I'm so sorry for the wait! ;_; Until recently I've been caught up in band stuff, and when that ended I was out of town for a few days, then got back this week and had AP tests to contend with. Thankfully, my school year is drawing to a close so hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently. Once again, sorry for the wait! Thank you those of you who have stuck with me until now!

Chapter 7

When the plane landed, the sun was setting on the city of Beijing. It didn't seem to matter that it was almost nightfall—the airport was just as packed as it would have been any other part of the day. Fighting through the crowd, the delegation followed the signs (which, luckily, had English subtitles) and made their way to baggage claim.

After some scrambling to make sure everyone got their bags before they could be carried away by the conveyor belt, they were all set to wait in the long line to get through the security checkpoint. Alfred desperately wished there were benches or something to sit on, because the line moved incredibly slowly and he was getting tired of standing. It was all horribly inconvenient! On the plane he'd been tired of sitting, and now he was standing but couldn't really move or he'd lose his spot in line. And he had a feeling Mr. Richardson would scold him if he just sat down on the floor right there.

It took a couple of hours, but when they finally got past the checkpoint, they located a driver who had been arranged for them and all piled into a taxi-van. The hotel they'd be spending the night in wasn't too far from the airport, but the traffic was awful and it took them at least another hour to get there. By the time they finally arrived, it was well past sunset.

Mr. Richardson and the rest of the delegation were to go for a quick interview with the journalist, Mr. Blitzer, who was accompanying them on the trip, but Alfred was dismissed up to his room. Luckily—since they didn't want the journalist learning too much about Alfred's nation identity—Alfred was being allowed to stay in his own room, and the journalist had been told that he was simply another official sent to document the trip. A very young official…but he seemed to be buying it so far. The fact that Alfred got his own room just allowed him a bit more privacy from prying eyes.

While the others were out for the interview, Alfred took his stuff up to his room and flopped down on the bed. It seemed like he'd been spending a lot of time in hotels lately. Hadn't it been just a week or two ago that he'd been at the World Conference, lying in a hotel bed while he tried to work out Yong Soo's odd behavior? Funny how it all came full circle. Now he sat on the bed staring up at the ceiling—no longer trying to figure out what was making Korea act strangely, but how to fix the problems that caused him to act so. He kicked off his shoes, and let his mind wander.

Of course, one of the first things that came to his mind was whether or not North Korea's request to talk had even been sincere. Sure, maybe the North Koreans had requested to talk to Americans, but that didn't mean North Korea himself had wanted to. That would explain why the Korean had never brought it up to him at the Conferences. It was entirely possible that it was some strategic ploy meant to make the North Koreans look better and that North could care less one way or the other how these talks went. But still, there was always the possibility that he was the one who had wanted them and had somehow managed to convince his boss that they would be beneficial. Maybe he'd just been too proud to bring it up to America himself and had let his own officials handle it instead. There would be no real way of knowing until the time finally came when Alfred and the Korean would talk alone.

After a while, he decided the thoughts were a bit too troubling and that maybe some TV would help him calm down. There were no channels in English, but he could understand more or less what was being said, even in Chinese. Of all the languages he'd tried to learn, Chinese was especially difficult, but he was getting a better hold on it with every day that he practiced. After a while, he found that his brain was too tired and jet-lagged to translate anything that was being said and that he'd just been staring at the screen, not comprehending, for a while. What time was it anyway? The clock next to his bed said 11:32, but it didn't feel that late. He was tired, sure, but his body was still running on Pennsylvania time. What time was it there now? He was too lazy to try and calculate.

There was a sound of footsteps from the hallway, and he guessed Mr. Richardson and the others must be finished with their interview. He could hear doors opening and closing, and then suddenly, a knock on his own. Swinging his feet out over the side of the bed and onto the floor, Alfred went to answer.

