He parked and set out on foot, buttoning the collar of his topcoat as a misty drizzle began to fall. When he reached the entrance, he saw why it had been selected as National Treasure No. 1. The elevated grounds were reached by thirty-three steps that led across two granite bridges between stone balustrades. Even in the gloom of morning, the facade was nothing short of spectacular, featuring reddish-brown and yellow panels beneath soaring rooflines, the woodwork painted in colorful red and green designs.
A month earlier, he would have been engulfed by tourists. But at the end of November, with rain threatening, visitors had become sparse. He walked past the temple's two famous pagodas, huge granite structures built during a reconstruction of Pulguksa in 751. Jerry was fascinated by the place. In the main hall, he found a solemn-faced young monk, head shaved, dressed in saffron robes, and handed him a business card.
"I wondered if I might find Dr. Shin here?" he asked.
The monk eyed him with a look devoid of emotion. "You should speak with Moon Chwa," he said. "I will take you to him."
The young monk led him across the inner courtyard toward a building at the rear. The Korean entered first, then invited Jerry to follow. He found himself in a small room with an ondol floor, and in the presence of a short, plump man whose round face resembled a smiling mask. He judged him to be somewhere in his forties.
Moon Chwa glanced at the card, then back at Jerry. "Welcome to Pulguksa, Mr. Chan," he said in Chinese.
Jerry smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Moon. It's been awhile since anybody spoke to me in Chinese."
"You are Chinese-American?"
"Yes. Both my parents came from China, but I was born and raised in the U.S.A." He switched to Korean. "I also speak your language, however."
Moon Chwa nodded. "And very well, I might add. Your card says you are manager of a public relations office. You might say we're in the same business. My job is to handle relations with the public here at Pulguksa."
Jerry bowed. "It's always nice to meet a kindred spirit."
Moon Chwa moved over to a low table and motioned to Jerry. "Please sit down, Mr. Chan."
Jerry took his place on a floor cushion across from the monk. He turned at the sound of someone behind him and saw a middle-aged woman carrying a tray with two cups of tea and a plate of sliced apple and pear. She placed them on the table and silently withdrew.
"Pulguksa is a very special shrine," Moon Chwa said reverently. "Unfortunately, it is not the place of serenity that many of us might prefer. You see, being National Treasure No. 1 has its drawbacks. The power of thought is our most important teaching, but concentration and medidation aren't always easy with the crowds we get here. You're fortunate to have come on a light day."
Jerry chewed on a wedge of apple, then looked at Moon Chwa thoughtfully. "I think my parents may have been Buddhist before they came to America. My mother eventually joined the Methodist Church. That was the church I grew up in. I don't recall my father ever talking much about religion. He wasn't really a shamanist, I don't think. He never spoke of spirits. But he was dedicated to nature, to animals and birds, to trees and flowers and rivers and streams. He marveled at the changes that took place, particularly in spring and fall."
"The Lord Buddha taught that life is a continuous process of death and rebirth. Was your father a teacher?"
Jerry sipped his tea. It was bland, but hot. "He was a scientist, a researcher. He had a doctorate in chemistry."
Moon Chwa observed him intently. "When you entered the temple, you asked about someone. A Dr. Shin, I believe."
"Yes, I was told he might have come here with an interest in becoming a monk."
Moon Chwa assumed an apologetic look. I'm sorry, Mr. Chan, but we have no such person here. Why are you looking for this Dr. Shin?"
The short, plump figure reminded Jerry of Humpty Dumpty as he sat beside the table with legs crossed. But the feeling of strength that emanated from him gave no hint of an impending fall. Jerry toyed with his teacup for a moment, deciding whether to use the cover story he had devised. This trip had been a gamble at best, but he had hoped for a bit better luck. The foreman had seemed to take the story about Shin's retreat to Pulguksa as rather reliable. Still, he had to admit that rumors could probably get pretty wild around a plant the size of Chuwangsan.
