by James Church
“Robbed? In this city?”
“You know it was. And you know who the manager is. Don’t toy with me, Superintendent. Many things I can endure, but don’t toy with me.”
“Right, I’ll rephrase the question. What makes you say I already know?”
“Your people at the embassy will have told you something about life ‘in this city,’ as you put it. Certainly the events at the bank will have come up, among other things. How long have you known her?”
I thought he would dodge the question, or pause. He did neither. “Long time ago, when we were all much younger, Inspector. I didn’t know she was here, until the embassy told me. I’m glad I went over there. She knows the Germans.”
“One of them pinched her fanny.”
“Yes, well, that makes it easy. Shouldn’t be too hard to find a German who sings castrato.”
“Tell me about the Germans.”
“Tell me about the bank robbery first.”
“What does that have to do with your mission? And unless you tell me so that it’s believable, there’s nothing I can share about the robbery-nothing beyond what the lady with the tiny waist has probably already told you.”
Boswell crossed his arms and regarded me thoughtfully. Finally, he slapped his hands on his knees. “Alright. I’m going to regret this, but alright. There have been a number of bank robberies over the past several years across Europe, by one gang operating always from the inside.”
“A number. Any special number? Never mind, go on.”
“Some time ago, two banks were hit in Germany.”
“There were two Germanys. One for each.” This was a small lie on my part, seeing that I had read something about the case. But the Scotsman was supposed to be supplying me with information; our deal had not specified that I tell him anything that I knew. More to the point, everything and anything he told me was suspect. He would tell me exactly what he wanted me to hear and no more. He would tell me because that’s what they needed me to know. Or think. Or imagine. It was probably part of his mission, to feed me something. Okay, I wasn’t learning anything from him; he sure as hell wasn’t going to learn anything from me.
“No, this was after unification.” He looked at me with a hint of suspicion. “Although now that you mention it, one of the banks was in the former East, the other in the West.”
“I continue to listen, Superintendent, but I’ve yet to hear anything relevant to me.”
“Patience, laddie.” He grinned. “That’s a term of endearment.”
“Or condescension.”
“For heaven’s sake, man, give me a break, can’t you? Don’t be such a…” He hesitated.
“Cowering beastie,” I finished his thought. “Never mind, we’ll deal with the insults in due course. Just get on with it, the Germans.” This I wanted to hear. Maybe it would give me a clue why one of them had been racing through the streets a week ago with blood on his shirt.
“Well, your two Germans were working in those banks, Jurgen in the West and Dieter in the East. They’re old radicals, from the days when people were still moved by ideas and killed capitalists for reasons no one understood. Them together, here. And you just having had a robbery. A curious coincidence, one might say.”
“But they didn’t work in our bank.”
“No, but they did business at your bank. They were inside it many times, I’m told. According to the manager”-he coughed-“they hung around and made sheep’s eyes at her.”
“I still see no relevance.”
“You don’t? We need to get them off the street. They’re dangerous. You must be blind, man. I would have thought law and order were right up your alley.”
“No, not blind. Cautious, maybe. I need something more. You say ‘we’ need to get them off the street, but it isn’t your street, Superintendent, it’s mine. Perhaps in Scotland you could roll up a couple of Germans on suspicion and the German government would politely applaud. I can’t do that here. It will cause nothing but grief. We will be accused by foreign governments of abuse of power, extrajudicial proceedings, violation of human rights. Where’s the proof, we’ll be asked. The German ambassador will be phoning and knocking on doors, sending notes here, there, and everywhere. Where’s the proof, I’ll be asked. And my answer is, well, I can’t answer that-because you don’t want me to quote you, am I right?”
The Scotsman sat quiet, composed, resigned.
“Thank you for not giving me an argument.” I reached down and picked up the Criminal Code. “What do you suppose would happen if I cited the relevant articles in this? More international protest, calls for diplomatic pressure, Europeans roaring about our lack of due process. The best I can do is put them under surveillance. But these Germans are guilty, that’s what you think.”
