The Golden Catch

by Roger Weston

  “I appreciate all your help. Please pass on my thanks to your friend Koichi Kazuka in Japan. Unfortunately he pieced together a sad puzzle.”

  “Sad--” The captain hesitated. “Yes. The Imperialists didn’t just rob tombs, they raped a nation, inflicting every humiliation in an attempt to strip Korea of her national identity, erase our culture, and fuel the war at our expense.” Mr. Lee paused. “I try to stay objective about all this, but it’s not always easy.”

  “Your country’s been wounded by foreigners.”

  “Yes,” he said bitterly. He took a long deep breath and added, “While researching this issue, my associate uncovered evidence of a lost shipment--a mother shipment. For ten years the governor-general kept a guarded compound where thousands of these stolen gold artifacts were hoarded. He was keeping the best for himself. When Tokyo got wind of this--the hoard was worth an estimated fifty million dollars--they sent a detail to Seoul and demanded the entire stockpile be shipped to Japan.”

  “Fifty million . . .” Frank trailed off. “And that was decades ago.”

  “A staggering fortune. In a desperate effort to raise funds for the war effort in the Pacific, the Imperialists had the audacity to try to sell Stalin the entire shipment--a piece of the pie Russia lost out on twenty-five years earlier during the Ruso-Japanese war. The shipment was held briefly in Tokyo, then redirected to sail for Russia.

  “Gold Buddhas, pagodas, dragons, animal statues of the Oriental Zodiac, eggs, tigers, tiger claws--these are just samplings of the fortune in historic golden artifacts. And it almost worked. But Stalin changed his mind. I don’t know why. And what became of those treasures after he turned them away? They disappeared; the crumb trail ended; officially, they never existed at all. As I said, we pieced this story together with crumbs.”

  After he hung up, Frank felt better about his decision to return to Korea to deal with the discovery. The relics were too valuable and could put his friends in danger. He could only pray that his secret remained secret...at least until he could take steps to safeguard the catch. He trusted Mr. Lee thoroughly. The colonel was a necessary risk.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Kyongju

  Frank checked into the Kyongju Chosun Hotel, which sat on a lake surrounded by tree-covered mountains. He read for a while in his room and skimmed a book by a survivor of the communist prisons, a man who preached to thieves, murderers, and sinners, men who were as flawed as Frank. The man said that our lives are defined by our actions. Frank was eager to get on with his mission, so he took the city bus into town, where he had seaweed soup at a little restaurant. Afterwards he took a walk around.

  Kyongju was a relaxing town with a traditional feel. Clay tiles topped traditional houses. The area, a virtual outdoor museum, was one of the great archaeological wonders of the world. Capital city of North Kyongsangbuk-do Province, Kyongju was known to Asia’s ancients as Kumsong, home to powerful shaman kings.

  Frank found an open-air market and browsed a few shops. He was in a match-box sized convenience store when he saw something that disturbed him. He glanced out the window and saw that a Korean man in casual clothes was watching him from across the street. The man looked away when Frank noticed him, then turned and started walking. He’d seen that face before. Was he being followed? . . . Or was he just imagining it?

  Trying to appear casual, Frank left the store and went to meet Abby Sinclair at the Shilla Tombs in Tumuli Park. He took time getting there and saw no more hint of any surveillance. The Shilla tombs were an amazing and ghostly sight. Due to their size and unusual appearance, Frank was captivated by them several blocks before arriving at the park. Right in the middle of town, surrounded by neighborhoods of traditional Korean architecture, a range of huge mounds rose prominently. The mounds were rounded, grass-covered heaps as smooth as greens on a golf course, but brown and frosty for winter.

  Frank found his way to the entrance while walking beside a high wall topped with clay tiles that surrounded the whole park. Abby was waiting for him in the bitter cold, a gorgeous young woman. Her dark brown hair was twisted in a bun, secured by a pencil. She had melting brown eyes and wore jeans and a dark jacket over a gray, V-neck lambs wool sweater. Frank noticed her shapely figure.

  He introduced himself and they shook hands. Abby smiled, smoothing back a stray piece of her hair.

