Bamboo and Blood

by James Church

  Chapter Four

  “This is crazy, I said when I could slip out of her arms and talk again. “Your father will kill us.”

  “No, he loves me. Anyway, he’s busy downstairs.”

  “Downstairs! You told me he would be away for a couple of days.”

  “He was going to be, but he got a rush request, so he came back. He’s been working all night in the kitchen.”

  “Any minute he could come up and kill one of us. And something tells me it won’t be you.”

  “Perhaps. But look at me. Look closely.” She made sure that even in the moonlit room a lot was visible. “When you look at me, do you think of my father?” In case I had missed anything, she turned slightly.

  “No.” I took a deep breath. “I can’t say that I do.”

  “Then come here. No more discussion.” She took my hand and pulled me back to her.

  2

  Barely past dawn, when I was almost dressed, she opened her eyes. “You see, my little policeman, you are still alive. Take the side streets and no one will ever know you were here. Your survival instincts are probably still functioning.”

  I was in no shape to ask what she meant. I was more concerned with getting down the back stairs without seeing her father. Even if I made it through that minefield, there was the problem of what the day clerk in my hotel would say when I walked in, slightly rumpled. If anyone asked, the hotel staff would gladly relay the news that I had been out all night.

  “Was it wonderful?” Dilara snuggled under the blanket, not really interested in the answer.

  3

  M. Beret was sitting in the lobby of my hotel, a cup of coffee on the table next to his chair. I was less surprised to see him than I was to see the coffee. I hadn’t realized the hotel was so generous. Maybe they would part with an extra bar of soap, after all.

  “Inspector, good morning.”

  “Wouldn’t they give you a room?”

  “A room? I don’t sleep much these days. Too much thrashing about in the adjoining suites.”

  “That never bothers me,” I said and started up the stairs. I wondered if M. Beret’s people only got audio, or if there were pictures, too. And if so, would they get back to Pak? I knew what would happen. He would call me into his office and look at me somberly for a moment before studying a piece of paper on his desk. Then in the most exquisitely vague language he would explain that he had received “certain information,” that this was potentially serious if it should develop any further but it was not his job to babysit my life in all of its facets, that he expected me to act responsibly in all ways, and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned. Then he would put the piece of paper into a folder, close the folder and put it in his desk drawer, and look up at me. “Is that clear enough?” he would ask, say he had a meeting to attend, and walk out the door.

  M. Beret drank a little coffee. He replaced the cup with more than normal deliberation. “I thought you’d like to know, we threw Ahmed a very large catering job last night, with instructions that it had to be delivered by 6:00 a.m.” He glanced at his watch, which was not a cheap one. “Would you like some Turkish coffee to perk you up?”

  “He must be exhausted.”

  “I’m sure he’s not the only one.”

  4

  I would have slept past noon if the maid hadn’t knocked midmorning. “Go away,” I shouted, but she kept knocking. Finally, I flung open the door. “Are you hard of hearing? I told you to go away. I’m sleeping. Can I do that? Is it all right with you? Is there a regulation in your tidy land against sleeping late?”

  “It’s not my land. I am from Romania, and I was only checking to make sure you’re not sick again. They don’t want some strange epidemic coming out of this hotel. There are all sorts of health people in this city; they can be very strict sometimes. Believe me, I know.”

  “I’m not sick, I’m never sick.” I stuck out my tongue. “You see? I’m fine.”

  The maid was holding a few pieces of fresh linen. She handed them to me. “Make your own bed then. I’m not going to wait around for you. My friends says I don’t even have to go into your room if you’ve been sick.”

  “It’s good to have friends,” I said and closed the door. Just as I got back into bed, the phone rang.

  “Hello, Inspector, how are you?” It was Jenö. He didn’t sound happy. There were undertones of urgency flowing through his voice, the way silk sounds when it catches on a nail.

  “I was trying to sleep, actually.”

  “It’s well past noon! Your watch must have stopped. Meet me downstairs in twenty minutes. We’ll have lunch.”

  “Nothing elaborate.”

  “Fine, nothing elaborate.”

  “Nothing that has been near a lamb.”

  5

  Jenö was waiting, just as he said he would. He was wearing sunglasses. It was a springlike day, but not really spring; tidy clouds arranged in a blue sky, enough sun to give the grass a thrill. Technically, it was still winter, but you wouldn’t hear me complain about the weather, not on a day like this.

  “Let’s go for a drive, Inspector. With so much sun, it would be a shame to stay in this dull town. You don’t want lamb. Do you like fish? We can have lunch by the lake. Delicate fillet of perch, a bottle of white wine. Then we can smoke cigars and talk. I know just the place, in a little town called Coppet.”

  “Been there.”

  “Very well, we can try somewhere else.” He seemed annoyed, which gave me some satisfaction, though not enough to make up for having to dress and come downstairs.

  “Good,” I said. “Somewhere else.”

  “Something the matter?”

  “Nothing. I told you, I was trying to sleep; it was a rough night.”

