Somewhere Inside Part 5

"Who likes him?" I quizzed.

"The North Korean people," he said.

I noticed that he, like so many of the North Koreans I met, never talked about his individual likes and dislikes. It was always about the collective; it was about their country.

Toward the end of his second term, in October 2000, then President Clinton sent Secretary of State Madeleine Albright to Pyongyang for a meeting with North Korea's leader, Kim Jong Il. She was the first-ever American secretary of state and the highest-level U.S. government official to visit the Communist country. The trip was meant to persuade Kim to stop developing, testing, and exporting missiles. Albright was also setting the stage for what would have been an unprecedented visit by President Clinton to North Korea if a deal could be hatched. It was a high point in U.S.North Korean relations. But Clinton's term came to an end before he could make the trip, and his successor, George W. Bush, had a very different view of how the United States should deal with North Korea.

As our bags went through a final check at the airport, my heart was racing. Clear. When the plane lifted off from Pyongyang, I breathed in deeply and slowly exhaled. I was out. I never expected to have any further dealings with the government of North Korea.

Given how critical my 2007 doc.u.mentary was of the North Korean regime, I now thought I should try to reduce the possibility of a paper trail to me right away. Even though the North Koreans had probably already seen my doc.u.mentary, I didn't want to make an already contentious situation worse for Laura. One of my early calls was to the president of National Geographic, Tim Kelly. Tim hired me to host the Explorer Explorer series in 2003 and had become a good friend. I told him I was very concerned that my work in North Korea would adversely affect my sister's situation and asked him to pull my doc.u.mentary off its programming schedule and stop selling copies of the video. Within the day, National Geographic had imposed a total moratorium on the sale and airing of my series in 2003 and had become a good friend. I told him I was very concerned that my work in North Korea would adversely affect my sister's situation and asked him to pull my doc.u.mentary off its programming schedule and stop selling copies of the video. Within the day, National Geographic had imposed a total moratorium on the sale and airing of my Inside North Korea Inside North Korea film and had it and all related clips pulled off of YouTube. film and had it and all related clips pulled off of YouTube.

I also put out calls to my contacts in the media, which had grown quite extensive over my many years working in broadcast television. I called the presidents of a couple of cable news networks as well as a number of producers and correspondents. I acknowledged the need to report the news, but asked if news directors could limit the coverage of my sister's detainment, as we were dealing with an extremely unpredictable actor in the North Korean government and we were deeply concerned about antagonizing him. In the early days of Laura and Euna's detainment, we didn't want to give the North Koreans reason to think they had a political bargaining tool in the girls. Every news organization has dealt with emergencies a.s.sociated with sending correspondents into the field; therefore, my colleagues in the industry were very supportive of my request, and aside from reporting the basic facts about the detainment, almost all the major TV news outlets reported our story quite minimally.

CHAPTER FOUR.

the visit LAURA.

WHEN M MR. Y YEE ASKED me about whether or not Lisa had been to North Korea, I knew I couldn't lie. "Yes," I replied nervously. "She came as part of a medical delegation working on a doc.u.mentary." While I had been nervous about the North Koreans learning about my past project there, I was even more afraid of them finding out about Lisa's work. The reports I helped produce in 2002 were benign compared with Lisa's doc.u.mentary. me about whether or not Lisa had been to North Korea, I knew I couldn't lie. "Yes," I replied nervously. "She came as part of a medical delegation working on a doc.u.mentary." While I had been nervous about the North Koreans learning about my past project there, I was even more afraid of them finding out about Lisa's work. The reports I helped produce in 2002 were benign compared with Lisa's doc.u.mentary.

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" he asked sternly. "Did you think we wouldn't find out? We know everything."

He then pulled out a dossier he had on Lisa's visit there.

Lisa's doc.u.mentary for National Geographic was highly critical of Kim Jong Il's regime, and now the North Koreans saw her as an enemy of their country. Mr. Yee accused Lisa and me of having hostile intentions toward his country. He told me that Euna had a chance of going home because she was cooperating fully, but I, on the other hand, might have to spend the rest of my life in a North Korean prison.

