The Expediter

by David Hagberg

  Three blocks from the river they ducked into the doorway of the Democratic Workers Bank, housed in a squat, five-story building, dark at this hour of the night. Kim’s heart was in her throat, they were so close to disaster, and she could taste her fear on her lips as if she had been sucking a copper coin.

  The Chinese Embassy was across the street in a broad three-story building behind a tall iron fence. The structure had once housed an insurance company, but now its roof bristled with antennae and satellite dishes. No guard was at the entry, but closed-circuit television cameras were mounted atop the fence next to the gate and at the corners of the building.

  A few lights were on in the upper-story windows, and they could hear an engine running somewhere behind the building. The Chinese were generating their own electricity.

  From their vantage point they were at an angle to the gate, with a shooting distance of less than forty meters. It would be impossible for them to miss at that range.

  Kim shrank back into the deeper shadows. She wanted to be anywhere else than here. She had pleaded with Soon to give the money back to Alexandar, but he had refused.

  “He accepted our terms, and now we’re obligated.”

  It was a few minutes before two when a Mercedes Maybach was scheduled to arrive and take Chinese Ministry of State Security General Ho Chang Li to a meeting with Kim Jong Il at the president’s palace. They were to shoot him to death before he made the meeting.

  THREE

  At exactly two, lights came on in front of the embassy and a pair of ceremonial guards emerged from the front door and marched to the gate. They wore white gloves, stainless steel helmets, and were armed only with pistols in patent leather holsters at their sides.

  Soon cycled a round into the AK’s chamber and slipped the safety catch off. Kim did the same. Her heart pounded wildly and her mouth was suddenly dry. If they turned around right now they could make it back to the hotel and dispose of the two bodies. In a few hours they would be on the flight back to Beijing and then home. They could tell the Russian that the general had been too heavily guarded so the assignment had become impossible.

  Headlights flashed at the end of the block and a black Mercedes sedan glided up to the embassy and came to a stop in front of the gate. The driver, dressed in a plain olive drab tunic leaped out of the car, and opened the rear door.

  For a minute nothing happened, but then the guards opened the gate and a tall man dressed in a plain dark suit came out of the embassy and walked across the narrow courtyard. He stopped under the lights at the gate long enough for Kim to recognize that it was the general from the photographs she and Soon had studied.

  “Wait until he comes through the gate,” Soon whispered. “You take the guards. I’ll do the general and the driver.”

  Kim’s nerves were jumping all over the place, but as soon as she raised the rifle to her shoulder and got a sight pattern on the guards, her training kicked in and she automatically settled down.

  General Ho said something to one of the guards then stepped through the gate.

  Soon fired first, hitting the general in the chest with at least two rounds, shoving him violently back through the gate.

  The guards were slow to react, offering Kim nearly static targets. She squeezed off one round, catching the first guard high in the chest, switched aim and fired two shots, hitting the other man in the torso, driving him off his feet.

  She was dimly conscious of Soon firing beside her as she switched aim back to the first guard who was struggling to draw his pistol, and fired one shot, hitting him in the head, taking off the back of his skull.

  Suddenly the night was silent.

  Across the street General Ho was down, half through the gate, and the driver was crumpled in a heap on the sidewalk a couple of meters away. An impressive amount of blood was pooling around the bodies.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Soon said. He stepped out of the shadows and headed back the way they had come, without looking over his shoulder and without running.

  Kim fell in beside him, the city still fantastically quiet. She felt numb, a sense of unreality and disbelief at what she had done. Two more men were dead because of her, and she knew that she would never be able to forget the sight of the blood.

  At the corner near the Taedong Gate she looked back, and thought she caught a movement on the street in front of the embassy, but then she and Soon crossed the deserted broad boulevard that paralleled the river.

  “Are you okay?” Soon asked her.

  Kim looked up at him. His face was animated. She nodded. “I just want to get the hell out of here. The flight can’t come too quickly.”

  “The tough part’s over with, sweetheart.”

  “We still have to get across the river without being seen, and hope nobody discovered the bodies over there.”

  They reached the park and Soon glanced down the boulevard. “Once they get their act together every cop in the city will be concentrating on the embassy. When they finally get someone who knows what he’s doing we’ll be long gone, and another three-quarters of a million dollars closer to retirement.”

  “Let’s just get across the river and back to our rooms first, okay?” Kim said. She was shivering thinking about the swim, and because she was starting to come down from the kill.

  They heard the first siren somewhere across the city when they reached the ladder where they’d left their clothes. By the time they’d undressed and sealed the uniforms and weapons in the plastic bags other sirens had joined in, but all of them were to the north, converging on the Chinese Embassy as Soon had predicted would happen.

  Kim was the first into the water, and she was immediately colder than she’d ever been in her life. Holding the partially inflated bag ahead of her she pushed away from the wall and started for the island. She expected at any moment to hear a patrol boat coming upriver, spotlights searching for them.

