"Tonight. They couldn't get a direct flight, so it's taking a little longer."
Hwang Sang-sol, dressed for his old role as a telephone installer, had arrived early at the building on Taepyong-ro and found a convenient spot to observe the flow of people into and out of the lobby. He had seen the two American men, one his target, arrive and take the elevator up to the Worldwide Communications Consultants floor. It was not long before the target had returned to the lobby and departed.
Hwang waited. He did not like to rush things. The timing in Pyongyang had forced him to take risks he preferred to avoid. He didn't intend to have that happen here. When the other American got off the elevator a short time afterward, Hwang followed him at a discreet distance.
With the last item checked off his list, Burke had the boxes loaded into a taxi and told the driver to take him to Pagoda Park, the small island of green where reading of a Korean Declaration of Independence had launched the ill-fated freedom movement of 1919. He didn't bother looking through the rear window as they plowed through Seoul's late-morning traffic. He knew Duane would be well back in the pack, watching to see if anyone had picked up his trail.
He found Lieutenant Yun waiting at the rear of the park near the ten-story Wongak-sa Pagoda, modeled after one at the Wongak-sa Temple. In the summertime, the small area was a haven for elderly men, bearded and traditionally dressed, who would spend hours playing baduk or reading newspapers. Now the patrons were few, mostly tourists looking for the monuments to the independence movement. Burke helped transfer the boxes from the taxi to Yun's car.
"I'll go pick up my crew and get started," the Lieutenant said.
"Have any trouble recruiting them?"
"No. One is a classmate from the Police College. The other is his brother. He's a professional at electronic installations. We all went to the same high school."
"What did you tell them?" Burke asked.
"The truth," said Se-jin. "That it was part of an unsanctioned investigation regarding my father's death. They're both very discreet."
After Se-jin had left, Burke lingered around the park a few minutes, taking in the statuary and ten bas-reliefs that depicted the epic struggle for independence from the Japanese. One which the United States had failed to support, he recalled.
Lieutenant Yun and his friend were dressed nattily in their uniforms as they called on the manager of the Jang Jung Gak, wearing stern and officious looks.
"We are with the Presidential Security Force," said Se-jin. "The president wants some new wireless communications equipment installed in his pavilion, in case the need should arise for instant secure communications with officials of the government."
The manager, Chang Oh-san, a stocky man in dark glasses who had the dyspeptic look of a frequent fretter, asked with caution, "What will be required?"
"Nothing will be required of you. We have our own installer. The equipment will be completely hidden from view, so your normal patrons will never know it's there."
Mr. Chang's frown remained unmollified. "Will it take long?"
"No. We'll have it installed and be out of your way as quickly as possible. Well before your people will need to get ready for this evening."
"All right. Come with me."
"One moment," said the Lieutenant, staying him with a raised hand. "I must caution you that this is to be kept completely confidential. The equipment's presence must not be mentioned to anyone. I'm sure you know the penalties for divulging state secrets."
Chang's frown darkened. "My lips are sealed," he said.
The back of Yun's borrowed van was unheated, but the electronic gear generated enough warmth to make it tolerable. He had parked it on the next street over from the Jang Jung Gak around dark. Duane Elliston sat with Brittany Pickerel in her small car about fifty yards away on the other side of the street. Yun, his technician friend and Burke Hill were huddled around a small TV monitor attached to a videotape recorder. The signal came from a mini-dish antenna on top of the van, camouflaged to look like a box strapped to the roof.
"Good picture," said Burke, grinning. "Just like the eleven o'clock news."
"We tested it before leaving this afternoon," Se-jin said.
The picture showed a wide-angle view of the interior of the president's pavilion at the kisaeng house. Floor cushions surrounded a low table, which was being set with a variety of dishes. The girls could be heard chattering through the speaker.
"You're sure the security people won't sweep the room for electronic devices?' Burke asked.
"According to Miss Koh, they take the place apart periodically, but the normal check is just a visual one. We'll soon know. Here comes security."
