Her heart was pounding by the time she reached the small platform in front of the crowd. Like a hooked fish gasping for air, she darted her eyes back and forth in search of his familiar face. Her breath stuck somewhere in the middle of her throat.

  Simon wasn’t there.

  CHAPTER 35

  Simon’s wrists were already bleeding by the time Lang dragged him out of the detainment center and toward the administration building. He could hardly feel his legs but stumbled along, tripping regularly, barely able to sense where his feet were in relation to the rest of him. Camp 22’s Chief Officer was already addressing the crowds when the throng of prisoners came into view, a gray mass against the backdrop of a drab, cloudy day. “It is the joyful, patriotic duty of every member of this great nation to commemorate the birthday of our beloved Eternal President, who saved us from Western aggressors and constantly provided for us out of his own benevolence and extreme generosity.”

  Simon thought back to his own childhood, when he had sung songs of Kim Il-Sung’s preeminence with as much passion as the rest of his peers. He should be grateful to finally be free of the regime. A few more minutes, and he would never have to hear another propaganda speech again. Soon, the only songs he would sing would be praises of the one true King. He should be ecstatic, leaping and dancing for joy. But his wrists were chaffed and bloody, and after he stepped outside, the arthritic burning in his hips and back only intensified each time he stumbled.

  “Hurry up,” Lang ordered. Simon gritted his teeth. A few more minutes. Just a little longer, and he would be free.

  The speaker cleared his throat. “It is no secret that our nation has struggled arduously at the hands of Imperialist aggressors. But for metal to be perfected, it must first be purified in the furnace, purged of all impurities. It is in this spirit of sacrifice, this spirit of purging, that we bring forth our condemned.”

  A low cheer sounded, not the lustful howl of the bloodthirsty, but the resigned compliance of the exhausted masses.

  “We’re late.” The assistant director swore and shoved several prisoners out of his way in one sweeping motion.

  Simon glanced up. He no longer needed to beg his legs to function. He tried to run, nearly outpacing Lang himself.

  There on the platform, biting her cheek and straining her neck, stood Hannah.

  ***

  She let out her breath, and relief washed over her entire being. He was there. He had come. She would not die alone. He was bruised and beaten, but she saw in his eyes that he was ready. As was she.

  A lifetime of conversations passed between them in a single moment — the theological discussions they would never have, the sweet musings they would never whisper in the hammock of Mrs. Stern’s garden. And in that moment, Hannah knew. She was his, she had always been his. In any other place, any other world, they would have been together already. Simon stepped up on the platform. The droning of the political speech, the shuffling of the prisoners fell mute. It was him, and it was her, and in that moment, she knew everything was exactly as it should be.

  Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. She took a deep breath, thankful for the simple gift of crisp, fresh air. She tore her eyes away from him to glance up at the storm clouds overhead. She prayed for rain to wash their blood off the platform when it was all over. Lord, send a deluge. Something rumbled in her spirit. For a moment, she envisioned the entire mass of prisoners of Camp 22 lifting up holy hands in praise and worship of the Almighty King. She pictured a day — years in the future, but coming nonetheless — when God would transform the very land they stood on. She saw the ground itself purged and cleansed from all the innocent blood it had soaked up over the decades. Former guards and former prisoners met together, clasping hands and asking God to heal and forgive their nation. God answered with torrents of blessings, a flood of his Spirit. The rain would come. Hannah wouldn’t be alive to witness it, so God had given her a glimpse of Korea’s future glory now.

  Mr. Stern’s voice whispered to her on a breeze. “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” And now she understood. If in some way her death could pave the way for such an outpouring of the Holy Spirit, she would face the sword or the revolver or the gallows a hundred times over. She turned back to Simon. Had he seen it too? Did he know what power and majesty would one day be revealed right here where they stood? Did he understand what an honor it was for God to allow them to meet their end like this — together?

