by Roger Weston
Frank wanted to pursue the killer in full sprint, but knew how that would look. He didn’t know which way the killer had gone and didn’t want to be seen running through the museum right after the man he just met in the cafeteria was shot execution-style. Half way down the stairs, two security guards rounded the corner and looked straight at him, yelling something in Korean.
“Up there.” Frank said with the feigned panic of a tourist. “Up there.” He pointed desperately.
The security guard’s confused expressions changed to determination and they raced past Frank and up the stairs. Frank continued on down and went straight out the front door.
Fifty yards ahead of him, a man was walking quickly through the old city gate. Under the gate, he hesitated and looked back. He wore a surgeon’s mask that covered his face below his eyes. Seeing Frank, he walked faster. Frank took off running in full sprint. A black car stopped beyond the gate and the man quickly got in. The car left with screeching tires.
When Frank came through the old city gate, he slowed to a brisk walk as he took in the busy street with its hundreds of cars. At least a dozen black cars raced off in fast moving traffic. They were gone.
With a wave of his hand, a taxi pulled over and Frank got in.
He took a long slow breath. He looked out the window and slowly massaged his chin with his right hand.
Murdered a colonel of the Korean army--inside the National Museum. Frank would meet Abby and leave the country right away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sitting at his antique desk with his elbows on his desk, Mok Don patiently endured Hyun’s recount . . . When Hyun’s disturbing explanation was over, Mok Don inspected his salary man in silence.
Hyun’s hair was slicked back stylishly. His plaid sweater stood out too much, and his goatee was a flagrant example of western influence. His arms hung straight at his side, his chubby fingers touching his suede pants.
Mok Don returned to his file and resumed reading. He sifted through the pages, rapidly comprehending the information. Coming to the end, he laid the papers down.
“Where was the American?”
“He saw nothing. It was a clean hit. I turned out the colonel’s lights and closed the door on my way out.”
Mok Don’s eyes narrowed. For several moments he considered Hyun. Finally he said, “The colonel knew too much. We’ve given the American a lesson he won’t forget. When we meet again, we won’t have to convince him we mean business. You will be meeting him again soon, Hyun.”
Hyun bowed in gratitude, relaxed beneath the tension, breathed deeply, sighed.
Mok Don’s eyes scrutinized him. “You’ve come a long way here at DowKai, haven’t you?”
“I’ve risen to the upper ranks of the organization.”
“That’s because you get things done. You and your brother are hard workers.”
Hyun stood up straighter. “Thank you. I’ve stopped at nothing to accomplish your goals. Chull-su and I are proud to serve DowKai, to serve you. We are grateful, honored by your confidence.” Hyun bowed.
Mok Don said, “Honored? You’ve earned quite a reputation for yourself. And now you’re taking bold steps to further it. Surely your actions will be on the front page of all the newspapers, on the news.”
“All of our loyalty is with you, Mok Don. A clean hit, you’ll see. They’ll probably blame North Korean agents. My brother thinks they’ll see the assassination as an opportunity for propaganda and feed the press anti-North Korean rhetoric.”
On Mok Don’s desk sat the gold Sarira Reliquary. He nodded toward the relic. “Do you know what that is?”
“A gold trinket box on a pedestal.”
Mok Don smiled. “Not exactly. That’s the Sarira Reliquary. Solid gold, yes. It’s one of Korea’s finest treasures. And it’s mine.” Mok Don reached down, removed the lid to the reliquary. “This is a miniature casket, not a trinket box. It’s for storing sacred relics; however, since nothing is sacred, the reliquary remains empty.” He replaced the lid. “How long has Initiative Three been in the code?”
“As long as I can remember.”
“Sixteen years. That’s a long time, isn’t it?”
“A real long time.”
“I would say, Hyun, the Sarira Reliquary is as close as you’ll come to a sacred relic. There are others. For sixteen years I’ve been waiting to get possession of them. I’ve been patient. Tell me, did the American leave the museum?”
“Oh sure, he left, came out right behind me.”
“You saw him leave?”
