"Hamish sent us enough documentation, video, and wire tap evidence on the Greys' and the Parks’ Clinics at Cheju-do and Singapore to prove that they have Princess Zubaida's granddaughter. However, before we spring her, I need to reconnoiter the compound using Letia's blueprints," Reddy said.
"Evel Junior is in charge now, and he's a hell of lot more ambitious and evil than his daddy ever was; and Sincere isn't far behind. Rumor has it that Junior has tripled the price of his child brides and that he once cut up a guard at the Cheju-do compound for just making eyes at one of the girls. Likes to call them 'my girls,' thinks he's their benefactor and surrogate father." As he said this, Reddy's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. I don't know for sure why, but my guess was that he was reliving or envisioning something disturbing.
"Reddy, what really perplexes me is that all these clinics that the Parks run are sorely needed and they are very profitable without the child bride slavery angle. I can only attribute it to greed or one of Matte's psychiatric terms like sociopath, meaning one who is mean and violent, antisocial and lacking in empathy. Someone like Dr. Evel Park, Sr.," I said.
"Likely both," Reddy replied. "Dr. Evel Park, Sr. was a real sicko, addicted to wealth and as greedy as anyone I've ever known. Now he has two successors cut in his mold to be proud of, Junior and Sincere. That is, if pride is possible from beyond the grave."
I added, "Most likely from hell or the nether world."
Our re-fueling stops in Vancouver, then Juneau and Bethel, Alaska, were followed by another at Kamchatka. The winter ice and snow was melting at Bethel, allowing the river to flow and life was reawakening. We flew over the volcanoes and even saw several brown bears making their way south, a preview of our return visit.
As we neared Hakodate the next evening, our engine was skipping a beat here and there, like a bum heart or a faulty pacemaker. Reddy nursed the PC12 the last 100 kilometers, as he called Hakodate tower. "Hakodate Tower, this is Pilatus N577RB, 80 kilometers north of Hakodate. My engine is misfiring but should be able to make it to runway. Do you have a mechanic that can maintenance a Pilatus PC12 turbo engine? "
"Pilatus N577RB, this is Hakodate Tower. We have you on radar and will monitor your progress. Stay on this channel. I will check on mechanics. Over."
As we touched down at Hakodate, the tower told Reddy to transfer to ground control. "Taxi to runway 17, then turn port to hangar 11. A mechanic will meet you. Go to ground control now. Good luck, Pilatus."
"Hakodate Tower, arigatou gozaimasu," Reddy replied, adding, "thanks for the assist."
It took us two days to get the engine parts flown in from Tokyo; I won't bore you with the prohibitive cost. Rhyly filed a revised flight plan and we took off from Hakodate for Cheju-do Island.
My eyes widened to take in one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen - a rusty red, orange, and yellow mixed with shades of lavender, purple, and blue all contrasting with the lush green of Mount Halla, a gaping hole of a volcano that dominated the island. The flickering sunlight glanced off the wings of the PC12 as Reddy banked her around the volcano, then dipped down to 1,500 feet altitude and flew over the rippling ocean waters, past several rows of green glass fishing net buoys gently bobbing in a cove below.
"Green glass buoys, rows and rows of them, bobbing gently in the water near the shoreline." I exclaimed.
Reddy laughed and said, "This is where my gift to you came from."
"Everything is so green. Is the volcano extinct?" Rhyly asked as Reddy steadied for a landing.
“Halla-san Mountain is an inactive volcano. It stands over 6,000 feet high, making it the highest point in South Korea. Jeju-do Tower, this is Pilatus PC12 N577RB, 15 miles west, requesting permission to land."
Reddy pointed to the starboard side as the PC12 banked and said, "That red roof halfway up the mountain is my place." Seeing my look of amazement, he grinned and said, "You were expecting a shack?"
As soon as Reddy, Rhyly, and I arrived at Jeju-do airport and refueled and tied down the PC12, Reddy did a post-flight check. Then, we got through Korean Customs without even a baggage check. Hamish definitely has some bodacious contacts, and Reddy was familiar with the right amount of baksheesh. Most critical, we did not want anyone rummaging around in our luggage.