  Joy welled up from the core of her being, so irresistible she would have probably started singing right there if the man speaking hadn’t looked directly at her. Her spirit already soared heavenward, but her body faltered for a moment. She felt blood drain from her face and willed herself to remember this man too was loved by God.

  Father, don’t desert me now.

  She hadn’t even ended her prayer when glorious singing deafened her ears. The music was clearer, purer than anything she had ever listened to, yet it was somehow familiar. Had she heard it in her sleep, maybe? Or in the quietness of Mrs. Stern’s garden as she meditated on God’s goodness? For the first time, Hannah finally understood the word homecoming. This wasn’t death, but birth. Birth into a glorious new world without pain or sorrow or terror. No more darkness. No more starvation or trembling. No more heartache. She never knew how much her life was missing until she stood here, so close to eternity. The bullet wouldn’t hurt. As long as the music still filled her soul, she doubted she would even feel it.

  She was going home.

  She stared into the speaker’s frowning face and wondered how anyone could stay deaf to the majestic melody. Her eyes passed over the crowds, the prisoners assembled to witness her martyrdom. If only God unplugged their ears, the revival would start right now. Today. If only ...

  ***

  She looked beautiful, like a princess about to address her people. Simon’s knees shook. She was too young. A lump lodged in his throat. She deserved so much more than this.

  The speaker listed all of Hannah’s crimes. Simon stared out across the sea of bodies that stretched out in all directions. So they would kill her first. How could Simon stand by while the executioner pointed his rifle and ripped her life away? How could he stand by and do nothing? Had he even known what fear was before now? Had he even tasted grief? Hannah stood only a few steps away, a radiant smile lighting her perfect, bruised face. Why was she happy? Didn’t she know what would happen as soon as the Chief Officer of Productivity finished speaking?

  Why, Lord? Why? Why Hannah? Wasn’t Simon’s sacrifice enough? What had Hannah ever done? She was the most gentle, selfless creature he had ever met. How could the National Security Agency ...

  She stared at him. Her eyes were imploring. What was she trying to say? There was such a depth to her expression. What is it, Hannah? What are you trying to tell me?

  A guard tied her hands behind her back. How could she be so calm? Didn’t she know what was about to happen? She kept on looking at him, and then he understood. She wanted to go. He felt like shaking her. Didn’t she know this was the end? The end of their dreams? Last night, they had almost married. Now, they were both about to die. And she was glad.

  What is it, Hannah? What do you know that I don’t? How can you be so calm? The executioner marched up to the platform and raised his rifle to Hannah’s chest. Simon would never have the chance to ask her.

  ***

  Hannah studied the executioner and took a breath to calm herself. The music had faded away, but her sense of hearing was still heightened, as if she could detect every breath, every movement, every rustle of the prisoners who waited for her death. Another breeze whispered past her.

  “I’ve crossed over Jordan to Canaan’s fair land.”

  She caught Simon staring at her. Although her heart was fuller than ever before, his look sent a sharp pang through her chest. Lord, give him strength to watch me fall. The speaker lectured the crowds, and she asked God one last time for forgiveness and grace.

  “I’ve heard the sweet music, that heavenly song.”

  The speaker scowled. “The prisoner will be silenced or gagged,” he barked. Hannah hardly understood his words. Had she been singing out loud? The corners of Simon’s eyes crinkled slightly. His off-key baritone rose up to join her.

  “From glory land over the sea, a soul-thrilling message from Jesus, our Lord.”

  Another man joined their chorus. She didn’t need to look out at the crowds to recognize Mal-Chin’s voice. For a moment, her singing faltered. Mal-Chin was elderly. She had tended to him in the infirmary once. His body might not withstand another beating.

  “I will sing, I will praise you, worship my God, my King.” He and Simon sang the next line without her.

  “Silence,” the speaker commanded, but his hand holding the megaphone trembled slightly.

  The wind picked up, slapping strands of hair across her face. As more and more voices joined in, she knew not even death would silence their music. She waited. Any second, a bullet would lodge itself in her heart, but the praise would continue. The revival had already started. And the National Security Agency was powerless to stop it.

