The Expediter

by David Hagberg

  It was like being in a comedy and if she hadn’t been so frightened she would have laughed at them. Suddenly she spat on the pavement in front of them. “Fuck Dear Leader,” she said.

  The cop raised his pistol and pointed it directly at her head, and she raised her hands higher.

  “My name is Huk Kim, I know who ordered General Ho assassinated, and at this moment my husband Soon is being held in Pyongyang as a suspect in the shooting. If you don’t want to feed me some of your fine grass soup, at least take me to jail and inform your superior officer who I am before it’s too late.”

  “I think it’s already too late for you,” the cop with the pistol said. “Whoever you are and wherever you’ve come from you’ll soon learn that your humor is not appreciated. But you’ll get your wish to get to jail, and so will all your family when we round them up.”

  “No wonder you’re starving to death up here,” Kim said.

  The second cop pulled her arms behind her back, roughly cuffed her, and shoved her in the backseat of the blue-and-white cruiser. She had survived the DMZ and now these cops without being shot, but the ball was in their court. It was possible that they would put her in a cell and leave her there until they figured she would finally tell them who she really was.

  But there was no time. Everyone in the world was talking about the assassination and the possibility of war, but here no one knew a thing. It was pitiful. And frightening. All she needed was for one more piece of luck, a cop downtown who would dare to make a call to Pyongyang about her. It was her only hope.

  SIXTY–TWO

  Pak drove back to his office down the middle lane reserved for official traffic, keeping his silence all the way. They were passed through the gate by the sentries and went immediately around to the rear of the massive granite building and parked. Pak shut off the car and turned to McGarvey.

  “Who were you talking to on your satellite phone?” he asked. “Somebody at the CIA?”

  McGarvey figured there was no use lying. He nodded. “A friend.”

  “What money trail? And what’s this about missing something all along? Would you care to explain?”

  “Assassinations cost a lot of money. We think that wherever it’s coming from might be funneled through a bank or banks in Prague.”

  “That’s nothing new,” Pak said. “What have you been missing all along?”

  “The obvious, Colonel, who’s supplying the cash and more important, why.”

  Pak stared at him for a moment or two. “Then you believe me.”

  “I think that you’ve told me the truth, so far as you know it.”

  “But there’s more,” Pak said.

  “There always is,” McGarvey replied and he started to open the door, but Pak stopped him.

  “I meant that General Ho’s assassination was just part of something much bigger. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “I want to see Huk Soon now.”

  “Goddammit, we’re fighting for our lives here,” Pak said, and McGarvey could hear genuine fear in the man’s voice. “It doesn’t matter what you think of my country, you understand what’s at stake here. We asked for your help and you came.”

  “That’s right, but before I go back to Washington with this I’m going to make damned sure of what really happened here. And to do that I’ll need to talk to Huk Soon.”

  Pak hesitated. “You’ll need to leave your pistol at the security desk. No weapons are allowed in the cell area.”

  “Then get him dressed and bring him up here,” McGarvey said. “We can go for a walk away from the tape recorders.”

  “You must be crazy.”

  “No, but I’m getting sick of arguing with you. Either bring him up here so that I can talk to him with no one listening—so that he believes no one is listening—or take me back to Wonsan so I can catch the ferry. The sooner I’m out of this workers’ paradise of yours the happier I’ll be.”

  Pak hesitated again.

  “Do it, Colonel. And you and your sergeant can follow us.”

  “Where do you think you’re going to take him?”

  “Out the gate and across the street to the park, for now.”

  “Don’t get out of the car until I return, or you’ll probably be shot,” Pak said. He got out and went into the building.

  Sitting back, McGarvey contemplated phoning Rencke again to get more details about the search for the source of the money that was directed to the general in Mexico City for the polonium operation and to Turov in Tokyo for the three assassinations. If the source could be pinned down, they might be able to get a heads up for whatever was coming next. He did not think fomenting a confrontation between China and North Korea was the endgame, nor was smuggling the radioactive material into the States the entire story.

  If the situation here did escalate into an exchange of nuclear weapons, and if the polonium was used for mass murder in some major city, maybe New York or Washington again, what else could be coming toward the U.S.?

  Islamic fundamentalists were at war with the entire world, against the Hindus, the Jews, and the Christians, and the most worrisome part was that the level of sophistication had risen dramatically since 9/11. Bin Laden dead no longer mattered. A new leadership, willing and able to keep out of the public’s view, even out of sight of their own soldiers, was directing the battles now, and they were good.

  Afghanistan and Iraq had been misdirections, as were al-Quaeda’s mountain hideouts on the Pakistan border. The hot spots were constantly shifting—Mexico City, Paris, Tokyo, here—and would continue to do so, leaving the U.S. to fight an enemy that had no headquarters and no clear battle plan that could be met by a counterattack.

  But Otto and his machines were working the problem, and McGarvey was certain that if anyone could crack the code it would be Rencke.

  Pak and Sergeant Ri emerged from the building, leading a man dressed in a gray jacket buttoned up to the neck, gray slacks, and slippers, and came over to the car as McGarvey got out.