Mr. Richardson greeted him with a smile and reminded him to be ready in the lobby by 8 o' clock the next morning. When Alfred asked if the interview had gone well, Mr. Richardson said it had. The questions were all basic: "How are you feeling?" "Are you nervous about this trip?" "What's on your mind right now?" He didn't think Mr. Blitzer would pose too much of a problem to the delegation, supposing he didn't accidentally take pictures of something he wasn't supposed to when they arrived in North Korea. It was the best they could hope for anyway.

After a quick briefing on what they'd be doing in the morning, Mr. Richardson bid him goodnight.

After Mr. Richardson left, Alfred went back to his bed, flopped down on it, stripped down to his underwear, and reached over to turn off the lamp. Might as well try and get some sleep anyway. If something went wrong in the next week, it might be the last full night of sleep he can get for a while.

The North Korean embassy complex in Beijing took up a whole block. The property was surrounded by a barbed wire fence, and where there wasn't a fence, there was a wall. Giant trees growing behind the walls and fences made the buildings themselves a bit difficult to see. There was a gate on one side, guarded by a uniformed man. As they drove up, Alfred got the impression that they were approaching a prison rather than a building meant for diplomacy.

The driver pulled up to a booth next to one of the gates and spoke to the man inside in rapid Chinese. A moment later, a metal gate was opened—and behind that, another larger wooden, ornate gate— to allow the delegation's van through. As soon as the van was through, the gates slid shut behind them.

Despite the entire city of Beijing looming just outside, it did feel a bit like entering another world. View of the street was obstructed by the wall that surrounded the complex, and the farther in they went, the more the trees hid the buildings outside the complex from view. The embassy building itself wasn't really anything special. Yellow brick, maybe four or five stories tall, and shaped like—well, a rectangle—it was pretty average as far as buildings went. Atop it flew the red and blue of the North Korean flag.

The van pulled into a circle drive at the front of the building and the driver gestured for them to step out. Some kind of official waited for them outside and greeted them amiably, giving a small bow. Alfred saw Mr. Richardson give a little bow back, so Alfred gave one too, and when he glanced up, he was happy to see that the rest of the delegation had stopped to give one as well. A moment later, the official led them inside.

They were told to wait in a lobby area for a moment while he went to retrieve their visas. The lobby was fairly nice, if not a bit of a culture shock. Paintings of the North Korean leaders decorated the walls and a few wall scrolls hung here and there. If it had been of any other culture, it might not have seemed so odd to look at. But the fact that the North Korean leader's personality cult seemed to follow him even to his embassies around the world was a little disturbing. Alfred shouldn't have been so surprised by it really—of course the embassies were going to have some national pride—but he was.

The man returned with the visas and some other papers that each of the seven delegates was required to fill out. About fifteen minutes later, they left the building with their visas in hand.

As they left the walled complex, Alfred realized that he was, in essence, leaving a little piece of North Korea. Just a single block in the middle of Beijing managed to look so much like a prison—of course North Korea itself would be much worse.

A few hours later, they were on Air Koryo, the official North Korean airline to Pyongyang. That's what they'd been told, anyway. Did North Korea even allow other airlines to fly into the country, America wondered? You certainly never heard of any other direct flights into North Korea. They always left from and returned directly to Beijing. Air Koryo was probably the only airline.

It wasn't a long flight at all. Alfred wasn't keeping track, but it couldn't have been more than about two hours. When they landed, it was late afternoon. The sun was beginning to sink towards the North Korean mountains on the horizon.

Almost as soon as they stepped off the plane, they were introduced to their handlers. There were two of them, and they would be overseeing all of the delegates' activities during their time here. Guiding them. Answering their questions. Watching them. One of them, Kang Dae, was surprisingly tall and looked pretty well built. Definitely the body guard sort of type. Alfred mentally added guarding them to his list. The other handler, Ki Young, wasn't quite as tall and seemed thinner. Neither of them looked any older than about 35, but Alfred couldn't be too sure.