  “I will shout, ‘Hallelujah.’”

  “Now!” the speaker yelled to the guard, who had lowered his rifle to the level of Hannah’s knees. “Do it!” At first, the executioner made no indication he had heard. The speaker shouted again, and the guard raised his weapon once more.

  “This is like heaven to me.”

  She kept singing. She wouldn’t fear anybody ever again. Her death today would pave the way for thousands of Koreans to witness the grace and glory of God. What greater honor could she hope for in this life?

  “Do it!”

  The executioner moved his thumb across the rifle’s mechanism.

  Forgive him, Father.

  He shut his left eye to aim.

  “No!” Simon’s voice carried over the noise of the crowd. He rushed forward, a gray streak charging toward her. She braced herself. She tried to warn him, but her voice caught in her throat.

  The shot rang out. Simon fell. His blood splattered across the platform and pooled at Hannah’s bare feet.

  CHAPTER 36

  She dropped to her knees beside him and stifled a sob. Her hands were still bound, so she couldn’t even prop his head up. The front of his uniform shirt grew darker every second. “Simon?” She laid her body next to his, nuzzling her face against his cheek. “Can you hear me?” He stared back at her with lifeless eyes. Her uniform soaked up the puddle of blood on the platform. She didn’t care. Her blood would soon mix with his. The speaker stopped shouting. The crowd ceased their singing. Hannah’s ears rushed with echoes of roaring silence. She propped herself up to kiss Simon’s clammy forehead. She only hoped to join him now in heaven. What was the executioner waiting for?

  “What are you trying to prove, killing a little girl?” The shout came from the center of the throng but carried all the way to the platform. The prisoner’s angry voice was met with murmurs of agreement. “How’s her death supposed to honor the Eternal President, unless he’s a blood-thirsty ...”

  Three rapid shots silenced his protest. Several women shrieked. A scuffle. More shouts. The stomp of boots squelching in the muddy ground. It was all background noise as Hannah leaned her head on Simon’s shoulder. I want to go home with you. Please. Tell God I’m ready. I just want to be together. Forever this time.

  She shut her eyes, and a single tear streamed down her cheek. Another rifle shot sounded, but it came nowhere near her. She looked out. In the center of the gathering, the crowd had tried to part, and now a dozen more guards descended on the area. The whole mass undulated in a terrifying rhythm, but Hannah still didn’t understand.

  “Silence them!” The grumbling grew to a collective, outraged roar. A few more people screamed. Like ants scurrying from a flooded hill, the prisoners did what they could to scatter, but the sea of bodies surrounding them proved an impassable barricade. By the time the next wave of rifle fire rang out, half of the guards were in the middle of the fray, and the others stood ready along the outskirts of the crowd.

  Hannah’s stomach churned. She closed her eyes and lowered her head to Simon’s. I just want to go home with you.

  Something touched her shoulder. She jumped. “They’ll kill you too.” Mal-Chin’s gnarled fingers tugged at the rope around her wrists.

  The horde continued pressing out, swallowing up the guards who stood on the circumference of the gathering. Dozens of shots sounded over the screams and protests of the mob in grotesque syncopation, and Hannah saw more National Security agents racing in with machine guns. Mal-Chin pulled her down behind the platform. “Come on. Follow me.”

  Hannah paused. “Simon ...”

  “He would want you to live.” Mal-Chin had to yell to be heard. “Let’s go!”

  He ducked down and yanked her after him. Just seconds later, the first bursts of machine-gun fire splattered through the air. More shrieks. Hannah tried to look back, but Mal-Chin kept pulling her, keeping her up with a shocking display of strength when her feet stumbled beneath her. Her heart raced so fast she thought she might almost swallow it. He didn’t stop even when the barbed wire came into view, but Hannah slowed down instinctively. The fence was at least half a meter taller than he. There was no way they could scale it.