While our taxi drove up the mountain to his place Reddy began briefing Rhyly and me on the history of the island.
"What does the name Cheju-do mean? I read that it is also called Jeju-do," Rhyly asked.
"It is known as the ‘Island of the Gods.’ Before the Japanese occupation, the Dutch called the island Quelpart. When Korea was annexed by Japan in 1910, Jeju became known as Saishū. At the turn of the century the Seoul government changed the Romanization of Korean, and Jeju-do became Cheju-do. Cheju-do was what the island people called this place when I first visited, so that is what I still call it."
Reddy’s home away from home looked like a red roofed version of one of those whitewashed houses you see in tourist brochures for the Greek islands overlooking the Mediterranean. I could barely resist going in search of my mother's and my grave site. Still, we needed to unpack and to eat. Reddy made a couple of cans of red beans and rice into a very tasty meal all the while continuing his history lesson.
"The island is a popular vacation and honeymoon site for Koreans and Japanese tourists enjoy the temperate climate, hiking on Halla-san, fabulous ocean sunrises and sunsets, and warm sandy beaches," Reddy said. A dim line of blue light was far off on the horizon. Reddy said, “We have an hour before sunrise, care to ride over to Sunrise Peak?"
Rhyly said, "I think I’ll pass. I’m feeling stiff from all that flying and I feel a need for a run up the mountain." As soon as Rhyly laced up, Reddy pointed her to the best trail up Halla-san mountain. "See you two for breakfast," Rhyly said. "I’ll pick up some papayas and mangoes in town after my run."
Reddy grabbed two gun cases and his laptop and handed me a change of clothing. He motioned for me to change into camouflage gear like what we used at Skeleton Lake for our six direction training. "This is first and foremost a business trip, so let's get in some practice in shooting in poor lighting conditions as the sun comes up and breaks through the fog," Reddy said as I laced up my hiking boots.
It was still dark when Reddy fired up his motorbike and we rode from his house on the southeast slope of Halla-san to nearby Sunrise Peak. We were not alone as a few motorbikes passed us as we rode through several patches of fog into a cool breeze that cut through my canvas jacket. Reddy had suggested I wear a heavy sweater under my jacket. I was glad I had listened.
"We’re lucky," Reddy said. "Only spotty fog this morning."
To practice, we selected a location a couple of hundred meters from a wedding party that was readying to say their bonds at sunrise. We were hidden from view by a large outcropping of rock, sitting on a grassy knoll in the dim predawn light waiting to bathe in a sunrise on the southwest corner of a volcanic crater overlooking the small town of Seongsan on the eastern coast of Cheju-do Island. Reddy's home was sixty kilometers from this site. It had been his secret home away from home, where he lived inside himself with dark and happy memories of Anne, his deceased bride, my mother.
"What is that strange sound?" I asked. "It seems to be echoing off the cliffs below and behind us."
Reddy says, "Locals say these are the calls of the sirens. The mermaids of the sea, a label the haenyeo have retained since the Dutch arrived in these waters in the seventeenth century."
"Where does Odysseus figure in all this sirens of the seas legend? We’re a long way from the Tyrrhenian Sea," I noted.
Reddy grinned as he and I went about setting up a camouflage blind. Then he assembled his modified SR-25 Marine sniper rifle, loading a single round from a box of 762 mm NATO rounds which he had loaded with a special explosive charge. He connected the rifle to his titanium lidded laptop and began typing in a series of calculations as to wind, distance, humidity, and light. He hit the send button, and a tiny red light
appeared in the rifle's telescope indicating "ready to fire." Then, he took a deep breath, exhaled, repeated the deep breath and exhaled a second time as he lay prone, legs outstretched behind him in a V. Ever so gently he squeezed the trigger.
But for the image on the laptop screen, he would not be able to see if he even hit the target. The green glass buoy shattered out of visual range at a distance of 2,000 meters. He glanced at the laptop and received an instantaneous report: "Mid-center hit, .25 of one click left of center- head shot- target eliminated 100%."
"Michaela still needs some tweaking," Reddy said, "but the computer aided software links nicely to this SR-25, and it replaces the need for a spotter, so I want you to check it out."