I was so scared I could barely breathe. If Mr. Yee was trying to terrify me, he was succeeding. How had things gotten to this point? With each moment, my life seemed to be slipping further and further away. It was completely mind-boggling. Yet considering how paranoid the North Korean government is, I could see how they might think two sisters who were journalists could be out to topple the regime. This was made even worse because Lisa had worked on a scathing report about the North Korean system, and now I was being investigated and potentially accused of espionage in the DPRK. I tried to convince Mr. Yee that our a.s.signments in North Korea were unrelated and not part of some intricate plot.

"Tell me about her doc.u.mentary," he said. "What did she film?"

"I don't recall exactly," I said, lying. "All I remember is that a surgeon came here to remove people's cataracts. My sister had worked with this doctor before in Nepal and wanted to help him raise money for the work he does to restore people's vision. She only wanted to help him."

"Are you and your sister trying to overthrow the North Korean government?" Mr. Yee angrily asked.

"Absolutely not," I replied. "The fact that I'm here right now is entirely coincidental."

That night, I lay in bed and thought about how Lisa might be coping. I knew she must be terrified and wondering if North Korean authorities had linked her to me and, if they had, what that might mean for me here. I thought back to the morning when she was preparing to go to North Korea and how concerned I was that officials might discover she was on television. I was shocked that her visa to travel with the medical team was approved at all, and I warned her to be ultracautious. We joked that she better not be kidnapped by Kim Jong Il and be taken for one of his wives. Thinking back to that conversation gave me chills.

During that trip, she managed to call me once from Pyongyang. I knew her phone was being bugged, so I was careful about the questions I asked. I was just happy to hear from her.

"Are you having a good time?" I asked.

"Yes!" she replied excitedly. I knew instantly she was putting on an act. "It's really interesting here. Anyway, I can't talk long. I just want you to know I'm okay, and I'll see you soon."

I remembered hanging up after that call and thinking that if I lost my sister, it would be like losing a part of myself. I wasn't able to put my worrying aside until Lisa landed safely in Beijing a few days later. Now I wondered if I might be punished not only for my actions, but for hers a few years earlier.

THOUGH L LISA AND I I were brought up by a devoutly Christian grandmother, I've never been particularly religious. But like most people in times of crisis, I looked to a higher being for guidance and a.s.surance. I began to talk to G.o.d each morning, asking him to help me get through another day. I prayed to the Lord to give me and Euna strength to endure, to watch over our families, and to give my interrogator, Mr. Yee, compa.s.sion. I found solace in this simple ritual, and it made me feel less alone. were brought up by a devoutly Christian grandmother, I've never been particularly religious. But like most people in times of crisis, I looked to a higher being for guidance and a.s.surance. I began to talk to G.o.d each morning, asking him to help me get through another day. I prayed to the Lord to give me and Euna strength to endure, to watch over our families, and to give my interrogator, Mr. Yee, compa.s.sion. I found solace in this simple ritual, and it made me feel less alone.

For several days, I'd been wondering where I was being held. I figured I had to be somewhere in or near Pyongyang, but I wasn't certain. The thick mustard-colored curtains in my room had remained closed since the day I arrived, and I wasn't allowed anywhere near the window. "Lord, show me a sign," I whispered out loud. "Send me a signal that things are going to be okay." I felt slightly silly for making such a cliched request of G.o.d, but within minutes, the entire sheet of drapes along with a long metal rod fell to the floor with a thunderous crash. I popped up, careful to stay in bed so my guards wouldn't think I'd had anything to do with the falling curtains. For the first time in days, I could see outside. I marveled at the birds and the sky.

Trees surrounded most of the compound, but through the window, I was able to make out the top of the famous pyramid-shaped Ryugyong Hotel, which the builders had intended to make so high it would be the world's tallest hotel. I had seen the building when I was in Pyongyang in 2002. Its 105 stories and 1,100 feet of gla.s.s make it an impressive sight. The hotel was started in the late eighties, but structural problems and a lack of resources and money caused it to be left unfinished and empty. Back then, our North Korean guides said the building was still under construction, but the absence of workers and cranes made it clear the project had been abandoned. Rather than becoming a source of pride for the country, the structure has become an embarra.s.sment and a symbol of North Korea's faltering infrastructure.