  Frank said, “How do you know Mr. Lee?”

  Abby smiled again. “He’s an old friend of my father’s. I’m very close to the Lees. Mr. Lee told me you’re interested in learning more about Korea’s ancient history.”

  “He said you’re the person to see.”

  Abby’s face brightened and she gracefully motioned to the park entrance. They started walking. “Mr. Lee said he knew you from crab fishing.”

  “I used to own crab boats, and I often sold him our catch. Now, I’m a sheep farmer.”

  Frank escorted her through the gate. Once inside, they were facing a mountainscape of dramatic mound tombs. “This is quite a place. I feel dwarfed standing next to these mounds. Must be nice to work out here.”

  “Yes, but I’ve been free of my last excavation for a few months now. I’ve been making inquiries about a new project for the spring.”

  “Then my timing was fortunate. Mr. Lee told me you’re an expert on Korean treasure.”

  “I have a strong interest in artifacts of the Three Kingdoms Period. This is a good place to get a feel for where Korean treasure comes from. Many of Korea’s finest artifacts were excavated from tombs like these, especially gold artifacts.”

  Frank nodded. “They’re really something.” He gazed across the mounded domes of varying sizes. “How old are these tombs?”

  “Well, there are twenty tombs here in the park. They were originally heaped into place as early as the first century. Many have been excavated in recent years. Wonderful treasures have been unearthed here. Later, if you’d like, I’ll show you some of the them at the National Museum.”

  “That’d be great. It’s nice of you to show me around.”

  “It’s fun to talk to someone who appreciates ancient artifacts,” Abby said. Her eyes sparkled.

  Frank glanced over at a particularly huge mound they were passing. “I’ve never seen anything like this place.”

  “From an archaeological point of view, this is hallowed ground you’re walking on. Almost every year archaeologists here uncover another treasure trove of precious relics. Kyongju is truly an amazing place. Even a casual stroll around the hills is very exciting. The mountains you see surrounding the city are full of cultural and historical sites, the whole area. You could get lost, wander aimlessly, and have an extraordinary cultural tour. The whole valley is spotted with burial tombs from the 1st to 8th centuries, Buddhist temples, multi-tiered pagodas, granite sculptures, fortress ruins, palace grounds and other remnants of the Three Kingdoms Era. You could wander around here for weeks without running out of fresh new archaeological, historic, and cultural sites to visit, even miles up into the mountains.” She tilted her head slightly.

  “I’m confused about the Three Kingdoms,” Frank said. “Why three?”

  “During the first century B.C., many tribal states were united through wars into three kingdoms called Shilla, Paekche, and Koguryo, which ruled different areas of the Korean Peninsula. Shilla ultimately became the most powerful of the three kingdoms, and they flourished through the eighth century.”

  “You’re quite an expert.”

  “I’m fascinated with ancient cultures and the people who lived in them, how they lived day to day, that sort of thing. It fascinates me that civilizations rose and fell, that people lived and died before I ever existed. That probably sounds a little strange.”

  “No, I can see where you’d get hooked.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s amazing stuff.”

  Abby smiled. They walked a ways further. She pointed to what appeared to be a cement entrance leading into the depths of one of the mound tombs. “This is
Ch’onmach’ong, the Heavenly Horse Tomb. We can go inside.”

  The cement corridor led to a cavern in the belly of the mound. The crypt was dim inside, with some display lighting. In the center of the chamber’s floor, crushed rock surrounded an excavation site. The archaeologists had uncovered a golden crown and girdle and other artifacts; selected imitations lay in the dirt, on display beneath security glass.

  Abby leaned over and pointed. “See how ancient Korean artisans crafted the girdle with square links and hinded rings to each. And look at the end ornaments: a whetstone, fish, knife, tweezers, medicine basket, carved beads of jade and glass.”

  After examining the gold crown and necklace, they moved to a display highlighting a painting of a white flying horse on a birchbark saddle mud-guard. Frank admired the wavy horse that seemed to be dancing on fire.

  “Over ten-thousand artifacts were taken from this tomb alone,” Abby said. “The artifacts you see in this tomb room are reproductions. The real ones would be worth millions of dollars.”

