The John Milton Series: Books 1-3 Read Online Free PDF Page A

Satisfied, she turned back to Milton. “My name is Su-Yung Jong-nam. I will be with you until you have completed your objective.”
    “The man in the front?”
    “My brother, Kun. If you need anything, you must ask me. For now, our objective is to get you away from here.”
    The driver took a sharp right into a quiet alleyway and parked. It was quiet for a moment, just the restive background sounds of the city as they collected themselves. Su-Yung did not wait for long. She reached into her bag and withdrew a package of documents, including a German passport. She pressed them into Milton’s hands.
    “Study these. Your name is now Alexander Witzel. You are a German tourist staying at the Pothonggang Hotel. They are looking for an Englishman, remember, not a German. They said you speak the language.”
    “I do.”
    Milton checked through the papers. The passport was an impressive fake, bearing his own photograph on the second page. Another new identity , he thought, a little wryly. He had lost count of them all by now.
    “Is it in order?”
    “It’s very good,” Milton said.
    “I am pleased.”
    “What happened to McEwan? The real one?”
    “He was shot. The authorities will find his body in the car once it has been set alight. His passport will be on his person. They will not be able to identify him from his likeness, but they will be able to confirm that it is him from his fingerprints or his teeth.”
    “How will they have access to that?”
    “Mr Milton, my country might be backwards in almost everything else, but one thing that it is extremely good at is discovering information. Mr McEwan has a criminal record in your country. Finding that is a matter of child’s play for the Ministry of Information.” She shook her head in what might have passed for an expression of grimly patriotic satisfaction. “The police will believe that he is dead, the victim of a smuggling deal that has gone wrong. They will be distracted by a murder hunt, and you will be free to go about your business.”
    Kun interrupted his sister in hurried, tense Korean.
    “My brother is concerned that we are taking too long. We must go, Mr Milton. Are you ready?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then follow me, please.”
    They walked quickly onto the main street, Milton allowing Su-Yung to extend a lead of ten metres. They reached the entrance to Ragwon Metro Station. It was a squat, curved building with a large clock fixed to the roof above the entrance. A clutch of schoolchildren—dressed in identical white blouses, blue socks and red neckerchiefs—gambolled down the steps and onto the wide forecourt beyond. Su-Yung disappeared into the crowd, and Milton caught his breath for a moment. He was tall enough to see over the people in his way, and he quickly spotted her again. He hurried inside; he had an impression of ornamental decoration, a mixture of Soviet functionalism and oriental opulence, before he was borne forwards onto the escalator that would take them down to the tracks. Milton concentrated on looking as inconspicuous as he could, his eyes glancing across the brightly lit, sombre marble walls as they were ferried downwards. It was as striking as he remembered; only the Moscow Metro came close. With its grandiose architecture, austere cleanliness and cool atmosphere, Ragwon reminded Milton of a museum.
    The platform was crowded. Milton stood away from Su-Yung, not even looking in her direction. A mural was painted on the wall, Kim Il-sung holding a book aloft and flanked by two rifle-wielding soldiers, a demure housewife and a worker. The national flag billowed behind them.
    The red-and-green-painted train arrived, and they both climbed aboard.
    Milton gazed around at the faces in the compartment. It could have been a tube train anywhere in the world. The people wore the same closed expressions, avoiding eye contact as if they were in London or New York. Framed portraits of the Great Leader and the Dear Leader were fixed to both ends of the