This is how I knew I was in Pyongyang, and not too far from the city center. I had never in my life challenged G.o.d to give me a sign. Now the first time I asked for one, he seemed to have answered. The guards rushed in to fix the drapes. I wanted to help them and rose from the bed so I could lift the fabric from the ground. They were too fl.u.s.tered to order me away and they seemed to appreciate my help. All the while, I stole glances outside, taking in as much of the scenery as I could. There wasn't much to look at except for a row of tall trees and some shrubs that were obstructing my view of a building down below the compound. But for me, seeing this small glimpse of nature was a little gift from G.o.d.

About a week into my detention in Pyongyang, which was close to two weeks since my capture, the guards asked me if I wanted to take a warm bath. The bathroom had a tub, but it was always being used to store water for those frequent times each day when the water shut off. Sometimes these outages lasted several days. When that happened, the water in the tub could be used for basic needs such as flus.h.i.+ng the toilet and brus.h.i.+ng teeth. In any case, there was no hot running water, so the tap water was too cold to use for was.h.i.+ng. For the past week, cleaning myself had involved soaking a towel in the frigid water, bracing for the forbidding cold, and rapidly scrubbing myself. I welcomed the opportunity to take a warm bath.

The way they heated the water was to place an electrified metal rod into the filled tub. I was told it could take several hours to heat, but after five hours the water was just barely lukewarm. It had a number of hours to go before it was bearable, but then the electricity shut off. The guards looked defeated. I thanked them for their efforts and told them I didn't need to take a bath. Truthfully, the last thing on my mind was my hygiene. As time went on, I developed a system by which the guards would allow me to heat water in a little electric kettle. Just getting this small amount of water to boil took nearly thirty minutes. I would mix the hot water with some cold water from the bathtub, which provided just enough warm water to splash onto my body and rinse off.

When I wasn't being interrogated, I was usually curled up in bed. I had nothing to do but think. I also listened intently, straining to hear the slightest sound that might indicate that Euna was also being held nearby in the compound. I faked loud coughs or sneezes, hoping she might hear me. Once in a while, I would ask Min-Jin about Euna.

"How's my friend doing today?" I asked nonchalantly, as if I already knew she was somewhere close.

"Who's your friend?" she replied with a blank look.

"Her name's Euna," I said dejectedly. "She's Korean. I think you'd really like her."

I couldn't tell if she really knew who Euna was or not. If Euna wasn't being held in the same facility, where was she?

To keep warm and to occupy my mind, I walked in circles around my room, sometimes hundreds of them a day. I thought a lot about my parents. My heart would break every time I pondered how worried they must be about me. Aside from their shared love of sh.e.l.lfish, our parents have nothing in common except Lisa and me-we are everything to them. I wondered what they were doing and how they were dealing with all of this. And were they together?

Our parents' relations.h.i.+p had mellowed a great deal since the time when Lisa and I were kids. Lisa teases by saying we're closer as a family now than we were when our parents were married. The four of us-Mom, Dad, Lisa, and I-have even gone on a couple of family vacations together over the last few years. We laugh when our parents joke about which one of them used to snore the loudest. When we were kids, however, the thought of our parents ever becoming friends was simply unthinkable because all I can remember about their life together is the fighting.

When I was four and Lisa was seven, my father was driving all of us down a slick road in the dark of night. I was in the front seat of our tan Buick Oldsmobile between my mother and father. Lisa was sleeping across the backseat. I nestled my head in my mother's lap, but I wasn't trying to fall asleep. I wanted to drown out the yelling Lisa and I had become so used to hearing. But this evening's conversation was different. Our mom was telling our dad that she wanted to move to Los Angeles and live with her sister there. She wanted a divorce.

The screeching sound the tires made on the pavement seemed to go on forever. I struggled for breath as my father's weight enveloped me. He had taken his hands off the wheel and was reaching for my mother. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. Suddenly I heard Lisa's voice from the back of the car, shouting, "Daddy, stop! Please stop!" Her little hands reached over the seat, grabbing my father's hair with all her strength. Lisa's vigor worked, and Dad calmed down. Then he just started crying. We were all crying.