“A fine point of law, Inspector. I think they could be guilty of something, or at least of planning to participate in something that would make them guilty. The facts at least raise a reasonable suspicion. Surely your procedures allow detention on the basis of reasonable suspicion. I mean, this is Pyongyang.” He paused, held up his hand to ward off any objection, closed his eyes, and nodded his head. “Forget I said that. But there is more, one more thing I want you to know.”
I studied the molding on the ceiling. “Proceed as you wish, Superintendent. I’m afraid there isn’t much more for us to discuss.”
“As near as we can tell, all of the bank robberies are connected, in some way or another, with political motives. These are not thieves who want to buy gold neck chains and sun themselves in Majorca.” He paused again. “That’s an island.”
“I have seen globes, Superintendent. Even ours suggest the world is round.” The world is round, bank robberies have political motives, and I suddenly had no idea what game this man was playing. None. Next he would ask me if I wanted to invest in a joint venture harvesting a forest of Sogdian ash. Or if I would like a new hip. Maybe he could get me one made in Spain. I always wanted to move like a Spaniard.
“The point is, Inspector, these two Germans may be here for something else, something political.”
My color must have gone bad. The Scotsman blinked at me. “You alright?”
I sat down. “Now it’s my turn to share something. Your undersecretary may be in danger.”
The Scottish neck muscles tightened; a deep breath filled the chest. The voice took on a rock-bound hardness. “Explain that.”
“It’s all I know. Information I’ve never seen, from a source unknown.”
“Where was it, written on the walls of the jakes, for crying out loud!”
“The what?”
“Never mind. It’s Shakespeare. Fuck Shakespeare.”
That shook me a little. I thought English people only spoke in awe of Shakespeare. Maybe the Scots didn’t. Boswell lowered his voice. “If you have information that a British official is in imminent danger in your country, why didn’t you let me know immediately?”
“Frankly, I didn’t believe it. I still don’t. There have never been threats to visitors to this country, official or otherwise. You’ve had some problems, I seem to recall. Us, never.”
“Oh, really, what did you have in mind?”
“Bulgarians. Libyans. Irishmen. Maybe Palestinians, though I may be wrong.”
“You never had a bank robbery before, either, I’m guessing.”
“True.”
Neither of us spoke. The Scotsman flexed the fingers on one hand to let off the tension. He seemed to grow more agitated by the minute, like a large tree whose branches sway and fight the wind. I had thought he was supremely calm; I thought height gave a perspective that gave way to a steadiness those of us closer to the ground cannot afford. For myself, I was not so much agitated as glum, wondering whether things were heading toward a shootout in a cemetery. I wondered which one it would be. The Martyrs’ Cemetery outside of town would be an interesting place, the busts of honored revolutionaries shattering as bullets whizzed around.
“That’s it,
then, Inspector.” Boswell stood up slowly, unfolding toward the ceiling. “We cancel the visit.”
“On what basis?”
“Basis? The threat, what else do we need? I don’t plan to be covered by the undersecretary’s bloody brains before I make up my mind.”
I shrugged. “You are assuming the threat is to his person.”
“Ah, well, then, perhaps in your country you have different gradations of threat than we do. Let me see, there could be a threat to his moral dignity, to his reputation, to his financial probity, maybe to his family escutcheon. Yes, of course, Inspector, someone is coming here to smear his family name! Don’t be idiotic. I’m canceling the visit, and then I’m leaving.”
“You don’t care who might be threatening one of your officials, or why?”
“This is your country, it is your problem,” he grumbled.
“How do you know these people won’t try again, in another country? Maybe even in yours?”