  “Huk Soon,” Pak said.

  The man’s eyes were slightly glazed, but it didn’t appear as if he had been beaten too badly. He was taller and heavier than either Pak or the sergeant, and probably in much better physical shape even now.

  “Are you up for a walk?” McGarvey asked.

  Soon’s eyes widened. “You’re an American,” he said, and he started to say something else, but McGarvey held him off.

  “We’ll be alone, no microphones, no jailers, no one to listen to what you have to tell me. Do you understand?”

  Soon nodded after a moment.

  Ri wanted to argue, but he went ahead and cleared the way with the guards in front, so that McGarvey and Soon were able to walk out and cross the street into a pretty park where people were strolling, some sitting on park benches, others practicing tai chi. McGarvey’s size and Western clothing attracted attention but for the most part people were too polite to stare or come close.

  “I’ve seen your wife Kim in Seoul,” McGarvey said.

  “She made it okay, that’s good,” Soon replied. He glanced over his shoulder at Pak and Ri who were out of earshot. “You’re American, CIA? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Trying to stop World War III.”

  “Did the NIS ask for your help? Have they arrested Kim?”

  “We tried but she got away from us, which is too bad for her, because Alexandar Turov, the Russian who hired you, came to Seoul to kill her.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We tossed your apartment and found the key to the storage locker. We also found your laptop computer and my people cracked it. We know about all your hits, including the ones in Paris and Tokyo.”

  “Now you want to make a deal,” Soon said. “That’s slick. What do I get in return? A ticket out of here?” He shook his head. “That won’t happen, and I’m surprised they let you in, but they probably won’t let you leave.”

  “They asked for my help, and I c
ame, not because I give a shit about some two-bit hit man who cares more about money than what might happen because of him. And when I do get out of here, I hope they stick it to you.”

  “Point taken. But the question stands, what’s in it for me?”

  “Your wife’s life. Or don’t you give a shit about her either?”

  Soon looked away and they walked in silence for a little while. “What do you want?”

  “Tell me what you know about Turov.”

  “I didn’t even know his last name until you told me,” Soon said. “He’s just been a name on an e-mail, and the guy who deposits money in our account.”

  “How did you find him?”

  “I didn’t. He found us after we did a contract kill for a Korean mafia family.”

  “Turov’s just an expediter,” McGarvey said. “Did you ever get a hint who he was working for?”

  “I had the idea that whoever hired him had something to gain, otherwise they wouldn’t have spent that kind of money.”

  “Who did you figure that would be?”

  Soon stopped and looked at him. “The United States, of course,” he said. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  “I want you to show me how you and your wife did it.”

  Soon nodded over his shoulder. “Think they’re going to allow that?”

  “Count on it.”

  SIXTY–THREE

  The operations center at the State Safety and Security Agency had been quiet all morning despite the turmoil outside over the Chinese thing, and despite the unprecedented arrival of the American under Colonel Pak’s supervision. And Lieutenant Hang-gook Ma, today’s duty officer, was damned glad of it, because the last few days had been a nightmare. Dear Leader had turned his gaze toward them, and that never was a good thing. The slightest mistake could mean a man’s life.

  Most of the ten clerks on the main floor were doing busywork, typing reports from information that came in from not only around the capital city but from all the outlying districts across the country. Nothing important.

  Hang-gook stepped out of his glass-enclosed office and stopped for a moment to survey his domain. On most days he was proud of his position, nothing much ever happened. But just now he would have given a year’s pay to be somewhere else. Cleaning streets, anything. He was a slightly built man, with a narrow face, intensely dark eyes, and a thin mustache that he thought made him look like an Indian movie star.

  A cup of tea from the cafeteria downstairs would go good now, he decided, and he started across the room when one of his corporals who was speaking on the telephone looked up and waved him over.

  “Can’t you handle whatever it is?” Hang-gook asked.

  “This is the police in In’chon. They’ve arrested a woman who was impersonating a South Korean spy.”

  “Ridiculous,” Hang-gook said. “Why would anyone want to do something like that?”

  “Shall we pass this along to Colonel Pak? We might catch him before he leaves the building.”

  “What, are you stupid? We won’t be bothering the colonel over something like this, especially not now.”

  “Yes, sir. They want to know what to do with their prisoner.”

  “Let her go or shoot her, I don’t care which,” Hang-gook said. “I’m going for tea.”

  “Yes, sir,” the corporal said and he turned back to the phone. “Do whatever you want with her, but don’t waste a cell and don’t feed her no matter what sort of wild stories she’s telling you. But first find out who she really is.”

  Hang-gook turned and walked away when the corporal suddenly swore. The lieutenant stopped and turned back. All of his clerks had looked up at the outburst.

  “Wait, you idiot, I want you to tell this to my lieutenant.”

  Hang-gook had a tickle at the back of his head, and an unsettled feeling in his stomach that something was about to happen that he’d fervently prayed never would; he was going to be put in a position where he would have to make a decision.

  The clerk was holding out the phone for him, a neutral expression on his narrow face. He was passing the buck and glad of it.

