UNFED

When a former intelligence analyst goes rogue, their whereabouts are the very information they are most eager to conceal. And that person knew better than anyone how to hide.

All Hoon had was a name, an age, and a three-line note. It was handwritten by Viktor. Viktor said he had heard David's name within a network of European intellectuals. He had never met him in person. It was just a name.

It wasn't much to go on. Viktor had warned him as much, folding the note and pressing it into Hoon's hand at the edge of the basin.

"People like this don't want to be found," he'd said. "If he's still alive and still hiding, he's good at it. You won't find him by looking. You'll find him by being seen."

Hoon and Carlos arrived in Tel Aviv in the afternoon.

They left the airport and took a bus into the city. The city was noisy. The old and new parts of the city were intertwined. Walking through the market alleys near Jaffa, Hoon watched the people.

They were eating. They were eating on the street. They were eating quickly. Because they were hungry.

That scene now looked different to Hoon. Just a few months ago, he had done the same. He ate while walking. He ate because he was hungry. It had been natural.

Now, that sense of naturalness had faded.

Carlos spoke.

"Where do we start?"

Hoon pulled out Viktor's note. It was three lines long.

"David Levi. Former Mossad agent. Digital analyst. Reportedly plays chess."

Carlos looked at the note.

"A chess club. In a city of four million people." He didn't say it like a complaint. He said it the way he said most things, as a fact to be worked with rather than argued against.

"It's what we have."

"Let's find a chess club."

* * *

There were two chess clubs in Tel Aviv.

The first club was in the Florentin neighborhood. It was on the second floor of an old building. Hoon went inside. There were five people there. He asked if anyone knew a man named David Levi. No one did.

One man asked why a Korean was looking for an Israeli he'd never met. Hoon didn't have a good answer. He left it at that.

The second club was in an alley near Jaffa Port. There was no sign. Just a small piece of paper taped to the door. It was in Hebrew.

The paper looked old, the tape yellowed at the edges, as if it had been put up once and never replaced—the kind of place that didn't need to advertise because the people who belonged there already knew where it was.

When he went inside, there were old wooden tables. Three or four people were playing chess.

Hoon went in and sat down in an empty chair. Carlos stood by the entrance. It was a spot where he could see who was coming in and going out. That was Carlos's way.

A man sitting across from him looked up. He was in his late forties. His hair was half gray. His eyes were sharp. His hands were resting on the chessboard.

There was no conversation. He just looked at him.

Hoon spoke. It was in English.

"Viktor Sorel knew your name."

The man didn't react.

"He's Czech. A biochemist."

"I know."

Those were his first words. They were brief.

"Viktor only knew three lines about you. I'm the same. That's why I came here myself."

The man looked at the chessboard, then back at Hoon.

"I'm Korean."

"Yes."

"I'm from the Philippines."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. As if he already knew.

Hoon looked at him for a moment.

"How did you know?"

"There's dirt on your shoes. Red dirt. It's the kind found in the mountainous regions of the Philippines."

* * *

David Levi picked up a chess piece and then set it down.

It was a knight.

"This piece moves the most irregularly. It moves in an L-shape. It's the hardest to predict."

Hoon listened.

"So this piece is either the most dangerous or the most useful—one of the two."

Hoon asked.

"Which is it?"

"It depends on how you use it."

David finished speaking and folded his arms.

"What brings you here?"

Hoon began to speak. About Gong. About awakening. About the Analog Principle. About the fact that they were currently being observed from the outside.

David didn't interrupt once. He listened to the very end, his hands still on the board, occasionally moving a piece a few millimeters and setting it back exactly where it had been—a habit, Hoon guessed, from thirty years of holding still while other people talked themselves into trouble. Then he said,

"Can I ask you three questions?"

"Go ahead."

"Why don't you use digital?"

"Because AXIS can't read it."

David nodded. It was the right answer.

"Awakened people really don't eat."

"Yes."

"You're the proof."

"Yes."

David looked at Hoon for a long time. They were the eyes of an intelligence agent. Eyes that read data. Lies wouldn't work in front of this man. But Hoon wasn't lying.

"My third question."

"I'll listen."

"Why do I have to go?"

Hoon paused for a moment.

"If you don't have a reason to go, you don't have to come. We don't need people who come under duress."

David looked at the chessboard as he heard those words. For a long moment, his hand hovered over the knight again, as if he meant to move it, and didn't.

Silence fell. The sound of a car could be heard from outside the alley. The sound of waves from Yafa Harbor drifted in the distance.

Carlos was listening to this conversation from the entrance. He didn't interrupt. The decision was up to him.

David stood up.

"My place is nearby. It'll take me fifteen minutes to pack my bags."

Hoon looked at him.

"Why?"

David said casually.

"There are people who will come looking for me if I don't hide. You're proof of that."

And as he walked toward the door, he added.

"I know why I'm needed there. You didn't need to tell me."

Watching David leave, Carlos said quietly to Hoon.

"I like this guy."

"Why?"

Carlos thought about it.

"He watched the room the whole time you were talking. Not you. The room. The door, the windows, who came in, who left. I do the same thing. People who do that, you can trust what they tell you, because they're not telling you what they think you want to hear. They're telling you what they actually see."

Hoon watched the door swing shut behind him. He hadn't answered the third question. Not really. He had only said David didn't have to come. David hadn't said why he was coming anyway.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, David returned.

He had only one bag—a small backpack. He had nothing in his hands. He hadn't shaved, hadn't changed his shirt. Whatever the fifteen minutes had been spent on, it wasn't packing.

The three of them walked out of the alley. They were heading toward Jaffa Port. The wind was blowing. It smelled like the sea.

David spoke as they walked.

"I have something to ask you on the way."

"Go ahead."

"Some people are capable of awakening, and some aren't."

"I've never seen anyone fail yet."

"I think I can do it, too."

Hoon looked at David.

"Why?"

David said, looking straight ahead.

"I cut my food intake in half over the course of three years. It wasn't for any particular reason. I just gradually lost interest in eating. At first, I thought it was strange, but there were no health issues. My doctor ran tests twice. Both times, nothing. I stopped asking after that."

Hoon walked while listening to him.

"When you lose interest in food, you develop an interest in other things."

David said.

"The hidden things. The things you can't see."

That was why this man had worked in this field. And it was probably also why he had left it. Hoon didn't ask about it. He would find out later.

Carlos, walking a step behind, caught Hoon's eye and gave the smallest shake of his head—not now, it meant, let him get there on his own. Hoon understood. There were questions you asked and questions you waited for. This was the second kind.

They hailed a taxi in front of the harbor. They went to the airport. Carlos looked out the window at the Mediterranean Sea. The evening light lay on the water's surface.

David said.

"When do the 72 hours start?"

"When we arrive in Gong."

David nodded.

That was all. The plane began its taxi, and through the window the lights of Tel Aviv slid past and fell away, and David didn't look back at them once.