"My company represents an organization back in the U.S. called the Coalition for Nuclear Freedom," Jerry said. "We were told that Dr. Shin might have some information regarding the status of nuclear affairs in the Republic of Korea. He was fired not long ago as a scientist at Reijeo's Chuwangsan Plant. There was a report that he had come to Pulguksa, but obviously that was incorrect."
"This organization, this Coalition, what does it do?" Moon Chwa asked.
"They're concerned with the misuse of nuclear science and technology. Things like nuclear weapons proliferation. Of course, as far as we know, your country has no nuclear weapons capability."
"Perhaps this Dr. Shin went to another temple," Moon Chwa speculated. "I will see if I can find out something for you before you leave. Is this your first visit to Pulguksa?"
"Yes."
"Then you must see the Sokkuram Grotto. You have come a long way, Mr. Chan. It would be a shame to return without visiting one of the really classic examples of Oriental art. It is located at the top of Mt. Tohamsan. I will have one of our monks accompany you. There should be a mini-bus leaving shortly."
Jerry had read about the grotto but wasn't sure how interested he would be in it at this juncture. He was too concerned about the fate of his search for Dr. Shin. Fortunately, Moon Chwa's promise to try and locate the missing scientist sounded a hopeful note. As it turned out, he found the trip to Sokkuram, about eight kilometers up from Pulguksa, more than worthy of the two hours he devoted to it. The small bus let him and his eager Buddhist guide out at the summit parking lot. From there they took a wooded path that twisted along the mountainside for several hundred meters. Then they climbed a final set of steps to the cave grotto.
"This was built in 751 by the Silla minister Kim Tae-song," said the young monk as though speaking of yesterday. "You should note the geometrical proportion and precision. The architects did a masterful job."
Because of deterioration from the elements, particularly the ocean wind, a glass wall and humidity controls were installed some twenty years back. A towering white granite Sakyamuni Buddha sat on a stone dias on the floor of the circular hall, legs folded in the lotus position.
"Though it was more than a thousand years ago," said his guide, "the designers were quite advanced in their thinking. They placed the statue slightly off center, so when you look at it standing here in the foreroom, it appears to be centered. They knew all about optical illusions even back in those days."
To Jerry, it seemed to embody the ancient religion's tenets of peace, tranquility, and compassion for life. But it would take more than an optical illusion to square that with what he suspected was taking place some seventy-five kilometers to the north in a grotto known as the Reijeo Chuwangsan Plant.
Chapter 40
As soon as Jerry left for Sokkuram, Moon Chwa drove down the road to the Kolon Hotel, a modern tourist facility offering everything from a dinner theatre to a casino. More important, from his standpoint, it offered telephone lines that had not likely been tapped by any eavesdropping government agency. As a former army intelligence officer, he was well acquainted with the wily ways of the Defense Security Command, which had agents snooping throughout the military to guard against the emergence of coup leaders. He was also aware that the arms of the Agency for National Security Planning had an even longer reach and a more powerful grip.
A veteran of Korea's participation in the Vietnamese War, Moon Chwa had come out of that struggle a broken man. All the fighting and killing and dying had left him a mental cripple. He was drowning himself in alcohol when a pair of merciless robbers cleaned out his pockets and drove him into the countryside, dumping him at the side of the road with the belief t
hat he would freeze to death. They were unaware they had left him virtually on the doorstep of a small, obscure Buddhist temple, whose monks found him and took him into their compound. When he awoke and realized where he was and what had happened, he decided to devote the rest of his life to the Lord of the temple. He had a particular aversion to weapons of mass destruction.
He placed the first of his calls to the American Embassy in Seoul. He was referred to the Commercial Attaché, who assured him that Worldwide Communications Consultants was a well-established firm in the U.S. capital. Mr. Kurt Voegler had no information on the Coalition for Nuclear Freedom but advised that Worldwide planned a campaign to promote better relations between Americans and Koreans.
