosey NGOs, Diplomats, businessmen, and tourists to gaze and wonder as he did so.

  Once he reached the bottom of the steps of the 737 Rob was met by another man and woman. Immediately Rob guessed they were the more senior because the man he had followed down the steps had saluted them.

  "Welcome to Pyongyang, Mr. Ashley. I am Mr. Lee," the man said in perfect English with a beaming smile. "This is Miss Susan," he said, introducing the middle-aged woman at his side.

  "Do you have your passport, Mr. Robin?" Susan asked. "We need it for the luggage," she offered in an effort to place him at ease, just in case he was worried about the thought of his passport disappearing. She needn't have worried.

  "Thank you Susan," answered Rob without hesitation and a warm smile as he handed over his British Passport. "There is one piece of personal luggage and five boxes of gifts," he added with a smile. The word gifts always bought a smile