“I looked back and there he was, coming down the steps. I didn’t stick around to chat.”
“What would we have done if the American was taken into custody by the police?”
“That would not have happened.”
“Oh?” Mok Don glared. “Why not?”
“He’s just an American fisherman,” Hyun said. “The authorities would not suspect him. There were witnesses to assure that. A Korean couple saw the hit, saw me. But I was wearing a surgical mask. They could not identify me.”
“What if the police thought the American was involved? After all, he met with the colonel just minutes before the hit. There must have also been witnesses to that.”
“They would not think he was involved. American servicemen often get blamed for crimes, but not tourists.”
Mok Don gasped. “Bloody hell.”
Fear on his face, Hyun stepped back. “How--”
“How,” Mok Don yelled viciously. He stood fluidly and turned to the credenza backed up against the wall. He opened the black mother-of-pearl inlaid lacquer box and removed a white, jade-handled pistol. The .45 caliber weapon was a custom-made gift from a former Korean President. He walked around the desk to face Hyun. He stopped and smiled warmly. Calmly, softly, he said, “Did you ask me how?”
“No,” Hyun said, stepping back. “Mok Don, what--”
“Open your mouth!”
“But--”
“Open the filthy bug pit!”
“Oh, no, please.” Hyun’s stumpy legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. “Please, please, please--”
“Shut up!” Mok Don slammed the muzzle of the weapon into Hyun’s partly open mouth, violently shearing off teeth. “I said, open the bug pit,” he shrieked.
Swallowing the steel, Hyun’s eyes were terror-filled and wild. He whimpered.
“You could have ruined this entire operation,” Mok Don screamed, his face clawed with wrinkles as he pushed the muzzle against the back of Hyun’s throat.
Hyun choked and gagged on the muzzle. Mok Don jerked the gun out of his mouth, scraping exposed nerves of freshly broken teeth. Bloody cuspidal fragments tinged on the black marble floor. A front tooth bounced and skid.
Hyun screamed. He fell to the floor and writhed in agony, clawing at his face. He climbed to his knees, kissed the marble, whimpered, cried in torment. He sniffled several times and tried to pull himself together. He looked up at Mok Don, then retreated to the floor, only to try again to regain composure. Finally, he stood up, avoiding eye contact with Mok Don.
“Look at me.” Mok Don slapped him across the face. Hyun’s head snapped sideways. He forcibly turned his head back and looked at Mok Don, shaking his head, begging with desperate eyes. Tears streaked down his swarthy cheeks. He grasped his suede pant legs and squeezed.
Calmly Mok Don said, “Don’t let me down again.”
“I won’t.” Blood ran from Hyun’s split lips, from the corners of his mouth.
“I want you to go to Dutch Harbor. The American’s boat is there; sooner or later, he’ll show up. I want you to snoop around, ask questions. The Pinisha’s first mate, Won-song, found the American’s fishing boat, but I need to know more. Before Murdoch arrives, get us some hard information on him. Where does he live? Where does he go? Work with Soo-man, follow the American.” Mok Don nodded. “You may go. The next time you take independent action will be your last.”
Hyun bowed and left the office.
Mok Don shook his head. There wasn’t a good man other than himself in the entire DowKai organization. No matter. Hyun was an efficient killer. And Mok Don would soon have a job for him.
Mok Don called his head servant to ask how his daughter was doing. She was now taking drugs for her depression. Mok Don ordered his servant not to let her out of the house. He did this for her own safety and out of fear that she would confide in a friend. Mok Don could hide her shame. His daughter would not bring disgrace on his name.
He hung up, thought again about Hyun. Killing the colonel in the museum was nothing compared to what Soo-man did to Mok Don’s daughter. Mok Don didn’t believe that Soo-man forced himself on her without some encouragement. Soo-man was incredibly strong, but he wasn’t so foolish as to intentionally rape Mok Don’s daughter. Soo-man was one of the smarter men at DowKai.