Two muscular men in business suits grinned at the girls. "Out, ladies," one of them said with a nod toward the door. "The president is on his way."
One of them started to protest. "But we're not—"
"We won't be long...scoot...out!"
The men quickly went through the pavilion, checking under the table, moving the cushions, looking behind pictures, in vases, running their fingers along projecting surfaces.
"Somebody ought to tell them there's a light out over there," said one of the probers, pointing to a fixture high in the center of one wall. He was pointing directly at the small surveillance camera, which had been mounted in a hollowed-out post behind the fixture. The small transmitter and beamed antenna was mounted in the eaves of the roof just outside.
"They're coming," said one of the girls from the doorway.
The security agents left in a hurry.
A few moments later, the stooped figure of President Kwak came into view on the monitor, followed by the strapping, immaculately attired Prime Minister Hong. Colonel Han marched in ramrod straight. Kwak pulled off his tie and tossed it aside.
"Gentlemen," he said, "let's relax."
With that, a horde of smiling kisaeng descended upon them.
Burke had left a message at the hotel for Rudy vanRoden and his partner, Brad Gore. But when he stopped by the Chosun front desk on his return, he found the two reinforcements from Washington still hadn't arrived. He called the airline office and inquired about the flight.
"I'm sorry, sir, but all flights from Tokyo have been cancelled because of the snowstorm," the woman said.
"When do you expect the flights to resume?"
"Probably not before morning."
Well, he wouldn't be going anywhere before morning, he thought. He'd be happy to have the reinforcements although, so far, Duane had been unable to pick up any indications of surveillance. There had been a question about a possible tail on Duane, himself, but the evidence appeared rather nebulous and he thought it more likely the result of coincidence. Burke thought it strange that he had encountered no interference up to this point. However, he was well aware that his comfort zone was subject to being breached without warning.
He took the videotape up to his room and checked the telltale thread he had left in the doorway. Finding it still in place, he knew there had been no anonymous visitors. He locked the door, hung his heavy jacket on the clothes rack and reached into a pocket to retrieve the short-barrel Smith & Wesson revolver Lieutenant Yun had reluctantly provided him. It hadn't been easy overcoming the Lieutenant's apprehension at violating bureau rules, but Burke had argued the case they were building wouldn't be worth a hill of soybeans if somebody got to him before the final presentation was ready.
He laid the pistol on the bed and called Lori.
"Good morning, or whatever it is over there," she said.
"Did I wake you?" he asked.
"No, but I haven't been up long. Just finished feeding the kids. They asked about you. Wanted to know if they really had a father."
He laughed. "And what did you say?"
"I told them you'd be flying in most any day now, that you might even land on the roof and come down the chimney."
"Ho, ho, ho." he said. "Things are going fine at the moment. If it all works out, I should be wound up
here in a couple of more days." If it all works out. In his mind, he put the emphasis a bit differently than his voice had said it.
"You're not just making that up for my benefit?"
"Nope. It's a fact."
"Well, you'd better be telling me the truth. We have a visitor coming for Christmas."
Burke frowned. A visitor? Surely not Grandma Szabo. She wasn't up to traveling that far. "Who's coming?"
"I had a call yesterday from Cliff Walters. He wanted to know if it would be all right to come visit us at Christmas."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him we'd be delighted to have him. After all, I want to meet my step-son. He has some leave coming and said he would be here on the twenty-fourth. So you'd better be here, too."
He crossed his fingers. "Didn't I tell you you could count on it?"
Afterward, he considered what lay ahead. He had one more crucial piece of the plan to cement in place. With that taken care of, he would contact Nate Highsmith for final clearance, then set up the inevitable showdown. Put that way, it sounded naively simple, a pushover, a piece of cake. But a piece of cake could take on many different looks depending upon the color and shape of the icing. He had a disturbing feeling that this icing could well have a dark side to it, a bitter taste.
