Flower Girl: A Burton Family Mystery

by David Marshall Hunt

  We hoped to further deflect suspicion just in case someone who knew the Pilatus PC12 belonged to Reddy and might report having seen it take off soon after events at the Parks’ Home for Girls. The fact that neither Reddy nor I were on the airplane and that we were seen doing tourist stuff around the island was a good cover. Also, police were not checking incoming flights. Rhyly had taken the initiative to make a short test flight in the PC12 the day before the rescue to further make her departure flight inconspicuous. Clever girl.

  Meanwhile, we monitored the radio frequency for Jeju Tower. Reddy asked me, "Any updates from Rhyly?"

  That evening, as the sun set, "Jeju Tower, this is Pilatus PC12 returning from Hokkaido, requesting permission to land on runway 09."

  "PC12, Jeju Tower here, what is your present position?"

  "Jeju Tower, PC12, I am fifteen miles southeast."

  "PC12. Squawk 55 for identification."

  “PC12 squawking 55."

  "Roger, PC 12, I have you on radar. Please reduce your altitude to 1500 feet and change heading to 270. Winds are NW at 12 knots. Report on touchdown on runway 09 for hangar assignment."

  "PC12, Kamsamnida Tower, click click."

  Reddy and I had waited impatiently all day for this exchange. I smiled and said, "How's that for an update."

  Reddy and I waited twenty-four hours for Princess Zubaida's granddaughter to be safely back in Bahrain where the Princess kept a well guarded private estate. Her call came early the next day. "I will be brief," she said. "The three year old girl is most definitely Zinni's daughter. We knew the second we laid eyes on her, but a DNA test has confirmed this. Do you have any recommendations regarding the five year old? We will care for her until we hear from you."

  "The second half-payment has already been deposited to a numbered Swiss Bank account," I told Reddy as I checked the records for the Zubaida case. There was actually a cash credit to our BFB account. I was in charge of bookkeeping and I could check to see at least where the deposit came from. But this would violate Rule Number 3 - Trust, family trust.

  Paladin's call to arms was playing on my smart phone and the screen caller read "Angie." "Damn!" I muttered aloud, "I forgot to turn my smart phone off, a rookie mistake." I quickly texted back, "Busy, c u b, S." I was running short of adrenaline after yesterday's actions and not in the mood for girlfriend chatter.

  Chapter 10: A Visit to Anne’s Grave (2 June 2014)

  On the morning of the second of June, BBC news broadcast the following headline: Seoul, South Korea - Park family member assassinated- The Parks’ Women’s Clinics suffered a break-in and the assassination of Dr. Evel Park, Junior, the oldest son and successor of the late Dr. Evel Park, Senior - details to follow.

  For the first time in years, when I heard of an assassination, I wasn’t suspecting that Reddy did it. Then, I thought, how would I tell Dr. Matte about all this? Reddy interrupted my thoughts with a surprise. "Let’s make one last stop on our tour before we return stateside. We’ll take the motorbike over to Udo Island and visit your mother’s grave."

  I nodded, unable to find an answer in words that wouldn't come out in shaky tones like 'oh yesss, puleeese'.

  June 2nd, 2014- Cheju-do Island. Anne and Shannon died 2 June 1986, and Reddy had bought a few acres on Halla-san Mountain near where he and Anne had honeymooned two years before her death. He also purchased a small plot of land and buried their urns between two old trees that overlooked the sea on nearby Udo Island.

  "I bought this land from a friend," Reddy told me as we began our walk up a hill. "I trained an ROK marine sniper whose mother was from Cheju-do, a haenyeo, and we became friends. Now he works for Hamish. He is the one who introduced us. His name is D.Y. Kim; he's from a rival clan to the Parks. We call him Phantom. His ancestors owned this land on which I built my home on Halla-san and the plot on Udo Island."

  "Phantom!" I replied. Putting two and two together and getting five. I added, "Someday I would like to thank the Phantom for being my good fairy," I replied. "Or, should I be thanking the matriarch of his family here on Cheju-do? Was he the stalker on the black motorcycle?" I asked.

  Reddy said, "Talk to Hamish."

  This is the twenty-seventh time Reddy has made this trek up the side of Udo crater, and the previous twenty-six were made alone to this solitary wind-swept site. It was as if I were living the very dream I had experienced for all these years. It wasn't my first visit to Udo crater; however, it was my first visit to Anne's grave.

