"When do you plan to move into your apartment?" Ji-young asked.
"I thought I'd take my stuff over there this evening after work. With no more than I've accumulated so far, it'll all go in the car with room to spare."
"What about bed linens, towels, things for the kitchen?"
He rumpled his brow and scratched his chin. "Leave it to a woman to complicate matters."
"Do you want to sleep on a bare mattress?"
"Okay. You're right. I need to do some shopping." He thought about all the things he needed to discuss with Burke and the report he would have to make to Nate Highsmith. He frowned. "Only trouble is I don't know when I'll find time. I may have to put off moving till tomorrow."
She smiled brightly. "If I can have the afternoon off, and you will trust me with getting the proper things, I'll do your shopping for you."
"Would you, really?"
"Of course. I'd love to."
Not knowing the best places to shop, it would take him twice as long as it would her. He hated shopping anyway. "I could let you have my credit card."
She gave him a devilish grin. "Are you sure you'd trust me with that?"
"I trust you implicitly, Miss Song," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "Furthermore, I'll take you to dinner when I get home tonight. Let's wait till Burke gets back and see if he has anything for you. Then you're on your way."
He called Mr. Yoo, who indicated he would be over shortly to report on his investigation of An Kye-sun, the newspaper reporter Travis Tolliver had recruited for an assistant.
Burke returned to the office about the time the garishly dressed private investigator arrived. Jerry invited him to sit in on the session with Mr. Yoo.
Jerry looked through the report, one ear tuned to Yoo and Burke.
"How is our friend Captain Yun?" Yoo asked. "I saw you with him last night at the Dokjo."
"I didn't see you," Burke said.
"I was in a private room having dinner with a friend."
"Was that you in the pastel blue jacket?"
The investigator chuckled. "Then you did see me."
"Apparently so."
Jerry laid the report on his desk. "Looks like An Kye-sun is our man."
Yoo nodded. "He checked out fine. Think you'll hire him?"
"No reason not to. He should be a big help to Travis."
"What's your opinion of Captain Yun?" Burke asked, changing the subject.
Yoo spread his hands. "What can I say? He's a great guy. He recommends me to his friends."
"From a professional standpoint," Burke added.
"He's got a reputation as the best homicide investigator in Seoul. A bit eccentric, some people think. A loner. He's nobody's man, that's for sure."
"I understand he's had some real problem cases."
"That happens."
"Politics ever get in the way?"
Yoo grinned. "You're kidding. In Korea, politics gets in the way of everything. You got political problems, Mr. Hill?"
Burke shook his head. "No, no. Not me. We're doing fine. I was just curious."
When Mr. Yoo left, Jerry sent Ji-young on her way and asked Brittany Pickerel to catch the phone. Then he closed his office door and energized the electronic sweeper. "All's clear," he said, turning to Burke. "What was that about dining with Captain Yun at the Dokjo?"
"I'll tell you about that later. Did you find your Dr. Shin?"
"Yes," Jerry said, excitement intensifying his voice, "and he turned out to be a real gold mine."
After listening to his story, Burke whistled softly. "I'd say you've just about nailed 'em. The only thing we don't know is whether they can really deliver the weapons, and what the hell they intend to do with all that firepower."
"I don't know of any way to answer that without going straight to the Blue House."
"Yeah. I'm sure President Kwak would just love to give us the answer, if he knows."
"If? You must be thinking about Operation Pok Su," Jerry said. "That was a long range plan."
"I'm wondering who's the brain behind the operation, and how it ties in with a group of 1940's assassins known as Poksu. There's a certain poetry to it, you know. A dramatic flair. I have a feeling we're getting closer to the answer."
It was now midnight in Washington. Although what they had to report was certainly explosive enough, they decided it wasn't something that warranted sending shock waves along the Potomac in the middle of the night. They would wait until that evening when Nate Highsmith would be starting a new business day halfway around the world on Sixteenth Street. They agreed to meet back at the office around ten.
