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

quickly on the opposite escalator. Su-Yung did not turn, but Milton noticed as she gave a single, short nod.
    Yes , she was saying, this might be challenging yet.
    She was right. The exit to the street was guarded by four soldiers. A folding table had been arranged to block the way out, and two officials sat at either end, the queue splitting so that they could take half each. The soldiers filling the gaps on either side all carried side arms. A queue had already formed as people waited their turn to hand over their credentials.
    Su-Yung was buffeted towards the official sitting on the left of the table, and Milton found himself nudged to the right. He watched the officials run through a practiced routine: they inspected papers and registration cards, comparing the photographs with the faces of their owners. Milton reached into his pocket for his new documents. He inspected them again, idly scanning them in the fashion of someone who finds queuing the most tedious thing imaginable.
    If they had discovered his deception, and if they had circulated copies of the photographs that would have been taken of him at the airport…
    He reached the front of the queue. The official was stern-faced, with alabaster skin, small dark nuggets for eyes and a sharply hooked nose. He took Milton’s papers and scoured them, looking up to gaze into his face and then back down again.
    “You are a long way from Germany, Mr Witzel.”
    “Yes,” Milton said affably.
    “What is the purpose of your visit to the DPRK?”
    “Just to enjoy your excellent country.”
    “I see.” He looked down at the coupon that recorded where he was staying. “And how do you find the Pothonggang?”
    “Comfortable.”
    “Not to your usual standards, though, I’m sure.”
    Was he making a joke? Milton couldn’t tell. “It is very pleasant.”
    “You will excuse me for a moment, Mr Witzel. I will speak to the hotel to ensure that what you have told me is true. Please wait to the side.”
    The man stepped away from the table, replaced with seamless efficiency by another official, this one crop-haired and severe, who had been waiting outside.
    Milton leant against the wall. He swallowed hard. He turned his eyes to the barrier and watched as Su-Yung took her papers and passed out of the entrance to the station. She did not look back and was quickly out of sight. Milton felt his stomach turn again. When he made a plan, he tested everything to destruction, but here, he was not in control of the situation. His cover was only as strong as its weakest link, and if an Alexander Witzel of Germany had not checked into the Pothonggang, then he would be exposed. There would be nothing for it but to take his chances and run. The four soldiers looked as if they knew how to handle their weapons; he thought he would be able to disable two of them quickly enough, but the other two would be a problem. As the official took out his mobile telephone and dialled the number of the hotel, Milton was reminded of the odds against him.
    He was practically alone against the most ruthless and thorough security service the world had seen since the salad days of the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti.
    The man spoke for a moment in Korean. Milton caught the name ‘Witzel’ and a word he took to mean ‘German,’ but apart from that, the language was incomprehensible. He noticed that the official had a holstered pistol fixed to his belt and automatically began to sketch out an alternative plan: the man was of a typically slight Korean build, and it would be a simple matter to put an arm around his neck and draw him in close, using his body as a shield, the other hand liberating him of the firearm. It might increase his odds, if only a little.
    The officer smiled at him for the briefest moment. He handed back the passport, the papers tucked into the front cover. “Thank you for your patience, Mr Witzel.”
    “Everything is in order?”
    “Indeed, yes.”
    “What is this