Months later, Mom moved to Los Angeles. My dad's mother was living with us at the time, but Lisa became my protector and I hers...even when it didn't exactly work to my advantage.

One day Lisa-age eight-was in the bathroom for a long time. I kept coming back and would stand outside the door waiting for her to come out. She didn't. Then, from my room, I heard a loud cras.h.i.+ng sound from inside the bathroom. Running to the door, I screamed, "What happened, Li? Are you okay?"

Lisa opened the bathroom door and pulled me inside. She had spilled foot powder all over the room; whiteness blanketed the sink and the dark blue carpet. I heard Dad's footsteps coming up the stairs.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on in there? Open the door!"

We opened the door, and he looked around to see everything covered in powder.

"What happened here?" he asked angrily. "Who did this?"

Silence. Then Lisa looked over at me and in her little voice said, "She did," and pointed right at me.

What? I couldn't believe she was blaming me. I knew she just didn't want to get into trouble, but how could she? Then my dad looked down at me and asked, "Is it true, Laura? Did you do this?"

I looked up into his eyes and then looked over to my sister, who was looking down. "Yes...I did."

Dad immediately sent me to my room and made me sit in the dark. An hour later Lisa came in and turned on the light. She looked sullen and forlorn as if she'd been crying. I could tell she felt guilty about telling Dad that I spilled the foot powder.

"Thanks for taking the blame for me, Lau," she said. "Why didn't you stand up for yourself?"

I didn't say anything.

Lisa then came over and put her arms around me. "I promise, Baby Girl, that I'll stand up for you as long as I live."

LISA.

THE U UNITED S STATES HAS a diplomatic relations.h.i.+p with almost every country in the world-some exceptions are Iran, Cuba, and of course North Korea. Without some form of diplomatic relations, the leaders from each country cannot just pick up the phone to call one another. It seems entirely illogical and even archaic, but that's just the way it is. If the United States ever needs to send a message to North Korea-or vice versa-it has another country, Sweden, as the official liaison. The Swedish amba.s.sador to North Korea is named Mats Foyer. a diplomatic relations.h.i.+p with almost every country in the world-some exceptions are Iran, Cuba, and of course North Korea. Without some form of diplomatic relations, the leaders from each country cannot just pick up the phone to call one another. It seems entirely illogical and even archaic, but that's just the way it is. If the United States ever needs to send a message to North Korea-or vice versa-it has another country, Sweden, as the official liaison. The Swedish amba.s.sador to North Korea is named Mats Foyer.

Linda from the State Department suggested that we write a short letter to Laura, and she would send it to her through the Swedish amba.s.sador. She said she would e-mail the note to Amba.s.sador Foyer, and he would print it out and deliver it to the North Korean Foreign Ministry in Pyongyang. It was worth a try. My parents, Iain, Paul, and I huddled in my mom's den for an hour and crafted a meticulously worded letter from all of us.

It was helpful to have Paul's insights because his father, Won Ryul Song, was from Pyongyang and had fled south to Seoul from the north in 1946 when Communism was starting to take root there. It was seven years before the two Koreas were divided. As my father-in-law told it, it was a time when young men were being rounded up and forced to become part of the Communist movement or face being sent to a labor camp or, even worse, to death. He has not been back since. As I learned from him and from actually being there myself, there is perhaps no culture on earth more obsessed with respect and the idea of saving face than North Korea's. We had to be deferential and even apologetic in our letter because we knew that my sister's eyes would not be the only ones to read the letter. We were certain that it would be seen and scrutinized by those holding Laura. No matter what actually happened on the border of China and North Korea, it was imperative that we express great remorse and our apologies. Anything perceived by Laura's captors as hostile or accusatory could make matters much worse for her.

One thing that we made sure not to do was refer to G.o.d or prayer in our letter. There is one group of people for whom the North Korean government has more contempt than it has for Americans. They are the people the regime believes are fervently trying to overthrow it: Christians. Christian groups in South Korea and along the Chinese border lead the charge in protesting North Korea's abysmal human rights record. It was, in fact, a South Korean Christian pastor who had helped Laura's team arrange interviews and plan the shooting schedule. There are reputed to be thousands of underground Christians working along the border trying to help people escape from North Korea. We were therefore careful about not seeming to be aligned with any such groups. We suggested that Michael also write a letter to Euna using the same precautions and guidelines.

