Read The John Milton Series: Books 1-3 for Free Online Page B

that there would be loose ends that would eventually lead the authorities back to her: CCTV footage, witness statements, those conspirators who found their tongues loosened in the basement of the building where the secret police carried out their interrogations. When that happened, the results would not be good for her or her brother.
    “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “You and Kun?”
    Su-Yung paused, looking for the right words. “My country is sick, Mr Milton. It has been sick for many years. People are starving while the Kims and their cronies spend lavishly on themselves. These cars that are being brought into the country, for example—whole families could be fed for months with the proceeds of just one of them. Years. Something must be done.”
    “But why you?”
    Su-Yung stared into her tea. “Why not me?” She paused, giving thought to what to say next. “My father was from the South. He was captured during the war and held here as a prisoner. When the fighting ended, many of the prisoners were exchanged, but the North did not return all of the men that it had taken. My father was one of the unlucky ones.” She paused to take a sip of her tea. “North Korean society is very carefully arranged. Everyone has songbun —in your country, you might refer to it as reputation or standing. In Korea, it is something that stays with a family forever. It is hereditary. It is why my brother is a janitor and I work in a factory. We will never be able to aspire to anything better. Neither of us could join the Party, even if we wanted to. Our families are always last in line for food. I have a daughter; she is eleven years old and a wonderful pianist. The music she plays—” She stopped for a moment, wistful. “It is beautiful, Mr Milton, but it makes no difference how good she is. She will never be able to go to music college to study. How is that fair? She is punished for the so-called sins of her grandfather.”
    “What happened to him?”
    “They put him to work in an iron-ore mine. He was a quiet man, who never spoke out of turn. He did not drink for fear that the alcohol would lower his guard and he would say something that he would regret. If your songbun is low, you are not given the benefit of the doubt if someone makes an accusation against you. One day, while he was in the mine, he had a disagreement with his foreman. The area in which they were working was unsafe—miners die all the time here—and he refused to lead his men any further until it was properly reinforced. The foreman reported this to the Party. He said that he was disobedient and insubordinate and that he had spoken sarcastically of the Great Leader. I do not believe that this could possibly have been true, but in matters such as these, truth is not important. Two nights later, an army truck appeared outside our little home, and my father was taken away. We think they took him to one of the work camps in the north of the country, but we cannot be sure. It is possible that they shot him. We never saw him again.”
    The line of Su-Yung’s jaw set hard as she clenched her teeth, and for a moment, a fire that Milton had not seen before flashed in her eyes. “That, Mr Milton, is why I am doing what I am doing. Someone has to take a stand against these people, and as I say, it might as well be me.” She finished the cup of tea, and as she replaced the cup in the saucer, her cheery demeanour returned. “Now,” she said, pointing at the bowl of soup, “you must eat. It is unlikely you will have another opportunity to fill your stomach until much later.”
    Milton ate. The soup was delicious, substantial and spiced with just the right amount of chilli. He finished the plate quickly and did not object when Su-Yung offered him a second helping. When he was finished with that and the plates had been cleared away, Su-Yung sat down again and handed him another new set of papers. This passport was English, with a sheaf of documents wedged