  “So I heard.”

  Everyone had heard, apparently. Dilara was going to have to keep it down next time, if there was a next time. “How about a nonperch meal? Would that be possible? I realize perch is the national fish.” I wasn’t being difficult only out of spite. It had nothing to do with little, tasteless collections of bones. It was that Jenö was trying to put me in a grateful mood for some reason, and until I figured out why, I wasn’t going to let things get cozy. “One more request. This time I exit your car in the normal fashion, after it has come to a complete stop.”

  “We’re not using my car. Someone ran me off the road the other night and I hit a tree.”

  “A tree? What kind?”

  “A very big tree, that’s what kind. I’m borrowing Ahmet’s car while mine is in the repair shop.”

  I felt a moment of terror as we set off down the hill. What if Ahmet was driving? There was no way he could fail to pick up what I was thinking.

  “Something wrong?” Jenö asked, as he stopped next to a big, white Mercedes. It looked brand-new. The light that reflected off the hood was blinding. Maybe that explained the sunglasses. “Here we are.”

  “Ahmet owns this?” Ahmet was nowhere to be seen. “What else does he do, other than run a restaurant? Drugs? Centrifuges? This car must have cost a fortune.”

  “He told me he bought it secondhand from a friend.”

  “Secondhand! A hand wearing diamonds, maybe. If I were you, I’d check his friends.”

  “Funny, that’s just what I thought.”

  I’d never been in a car like this one, and it was clear, neither had Jenö. He either drove too fast or too slow. His turns were too wide or too sharp. He tried adjusting the seat, tilting the steering wheel, changing the mirrors. Nothing helped. “No wonder someone sold this to Ahmet,” he grumbled as we swerved to avoid a dog. “It’s a lemon.”

  “A what?”

  “A piece of garbage. The steering is off, the acceleration is off, and the braking is off. It feels like it was worked on by a mechanic who hated women.”

  The connection escaped me, but Jenö was driving almost on the shoulder, and I didn’t want to try for too complicated a discussion. Besides, the muffler had caught my ear. “Where are
we going?” The road looked familiar, close to the lake.

  “Nowhere special. I invited a friend. I was sure you wouldn’t mind.”

  6

  The delegation leader stood up to greet us when we walked in the door. He looked very much at home. “Surprised to see me, Inspector?”

  I was. “Not really,” I said. We were in Coppet, which set my teeth on edge. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere nibbling cookies?”

  Jenö gestured to a chair. “Good, we all seem to know each other. That saves time. There’s no assigned seating here. Very informal.” Informal maybe, but not without foresight. My chair put me between the two of them, so I couldn’t speak to both at the same time, or watch them. I had to turn my head from one to the other.

  The delegation leader picked up a menu. “Shall we order? If we don’t do that right away, they’ll think we aren’t here to eat. That can change the atmosphere. The waiters get aloof, and the service goes downhill from there.” Atmosphere—he must have been born with an extra sensory organ that measured “atmosphere” like other people felt hot or cold. Apparently, he’d been to this place before. Obviously not on his ministry’s tab, so I had to wonder who had paid the bill.

  Jenö ordered. We ate in silence, and I didn’t think it was a comfortable one, either. The delegation leader made annoying, exaggerated gestures with his fork as he lifted the food to his mouth. He ate slowly and occasionally closed his eyes. At one point he moaned in pleasure. That ruined what little appetite I had. It was doubly annoying because Jenö had ordered the perch for all of us. At last, with a final smack of his lips, the delegation sat back. “Quite good,” he said to Jenö. He looked at my plate. “Something the matter, Inspector? This fish was excellent.”

  “Yes,” I said. “You seemed to enjoy it.”

  “More wine?” Jenö looked at my glass. “You’re not drinking?” How to explain to the man that I wouldn’t touch anything on the table until I figured out what was going on?

  “Who is doing what to whom? Isn’t that the question of the hour?” I looked from Jenö to the delegation leader, and then back to Jenö. The napkin was heavy linen. I didn’t think it could be folded into a rabbit. Maybe it could be made into a blunt object.

  “Why don’t we move out to those chairs on the patio. We can have coffee and smoke cigars.” Jenö signaled the waiter. “Don’t worry, Inspector, we’ll find time to talk, as well. Whatever questions you have will be answered, as far as possible.”

  “Sure, let’s talk outside, if we can hear each other over the din of cameras clicking and recorders squealing.” I looked under the table. “Did you bring your black bag?”

  Jenö laughed. “Remember what I told you not so long ago, Inspector? About seeing Cossacks everywhere? Don’t be so jumpy. This place is perfectly clear and clean. We won’t be disturbed. It’s covered, believe me. It’s covered.”

  I shrugged. “If you say so.” I turned to the delegation leader. “You realize you almost didn’t make it here.”

  “Oh?”

  “The other day, when you disappeared in the white car, the one whose mechanic hates women.”

  “No, I knew you were behind me the whole time.”