Amba.s.sador Foyer was our only hope of getting information to Laura and Euna. After we e-mailed our letter to Linda, she forwarded it to the amba.s.sador. We had to wait to see if it would actually get to Laura.

The other way the United States and North Korea can communicate is through the latter's Permanent Mission to the United Nations based in New York City. The U.S. State Department occasionally sends messages through a North Korean diplomat based in New York named Minister Kim Myong-Gil. In diplomatic circles, Minister Kim is known as the "New York channel." Right after we learned of Laura's capture, my mother found Minister Kim's information online and sent a letter, fax, and e-mail to him every day thereafter. She also left daily phone messages. Mom would call his voice mail and make lengthy sobbing declarations of the extensive pain the North Korean government was inflicting on her by holding her child prisoner. From another room I would hear the anguish in my mother's voice when she'd call. There were a few times when she wouldn't even be able to speak, she would just cry into the receiver and then hang up.

LAURA.

ONE EVENING, TWO WEEKS into my detainment, Mr. Yee brought me a box wrapped in decorative paper from one of Pyongyang's hotels. "These are toiletries that are being provided to you by the DPRK and by me because I am in charge of you," he said. "They are not being sent to you by your government. Do you understand?" into my detainment, Mr. Yee brought me a box wrapped in decorative paper from one of Pyongyang's hotels. "These are toiletries that are being provided to you by the DPRK and by me because I am in charge of you," he said. "They are not being sent to you by your government. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I replied. "Thank you so much."

The box contained a facial lotion set with three different types of creams and a toner made from ginseng root. I could sense that the interrogator's comment was intended to let me know that his government was benevolently caring for me and that I should be grateful for this treatment.

"It looks very nice," I said appreciatively. "Thank you for being so kind."

He then pulled out a manila envelope. The top left corner had some sort of official seal with English letters. My heart began to thump wildly, and I strained to make out the words on the seal. I hoped this would be a message from the U.S. government or my family.

"This is an envelope from the Swedish emba.s.sy," Mr. Yee said. "Because the United States and North Korea are still at war, you have no official representation here. So the Swedish government acts as an intermediary body for the two countries. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, growing increasingly anxious to see what was in the envelope.

"Here are some letters from your family and colleagues," he said, handing over the thin packet.

I rushed into my room, sat down on the bed, and tore open the envelope. The letter was an e-mail dated Sat.u.r.day, March 21, which was the day I was being transferred to Pyongyang. Only a week had pa.s.sed, but it felt like an eternity. I burst into tears just looking at the typed words on the paper.

Our Dearest Laura,We miss you so much. Please be strong and know that everyone is doing all they can for you and Euna. We are holding you in our hearts every second of the day and night. Friends and family from every corner of the world are sending positive thoughts. We have been moved by how many people have expressed their love for you; your Facebook page is over-flowing with messages of support...We know that those in whose care you are, are not harming you and that you are safe. Please be respectful to them. Stay strong, Baby Girl. We know we'll see you very soon. We love you so much.Love, your family, Dad, Mom, Iain, Li, and Paul I knew my sister had written this letter on behalf of my family. "Baby Girl" was what she often called me. I also noticed that Lisa had not used her full name but had signed the letter "Li," probably because she hoped it wouldn't catch the attention of the North Korean authorities. I read the words "We know we'll see you very soon" over and over. By the next morning I had memorized the letter completely. Its optimistic tone gave me some hope that things might work out. At the same time, the message was vague and said nothing specific about what was being done to bring us home. Were these just veiled words to keep my spirits up? How could my family be so rea.s.suring that we would be reunited soon when the letter was sent just days after I was captured? Already a week had gone by, and Mr. Yee was giving me the vibe that going home "soon" was far from likely.

The next day, he came into my room and told me to wash my face and make myself presentable because I would be meeting with someone. Astonished, I moved to the edge of my seat, wanting to hear more. I was going to be taken to see Mats Foyer, the Swedish amba.s.sador to North Korea. Mr. Yee explained that my time with the amba.s.sador would be extremely limited, so I should use the time wisely.