Song Ji-young spent a couple of hours at Tongdaemun, the Great East Gate Market, Korea's largest. It required two trips back to her car to carry all of her loot. She resembled one of those workers who strapped A-frames on their backs to haul around large loads of merchandise. On her way to Jerry's apartment, she stopped at a grocery and stocked up on food for his refrigerator.
She spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, peeling, slicing, chopping, dicing, marinating, and cooking.
When Jerry arrived, his eyes bulged. Beds were made. Towels and wash cloths hung in the bathrooms. Attractive pictures graced the walls. Tantalizing odors drifted out of the kitchen and the dining table was set for two.
"Ji-young, what have you done?" he said, frowning.
She stood in the kitchen doorway, a troubled look on her face. "Did I do something wrong, Jerry?"
His face relaxed into a smile as he shook his head. "No, you silly girl. You've done everything right. I'm just not prepared for all this."
She told him to sit down and she would bring out dinner.
"Looks like all we're lacking is candlelight and wine," he said in a teasing voice.
"Oh, I almost forgot." She held a hand to her mouth as she hurried into the kitchen. She came back a few moments later carrying a brass holder with a tall candle in it and a bottle of white wine.
Jerry chuckled. "California wine?"
"I thought it would make you feel at home."
She set them on the table and Jerry got up to light the candle. He held the match for her to blow out. While her lips were still puckered, he drew the match away and kissed her gently.
"Let's eat," he said, grinning.
No doubt he was in a prejudicial frame of mind, but he considered it one of the best meals he could remember. Afterward, they sat on the sofa and he took one of her hands lightly in his own. He was immediately struck by the soft, smooth texture of her skin. Idiot, he chided himself, that's the way girls are supposed to feel.
"You said you and your friend had talked your parents out of arranging a marriage," he said hesitantly. "Are there any boyfriends?"
Her smile warmed the room, like the flame from a hearth. "There was one," she said, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "He married my best friend."
Jerry put an arm around her shoulders and she snuggled closer. He felt like a schoolboy again, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't sound inane. And then he realized that feelings could be communicated by touch as well, if not better, than by words.
He tilted her face toward him and kissed her. Tentative at first, then more passionate as she threw her arms around him. They clung to each other as though fearful that the magic of the moment might suddenly dissolve into nothingness.
At around 9:30, Jerry reluctantly told her he had to meet Burke in the office at ten.
"But don't go away," he said. "Stay right here. I'll be back as soon as I can."
She promised to be there when he returned. Actually, Jerry, like so many men in pursuit of countless women before him, had unknowingly moved at the precise pace that Song Ji-young had set for him.
Washington, D.C.
Chapter 42
Nate Highsmith noted that Toni Carlucci had, with her usual efficiency, changed his desk calendar to December. Since she had yet to arrive this morning, obviously she had done it before leaving the night before. He had r
eturned late from a speaking engagement in Chicago, driving home directly from the airport. He stood by the windows looking out over Sixteenth Street, watching as the brisk wind whipped the flags furiously in front of a building across the way. The leaden sky hung above the city as an opaque gray curtain. With the weekend coming up and the temperature expected to hover around the freezing mark, he thought it would be a good time to relax at home by the fireplace and read. He had a biography of General Douglas MacArthur he had been intending to get into. With this HANGOVER operation moving toward the critical stage, it seemed a good time to review the old general's perspective on Korea.
The ring of the telephone interrupted his thoughts. It was his direct line, the one used by the few people who possessed the number to reach him outside normal office hours.
He answered it with a clipped, "Hello."
"Morning, Nate. It's the Burke and Jerry show."
He recognized Burke Hill's droll voice and replied with an equally flippant, "Isn't it a little early for a double feature?" Then he added, a bit more businesslike, "I presume this is a 'Sierra' call?"
"Correct," Burke said, and gave him the scrambler code.
With the designated floppy mounted and the scrambler activated, Nate asked, "Did you locate your man, Jerry? Burke told me about him yesterday."
"Yes, sir. And I got a real earful."