The second call went to the Worldwide Communications office in Seoul, where he spoke to a Mr. Burke Hill. It was confirmed that Jerry Chan was attempting to contact Dr. Shin on behalf of the Coalition for Nuclear Freedom. His final call was directed to a home in the mountains northeast of Andong, the nearest contact point with the Hongsansa Temple. The South Koreans had done a marvelous job of spreading the benefits of electricity and telephone service to remote areas of the country, but they had yet to reach the isolated temple hidden in the upper wilds of a four-thousand-foot peak some thirty-five kilometers inland from the east coast. After an hour of sipping tea in the coffee shop, sped along through meditation on an item in the American section of the menu called "Sandwich BLT," he received a call back from his party at Hongsansa. It was shortly before Jerry Chan's return from the grotto.
Moon Chwa was waiting near the large gilt Buddha in the main prayer hall when Jerry walked in. "Please join me in a stroll along the courtyard, Mr. Chan," he said with his owlish smile.
Jerry followed him out onto one of the roofed walkways that separated the courtyard into different areas. There was enough wind to sweep the misty rainfall against their faces despite the peaked tile enclosure overhead. In the cold it felt like tiny needle pricks.
"Dr. Shin would like to meet you," Moon Chwa said matter-of-factly when they were away from the small cluster of tourists.
Jerry frowned at his diminutive companion. "You talked to him?"
"Yes. I must confess that although I answered your question truthfully, you probably did not comprehend the subtlety of my reply."
That's a new twist on the old I know you believe you understand what you think I said, but I am not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant, thought Jerry, somewhat chagrined. He glared. "Meaning?"
"I said there was no such person here. You didn't ask if Dr. Shin had been here in the past."
"Why are you playing games with me, Moon Chwa?"
"No games, Mr. Chan," he said. "There have been others here before you looking for Dr. Shin. People no doubt sent, by certain government agencies. It was necessary to establish your bona fides."
Jerry almost smiled at his choice of words, but what he said made cold-blooded sense. If Dr. Shin possessed information about the nuclear program, he could certainly be on the NSP's wanted list. He must have realized this and gone into hiding. No wonder the little monk had been so circumspect in their earlier discussion. "So how do I find Dr. Shin?"
Moon Chwa gave him directions for locating Hongsansa, literally Temple of the Red Mountain. It nestled above the 3,000-foot level in the mountains northeast of Andong. The name came from the surrounding oak forest that turned the mountainside a flaming red in the fall.
It was early afternoon by the time Jerry had eaten lunch and steered his Hyundai back onto the highway, heading north toward the port city of Pohang, where heavy industries belched stains of yellow and gray into the cloudy sky. From there he continued up the coastal highway to Yongdok, then turned northwest, where the road began its steady climb into the hill country. At mid-afternoon, he located the obscure cut-off Moon Chwa had cautioned him would be easy to miss. It was a dirt road, little more than a narrow trail, that took him on a bumpy, tortuous trek higher into the mountains. After the first quarter of a mile, he saw no further signs of human habitation. The clouds had begun to break up, affording an occasional glimpse of a bare, craggy peak in the distance. He had about decided he was on the wrong road, that this one led absolutely nowhere, when he rounded a sharp curve and there, high up one side of a narrow glen just ahead, hoary from a slight dusting of snow, sat a small cluster of wood and stone buildings, each with its peaked tile roof flared out in Buddhist temple style. A seemingly endless flight of steps led up from the roadside, its zig-zag pattern chiseled into the stone face of the mountain.
Jerry saw no sign of activity about the place and first thought it had been abandoned. He parked his car in a clump of tall oaks at the side of the road and climbed out, only to be greeted by an inhospitable blast of frigid air. With the increase in altitude had come a considerable decrease in temperature. He made his way up the steep stone steps, taking his time with the taxing climb that led to a closed gate in the high compound wall. Despite the exertion, he felt no lessening of the sting from the sharp wind that wrapped itself around him like the coiled lash of a bull whip.
A small bell hung beside the gate and he rang it briskly. Moments later the wooden barrier swung open to reveal a thin monk of uncertain age. Possibly fifties, Jerry speculated after a closer look. The monk beckoned him into the bare, brown dirt courtyard which was flanked by Hongsansa's weathered buildings. It was obviously a much simpler, more earthy shrine than Pulguksa.