Boswell paused in midgrumble. He cocked his head and looked at me through what were for him unusually narrowed eyes. “What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing in particular. You can’t leave until Tuesday anyway, when the next flight takes off. The visitor doesn’t arrive until several days after that. We still have plenty of time to think about this. You can cancel his visit as late as next Tuesday, even Wednesday if you want to spend a few extra days here. Meantime, I can figure out if there is something more to do about the two Germans. And we can go over the security details as many times as you like.”
Boswell sat down. “Right. I apologize if I seem rattled. Jet lag, maybe. Something about this place-” He paused. “Let it go.”
“No, what about this place?”
“Now, don’t be getting angry on me. But the stress levels go up, something in the air, maybe not for you, but there it is. Since I arrived, I’ve had a sense that people are holding their breath-no, not people, but the place, the whole place. It is holding its breath.”
I took the scrap of chestnut out of my pocket and smoothed it with my fingers for a long moment. “Let me tell you something, Superintendent. People breathe perfectly normally here.” I opened the desk drawer and put the piece of wood carefully to one side, lining it up so the thick end was against a brown pencil. Then I closed the drawer and took a deep breath. “But the butterflies”-I smiled-“they don’t flap their wings.”
The Scotsman hesitated, looked out the window, then settled back in his chair and nodded.
9
“We’ll assign Inspector Yang to the security squad. He hasn’t been on the street in a long time; no one even knows what he looks like.”
“You trust him?”
A very odd question, from a foreigner. “I do.” Why would he think I might not have confidence in Yang? “Of course I trust him.” We were driving toward the river, and Boswell, as usual, was drumming his fingers on the dashboard.
“Stop the car!” Boswell’s order was so loud and so unexpected I hit the brakes and we skidded, careened, across two lines until I got control again. A traffic policeman began jogging toward us from the nearest intersection. A van behind me honked its horn, paused a moment to see if we were alright, then sped away.
“What the hell?” I don’t like to skid, it makes me nervous, and I don’t like people shouting at me.
Boswell ignored my question. “Right here. This is the spot. If something is going to happen, this is it. Look at the shadows.”
I groaned. “You and your damned shadows. Where? It’s a normal street; they’ll be speeding down the center lane; the road will be blocked, and there won’t be any traffic. You think someone is going to shoot from a window from one of these buildings? Most of them can’t even be opened, they’re so badly out of alignment.”
Boswell stuck his head out of the car and surveyed the rooftops. He paused at one, pulled out a pencil, and wrote himself a note. “Let’s walk a bit. I want to get a better sense of this stretch. I still don’t like it.”
“Fine, just don’t shout when I’m driving.”
“Inspector, I had no idea you were so sensitive.” The huge Scottish hand rested on my shoulder. “Accept my apologies. Let me take you to dinner tonight. You pick the restaurant.”
“Get out and walk around if you want. There’s nothing here. Incidentally, a long-standing request of the Germans to visit the east coast will be suddenly accepted, much to their surprise. They leave tomorrow morning and won’t be back until next week.”
Boswell hesitated, confused. Then he laughed. “Very efficient, by God. There’s something to be said for your style.”
“I’m listening.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are, but I’m not finishing the sentence. Pick out a decent restaurant, someplace they might have some liquor we can drink, would you?”
The traffic policeman, out of breath, puffed up to the car. He looked twice at my license plate, then straightened his hat, walked around to the driver’s side, and leaned into my window. His eyes took in the Scotsman beside me, but his face showed no emotion. “What’s with the brakes?” It was a traffic cop voice, sort of nasty, as if he owned the street.
“I use them to stop the car. It’s routine. You have regulations against that?”
“Look, I know who you are, Inspector. I have a friend.”
I whistled. “Miracle of miracles.”
“A friend who doesn’t particularly like you.”
“A fine citizen.”
“A friend who doesn’t like it when someone puts their paws on his arm.”
A light went on in my head. The traffic patrolman’s hands were resting on the open window. I gripped his wrist. “Tell your friend to be more polite next time someone visits your bureau. You’ll do that, won’t you?” He was pulling away violently just as I let go, so he fell backward a step.
