12. Brussels Calling
brUSSELS CALLING
Tobias appeared on the conference-room screen at three o’clock the next afternoon, slightly pixelated and overlit from Brussels.
“Good morning,” he said. “Can everyone hear me?”
Giovanni lifted one hand without looking up from his laptop. “It’s afternoon here, Tobias, but I can hear you.”
Aya nodded.
Esmee said, “Yes.”
Marina glanced at the camera mounted above the screen. “We can hear you.”
“Oh yes. Time difference. I’m sorry about the delay this morning, I had something come up during our eight o’clock meeting. Well, there are a few items before we begin.”
He worked through them briskly: the delayed diplomatic shipment from Dalian, the inventory of the residence, a revised date for their next meeting, and another request from MOFA to only use diplomatic pouch when necessary.
Marina snorted at the last item. They only used diplomatic pouch when necessary, now: it was cumbersome to use, and the secure, sealed shipments that went through Customs uninspected were exorbitantly expensive.
“Any questions for me?” Tobias asked.
“Yes,” Aya said. “We received an invitation from MOFA for a formal reception. Does Brussels have any objection to the delegation attending?”
Marina watched him onscreen. Since they couldn’t be sure that the connection was not being monitored by the DPRK, the last time they’d been in an accredited SCIF in Beijing with him in Brussels they’d they had agreed on a code: if he took a sip of his drink immediately after a yes-or-no question, it meant no.
There was a water glass in front of him, effervescence climbing up its sides from the sparkling water popular in Brussels.
“Sure, that’s fine,” Tobias replied.
“Very well. It’s black tie. Diplomatic or national dress where appropriate,” Aya continued.
Now Tobias took a sip of his drink, but as it wasn’t just after a question was directed at him, it was just drinking water, and not a coded response.
Giovanni looked down at his button-up shirt and utility pants. “Is this not national dress?”
“No,” Tobias said.
Aya covered a smile.
Marina rolled her eyes. Aya and Giovanni were going to get everyone in trouble with their office flirtation that had grown into a full-blown affair.
“The invitation was delivered this morning.” Aya pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope and an embossed invitation inside.
“Marina, I understand you brought suitable evening attire.”
She scowled at Tobias. Why did he have to single her out?
She already knew—she was the most tomboy of the women there.
Her mind went immediately to the garment bag Sung-cheol had carried on her first day.
“She can borrow one of my dresses if she didn’t,” Esmee offered.
“I brought formal attire, I will not go in a polo shirt,” Marina said stiffly.
Esmee looked sullen. “Good. You probably couldn’t fit into any of my clothes.”
“Damn right. If I flexed my muscles, I’d probably rip a seam.”
“What are you trying to say?” Esmee snapped.
“Team, please, handle this another time.”
“That was so unprofessional,” Aya stage-whispered.
No. She was not going to get piled-on in a staff meeting.
“Speak for yourself, Miss Sharing a Room So Everyone Can Have an Office when absolutely no one can work from home,” Marina returned. “It’s a bleeding embassy, Aya. If the job could be done remotely, it would be done from Brussels.”
"Some of us can get into relationships without writing a risk analysis."
“Maybe you ought to have considered the risks before you started?—”
“Team.” A note of annoyance in Tobias’ voice. “Esmee, you’ll brief Marina on the technical project. Marina will assist you.”
Marina looked across the table.
Esmee did not look back. She was too busy tidying a stack of papers in front of her, aligning the edges.
“What technical project?” Marina asked.
The image on the screen stalled for half a second. Tobias’s face broke into squares and reassembled.
Esmee sighed and tapped her pen.
Marina was thinking the same thing: that the sudden signal drop could be either the host-nation or Boris and Natasha listening in.
“Esmee has the details.”
Marina waited.
Tobias had already moved on.
“Giovanni, I need the updated customs declaration before close of business. Aya, please check on the local schools next. We’ll speak again Monday, assuming the connection allows it.”
“Tobias,” Marina said.
He looked at her.
She could ask him.
The camera was on. The microphone was live. The connection ran through infrastructure she did not control, in a building they had not yet accredited, in a country that treated foreign communications as a resource to be harvested.
“What is it?” he asked.
She looked at Esmee.
Esmee folded her hands on the table and waited.
“Just wanted to say to have a good weekend,” Marina said.
Tobias nodded. “Thank you.”
The screen went black.
Esmee got up from her chair.
“Do you need my help now?” Marina asked.
“Not yet,” she replied. “But let’s walk home together.”
“Okay…” Marina drew the word out. Esmee didn’t want to walk or talk with her, not voluntarily. This didn’t sound good.
Then Giovanni closed his laptop. “I’m headed back to Customs,” he said grimly.
Aya gathered her papers. “The library.”
Esmee was walking out when Marina stopped her.
“You’re not briefing me here?”
Esmee stopped at the threshold, and turned back: “No.”
“Why not?”
“I have a meeting to get to, let’s talk about it later.”
It was four o’clock and they still hadn’t discussed it. She’d called Tobias who had interrupted her before she could ask anything. All that he would say is for her to talk to Esmee.
That’s when she knew for certain that it was something fishy, which couldn’t be discussed over insecure lines.
Giovanni had spent the afternoon with Customs over a shipment that had finally arrived from Dalian. Aya wanted to see the National Library. Esmee had disappeared into one of those appointments that was never entered into the shared calendar.
It annoyed Marina endlessly as the RSO was responsible for the protection and safety of persons in the area of responsibility.
Esmee disappearing into thin air in an authoritarian police state that unalived people without due process?
When none of them had any diplomatic immunity? It was an unthinkable risk.
Esmee was getting on Marina’s last nerve when she finally reappeared shortly before closing. She waited beside Marina’s desk while Marina locked the diplomatic security files into the cabinet.
“We’re walking back,” Esmee said.
Marina walked over to the coffee bar to put her cup into the dishwasher. She looked outside the window.
A driver from the MOFA was waiting for them.
But Marina was used to getting more exercise. It would be a relief to walk and not ride everywhere.
“Sounds good.”
“Let’s get some fresh air,” Esmee agreed.
“In Pyongyang, the air quality’s been going down due to the increase in car traffic.”
Esmee smiled. “Luckily, just ten or so cars pass here every day. It’s still a long way from the air quality in Brussels.”
Marina knew that. She watched the security logs. She had never mentioned the traffic figures to Esmee, and Esmee's name had never appeared on the security camera access logs.
So how did she know? The only person who regularly reviewed those logs besides Marina was Tobias, who was accessing them from Brussels.
Marina glanced toward Esmee's back as they walked out. Had Tobias been talking to Esmee all along?
They signed out at the gate and started toward Munsu-dong.
The late-afternoon sky was white with heat. Cyclists moved along the broad avenue, bells chiming as they passed. An electric tram rattled somewhere beyond the apartment blocks. Neither woman spoke until the chancery building had disappeared behind a row of trees.
Esmee adjusted the strap of her bag.
“You’re going to help me plant listening devices inside the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,” she said quietly in French.