CHAPTER 14
“So tell me what you know about this prosecutor,” I ask Hee-Man once we’re outside.
Apparently, my guard must think I want to know what the lawyer’s called. “His name is Mr. Kim.”
If I were having a good day, I’d crack a joke. Another Kim? Is he your brother? Any relationship to old Jong-Il? But I’m not having a good day, not by anyone’s definition of the term.
I’ve just spent seven days stuck in some backwards holding cell in North Korea being interrogated because I happened to find myself drugged and shanghaied over the border. Now I’m in Pyongyang, where I’ll waste weeks as a prisoner getting ready for my trial, and assuming I’m found guilty (because this is North Korea, where human rights don’t even exist), I’ll be faced with hard labor or torture or execution. Honestly,