Perhaps if this had been the first incidence, Mok Don would have believed his daughter’s story outright. But she was a liar. No matter how much he cared for her, Mok Don knew she was morally flexible. She probably encouraged Soo-man’s advances at first, and his lust got out of control. But for Soo-man to have scandalized Mok Don’s daughter and his name—that demanded the severest punishment.
CHAPTER TWENTY
In the Lotte Hotel restaurant, with a view of the lobby, Chull-su finished his meal. After spending an hour mulling over the DowKai philosophy, he felt confused. The philosophy had always given him strength, unity, importance.
His brother was now missing several teeth because Mok Don slammed the muzzle of a pistol into his mouth. His brother deserved what he got. In killing the colonel, he acted independently, thought for himself. It was dangerous, foolish. A DowKai executive could wind up dead for a move like that.
But worse still, when Mok Don killed a man, he also killed any kin that might want retribution later on. Chull-su was kin. Nothing so blatant had ever been done by the brothers in defiance of Mok Don.
After an hour of mulling over the corporate philosophy, he couldn’t find an answer to the dilemma, at least not one that gave him a way out if things got nasty. He’d always understood the philosophy and supported the articles. Relatives of victims, especially men, had to be killed. They posed a threat to Mok Don and DowKai. Chull-su and his brother had carried out executions. The philosophy guided all their actions. But never until now had Chull-su felt the teeth of the philosophy bearing down on him personally.
And there was nothing to do about his position. Nowhere to go. He was a DowKai man, part of the group, a link in the chain. He couldn’t avoid the shame and dishonor caused by his brother’s independent act.
What disturbed him most were the impulses that surged through him. In his shame, he too was having independent thoughts. Was he no better a man than his brother? But some part of him felt cheated. The system, DowKai, Mok Don, the philosophy--these are what he served, supported, lived for. Now, through no fault of his own, he had lost status. Could there be a flaw in the system? These thoughts were dangerous. Who was he to question Mok Don? All he could do was continue to follow orders.
Chull-su left the restaurant, stopped in the lobby, and called Soo-man. “Murdoch has not come back here. I’m on my way to the airport.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Together, Frank and Abby drove to the port of Puson, where they hired a fishing boat to take them to Japan. After a day at sea gliding over smooth waters, they arrived in Yokohama, Japan, and took the train to Tokyo. At the airport, they checked in their baggage and headed to the proper terminal for boarding. Frank didn’t notice anyone following or watching, but people were swarming the wide corridors. When the terminal was in sight, he became extra cautious, but saw nothing of concern. He and Abby went straight for the ramp and boarded.
After taxiing and waiting, the plane rushed down the runway and lifted off.
Frank slept through most of the flight. As the plane touched down in Seattle, he felt a sense of relief. Seattle had once been his home. He thought about the summers he had spent on the Ballard docks doing ship repairs, preparation work, chasing down spare parts and supplies for upcoming crab seasons. He remembered having clam chowder on the waterfront with Melody, watching the boats together.
The Seattle layover lasted two hours, and then they flew north. In Anchorage, they transferred to a puddle jumper that flew them to the remote fishing village of Dutch Harbor. The small plane rattled in turbulence for most of the trip. Soon it dropped down through the white layer of clouds and landed on Amaknak, a small island connected to larger Unalaska Island by bridge.
Frank hired a mud-sprayed taxi.
The old fishing village was a former US Navy base the Japanese pounded with bombs in 1942.
Dutch Harbor was an isolated village, a watery place of bay views and snowy volcanic mountains swamped in the nothingness of overhanging gray clouds. The world seemed to blow past in the driving wind and snow. Rusted Quonset huts and snow-covered bunkers from World War Two peeked out from shrouded, snowy hills.
Prefabricated shells with ribbed metal walls and sliding windows endured the elements of the gusty village. It was a picturesque world of icicles, boats and docks, shipping containers stacked atop one another by dumpsters, and snow piled atop various heaps of fishing materials. Cannery workers walked briskly, leaning into the wind and snow.
The cab stopped at the Bering Sea Inn, overlooking the small boat harbor. Frank stepped out into the cold, inhaled the brisk, salty air, and helped Abby out of the cab, gathering bags from the trunk. It was starting to get dark.