As it turned out, a green glass buoy was an excellent approximation of a human head. The local fishermen grumbled to local authorities about lost buoys but they replaced them regularly when they mended their nets. Still, Reddy reminded me, "Be careful not to practice shooting in the same area where we practiced before. Practice somewhere that resembles the real target area, but always remember Rule #7- don't piss off the neighbors too much. As compensation, I make an anonymous donation to the Jeju fishermen's association from time to time to pay for the buoys I demolished. Lately they have been using white and orange Styrofoam buoys for their nets. I guess the green glass is too expensive. The Styrofoam buoys do not shatter and sink when hit by a bullet, so I still try to pick out green glass targets. I told you that someday I would tell you about how and why I use these green buoys."
I thought to myself about the green glass buoy that was the first gift he had given me after my rescue. That was fifteen years ago. Now it is hanging on the back porch of my home in Berkeley where it serves to remind me daily of my roots and my anger at having been robbed of my mother.
We fired a few practice rounds mostly to see how the computer software operated. Then we trekked down the trail to the motorbike to return to his house on the southern edge of Halla-san. The fog had totally lifted when we met Rhyly on the mountain road as she was returning from her run and trek to Seongwipo Beach.
"These papayas and mangoes are ripe and smell delicious," I told Rhyly as I got the hot water started for espressos. Rhyly peeled and sliced the fruit. Reddy made a batch of corn bread muffins. All during breakfast I was thinking about Reddy saying, 'You're ready, Shannon!'
My dreams were an amalgamation of scenes of my role as an avenging angel. I was excited, but I was also feeling insecure and totally befuddled over Reddy's suggestion that my first assignment was close at hand. The morning’s practice session convinced me that I was to be part of Princess Zubaida's case. However, revenge dominated my thoughts, mainly because both Reddy and I were constantly reliving the memories of Anne's death and my years of grooming to be sold as a child bride.
That evening I called Matte's office in River View and we did a virtual therapy appointment on Skype. Rule number 2 is all that is on my mind—revenge.
"Hi, Matte. I have a conundrum."
"A conundrum. Tell me about it."
"Actually, this conundrum has been with me in my dreams for many years, only now surfacing as I am soon going to be face-to-face with my past and my own sense of justice and retaliation during our time in Cheju-do." I stretched my legs out on the raised foot rest as I pretended that the black leather lounger in Reddy's den was Matte’s psychiatrist couch in her office.
"Make yourself comfortable," Matte replied, as if she knew exactly what I was doing. "Our Toronto conference went well. There were three women of particular interest at the session. They are all members of our Women's group and they have all recently lost their daughters or granddaughters to kidnappings. We suspect that more than one global child slavery ring is behind these children's disappearances."
Matte repeated the details of one mother's death in South America and the possibility of the fetus surviving. By the time we finished talking she had me thoroughly convinced that everything about Zubaida’s case was righteous.
"It's a great bonding opportunity. Talk your conundrum over with your father. He's been there and done that," Matte said in closing. "Also, I have a new video segment, Part two of Sara-Clare O' Callahan's child brides documentary. It focuses on South Asia and scoundrels like the Parks are definitely expanding their child slavery business. I'll email you the link."
I blew Matte a virtual kiss on the Skype screen before signing off, "You're still the best damn shrink I know."
Righteous was the word that stuck with me from my virtual session with Matte. I wonder if she knows about Reddy’s Rule Number One.
Chapter 8: The Tour
I continued my research on the history of women in the Silla dynasty as Reddy made arrangements with Hamish for our historical tour. On Rhyly’s behalf, I asked Reddy if we could visit some of the archaeological and historical sites that reflect women's contributions before we returned to rescue Princess Zubaida’s granddaughter. We had already scoped out the Parks' Home for Girls compound on Cheju-do during our practice sessions. Reddy had decided that a tour would provide an excellent cover story for our activities, so he built the tour into our plans for a resolution for Zubaida's case and for my first assignment.
"If we blend in with the other tourists, we won’t attract any undue attention," Reddy said, "especially not from the police."
