24. Reassigned
REASSIGNED
Marina stopped on the last step.
A cheery, golden yellow morning lit up the pastel-colored buildings around her, blanketed in grey smog from coal-burning fires. Just when she thought everything was nice, it wasn’t.
Ri wasn't there.
A black sedan was parked at the curb. Miss Park stood beside it, talking to Mr. Choe.
She looked at the car, then at Miss Park.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, Miss Marina." Miss Park gestured brightly. "You remember Mr. Choe. He will be assisting you today."
The man bowed, which she thought was rich, since he practically pulled a gun out on her for not going into a camp suspected of brainwashing children.
Marina pressed her lips together into something that resembled a smile and bowed too. She could play this game.
"Where's Mr. Ri?"
Miss Wu’s smile flagged.
"Comrade Ri has been reassigned," Miss Park replied.
Something inside her dropped. "Reassigned where?"
Miss Park's smile remained in place. "The Ministry had need of him elsewhere."
Marina looked at her. Yesterday, Miss Park had been asleep in the third row. Or Marina had thought she was asleep.
Mr. Choe had been drunk enough to snore through half the afternoon, but not necessarily drunk enough to forget what he'd seen. Miss Wu had been beside her in the car when she'd caught Ri's eyes in the mirror.
And then there had been the tree. Tree yoga, and all that.
Her stomach tightened.
"Is this temporary?"
"I don't know."
"Why wasn't I told?"
Miss Park's beneficent expression faltered. "It was a Ministry decision."
Marina looked at Mr. Choe.
He wore a dark suit and a small red pin on his lapel. His English was excellent. He probably knew every street in Pyongyang.
A foreign diplomat had no right to tell the host nation who she’d work with, and who she wouldn’t. It infringed on their sovereign authority to manage their own human capital.
She didn’t care.
The government was going to tear them apart soon enough. They were not going to take one more day from them.
"Good morning," Mr. Choe said in English.
"Good morning." Marina bowed.
She got into the car.
Mr. Choe didn't know where anything was.
That wasn't entirely true.
He knew that officially he was assisting a foreign delegation in the Munso-dong quarter. He understood that the center of gravity was located elsewhere in Pyongyang.
He did not know where Marina kept the vehicle inspection forms. He did not know which entrance she used at the delegation.
He didn't know that Esmee became apoplectic when drivers stopped directly in front of the chancery and leaned on the horn.
He didn't know that the diplomatic pouch had to be collected before eleven on Thursdays, or that Giovanni preferred itinerary changes communicated directly to him rather than to the security guard, or that Marina refused to leave equipment unattended in a vehicle even when Miss Park assured her it was perfectly safe.
By lunchtime, she had explained six things Ri already knew.
By three, eleven.
She started counting.
It gave her something to think about besides whether Ri was sitting at another desk somewhere in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Or in a room.
Or—
She stopped herself.
There was no evidence anything had happened to him.
People got reassigned.
That happened.
Presumably.
She had no idea what happened to North Korean liaison officers because normally she did not fall in love with them.
"Miss Marina?"
She looked up.
Mr. Choe was holding the car door open.
"Sorry."
She got out.
Esmee was already in Tobias's office when Marina arrived for the video call.
"You're late."
"I'm two minutes early."
"Then Tobias is later than you."
Marina sat down and opened her notebook.
Esmee watched her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"It had better be nothing," Esmee muttered.
The screen changed, and Tobias appeared from Brussels, wearing a headset.
"Morning."
"Afternoon," Marina said.
"Whatever it is there."
"Six hours ahead."
Tobias snorted. "I know how time zones work, Marina."
"Apparently not."
Esmee made a noise that might have been a cough.
“Testy today, aren't we?” Tobias quipped.
“A bit of travel fatigue,” Giovanni interjected.
Marina didn’t argue with him. He was trying to help her not get into more trouble than she already deserved.
Tobias moved on to staffing and logistics.
Marina waited.
"Anything else?" Tobias asked.
"Yes. MOFA changed my liaison officer."
Esmee turned her head.
Tobias looked down at something. "And?"
"I want Ri back."
Esmee leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. Aya took her water glass, and drank so slowly that Marina realized she was trying to avoid being called upon to say anything.
Giovanni nudged her foot under the table.
Marina coughed and sat up. "My—our previous liaison," she amended. "We had trained him up and now we have no time left to train a new one. It was the Second Secretary Ri Sung-cheol. They've replaced him without notice."
"Why?"
"They just said that he was reassigned."
Tobias shrugged. "Sounds like you have your answer."
"No, I have a new person halfway through an assignment who doesn't know our procedures and we are losing time."
"Train him."
Marina leaned toward the screen.