They had their passports and visas checked, and were then led into a room inside the airport where their phones were confiscated. They wouldn't need them, they were told. They probably wouldn't pick up on North Korean service. Or they just don't want us calling home. Alfred thought gravely, and he handed over his phone. There went his connection to the outside world.

He hadn't noticed it until he left the room, but now a small gathering of people with cameras had begun to follow them. Was this…the North Korean version of the paparazzi? Some of them were shouting things at them in a mixture of Korean and broken English, and the ones that reached Alfred's ears more clearly began to translate as:

"Mr. Richardson! Look this way!"

"You there! Can I get a picture?"

"Do you have something to say for the camera?"

Yep, just like the American paparazzi. Alfred kept on walking, pretending that he couldn't understand them. If they got the idea he could speak any Korean at all, they probably wouldn't leave them alone. Already Mr. Nankung had turned to one of the photographers and politely asked him to wait a moment—he'd let him have a picture later— but now that the rest of the photographers had discovered they were being understood by him, he was getting far more attention than the rest of them. Even Mr. Blitzer, the journalist, seemed a little bewildered. He had his camera out and was filming, though he spoke to no one. Finally, Mr. Richardson had them stop, pose as a group for a few pictures, and then asked Ki Young in English if he could get the photographers to back off.

The Korean considered for a moment, apologized, and explained that they just needed something to run on state television tonight. They would leave them alone when they had what they needed. It seemed like a snarky response, but Alfred could tell he was being (at least mostly) truthful. If he was supposed to let the paparazzi do what they wanted, then…that was what he was supposed to do.

After a few more minutes of them rolling cameras and snapping pictures though, he finally did get them to back off. Ki Young and Kang Dae then led them to a room to pick up their luggage, which had been removed from the plane for them, and then took them out into the parking lot to load up in a couple of minivans.

Outside, the sky had grown darker and the remaining sunlight filtered through a layer of gray clouds. The air was moist, but cold. Alfred got the feeling it had probably rained recently. The pavement of the parking lot, even in the dim light, looked wet. The rest of the parking lot was mostly empty, except for a small scattering of cars and two minivans parked away from the rest of the vehicles, obviously meant for them.

When they got there, North was waiting.

He'd been speaking to one of the drivers when they'd arrived, but he turned to watch them as they approached now. He was wearing a long dark coat and gloves, which looked very comfortable right about now. A chill wind was blowing in from the north, and Alfred had simply stuffed his hands in his pockets, having left his gloves in his luggage. They'd only been outside for a few minutes, but already his face was beginning to sting with the cold.

Alfred greeted North with a smile. "What's up, dude? I didn't expect you to be here at the airport." He held out his hand for the Korean to shake, but he half-doubted he'd actually accept the offer.

To his surprise, the Korean hesitated, glanced at the other people gathered, and seemed to decide diplomacy was better for the moment. He grasped Alfred's hand firmly, but didn't seem too enthusiastic about shaking it. Alfred had a feeling the other people on the delegation and Mr. Blitzer's still-rolling camera were the only things that had persuaded him to shake with him.

"I'm only being a good host," the Korean said, his expression unchanged. "What kind of host doesn't greet his guests?"

Well, he was attempting to be hospitable anyway. For the moment.

"Well, thanks," Alfred said uncertainly, not quite sure how he was supposed to respond to such a defensive statement. "I'm glad you came, anyway."

"Hm."

Okay. So the Korean wasn't too keen on talking to him, it seemed. Maybe he hadn't been the one who'd wanted the Americans to come. Based on how he was acting, it was pretty likely that it was all his leaders and that this was all just a strategic ploy. Maybe North showing up at the airport to greet them was just a part of his orders. Now, as Alfred was beginning to realize, that reality upset him a little. He wanted to help. He wanted everything that went on in the next week to be sincere. He wanted to have the talks and come to agreements and make things right. It was a lot to ask for, but he thought it could be done if they were all on the same page.