"He will want to know how you've been treated," Mr. Yee said. "We have not harmed you, have we?"

"No, no," I replied. "I've been treated fairly."

He nodded in approval. "Because of your crimes, your situation is very serious. This is the time to tell him that your government must do something."

My body was trembling. Was there news? Would he be bringing additional messages from my family or my government? I was filled with excitement but cautious about letting it overtake me. I had so much I wanted to convey, but how could I do it with North Korean officials in the room? I particularly wanted him to know about the violence, but given my conversation with Mr. Yee about how I'd been treated, I knew I couldn't just tell the amba.s.sador outright about my condition. My hands were shaking. When my guards were not paying attention, I carefully slid the bandana on my head up just enough to reveal a small strip of the bandage that was covering the large gash. I had to find a way for the amba.s.sador to notice the gauze strip so he would tell my government that action was needed urgently.

A driver arrived at the compound and I was directed into the backseat of the car, accompanied by Mr. Yee and Mr. Baek. They told me we were going to the Yanggakdo Hotel, where I would meet the amba.s.sador. I'd been conditioned to hold my head down while I was being transported between locations, but this time I asked Mr. Yee if I could look out the window.

"Yes, go ahead," he answered.

I peered out the window as we made our way to the hotel. Pyongyang is the country's pride, and living there is a huge privilege, one that's reserved for the most elite, loyal citizens. Mr. Yee explained to me that after the city was demolished during the Korean War and riddled with land mines by the enemy forces, the area was deemed too dangerous to build on. He took great satisfaction in telling me that despite these setbacks and being isolated by sanctions, North Korea had erected an impressive city of skysc.r.a.pers, parks, stadiums, and monuments out of the rubble. I did find Pyongyang to be an attractive city, but it's clear that they've not been able to invest much in upkeep and maintenance. There don't seem to be many buildings that have gone up in the last decade, and up close, the existing ones look to be in disrepair. Many of the sidewalks are in ruins and unusable.

I noticed that there were more cars on the road than during my previous visit to Pyongyang in 2002, when the streets were empty of vehicles. Now, at an intersection, I'd see two or three other cars lined up, which in North Korea const.i.tutes a traffic jam. At the center of each intersection was a pretty woman dressed in a blue uniform made up of a skirt, a coat, and a large military-style cap. Each held a flashlight-type wand, which she used to direct the cars. These human traffic guides were necessary because the lights are unreliable due to the frequent power outages. Not only are cars too expensive for the average citizen to own, but it is difficult to be granted a vehicle permit. Most people walk or take public transportation. We pa.s.sed the local train station, where groups of men and women in army uniforms were squatting here and there waiting for the train. I noticed that there were more shops and restaurants than before, and small beverage kiosks had been set up on the sidewalks. Unlike most capital cities across the globe, Pyongyang is devoid of commercial advertis.e.m.e.nts. Any signage is devoted to Communist propaganda sayings or giant portraits of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il. Everything was extremely orderly. People weren't lingering or conversing with one another on the streets. They just seemed to be going about their business.

The towering Yanggakdo Hotel, one of Pyongyang's finest, sits on a small island within the city. We came into the vast lobby, which was empty of any tourists or businesspeople, and I was brought to a small conference room for the meeting. The amba.s.sador was tall and lanky, with a kind and gentle demeanor. When he embraced me, I was overwhelmed with emotion. For the past two weeks, I'd felt like I was living in a parallel universe, with no way of connecting to the life I once knew. But through Amba.s.sador Foyer's eyes, my family would in turn be seeing me. Tears trickled down my cheeks as I struggled to compose myself. I had been told I would have only ten minutes with the amba.s.sador, and I wanted to make every second count.

The amba.s.sador explained that his questions had to be of a consular nature, such as how was my health and how was I being treated. I subtly directed my eyes upward to signal the bandaged wound I received from the b.u.t.t of the rifle during the time of my arrest. But with several North Korean officers there, monitoring every word, I found myself saying, "I'm being treated fine."