  Frank walked to a display of a gold crown similar to one he’d seen on Kiska. He couldn’t get over how much the real one would be worth. His focus on material wealth made him uncomfortable. His soul would one day be weighed in the balance. He couldn’t let it be found wanting. Yet he saw the irony. Material wealth could feed the hungry and clothe the naked.

  Abby said, “The artifacts found in these tombs are very important to the Korean people. They’ve worked hard to reestablish their cultural roots since the Japanese tried to erase it during the occupation period.”

  Frank turned and looked at her soft features in the dim light. He said, “It’s a shame to think of grave robbers breaking into tombs like this . . . plundering all the treasures for themselves and private collectors.”

  Abby nodded. “I’m also a believer in artifacts belonging to everyone, not just one person.”

  Frank looked around. They were alone. He said, “How does that work? How do archaeologists protect the treasures they find? Who has ownership rights?”

  “Well, it gets complicated, but generally the government of the country of origin and the country where it is found will lay claim. Whoever the parties are, it’s usually settled in court.”

  The man Frank noticed at the little grocery store entered the tomb and was examining the artifacts like a tourist. Gently taking Abby by the arm, Frank led her back outside and down the path. “Sorry, I was getting claustrophobic.” Frank glanced back at the tomb entrance. The man was still inside. Frank was probably just being paranoid, but in his previous life paranoia kept him alive.

  From Tumuli Park, Abby took Frank to see tombs in Noso-dong. She explained that they were constructed between the 4th and 5th centuries. The subsequent excavations uncovered gold crowns.

  After Noso-dong they got a cab to the tomb of King Muyol. As they entered the tomb compound, Frank admired a monument of a tortoise carrying dragons.

  “It symbolizes the power of King Muyol’s position,” Abby said.

  “What’s the significance of the turtle?” Frank asked.

  “Koreans believe that the turtle of the north is a shamanistic deity that guards the universe.”

  Frank nodded as though listening intently, but he had other things on his mind at the moment. He briefly scanned the area and mentally mapped out an exit plan in case he needed to leave fast.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Seoul

  As Mok Don finished up his call, he glanced up at Soo-man who stood in front of his desk, his head bowed in humility.

  Mok Don hung up the phone. “What do you have to report? Hurry up, I’m very busy.”

  Soo-man nodded. “My man in Kyongju has been following the American. He’s met a woman there. They stopped by an apartment for just a minute; when she came out, she was wearing a scarf. We traced the address and ran searches. Her name is Abby Sinclair. She’s an archaeologist whose--”

  Mok Don hissed. “He’s with an archaeologist?”

  “Auk-il overheard some talk of claims.”

  Mok Don stared at Soo-man, barely able to believe what he was hearing. “What do you know about her?”

  “She studied archaeology at Oxford University in England. She’s been assisting on excavations in Kyongju, but only assisting. Prior to that she worked in Israel, Turkey and Egypt.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “We paid her dig director in Kyongju. He had her résumé and other information. She’s a very delicious American woman, and he thought she would be easy. Instead she slapped him and quit because of his demands for special favors. He was reluctant to tell us, but we got it out of him. His dig has turned up some pottery and bronze artifacts, but he says no gold.”

  Mok Don shook his head impatiently. “What have they been doing?”

  “Visiting archeological sights around the city. Auk-il’s giving them a little room so they don’t spot him.”

  “Room?” Mok Don’s eye’s widened. “Take her into custody, now.”

  “Auk-il overheard the American saying something about the Korean government and a court case.”

  Mok Don stood up and cursed. “Government involvement is the last thing I need. I want that woman immediately. Bring her to me.”

  “What about the fisherman?”

  “Keep your man close by. I want to know everything he does.”

  “If Auk-il gets any closer, he fears the American will notice him. I’ve got a fresh face on his way there.”

  “Tell Auk-il if he loses the American I’ll bury him in one of those tombs.”