"I don't have time to train another MOFA aide. Ri already knows the chancery, our schedules, our transportation requirements, the pouch routine, where we're permitted to go, where we've already been, and approximately fifteen thousand other things I don't particularly feel like explaining again."
Beside her, Esmee looked impatient, and drummed her fingers on the table.
“Something that you wanted to add, Esmee?” Tobias’s eyes darted between them.
“Not me.”
Tobias scoffed, but nodded. “Fine.”
"Is the new officer incompetent?"
"No."
"Does he speak English?"
"Yes."
"Then what's the problem?"
He's not Ri.
Marina folded her arms.
"The problem is unnecessary disruption. If MOFA wants us to get our work done, arbitrarily rotating support personnel isn't helpful."
Tobias sighed. He picked up a paper on his desk, scanned it, and put it back down.
"I'll raise it, but I don’t think anything will change.”
"Why is that?" she asked.
Tobias picked up a pen and started doodling.
“I got a cable from the host nation Ministry in the overnight hours,” he said, watching the slow trace of his pen, “and I think they’re not interested in switching out the new driver-liaison.”
Her stomach dropped. “Tobias, I cannot work with this man, it’s a safety risk.”
Tobias set the pen down and folded his fingers. “What are you talking about?”
“He was the driver on the tour to Wonsan. When I refused to enter the Songwondon Children’s Camp, which the UK sanctioned, he got short with me. He was carrying a firearm, and I just didn’t feel safe.”
Tobias blew out his cheeks. “Wow. You will have to report in detail when you return. But I will insist on a change of staff. Anything else?”
"No."
Esmee waited until the screen went black, Giovanni and Aya got up, murmuring with heads bent together. Marina made to get up and Esmee tugged her sleeve back down.
"Sometimes we want what we can’t have," she said.
That did it.
“You know, I noticed that you no longer wear your silk scarves in whimsical places. No more scarf on a handbag, on a wrist—now it’s always around your neck.”
Esmee touched her scarf, adjusting it.
Marina winked. “Almost like someone would who’s covering up a hickey. But no. You don’t wear French scarves all the time anymore. Sometimes they just” —she made a flourish of her fingers—“disappear.”
“We’re supposed to be on the same side, Marina.”
“Yeah, I know that, Esmee, I just don’t know if you do.”
Marina yanked open the conference room door.
"Marina."
She turned around theatrically. “Yes, my lady?”
"Did you make that call from here because you wanted Tobias to deal with it?"
Marina frowned. "Obviously."
"No." Esmee nodded toward the dark screen. "Did you make it from here because you wanted somebody else to hear you?"
Marina stared at her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You clearly mean something."
Esmee picked up her papers. "Then you should probably think about what."
The next morning, Marina saw the van before she saw him.
She stopped inside the front door.
Ri was standing beside it.
For one second, everything inside her loosened so abruptly she nearly laughed.
He looked exactly the same. Dark suit. National flag pin. Keys in one hand.
Alive.
He saw her. Nothing changed in his face. "Good morning, Miss Marina."
"Good morning."
Miss Wu was already in the van.
Marina walked toward him, forcing herself not to hurry.
"What happened to Mr. Choe?"
"Reassigned."
She reached for the passenger door. Ri opened it for her.
"That seems to happen a lot."
"Mmm."
“The Ministry of Foreign Affairs wants to keep the European delegation happy,” Miss Wu said.
Marina felt sick. Were they ordering Ri to do what they’d done together?
Did they know?
She searched his face, then climbed into the van.
He shut the door. Only when he was behind the wheel did he look at her in the rearview mirror.
His eyes met hers.
What happened? she tried to ask him without moving her face.
His expression gave her nothing. He looked away and cleared his throat.
Damn it. What they had was real, right? Not ordained by the state as a wolf trap?
Marina sat back and rewound the events. She had wanted him returned. She had complained. Twenty-four hours later, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had returned him.
She should have been relieved. Instead, she thought of Esmee standing beside the dead video screen.
Did you make it from here because you wanted somebody else to hear you?
Marina looked at the ceiling. She had checked the room, but there was a difference between finding nothing and there being nothing.
"Where are we going today?" Ri asked.
Marina looked at the back of his head. "Work."
"Excellent." Ri started the engine.
Miss Wu smiled.
Ri pulled away from the curb.
Marina watched Pyongyang slide past the window. She had gotten exactly what she wanted. She had no idea who had given it to her.
As for Ri—she looked at him again. He was driving, paying attention to the road, not to her.
No. She was not going to start second-guessing herself. What they had was real—so real that the MOFA had probably reassigned him because they were suspicious of it.
She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t stare at him. She memorized the sound of his breath, the whisper of his hands turning the wheel.