  “I’m not talking about me.” I watched him tighten his lips. Jenö?s eyebrows did a quizzical two-step. “I don’t know this for sure, but I’d say you’re marked. And I don’t mean for promotion.”

  The delegation leader twisted his napkin into a knot and put it on the table. “You’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know, Inspector. In fact, that’s why you’re here.”

  “Dessert, anyone?” Jenö stood up and led the way out to the patio.

  7

  “It’s very simple, Inspector. I am working for Sohn”—the delegation leader held up one spoon—“and so are you.” He held up a second spoon with his other hand. “That means we are working together. Our friend here”—he gestured at Jenö with my spoon—“has some interesting ideas that Sohn thinks should be pursued.” He pursed his lips again, which I couldn’t figure out. Was he just practicing on me? Maybe he was one of those people who forget the distinction between onstage and off. Some people go through the motions even when the motor is idling. “Sohn is working with Jenö,” he said. He looked around for another spoon, but Jenö had picked up the third one and was stirring his coffee. “That means we work with Jenö as well. There’s a certain mathematical precision to it all, don’t you think? Like reducing fractions or finding a common denominator.”

  Reduced to essentials, everything was simple. But there were limits. It was just as Pak had said: Reduced too much, everything disappears. Not this, though. This wasn’t simple. And it wasn’t going to disappear. “When was the last time you saw Sohn?” Out here, by the lake, it was easy to be casual. Everything was perfect in this spot.

  The delegation leader waved his hand, a gesture to show his answer wasn’t intended to be precise. “Before I left for the talks here. Last month, maybe?” He didn’t give any sign of knowing that Sohn had arrived a few days ago and would be returning to Pyongyang in a metal box. “I’ll see him when I get home.” Again, the hand waved vaguely. If I could be casual out here, so could he. He was used to lying, but I didn’t think he was used to murder.

  “Let’s move on.” Jenö cut into the conversation. “Time is running out, and we need to get down to details. We can worry about Sohn later.”

  Jenö was another story altogether. Jenö could lie about anything, anytime. If I’d had the slightest doubt before, I didn’t anymore. He knew about Sohn’s death. He could have learned about it from M. Beret, but then again, maybe he knew because he was close by when it happened. At the moment, all I knew for sure was what Sohn had told me, which wasn’t very much. One of the few things he had emphasized was that I needed to keep the delegation leader from defecting. The delegation leader had just consumed an expensive lunch of perch with a Mossad agent. As far as I knew, that wasn’t a classic indicator of imminent defection, though it didn’t make the negative case very well, either.

  “I don’t think you’re clear on what we face. I don’t even think you know why you’re here, Inspector,” the delegation leader said. “It would be very much like Sohn to send you on a mission with the tiniest part of the picture he could afford to give. Just enough to keep you from stumbling into the lake. When the time came, he’d tell you what you needed to know to do your job.”

  “And you? You have a full picture?” The atmospheric meter ticked down.

  “Probably better than yours, though not all of it from Sohn. We’re kept in the dark about a lot of things, but anything to do with foreign relations we eventually find out. Facts, rumors, crazy ideas—if they touch on foreign policy, they all swim, or float, or tumble toward our building. Sohn understood that. He even used it to his advantage. He would throw a piece of information into the air, nothing too definite—maybe nine parts fluff, one part substance—then watch it drift into our windows. That way he couldn’t be accused of giving us something we weren’t supposed to know.”

  Jenö handed each of us a cigar. “If you smoke cigars, Inspector, you’ll like these. I only bring them out for special occasions.”

  A breeze came off the lake. It had something of spring on it, though still not much. “If you don’t mind, I’ll save mine for later.” Maybe for a victory celebration, even a minor one, if I could figure out how to define victory. “You said time was running out. Time seems to be an obsession here. People pay a lot of attention to it in this country. They make fistfuls of money from it. If time runs out, then the world won’t need watches. What will you do then?”

  “My people can’t hold open this deal forever, Inspector. If your people want it, they’re going to have to move soon. And from what I hear, if they don’t move soon, there may not be so much left of your country. The famine is growing, order is breaking down, rumors are racing around. It wouldn’t take much to tip over the whole structure.”

  “Is that so? You think we’re about
to start begging?”

  The delegation leader lit his cigar. “Face it, things are bad.”

  “Bad?” I hadn’t expected him to be so direct about anything, certainly not in front of a foreigner. “Bad is nothing. Bad is normal. We’ve been through worse. We’ll survive.”

  “Really?” Jenö looked thoughtfully at the mountains in the distance. They were covered with snow. “Then why turn to us?”

  Fair enough, I thought. Too bad Sohn hadn’t told me. Too bad Sohn hadn’t told me much of anything before his head ended up at an odd angle on his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know who turned to whom in this case. Maybe you came tapping at our window. You’ll have to talk to someone who toils in the foreign affairs field, like him.” I pointed at the delegation leader. “He might be able to supply you with some answers. You two seem to know each other. I’m just a policeman.”