  Soon swam up beside her. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m cold,” she told him. She could think of nothing else except being safe in bed in his arms. But it would have to wait until they got home. They’d traveled here under different names, not as husband and wife. Soon had figured they would be more anonymous that way. In addition, everybody on tour groups was required to share a room, which meant that Soon’s and Kim’s roommates would be able to vouch for them if questions were asked.

  “Do you want me to help you?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  No, I’m not sure, she wanted to scream. She didn’t think that she’d ever be okay after this night. No matter what happened to them from this point on, she would carry this night as a scar inside her head. She didn’t think that she’d ever be able to forget the look in the young cop’s eyes as he lay dying outside the hotel. He’d had no idea what was happening to him or why. He just knew that he couldn’t breathe and a woman was looking at him. Her face was the last thing he’d ever seen.

  The river current seemed much stronger, and the distance across to the island much farther than the swim across to the mainland. When they reached the seawall, Kim was unable to help herself up the ladder, and Soon had to haul her over the seawall where she fell to her knees, shivering almost uncontrollably. She was in the middle stages of hypothermia, and she was quickly losing the ability to think rationally. The night was dark and her husband’s face right in front of her was out of focus as he pulled her clothes out of the plastic bag and helped her get dressed.

  When he was dressed, he held his body against hers for several minutes, her shivering finally subsiding and her awareness of the night sounds coming back into focus.

  Lights had come on across the river, and sirens seemed to come from every direction.

  “Can you make it back to your room?” Soon asked.

  She nodded. “But I might need some help getting across the road. What about the bodies?” She was feeling extremely sleepy.

  “I’ll take care of them,” Soon told he
r, and Kim sat back on her heels as he quickly dressed the dead policemen, wiped down the AKs, slung them over the cops’ shoulders, and rolled the bodies into the river.

  The bodies would sink because of the weight of the weapons, and would slowly drift downstream. With any luck they wouldn’t be discovered for several days.

  Soon stuffed one of the plastic bags into his pocket, and the other into Kim’s. They’d brought the bags into the country to use for dirty laundry, and it was possible that some bright customs inspector would notice if they didn’t bring them out.

  He helped her to her feet, and once she was steady, they crossed the still-deserted road. No lights had come on in the hotel in response to all the commotion across the river. In this country it paid not to be curious. If there were sirens, it meant official police or military business. It was best to turn away.

  They got inside and although he was taking a risk, Soon helped his wife to the door to her room, two floors above his. He held her in his arms for a long moment, and then they kissed.

  “You did a good job tonight,” he told her.

  “I’m afraid,” she said. Something would go wrong at the last minute. She was convinced of it. Only there was nothing either of them could do except continue with the plan.

  “I know,” Soon said compassionately. “But just hang on for another few hours and we’ll be out of here.” He kissed her. “Now try to get some sleep.”

  Kim slipped inside her room, expecting her Japanese roommate to be awake and demanding an explanation. But the woman was still out of it, and Kim undressed and climbed into bed, yet sleep was a very long time coming even though she was bone weary.

  FOUR

  North Korea’s State Safety and Security Agency was finally coming alive with lights and activity when Counter Insurgency Colonel Pak Hae was passed through the gate. It was a full ninety minutes after the shooting at the Chinese Embassy and Pak had a lot on his mind as he drove around back and parked his Russian-made Lada sedan in his slot. This sort of a violent crime was almost completely unknown, even in a city as large as Pyongyang.

  He was a small man, typical of most North Koreans, with dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. This morning he was dressed in his uniform with decorations, and tall black boots because if what that fool in operations had babbled on the phone was even half true he would need a clear indication of his authority. Unlike the typical North Korean, however, Pak had been educated in the West, after first learning near perfect English in the Cabinet General Intelligence Bureau School One outside of Pyongyang near Kim Jong Il’s primary Residence Number 55. By twenty-five, he had degrees in political science and languages at U.C. Berkeley under the cover of a South Korean.

  When he’d graduated fifteen years ago he had returned home without hesitation, although at the odd moment he sometimes stopped to consider what his life might have been like had he remained in the West.

  The Counter Intelligence Headquarters, located just outside the Munsudong diplomatic quarter, was housed in a massive five-story building, flags flying, satellite dishes and telephone intercept antennae on the roof. Five thousand people worked here including one hundred fifty men and women in Pak’s small section, which was tasked with the specific job of finding and arresting spies among foreigners.

  He got out of his car and entered the building through one of the rear doors, the guard snapping to attention as he passed. Judging by the activity alone he would have guessed that they were preparing for war, which he thought could very well turn out to be the case.

  Taking the elevator up to the third floor he refused to come to any conclusions before he was given all the facts. But if a Chinese diplomat actually had been gunned down on his way to a meeting with Dear Leader the repercussions would be nothing short of stunning, possibly even stunning enough to force the one thing that nearly everyone in North Korea wanted: removing Kim Jong Il from power so that the rebuilding of their country could finally begin.