I told the amba.s.sador I had apologized for my crime of trespa.s.sing into North Korean territory, but that my situation was very grave because of the doc.u.mentary report we were working on and because my sister had worked on a film in North Korea. He and a colleague from the Swedish Emba.s.sy jotted down notes as I explained my situation.

I knew that if I said anything that angered the officials in the room, it would be bad for me. But there was one thing I wanted to communicate. "We did cross the border very briefly," I explained. "I'm very sorry for that. I've expressed deep remorse for my actions. It all just happened so fast. We were running back to the China side when we were arrested on Chinese soil."

I knew it was risky telling him we were in Chinese territory when we were taken. I didn't know how the authorities monitoring me would react. But this could be my only chance with the amba.s.sador, and I thought this bit of information might give the U.S. government some leverage in dealing with North Korea. Or perhaps it could help the Chinese government lend a hand to the United States and put some pressure on the North Koreans to release us.

The amba.s.sador looked at me tenderly and told me to be strong. He asked about my health and my ulcer. I a.s.sumed my family had made him aware of my condition. I mentioned some stomach pains that I had been experiencing, and he said he had a package of medication along with books, snacks, and toiletries that had been sent via the U.S. Emba.s.sy in Beijing. He inquired if there were any items I needed.

"It would be great to get some more letters," I replied.

He explained that by international agreement I had a right to send and receive letters, and said that he would ask to see me regularly.

He a.s.sured me that my employers, including Vice President Gore, were working on the case. I asked if Secretary of State Clinton was aware of the situation. He affirmed that she was not only concerned but also involved.

One of the North Korean monitors signaled that our time was up. I thanked the amba.s.sador and rose to give him a hug. I didn't want to let go of his thin bony frame. He was my lifeline, my only link to the outside world.

LISA.

LINDA M MCFADYEN, OUR FAMILY'S State Department contact, told us that the very moment Amba.s.sador Foyer learned of Laura and Euna's detainment, he'd begun trying to see them. He even delayed a number of overseas trips he was supposed to make so he would be available if given the chance to see the girls. The amba.s.sador knew he was my sister and Euna's only connection to their government and their families, and he took this role very seriously. Linda said he had been calling the North Korean Foreign Ministry every day and often showed up at their offices demanding to see the girls. State Department contact, told us that the very moment Amba.s.sador Foyer learned of Laura and Euna's detainment, he'd begun trying to see them. He even delayed a number of overseas trips he was supposed to make so he would be available if given the chance to see the girls. The amba.s.sador knew he was my sister and Euna's only connection to their government and their families, and he took this role very seriously. Linda said he had been calling the North Korean Foreign Ministry every day and often showed up at their offices demanding to see the girls.

On March 30, Linda told us that Amba.s.sador Foyer had been granted a visit with Laura and Euna and that he'd been allowed ten minutes with each of them. This was a huge development because this was the first time we'd heard anything about their condition since the arrest. We'd already endured two torturous weeks of nothing but silence from North Korea, during which we ran through every worst-case possibility of how they might have been treated. Amba.s.sador Foyer was the first and only nonNorth Korean to lay eyes on my sister.

He told the State Department, and Linda told us, that Laura was physically okay but very, very scared. He went on to say that she had been extremely talkative, as though she was trying to utilize productively every second she had with him. She told the amba.s.sador that, yes, they had "touched" North Korean soil but were back across the border and in China when they were taken by the North Korean guards, who then took her back across the frozen river. Laura had confirmed what we already knew from Mitch. Though I was still hopeful that Laura and Euna's apprehension on Chinese soil might give us some leverage if China would agree to pressure North Korea, I remembered what Governor Richardson had advised-that getting China involved would only infuriate the North Koreans. Not only that, we had no idea whether China would cooperate. Our family decided it would be best to keep this information under wraps, at least for now.

Lastly, Linda said something that made my heart sink-she said the North Koreans were displeased with the doc.u.mentary I made for National Geographic.

This was all so much to process. Were they holding what I did against her? They had figured out that Laura and I were sisters, and I could only imagine what they were hypothesizing about us. I felt like I was having a breakdown, but I knew I had to hold things together. Whatever I was going through paled in comparison with what Laura was enduring. I needed to use every ounce of energy within me to concentrate on getting her home.

LAURA.