Reddy suggested that we spend a day observing and mingling with the haenyeo (women divers) of Cheju-do Island before heading for the mainland and visiting the Silla Bell and Queen Seondeok's star gazing tower, two of Korea's oldest and most legendary artifacts. I wanted to visit the Namdaemun Gate and the Parks’ Seoul Clinic where my mother died.
"Can we add the Namdaemun Gate to our tour?" I asked.
"Namdaemun, the great south gate, officially called Sungnyemun or gate of exalted ceremonies, is one of eight original gates in the fortress wall encircling and guarding Seoul," Reddy said. "Not from the Silla dynasty; however, it is a worthy addition to our tour."
"From the gate one can see Park's OB/GYN Clinic where my mother died and where I was born," I said, mostly for Rhyly's edification.
Reddy kept a poker face, adding, "The clinic is next to the market area by the gate on the southeast side of Seoul; it can be our last stop before we fly back to Cheju-do on Friday to take care of business."
"When will we be visiting mother's grave?" I asked.
"We will be back in Cheju a few days before the second of June," Reddy said.
"Taking care of business" should have been my clue; however, I found myself thinking, finally after these many years, I’d be visiting my mother's grave and coincidentally my own grave. How bizarre is that!
"Who could possibly suspect two men and two women tourists in a rental car of anything as shocking as what we have planned for after we return to Cheju-do from our historical Tour?" I whispered to Reddy, adding aloud, "We'll need the usual colorful Hawaiian shirts and scarves, cameras, and a general air of obnoxiousness to complete the package."
Rhyly got Reddy’s and my sizes and volunteered to ride into town. An hour later, I heard the motorbike in the driveway. Rhyly was returning with her bag of tourist attire. Strapped precariously to the back of the bike was a two foot stone statue of a bearded man.
"That's dol hareubang, stone grandfather," Reddy said.
"He looks a bit like you," Rhyly joked.
Reddy replied with a smile, "Are you suggesting that I shave off my beard at the first opportunity?"
"I just saw the real thing in town near the beach," Rhyly said, "and I had to have one for my office back in River View."
"You shave your beard off; then I'll dye my hair," Rhyly said, "How about blonde?"
"I like the raven color better," I said, "Not too many blonde Chippewa's in these parts."
"Many of the sights on our tour have a history of association with women's contributions to Korea's development," Reddy said. "Hamish is most expert and knowledgeable on the subject of the abuses and dominance of Korean women through
out centuries of foreign occupation, enslavement, Japanese occupation and comfort women, forced prostitution, and male dominance. This is not to imply that male contributions have not been significant, merely to point out that women's contributions seem to have been systematically destroyed as well as lost due to centuries of abuse and displacement. This is a favorite theme of Sister Cerice, the nun who raised and educated Hamish," Reddy said.
I could tell that Rhyly was becoming curious about what Reddy and I were really up to; however, to her credit, she stuck to her tourist and researcher role.
The Tour Begins
"The first stop on our tour is within walking distance of here," Reddy said after he plied Rhyly and me with espressos, bagels, and fresh papayas and mangoes for breakfast. Reddy's house was several kilometers from Seongwipo, a tourist town on the south coast of the island. We were soon dressed as colorful tourists and on our way to watch the haenyeo divers at Seongwipo Beach and Jungmun Beach where there is a museum and a monument to them. We would be joined by Hamish the following day in Mokpo.
"Anyung hashim nika, ladies," Reddy said. "We are about to visit and learn about the history of the matriarch’s of Cheju-do Island, the haenyeo abalone divers." Reddy began to tell Rhyly and me the Korean legend of the mermaids and sea women.
Before visiting artifacts associated with women of the Silla dynasty, we met the haenyeo. As we prepared to trek the seven kilometers over to the beach area of Seongwipo to one of the diver's coves, Reddy said, "Because of the relative isolation of the island, the people of Cheju have developed a culture and language that are distinct from those of mainland Korea. Cheju is home to thousands of ancient local legends. Perhaps the most distinct cultural artifacts are the omnipresent dol hareubang carved from blocks of basalt."
"The stone grandfather reminds me of the huge stone gods on Easter Island," Rhyly said. "I just couldn't resist buying one yesterday."
"See, I told you this tour is not only about women," Reddy smirked.
Flower Girl: A Burton Family Mystery Page 12