“Get this car out of here, you and your gorilla friend with it,” he said. He adjusted his hat again, then in a quick motion kicked the side of my door. “Too bad about that.” He looked at me. “You’ve got a dent. Must have been that hard braking.” He smiled coldly and walked up the street.
Boswell had been watching the whole time. The exchange had taken place in short bursts more like gunfire than conversation, but from his face I could see he had followed most of it. “Did I hear what I thought I heard?” he said.
“Just a light discussion between brother security officials.” I shrugged. “That’s how Koreans make love, Superintendent.”
“I figured it was something like that.” He nodded toward the traffic policeman, who by now had resumed his place on the side of the intersection ahead and was reaching for the white gloves tucked in his belt. “Do you know that greasy, stringy, bad-tempered son of a bitch?”
I laughed and started the car. “For a dour breed, you Scotsmen sure can talk. Let’s get out of here.” I pulled into traffic, did an illegal U-turn in front of an old Toyota, and squealed the tires. I looked in the rearview mirror, but the traffic cop wasn’t paying attention. “Never mind him,” I said. “Let’s get a drink.”
“What about the route?”
“Screw the route. Nothing ever happens here, anyway, Superintendent. We spin our wheels endlessly chasing shadows and listening to echoes. You ever been so tired of the same thing you could punch someone?”
“Pick on someone your own size, Inspector.”
I gave him a sharp look and accelerated around a corner.
“Christ, that was a joke!” Boswell held on to the dashboard with both hands. “Not a dig at your…”
“My what?”
“Let’s just get that drink, okay? A man could go crazy around here.”
“You said it, Superintendent, I didn’t.”
The silence in the front seat was heavy for the next several minutes, while I drove through a neighborhood where I knew no traffic police lurked on corners. Finally, my protocol juices began flowing again. I put a smile on my face. “I’ve got a treat for you. I’m going to take you
to someplace that’s part of an investigation. Look out for ground glass in the drinks, though. The bartender’s a tough bastard. I don’t think he likes me.”
The visitor narrowed his eyes. “Does anyone like you, Inspector?” He paused. “Besides me, I mean.”
“Good, you almost missed that one, but you came back fine. By the time you leave here, Boswell, you’ll be ready for the real world.”
“God help us all.”
PART III
Chapter One
I arrived at the Koryo twenty minutes early. The place was deserted except for a few security types and the doorman, so I stood around minding my own business. On the second-floor balcony, a waitress leaned against the railing, looking down into the lobby. At first I thought she might be waiting for someone, but there wasn’t any concentration in the way she stood or idly scanned the room. It wasn’t as if she was relaxed; it was more like she was longing for something but wasn’t sure what. When her eye finally caught mine, she looked away quickly, but I knew her glance would sweep back. I didn’t recognize her as part of the normal staff; probably she was new. Sweet looking, even from a distance, she had an innocent air, a country girl who could tell a joke and mean nothing by it. I smiled when she looked my way again. She smiled back; then someone must have said something, because she covered her mouth and retreated into the shadows. In her place, a tall hotel security man appeared. He gave me a sour look, but it wasn’t anything personal, just his normal expression. I winked at him and moved off to one of the benches so I could wait for Boswell. We were supposed to meet at six o’clock for dinner, though I wasn’t hungry.
A group of well-dressed Europeans made their way past the doorman. They looked around the lobby, the women with amused smiles, the men with a touch of contempt. One of the men said something to the others, and they all laughed unpleasantly. If they walked over and sat down near me, I would have to move. I didn’t want to have to listen to snide observations, and I especially didn’t want to have to answer any questions. Foreigners usually asked about the crops, as if I followed that sort of thing. It was Monday, the wrong day for anyone to be arriving by plane, and none of them were wearing travel clothes. I figured they had already been here for a few days; maybe that was why their guide was nowhere in sight, probably suffering from nervous exhaustion.