"You'd better get ready to call Kingsley Marshall and General Thatcher," Burke broke in. "I'm afraid it's about to hit the fan."
Nate didn't like the sound of it. "Fill me in, Jerry."
After Jerry Chan had given a blow by blow description of his meeting with Dr. Shin Man-ki, there was a long pause while Nate digested what he had heard. He agreed completely with Burke's assessment. Marshall and General Thatcher would be his first two calls of the day.
"I'll see what Kingsley and the General want to do about Dr. Shin," he said. "My recommendation would be to get him out of there as soon as possible. As easy as you found him, Jerry, I'd think the NSP could nail him pretty quickly. Surely they have that temple at Kyongju bugged or wiretapped by now."
"It wasn't really as easy as it sounded, Mr. Highsmith. Moon Chwa, who called himself the temple PR man, is a pretty sharp character. He's either been around the intelligence business or read a lot of spy novels. He said he had established my bona fides."
"I can confirm that," Burke said. "He called here to check on you."
"I got the impression he didn't make his phone calls from the temple," Jerry continued. "My guess is he went down the road to some place like the Kolon Hotel, or the Kyongju Youth Hostel. He had me walk with him across the courtyard when we talked about Dr. Shin."
"Let's hope you're right. But I wouldn't count on him being able to ward off the bad guys for too long," Nate said. After a thoughtful pause, he added, "This may take me awhile. There's no point in you guys staying around there half the night. Since Jerry doesn't have a scrambler at home, I'll call you at the hotel when I have something, Burke."
As soon as he got off the phone to Korea, Nathaniel Highsmith called Langley. Kingsley Marshall was getting ready for his morning briefing.
"I just talked to Seoul," Nate told him. "We have definite confirmation on the nuclear program. It appears worse than what we had imagined."
"Worse? In what way?"
"They should be ready to test a weapon by the first of January."
"Stay on the line, Nate," Marshall said, "while I put through a call to the White House."
Nate checked his watch, then gazed out the windows as he waited. The sky was becoming a steadily darkening gray. The forecast was for possible snow, and it looked like the possibilities were improving by the minute. At the sound of a knock on his door, he barked, "Come in!"
Toni stuck her head in, saw the phone at his ear and gave a loud, hoarse whisper while making a drinking gesture, "Coffee?"
"I'm holding for Kingsley," he said. "Bring me a cup, please."
She had just set the coffee on his desk when the CIA Director came back on the line.
"We have an appointment in the Oval Office at 10:30. Come in the back way so you'll avoid the press."
It was spitting snow on the White House lawn. If there was ever a morning to sit by a crackling fire in the marble-sided fireplace of the Oval Office, this was it. The President had agreed to a meeting instantly on getting General Thatcher's brief report. He wanted to hear all the details from the horse's mouth, and that meant inviting Nathaniel Highsmith. Ever since the inception of HANGOVER a little more than two months ago, the President had dreaded the day when his worst fears would be confirmed. He greeted the three men and invited them to take the high-backed chairs arranged in a semicircle around the warm glow from the fireplace.
"This gives the serious business of the country a little homey touch," the President said with a thin smile. "You want to kick off the discussion, Kingsley?"
"Thank you, sir. I'll let Nate handle the news from Seoul. Before he gets into that, though, our latest satellite sweeps picked up what the analysts say is definitely a new missile. It was at the South Korean training site we've been keeping an eye on. They literally had it under wraps. We hit it lucky with a real strong wind, though. It blew the canvas or nylon or whatever so tightly against the bird that we were able to make some pretty accurate measurements. That showed it's not a missile we've seen before."
"How large?" the President asked.
"Equivalent to our Tomahawk. It would accommodate a good-sized nuclear warhead."
The President scowled. "What the hell are they up to?"
Marshall looked around. "Nate?"
"That's the one question we haven't answered yet," Highsmith said. "But there's no doubt left that Israel, among others, furnished them enough fissile material, equipment and technology to put together their first bomb. It's to be ready for testing January first."