  The connection was lousy as was most telephone service from outside Pyongyang and at first Hang-gook had trouble understanding what the man was saying, except that he was Sergeant Hwang Jong-li the chief detective in Ich’on about one hundred and fifty kilometers to the southeast.

  “Who is this woman you’re talking about? Have you identified her?”

  “She was carrying only an identity card from the South. Says her name is Huk Kim, and that you’re holding her husband Huk Soon. She’s telling some wild story about an assassination. Frankly I was about to turn her over to the hospital.”

  This was even worse than anything Hang-gook could ever have imagined. It put him directly in the middle of the most important investigation in the history of Chosun. Dear Leader himself had taken an interest, and whatever happened, whatever decisions were made— good or bad—he would know.

  “How do you know the woman’s telling the truth?”

  “I don’t know anything of the sort, Lieutenant. Her story is too fantastic to believe, but I don’t know what she’s up to. She talks like a Southerner, although her clothes are definitely from here.”

  Hang-gook glanced at his clerks, but all of them had gotten back to work. Even the corporal had turned away and was furiously typing something.

  “What do you want us to do with her?” the cop from Ich’on asked.

  Hang-gook tried to reason out his responsibilities. If the colonel were here the decision would be his. But Pak had left strict instructions that he was not to be bothered this morning, for any reason.

  “Lieutenant?” the irritating cop’s voice was like an insect in Hang-gook’s ear.

  “How much persuasion did you need to make her talk?”

  “None,” the detective replied. “She kept repeating the same story, and insisted that I contact State Security because she knew who was behind the assassination.”

  Suddenly enlightenment was Hang-gook’s. In his mind this was the finest zen moment of his life, and he smiled for the first time since the killings in front of the Chinese Embassy. This meant the right sort of recognition, even promotion to senior lieutenant.

  “Bring her here,” he told the detective, his voice in his own ear calm, but crisp.

  “What? We don’t have the fuel allocation.”

  “Never mind about that. Listen very carefully now. This woman is of supreme importance to state security. I want her brought to my office, and I am giving you just ninety minutes in which to do it.”

  “I’ll need authorization—”

  “You have it from Dear Leader who is personally interested in this investigation,” Hang-gook said. “Do I make myself clear?”

  The line was silent for a long moment “Of course, Lieutenant. I’ll personally escort her.”

  “And make sure that she talks to no one else. No one!”

  “Is it true then, what she’s told us? The assassination?”

  “I suggest for your sake, Detective Sergeant Hwang, that you completely forget everything that you have heard. Bring the woman here and your name will be mentioned favorably in my report.”

  SIXTY–FOUR

  Ri went back across the street to get the Lada after McGarvey had explained to him and Pak what he had in mind. And now riding across the river to the Yangakdo Hotel on the island, the sergeant was in a black mood, and kept up a steady stream of objections in Korean.

  “I don’t think he believes you,” Soon said to McGarvey. They were seated together in the backseat.

  “Doesn’t matter,” McGarvey said.

  Pak, who was riding shotgun in the front, looked over his shoulder. “Then what does matter, Mr. McGarvey?”

  “I want him to show us how he did it.”

  “I told you—” Soon said.

  “Without the help of the Pyongyang police, or maybe some of Colonel Pak’s people.”

&nbs
p; Ri said something under his breath, but Pak calmed him down. “He’s perfectly right to doubt us.”

  They took a left on the paved road that ran round the shoreline, past the International Cinema and finally the forty-five-story modern hotel that was used almost exclusively by tour groups. The hotel’s employees, mostly Chinese, were treated the same as the tourists, never getting off the island without an escort.

  The normally busy parking lot was practically empty as was the expansive lobby when they showed up. Every tour group scheduled since the assassination had been canceled. No one on the hotel staff had been told why, and no one, according to Pak, was asking any questions.

  Ri pulled up in front, but no bellman came out, nor did either of the clerks at the front desk or the manager standing nearby approach as Soon led McGarvey and the two State Security agents across the lobby to the elevator.

  “How close do you want me to play this?” Soon asked.

  “I want everything,” McGarvey said.

  “My room was on the tenth floor, Kim’s was on the twelfth,” Soon said on the way up. “At midnight we got out of bed, got dressed in dark slacks and dark pullovers, and met downstairs.”

  “Were your roommates involved?” Pak asked.

  “We drugged them so they’d sleep through the night.”

  They got off on the tenth floor and Soon led them first to his room halfway down the corridor from the elevators, and then to the emergency stairs at the end. “It was our last night here so we’d had two weeks to figure out the hotel’s routines. Between midnight and three in the morning were the quietest hours. All the cleaning people were done, and the breakfast staff didn’t start until around four.”

  The four of them followed Soon down to the service level one floor below the lobby. The laundry, heating plant, electrical distribution room, and maintenance areas were down a broad corridor to the left, and the room service kitchen, pantries, walk-in coolers and freezers, and the loading dock were to the right. The few staff on duty momentarily stopped what they were doing to look up at the strangers, one of whom was obviously a foreigner, but immediately turned away.