He wedged a chair against the doorknob. If anyone tried to get to him tonight, they'd not accomplish it quietly. No surprises. He placed the Smith & Wesson on the bedside table and got ready for bed.
Chapter 66
Editor Kang Han-kyo's desk at Koryo Ilbo remained as cluttered as it had on Burke's first visit several weeks before. But Kang, thick black hair combed neatly, shirt and tie looking right out of the box, appeared unharried. Burke knew the editor's job was one that could never be called "finished." There was always another big story in the wings, awaiting his judgement on how it should be played. The briefcase Burke carried contained, without doubt, as startling a piece of news as the editor had encountered in awhile.
"I appreciate your agreeing to see me this morning, Mr. Kang," Burke said. "It concerns something very disturbing that's going on in the government here. The proposition I have for you is not one I enjoy making. But when I give you the background, you'll understand the necessity for it."
Kang's eyes narrowed behind the large spectacles. "That certainly sounds ominous, Mr. Hill. Might it have something to do with President Kwak's surprising decision to switch the emphasis in language education from English to Japanese?"
"Not directly. That's still a considerable enigma from my standpoint."
"Yes, there are many opinions. All the way to traitorous accusations that the president is in some way planning to deliver us over to another Japanese occupation. I find that rather far-fetched."
"Well, I hope you won't find what I have to tell you too far-fetched, because I know it to be absolutely true. You are aware, of course, of the plan to test a new intermediate range missile on January first."
"We have questioned the need for such a weapon," Kang said firmly, "now that there appears to be no threat from the North."
"I'm happy to hear that, but I hate to tell you the rest of the story. They won't be just testing a new missile. They'll also test an atomic weapon."
Kang's brow rumpled and his eyes stared in disbelief. "You can't be serious?"
Burke told him briefly about Dr. Shin Man-ki and Operation Pok Su at the Reijeo Chuwangsan Explosives Plant.
"I knew about the monks from Pulguksa protesting Dr. Shin's disappearance," said Kang. "The government, of course, denied any knowledge of it. But this Pok Su business is shocking."
"I agree," Burke said. "We got onto it through following up a request for information from a client, the Coalition for Nuclear Freedom. It was also tied in with a murder conspiracy being investigated by Captain Yun Yu-sop of the Seoul police. He had requested some assistance from me, since I once served as a special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Kang appeared impressed. "Captain Yun Yu-sop? That name sounds vaguely familiar."
"He was killed a couple of weeks ago in Pyongyang. A hit-and-run accident while he was there with the delegation for the North-South talks."
"Yes, I remember. The Ministry of Culture and Information asked us to play the story down. They were afraid it might inflame passions against the North."
"If the truth be known, it certainly would have," Burke said. "I believe the driver was hired to kill him."
"Kill him? Why?"
Burke quickly sketched out Captain Yun's conspiracy theory, which included the death of Kang's predecessor as editor of Koryo Ilbo. He told how Yun was called off the Hwang Sang-sol investigation and the strange disappearance of the Captain's files on the case.
The editor leaned forward on his desk, looking stunned by the enormity of what he had heard. "You mentioned a proposition, Mr. Hill. What did you have in mind?"
Burke opened his briefcase, took out the materials he had brought and explained his plan.
When he had finished, Kang's face was a mask of concern. "You realize what you're asking? You know what could happen if your calculations prove to be incorrect?"
Burke nodded in sympathy. "It's a risk. No question about it. But with less than two weeks to go, it looks like our only chance. Unless you have a better idea?"
Kang's phone rang. He had told his secretary to hold his calls except in an emergency. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.
After listening a few moments, he glanced at his watch and said, "I'll be right there." He looked across at Burke. "The Editorial Board has been awaiting my appearance for thirty minutes. I must go. Can you leave this with me?" He indicated the material that lay on his desk.
"Of course."
"I'll let you know this afternoon," Kang said.