The President leaned forward and stared into the flames. Funny, he thought, how one fire can be so soothing and peaceful, while another, touched off by a small ball of enriched uranium, held the prospects for a cataclysm. "What's your proof, Mr. Highsmith?"
"My people made contact with a dissident physicist who's been working on the project. They're using a plant hidden beneath Mt. Chuwangsan. He says they have everything in place to start a weapons production line."
"What did you mean by 'Israel, among others?'"
"It looks like we contributed indirectly," Nate said and explained about the reported presence of American-trained scientists.
The President pushed his lanky frame up from the chair, took a step toward the fireplace, then turned to face his visitors, holding his hands behind him to savor the warmth of the fire. He could only sit for so long while troubling thoughts tumbled through his mind. He was not a static person. Given the choice, he would always take movement, action. When it came to recreation, he preferred the outdoor variety. He liked to roam the woods at Camp David, work up a good sweat on the tennis court or wrestle with the tiller of a sailboat. Standing, he felt better already. It got the juices flowing.
"So we have about four weeks before the lid blows," the President said, letting his intense blue eyes shift from one man to the other. Stretched to his full height, he was an imposing figure. "Would anyone care to speculate on just what President Kwak has in mind?"
"I've been talking to the people over at State," said General Thatcher. "They still aren't convinced Kwak is calling the shots. Prime Minister Hong appears to be accumulating more power. Then there's Colonel Han Sun-shin of the NSP."
The President gave the robust Army veteran with the short, sandy hair a skeptical grin. "I wonder if the Koreans think somebody besides me is calling the shots here, Henry?"
"Uh...no...no, sir," the General stammered. "I mean—"
"Never mind. What's your opinion, Kingsley?"
"I'm afraid the Agency takes the opposite view, Mr. President. We believe Kwak is fully in charge. According to our information, he's had disagreements with bo
th Hong and Han, and the president's views have prevailed. But as for what he plans to do with nuclear weapons, God only knows."
The President turned his gaze to Nate Highsmith. "Do you have any direct channels to the Almighty, Mr. Highsmith?"
Nate had always admired the President's ability to keep his head in a crisis, to dampen the gloom with a little levity. "Unfortunately, He doesn't confide in me, sir," Nate said with a smile. "However, I'll go along with Kingsley Marshall. I'm inclined to think that Mr. Kwak is being driven to some degree by his pride. He wants to elevate himself to equality with you, and with the leaders of Great Britain, France, China and Russia. He sees the South Korean economy as rivaling all of us, and the next step after economic parity is military. That requires nuclear weapons. It would definitely put him in the big leagues."
The President nodded. "So you don't think he's posing an overt threat, but wants to let everybody know he has the power, should he choose to use it?"
"In a nutshell."
"If that's the case," said Thatcher in a growling voice that had kept soldiers at bay for a quarter of a century, "let's cool him, cut him back to size."
"And how would you do that, Henry?"
"Expose his great clandestine scheme to the world. While he's still not ready, we go to the Security Council and demand immediate sanctions unless he stops forthwith. It might necessitate your calling a lot of the leaders, like was done in the Iraqi situation."
"I see," said the President, frowning, "and in the process throw away forty-plus years of good relations, not to mention billions of taxpayer dollars shelled out in aid. Ruin any chance of exerting any persuasive power on the Korean peninsula for years to come. I'm afraid what you suggest would make the whole country lose face. We need to concentrate on the ringleaders. And remember, there's one other player in this game nobody's mentioned, Japan."
That had been the President's real worry from the start. He had fought to keep the trade doors open to Japan, believing our failure to understand the Japanese viewpoint was propelling America on a collision course with her rapidly cooling ally and former enemy. An increasingly protectionist Congress was bent on nailing the door shut. The Japanese mood was surly as the more radical elements demanded severing the security treaty with the U.S. and launching a rearmament program to provide their own defense. As every military man knew, the shift from defense to offense could be made in short order. What had it taken in the Persian Gulf, less than three months?
The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2) Page 28