  “Trust me,” Mal-Chin shouted over his shoulder. “It’s the only way.”

  Hair lashed against her cheeks, and her legs threatened to collapse beneath her, but Mal-Chin kept rushing forward. She couldn’t even find the breath to warn him it was electric. Just two steps away from the looming barricade, he wrapped both hands around her waist.

  “No. Please, don’t!” she shouted, but there was too much momentum for either of them to stop. He hoisted her up, roared loudly from exertion, and jumped, propelling her into the air.

  His body fell forward. Hannah heard the awful electric hiss as soon as his hands released her. She waved her arms and legs wildly, scraping both shins on the barbs on top of the fence. She tumbled over and landed on her stomach. The fall sucked her breath out of her, but when she could finally gasp again, there was only the stench of burnt flesh. She forced herself to look back.

  Mal-Chin’s body slumped against the wires, burn marks etched across his expressionless face. Smoke drifted up from his hands and neck, and the occasional sizzle from the fence was more deafening than the machine-gun fire they left behind.

  “Mal-Chin?” she whispered faintly, even though she knew there would be no response.

  It was several minutes before her brain registered that she was outside the camp. She was free. Hannah’s mind told her to get moving. It didn’t matter where. As soon as the guards got the protest under control, they would invade the woods looking for any who escaped. She had seen enough of torture and jail cells to last a lifetime. But could she really just walk away? She wanted to reach out to Mal-Chin, to take the old man’s hand in hers, but she was afraid to reach through the wire. Had he known all along? Even if he had survived, there would have been no way for him to join her on the other side.

  Her throat constricted. How many men had died on her account today? In the distance, machine-gun fire still pierced the air with its deadly staccato. A clap of thunder sounded overhead, and a slight drizzle wet her cheeks. How much rain would it take to wash Simon’s blood off that platform, to cover the violence taking place near the administration building right now? Would the rain cool down Mal-Chin’s charred body? What had God been thinking? She was ready to die. Ready to go home. Why hadn’t he let her complete her mission? And what was she supposed to do now? She hadn’t been outside in months. She tried to guess where the sun was behind the clouds. She didn’t even know which direction was which. And if she did, what would that change? Simon’s body was back in the camp. Mal-Chin was here, his scarred, burnt flesh tangled in the fence. She couldn’t just leave them, could she?

  The whole mission from start to finish was botched. Even Mr. Tong, her only successful delivery, had been killed. That was probably her fault as well. Branches ripped at her cheeks. She was several paces away from the fence before she even realized she was running. She had no idea how she would travel, but there was only one place for her now. Simon and Mal-Chin and all the prisoners shot in the mob would remain in North Korea, probably tossed in some mass grave, but this wasn’t her home.

  Not anymore.

  She wiped her face, struggling to hold back her sobs. There would be time for tears later. For now, she had to get back across the Tumen. She had to get to Yanji.

  She was going home to the Sterns.

  PART 5

  “For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” Isaiah 43:3a

  CHAPTER 37

  Juliette sat down at her computer. Still no email from her daughter. Kennedy was scheduled to take her last final today. Had she studied enough? Would she still have time to pack her things for the long flight back to Yanji?

  The house would be a lot quieter than Kennedy was used to. They didn’t have any refugees living there anymore. The Chinese police were getting suspicious and had interviewed her husband on two different occasions. Juliette and Roger both agreed they needed to take some time away from such a dangerous ministry.

  It was getting dark. Juliette glanced at the clock. Roger would be home soon. She would have to get dinner going before too long. After ten years relying on hired help to do all the meal prep and cooking for her, Juliette was glad to have the kitchen back to herself after their housekeeper left last fall. She took a sip of tea and thought about calling Roger to ask him what he’d like to eat. The two of them had a Scrabble game in the upstairs den left over from last night. Juliette would never admit it to her husband, but she had sneaked a peek at an online dictionary and had a twenty-four point move all mapped out.