The trading post would be worth a stop if there was time. You could never have too many supplies on Kiska, especially going into winter.
Time was critical, but there were certain things that needed doing. He wanted to get to his boat. But now he felt it was more urgent to stop by the Bering Sea Inn. Dutch Harbor was a small town. News traveled fast.
The structure was rustic and popular among fishermen. Frank and Abby passed through the lobby and went into the diner. There were people coming and going, chairs scraping, burly fishermen hunched over plates.
A large bearded man wearing a white apron walked out of the kitchen drying his hands with a white towel. He wasn’t familiar. Probably new to town. Frank hadn’t been in the Bering Sea Inn for months.
“Howdy,” the man said. “Cold out there, ain’t it?” When he saw Abby, his eyes opened wide, but then he caught himself and looked back at Frank. “Don’t suppose you folks are lookin’ for that fancy new chalet over on Margaret Bay.”
“We’re in the right place,” Frank said. “Bentley Range in today?”
“Naw, Bentley’s in the lower forty-eight. Visitin’ family.” The man finished drying his hands and tucked the hand towel under the strap of his apron.
Frank laid their bags on the floor and pulled out a chair for Abby at a table facing the harbor. Then he helped himself to a seat. “I’ve known Bentley for a long time,” Frank said. “He’s a good man. Didn’t get your name.”
“Wade. Wade Olsen.”
“We could sure use a cup of coffee.”
“You betcha.” Wade got a pot of coffee and filled their mugs.
“How long’s Bentley gone for?” Frank asked.
“Be back in a month, after the holidays.” Wade returned to the kitchen.
People were talking and tinging silverware on dishes. A big Norwegian stomped by. Frank unzipped his duffel bag. After he and Abby changed into their snow boots, Wade rejoined them.
“I’ll tell Bentley you stopped by. What did you say your name was?”
“Frank Murdoch.” As the words left his mouth, Frank studied Wade’s face for the slightest reaction. Frank Murdoch--the name appeared to strike a chord: Frank watched his eyes roll slightly as if he was wondering where he’d heard the name before. There were two possibilities: Bentley Range might have mentioned Frank’s name, anyone might have. Frank had been around a long time. The fishing industry was small. The second possibility—
“That’s it,” Wade said. “I knew I’d heard your name before. He was in here this morning. Said he was a friend of yours.”
“What else did he say?” Frank asked.
“Wondered how he could get in touch with you. I told him I didn’t know you.”
“Short guy with slicked back hair?”
“Yeah, and a goatee. He showed up here right after that Russian ship docked. He a friend of yours?”
Frank shrugged. “Did he ask anything else about me?”
“Not really.” Wade looked left and right. “I guess I better get back to work.”
“I came here to ask Bentley if this Asian came around. Since Bentley’s not here, I’d appreciate it if you’d help me out and tell me what you can about the guy.”
Wade nodded. “Alright. He was unusual.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he came on in here, a little short guy with stubby legs. I said hello and he didn’t even look at me. I noticed strain in his neck like he was grimacing in pain.”
“Grimacing in pain?” Frank glanced at Abby.
“No kidding,” Wade said. “I know it’s cold out there, but he was overdoing it. He pulled his scarf away and looked straight at me. That’s when I saw his nasty fat lips and the blood seeping out of his mouth at the corners. I shuddered, but I figured, okay, he got his butt kicked bigtime.”
Wade glanced fleetingly toward the kitchen. “So he sat down and ordered coffee. When he drank the coffee, he hissed like the coffee was really hurting his mouth bad. I went back into the kitchen and kept an eye on him to see when he was ready to pay.
“Before he left, he asked me if I knew Frank Murdoch. His English was hard to understand. When he spoke, I finally saw what all the hissing was about. The man’s front teeth were shattered--most all of ‘em. Just bloody stubs. The cold air on all those exposed nerves must have been agonizing. And the coffee . . . I felt for him. Anyway, I told him I never heard of you. Then he wrapped his scarf around his face and left.”