"Mr. Chan?" the heavily robed man inquired.
"Yes. I'm here to see Dr. Shin."
The monk escorted him to a smaller building away from the main prayer hall, where he was ushered into a small, spare room. A stocky man with thin white hair and a wisp of chin whiskers sat behind a simple wood table. An open book, a pen and several sheets of paper were spread before him. Recalling stories of remote monasteries where monks had kept the flame of knowledge burning during the Middle Ages, Jerry could imagine the scientist as an ancient scholar bent on preserving the wisdom of the centuries. He rose to his feet, intense gray eyes considering Jerry with the wary look of a man haunted by the risk of betrayal.
"I'm Jerry Chan," Jerry said with a head bow and an outstretched hand.
"Dr. Shin Man-ki," said the stocky man, accepting the handshake. "I'm sorry you had such difficulty locating me, but you aren't the only one who's been looking. I'm afraid the others didn't have my best interests in mind."
"You certainly found an obscure enough hiding place," Jerry said, looking around. "I hope I haven't compromised it for you."
A quick shake of Dr. Shin's head dismissed the thought. "My friends would have warned me if you had been followed. Please have a seat and tell me about this Coalition for Nuclear Freedom."
Jerry took the lone straightback chair that sat next to the desk and was promptly served the customary welcoming cup of tea. Walnut flavored, it provided a pleasant change, though its warmth was its most welcome quality.
"The Coalition is a group of organizations concerned with lessening the threat of nuclear catastrophe," Jerry said, citing the story he had concocted earlier. There were any number of anti-nuclear groups, of course, though each had its own agenda and would not likely be happy operating under a single umbrella. But coalitions had proved quite effective in the lobbying arena where a single problem cut across various lines of endeavor. It was not so far-fetched an idea, and Jerry made it sound quite plausible. "The organization gets letters from around the world, people reporting activities they believe pose a threat to peace and stability. Someone here wrote about suspicious developments at the Reijeo Chuwangsan Plant. The letter said a scientist named Dr. Shin had been fired for his objections."
Dr. Shin took a swallow of tea, then twirled the cup between his fingers. "Must have been someone from the plant. I know several others who feel as I do, though for whatever reasons, they haven't chosen to leave their jobs. I attempted to change things, of course, to no avail."
"What's going on at Chuwangsan?"
In an emotional voice, a bit louder than intended, he blurted, "They're building atomic weapons!"
Jerry stared across in genuine alarm. The statement was only verification of what he and the others had suspected, but the stark, unambiguous way Dr. Shin put it highlighted the depths of its potential for tragedy. "You mean they're building weapons now?"
"The goal was to have a device ready for testing by January first. Other weapons could be ready at any time after that."
"You know this for an absolute fact?" Jerry realized that some unspoken longing inside him had been secretly hoping all of this was just the result of some monstrous coincidence.
"I'm positive. I was a member of the team from the very start."
Punctuating his words with animated gestures that helped vent his frustration, Dr. Shin described the plot from its inception. A nuclear physicist, he had been recruited in the eighties as part of a group chosen to put together a new study on what would be necessary for the Republic of Korea to aquire an atomic arsenal. It came at a time of heightened tension between Pyongyang and Seoul. It was also a time of periodic defense-bashing in the U.S. Congress, with senators and representatives from budget subcommittees hot on the junket trail to South Korea, issuing provocative statements about the pressing need for troop cuts. The Soviet Union was funneling a steady supply of improved weapons into North Korea, and an eventual nuclear capability for the highly militarized communist regime had to be considered a probability.
"We knew there was nothing we could do to alleviate the immediate threat," Dr. Shin explained. He spread his hands to illustrate an ever widening gap. "Nuclear programs by their very nature are stretched out, long range programs. Nobody really thought the Americans would pull out then, but we believed the time would surely come, and we'd have to be ready."
The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2) Page 26
