EXCERPT
PROLOGUE Tumen River, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea The river was a smooth black mirror. She gathered her courage and stepped off the bank, rippling the surface. Icy water filled her sneakers. She moved forward. The water soaked the cuffs of her dungarees and rose up her calves. She paused to look back. She could just make out the low white retaining wall on the embankment. Beyond it lay a cornfield, a dirt road, a mountain. She advanced again. Each step sent undulating circles through the faint reflections of stars. Freezing water climbed to her knees, her thighs, her sex. Her waist, her solar plexus. For a moment, halfway across, she felt herself floating. Her toes quested, found the bottom again. She pushed ahead. Water reached her breastbone. She drew a deep breath and kept going. Abruptly, the water level began to drop. To waist, knees, ankles . . . And she was across. She slogged onto the bank, hugging her elbows, shivering violently. After a few seconds, she shucked off the backpack. Inside, the yukpo, the beef jerky, tightly wrapped in plastic film, was fine. The phone and documents were safe and dry in their cases. But the carton of Jangbaeksan cigarettes had gotten damp. She could only hope the tobacco . . . Her ears registered a soft sound in the long grass, not far away. In a heartbeat, she was crouched. Flooded with bad nunji, bad intuition. Something whisked closer. She could not distinguish where the 4