Burke looked at the small man with the dark, troubled eyes. He projected a sense of deep distress, a distress born of concern for what might come of his newspaper as well as what fate lay ahead for his country. Others had categorized him as a man of unquestioned integrity. Burke could only hope they were right. He knew he had bet the farm on this one. If Kang wasn't all he appeared to be, the game was over.
When Burke walked out of the Koryo Ilbo building, he was shocked at what he saw. Snow covered the streets and sidewalks, and the damp, white stuff continued to flutter down in profusion. A stiff wind blew it like soft polka dots onto the shoulders of people who scurried along toward the shops and tabangs. It had been cloudy when he entered the newspaper building, but this was not in the forecast that Brittany Pickerel had given him earlier. The slippery streets had begun to snarl traffic. It was only the second snowfall of the season for Seoul, and the city's manic drivers had not yet accepted the need for caution.
With less than a handful of shopping days until Christmas, Burke found himself virtually surrounded by women with one hand bearing packages, the other tugging smiling cherubs branded with wind-reddened faces. He knew he would be cutting it close to get home by Christmas Eve as he had promised Lori. He could only hope Evelyn had found everything on his shopping list.
When he stopped at an intersection, he glanced around casually to see if he could spot Duane, but couldn't, mainly, he thought, because of all the confusion generated by the foul weather. He had stayed longer at the newspaper than he had intended. No doubt Duane had been fuming over the delay. Hopefully the guys from Washington would have made it in from Tokyo by the time he got back to the office.
When he started to cross the street, he heard the frantic sound of a policeman's whistle nearby. He jerked his head around in time to see a truck that had obviously been moving too fast skid toward him in the wrong lane, its brakes apparently locked. He sprinted out of its path just before the truck crashed into a lamp post, toppling the metal shaft. He had not been touched, but the near-miss left him shaken as he recalled what had happened to Captain Yun in Pyongyang. He didn't tarry to check on the driver or his condition. He'd leave that to Duane.
Burke had
to negotiate a pedestrian underpass before reaching the building on Taepyong -ro, and this time he took pains to survey the crowd behind him, searching for a face or a figure that might resemble Hwang Sang-sol. He found none.
He could have sworn it had snowed another inch just during his walk back from the newspaper. The huge flakes fell heavily, cascading down like petals from some celestial rose bush. When he arrived at the office, he pulled off his coat and scarf and asked Song Ji-young if she had heard from Rudy vanRoden.
"Yes, sir. He called before they left Tokyo, said they should get here around noon." She glanced at her watch. "It's almost noon now."
Burke walked to the window and looked down toward the street, where the snow appeared to fall at an angle, driven by the snarling winter wind. "I had planned to go visit Jerry at the hospital," he said. "But the way that traffic looks at the moment, I don't know if a taxi could get me there anytime soon."
Miss Song smiled. "Jerry called while you were gone. The doctor said he could probably go home tomorrow. He was quite excited. I told him he should be more calm."
As Burke reached for the phone, Duane burst in. He closed the office door.
"Did that damned truck nearly get you?" Duane asked, frowning.
"It was pretty close. I had to scramble out of the way. Did you get a look at the driver?"
"A little short character," Duane said, nodding. "Looked like he was scared shitless. I don't think it was intentional. He appeared completely out of control."
"Spot anything else out of the ordinary?" Burke asked.
"Nothing. I'm inclined to believe they aren't as aware of what we're doing as we think. We've had pretty good discipline around the office. I doubt if An Kye-sun could have told them much."
"Maybe you're right," Burke said. "But I'm not ready to let down our guard."
It was about an hour later when Rudy vanRoden called.
"Are you at Kimpo?" Burke asked.
"Hell, no," he said in disgust. "We're at Pusan. When we got to Seoul, the pilot said they had closed the airport. More snow and ice than they could cope with. I thought we'd left that damned stuff in Tokyo. How does the snow look now? Brad's insisting we take a train up."
The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2) Page 43
