I emerged from the subway at the agreed-upon rendezvous point and straight into a rainstorm. Droplets of water immediately began spilling down my face, making it a challenge to scan the busy street around me for my contact. Then I spotted her across the street, taking shelter in an empty coffee shop. How interesting, I thought, that crowds of hurried South Koreans were unknowingly shuffling by one of the greatest North Korean smugglers of our time.

Something felt wrong. Our driver cautiously pulled our truck to the side of the lonely dirt road. Around us the forest pressed in; all was eerily quiet. Thus far, we had been the only vehicle on in this remote stretch of road, but up ahead, through some branches, we can see the outline of a car—parked across our path. Have we been discovered?

I came to South Korea to meet with a group of people risking their lives to rescue North Korean Christians. Just a few short hours after landing I was running. Around me, Koreans were pounding the pavement as well, their legs moving as fast as their lungs enabled. We were running hard...for exercise. Thankfully, nobody was chasing.