And "on the same page" meant the Korean was going to have to show a bit more enthusiasm.

Mr. Richardson and the others were talking with the handlers as the drivers loaded up their baggage in the back of the vans. No one was paying attention to the nations for the moment. His curiosity had been piqued. Now he had to ask.

Leaning in, he dropped his voice almost to a whisper. "So, did you want to talk to Americans? Or did your boss?"

The Korean's face registered confusion. "…What?"

"Did you ask for us to come? Or are you just going along with it because it's what your boss wants? I want to know."

North's brows knitted together as he considered the question. No doubt he was trying to figure out what Alfred's motives were, and what the consequences might be for either answer. A chill wind picked up once more, and Alfred pulled his jacket tighter around him as he waited for an answer.

"It doesn't matter," North said finally, sticking his hands in the pockets of his coat. "You're here. That's all that matters."

"It does matter! That doesn't answer my question!" Alfred protested, growing frustrated. "I want to know if—"

"Alfred!" Mr. Richardson called. Several car doors slammed shut behind him as the rest of the delegates loaded into the vans. "We need to go."

Alfred looked back to North Korea, almost expecting to see some sort of triumphant look on the other's face, since he'd gotten out of giving him a direct answer. But there was nothing. He was still looking at him with the same dark eyes, almost bored.

"Just go," he said, giving him a dismissive wave of his hand. Clearly their conversation was over. "I will talk to you in the morning."

Alfred sighed, but he wasn't quite ready to give up yet. "I'm coming!" he called back to Mr. Richardson. As soon as the other man was in the van, he turned back to the Korean. The cameras were gone. The people were gone. As long as their voices were soft enough, they could talk freely for a moment. He moved in a little closer, speaking quickly.

"Look. I want to help you, okay? I know things aren't going so well for you right now. I want to help. But you have to cooperate. No bullshit. This is a two-way street. If you wanna be a world player, you have to act like one. I'm not going to just hand things to you and neither is your brother. But I really do want to help you, okay? Don't just assume everybody's out to get you."

The Korean narrowed his eyes, and suddenly Alfred got the feeling that maybe something he said had offended him. "I don't assume—"

One of the minivans started behind them. Their time was almost up.

"We just have to work on this together, okay?" Alfred said again. Man. He didn't want to sound like he was pleading with the North Korean or something, but he really wanted all of this to turn out okay. The last thing they needed was a second Korean War, and with South Korean warships along with his own lining up to basically show how badly they could potentially blast North Korea out of the water, the more likely that prospect was looking. And it would really be nice if they could just get along in general. To get along during the next week especially would be very important.

He waited a moment to see if North was going to answer him, but he just stood there, staring at him silently with those dark eyes.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," Alfred said, feeling a little awkward at the lack of response. He clapped a hand on the other's shoulder, hoping that somehow, it would be interpreted as a sign of friendship. "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight," the Korean muttered, and turned to go back inside the airport.

Alfred got into one of the vans, grateful, at least, that it was warm inside. His face was flushed from the cold, stinging, though it eventually began to warm up in the air of the van. His conversation with North Korea hadn't gone very well, and he knew that. For one, it hadn't been much of a conversation, since he did most of the talking. But it hadn't ended in insults or an argument, so it was a start at least. Maybe the Korean would go home tonight and think about some of the things he'd said. Then again, maybe he was being too optimistic.

As the vans pulled out of the parking lot, the first snowflakes began to fall.

Author's notes:

For those curious, much of this is based off the trip to North Korea taken by Bill Richardson in late 2010 to help relieve Korean tensions following the bombardment of Yeonpyong. I believe I mentioned that on the last update, but if anyone is interested in learning more about that particular trip or North Korea in general, you can watch the documentary "Six Days in North Korea." It used to be on YouTube, but I think it's been taken down. You can probably find it somewhere else though.