  ***

  The restaurant was Abby’s favorite. They sat on the floor across from each other. The table was half covered with a dozen side dishes of rice, salad, various kimchis, vegetables, sauces and others. The waitress, a middle aged woman, approached the table carrying a metal box of red hot coals by the metal handle with a double-insulated hot pad. She lifted the grill from the center of the table and dropped the coals down into the brazier. She replaced the grill and got a large plate of pulgogi, marinated beef strips. Then, using prongs, one by one, she placed all the pulgogi on the grill. When all the strips were barbecuing, she left them alone.

  Frank took a sip of tea. “I’m glad Mr. Lee referred me to you. I have great respect for him.”

  “He’s an inspiration to me,” Abby said. “His mother is too. She’s a great woman and close friend. Mr. Lee’s very good to her.” A slight sadness came over Abby. “She’s had a hard life, but you’d never know it.”

  The waitress came back to the table with scissors and cut the sizzling pulgogi into thinner strips. Frank tried a piece of kimchi. “Mr. Lee tells me you know something of the Aleutians.”

  Abby’s face brightened. “I’ve never been there, but years ago an Aleut fisherman gave Mr. Lee some artifacts. He gave them to me, and I did some research. I developed a theory linking ancient Koreans to the Aleutians.”

  “Now you’ve got my interest. What’s your theory?” Frank watched her closely.

  “It’s obscure, really,” she said. “There’s archaeological evidence linking ancient Korean cave dwellers with the Eskimos of the eastern coast of Siberia. These original Koreans were driven northward around the third millennium B.C. by migrants from Central Asia--”

  “Migrants?”

  “Mongolian migrants--they drove Koreans out of their own land. Forced northward, the Koreans settled in Sakhalin, Kamchatka, and the arctic region. There are cultural similarities between ancient Koreans and Siberian Eskimos. Some of these Korean migrants eventually reached Japan. Archaeological evidence suggests man had already been in the Aleutians for thousands of years, but I suspect that some of these ancient Koreans migrated to the Aleutians in small numbers as late comers. There might have even been cases of earlier migration.”

  Frank kneaded his chin. “So your theory is that Aleuts were originally Korean?”

  She shook her head. “Modern archaeological work in the Aleutians has yet to give a clear p
icture of the origin of the chain’s population. The exceptions link Aleuts to northern Japan and the Siberian Pacific Rim; but ancient Koreans migrated to those same regions. After going so far, it seems to me, some would have sailed to Attu and other Aleutian Islands.”

  “Sounds plausible,” Frank said. “Mr. Lee built up my curiosity, but I’m even more intrigued now. Perhaps if you had more evidence, your theory would find its way into history books.”

  A warm trace of hope simmered in Abby’s dark eyes. She smiled as she looked at Frank. “Hopefully some day I’ll get a chance to prove it. Of course, I’ll have to go to the Aleutians.” She lowered her head and sipped from her straw. Then her gaze returned to Frank.

  He glanced toward the window, around the restaurant. Abby looked too. There were numerous long tables lined with men in dark business suits. The men were having a good time and talking loudly. At one table there was a family.

  Frank leaned toward Abby and spoke in hushed tones. “Maybe you should. Have you ever heard of Kiska Island?”

  Abby paused. “Yes, it’s one of the islands in the Aleutians.”

  “That’s right, and it’s my home.”

  Abby’s eyes met Frank’s and she smiled.

  The waitress returned and waved her prongs, indicating that the pulgogi was ready and they should begin eating. She handed the prongs to Frank; he thanked her and served the sizzling strips. Following Abby’s example, he put a piece of pulgogi in a large lettuce leaf, followed by a bean paste and red pepper sauce.

  “Why did you decide to live in the Aleutians? Kiska must be one of the most remote islands in the world.”

  “I guess I’m sort of a loner. When I was a crab fisherman, I took a liking to the islands. This pulgogi is excellent. How do they make it?”

  “It’s marinated in soy sauce, sesame oil, sesame seeds, garlic, green onions and some other seasonings.” Abby spooned some koch’ujang tchigae, red pepper paste stew. For a while neither said anything. There was a lot of talking at other tables, dishes clanging, metal chopsticks tinging in bowls.