  The common room, which housed some of his research clerks, translators, and preliminary analysts in cubicles, was bustling with activity, everyone listening in on intercepted telephone conversations from every embassy and hotel switchboard in the city. No one bothered to look up as he crossed the large room to his office behind glass windows.

  His secretary hadn’t arrived yet, but his aide, Sergeant Ri Gyong, was at his desk talking to someone on the phone. He was short, like Pak, but muscularly built, with a broad peasant’s face, heavy brows, and eyes that seemed to smile perpetually, as if he found everything and everyone a big joke. But it was a cover. During his military service Ri had served as a hand-to-hand combat instructor in the Reconnaissance Bureau’s Special Operations forces that had been modeled after the Russian Spetsnaz troops. And he had been one of the best: tough, aggressive, intelligent. He’d been offered an officer’s commission, but had turned it down. As he explained once to Pak, he was a simple man who liked to take orders but never to give them. “Besides, when something goes wrong it’s the officers who take the blame, not the grunts.”

  He crashed down the phone with no smile on his face this morning. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “It’s true then?” Pak asked, his stomach sour.

  Ri nodded. “How much did operations tell you?”

  “Just that there was a shooting outside the Chinese Embassy and one of their diplomats might have been killed,” Pak said. He laid his cap down and started to undo the top button of his tunic.

  “Better not do that yet, Colonel, you’re wanted at the embassy.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse. I’ll fill you in on the way over. But that was one of Dear Leader’s people on the phone just now. He wants an explanation, and he mentioned you by name.”

  He and Ri went back downstairs where they got into Pak’s Lada and headed to the Chinese Embassy. The only cars on the roads were police, though a military truck filled with troops was parked at the Okyru Bridge. Pak put the blue official light on the roof of the car so that they would not be stopped.

  “It was no ordinary diplomat who was killed,” Ri said. “His name is Ho Chang Li. General Ho, Guoanbu.”

  Pak was caught by surprise, and he glanced at his sergeant. “What the hell was a Chinese Ministry of State Security General doing wandering around the streets at that hour of the morning?”

  “Dear Leader sent a car for him. The killers hit not only the general and two Chinese guards at the gate, but they got the chauffeur.”

  “Killers?” Pak asked.

  “Yes, and you’re not going to like the next part. Major Chen claims the shooters were our cops.” Chen was chief of security for the Chinese Embassy.

  “That’s nuts.”

  “I’ll leave it to you to tell him that,” Ri said. “But he also mentioned you by name.”

  “I’ve become a popular fellow all of a sudden.”

  “Better you than me,” Ri said.

  They came around the corner by the Taedong Gate, dozens of police and military troops all over the place. The street in front of the embassy was blocked at both ends by barricades. Four armed soldiers led by an officer manned the nearest barricade, and Pak had to stop.

  He held out his identification booklet, and the lieutenant studied it and Pak’s face carefully before he handed it back and saluted. “They’re waiting for you, Colonel, but you’ll have to walk the rest of the way. The investigators want to keep the crime scene uncontaminated for as long as possible.”

  Two ambulances were parked just up the block from the embassy.

  “Have the bodies been moved?” Pak asked.

  “No, sir.”

  Pak backed up and parked behind a military jeep, then he and Ri passed through the barrier and headed down the street to the scene of intense activity in front of the embassy. He had the thought that if this had happened in gun-happy America every television, radio, and newspaper journalist in the world would have gathered like vultures for a feast of carrion. Such t
hings were called media circuses, and rightly so. Something like that was impossible here, and gladly so. Some freedoms were worthless.

  Major Shikai Chen, dressed in gray trousers and an open-necked white shirt, stood just outside the gate watching a team of medical examiners and forensic field technicians going over the four bodies. He was a short, slightly built man in his late forties, with round glasses that made him appear scholarly. He glanced up when Pak and Ri came around from behind the Mercedes, his expression unreadable.

  “When you’ve finished looking, the bodies will be moved and this mess cleaned off your street,” he said coolly.

  “I’ve finished looking,” Pak said. “Can you tell me precisely what has happened here?”

  A hint of irritation crossed Chen’s eyes, but he nodded. “Very well.” He turned to the chief medical examiner standing over General Li’s body. “You may proceed. But I want the autopsy report on my desk within twenty-four hours, and the general’s body prepared for its return to Beijing.”

  Pak thought that it was extraordinary that a Chinese officer was giving orders to a North Korean doctor, but he said nothing.

  Chen turned back. “Two uniformed police officers waited in ambush, there, across the street in the doorway of the bank, and when the car and driver came for General Ho’s appointment with your premier, they opened fired without warning, causing the destruction you see here.”

  Ambulance attendants were coming down the street with gurneys for all four bodies. Pak turned and looked at the bank where a police photographer was taking pictures of something on the ground. Presumably shell casings where the shooters stood in the shadows of the doorway.

  He turned back. “Obviously someone carried out the assassination, but it wasn’t our people,” Pak said. “We have no reason for it. China is our ally.”