  We climbed up the west side of the volcanic crater on Udo Island together. The trail cut like a knife wound into the cliffside. At its end, we gazed out over the blue-green waters of the Sea of Japan as the fog lifted to a sky of pink and purple. Two gnarly trees, that looked as if they had withstood centuries of storms and winds, stood bent in testimony to how strong those winds had been these many years. At the base of the trees Reddy stopped and brushed away the twigs and leaves from around two granite markers that stood side by side.

  An inscription written in Hangul characters and English on one stone read, "Anne Burton [1965-1986] Beloved wife of Richard Francis and mother of Shannon [1986], ‘A life of promise unfulfilled.’" The inscription on the second stone read, "Shannon Lee Burton [1986], 'A life never lived.'" We placed the flowers each of us has carried up the hill in a single vase between the two stones. He whispered so softly I could barely hear, "Damn, I miss you." It was the first and only time I have seen Reddy cry.

  My father had repeated this ritual alone every second day of June, and the grief was as real this day as ever, except that now it was mixed with tears of joy. As we both stood there trembling, tears flowing freely, we hugged. Suddenly it felt like a warm blanket enveloped the two of us. Reddy smiled back, a tender smile I had never seen before.

  I couldn't resist any longer, so I asked, "Why is her name written in Hangul? Isn't the character for her last name the Hangul for Kim?"

  "Yes, Anne was born in Gyeorgju as was her mother, in fact, her roots go all the way back to the Silla Dynasty. Her father was a ROK special forces soldier killed in the Viet-Nam War."

  Our tour from the haenyeo women divers of Cheju-do to the Emille Bell and the grave mounds of Gyeorgju and the star gazing tower built by Queen Seondeok immediately took on new meaning. My heritage was rich and full of women's contributions to the history and development of the peninsula.

  My perceptions and my emotional attachment to the man-in-black changed abruptly at that moment of disclosure. He had planned this tour carefully to provide me with a sense of my heritage. Damn, that's what I suspect a real father would do.

  Before I let Reddy off the hook I still had many important questions bottled up inside me; nevertheless a single seemingly insignificant one came out.

  "How did you get Anne's ashes from the Parks’ Seoul Clinic and whose ashes are in the urn in my grave?"

  "Should we take up the second stone?" Reddy asked. "I’ve wondered since I rescued you who or what is in your urn."

  "I’ll need a grave someday. This is as beautiful a place as any and it’s next to my mother. Let’s leave it. I don’t really want to see what’s in my urn," I said.

  "Who cares what's in the urn. It's not you," Reddy replied. "I was told by local authorities that Anne’s remains and yours were cremated. Anne was Catholic and I knew she would want her ashes and yours buried. I borrowed the two urns from a mortuary close to the Parks’ Seoul Clinic, piece of cake."

  "How did you come to select this spot for mother's and my graves?"

  Reddy replied, "I have kept a secret all these years that I can now reveal. Let me begin by telling you the Korean legend of a geomancer and his three sons who lived long ago, a legend that influenced me about when and how to bring you to this location.

  The legend states that people came from all around to consult the geomancer about correct positioning and direction of graves. It was thought that if mistakes were made, dire calamities would befall the families of the dead.

 
The geomancer never spoke of his own grave. At seventy, he had not taught his art to his sons. However, his sons often asked him where he wished to be buried. He replied that someday he would disclose this. As he aged, his sons asked again and he replied: ‘I cannot disclose the secret of my grave with my own lips. When I die go and ask Kim and he will tell you.’

  Soon he died and the sons went to Kim to ask for instructions about where to bury their father. Kim said he would tell them, but the task would be very hard. The sons answered that they were willing to undertake any adventure no matter how dangerous. Kim whispered, ‘If you inter your father in the place he has suggested, then the very next day the eldest son will die. One hundred days later the second son will die, and after a year the third son will die. That is your fate and that is why I have been hesitant to tell you.’

  Kim continued, ‘There is another secret. After your three young deaths, it is foretold that three ministers will arise in your family.’

  The sons responded that it did not matter what happened to them, that they must do as their father wished. So they buried their father in the grave as indicated and the next day the eldest son died. The two remaining sons knew their lives were limited. A hundred days later the second son died and was buried. The youngest son then told his mother that his day was coming, but that he could not sit idly by. ‘I shall undertake a journey and if I do not return before the anniversary of father's death, you may assume that I too am dead.’

  The youngest son journeyed along a mountain road and one night he sought a place to pass the night. Tired and hungry he at last saw a house with a light. He knocked and a kindly old woman let him in and gave him food and shelter. Soon the old woman said that she must leave to visit a girl she was fond of in the next village. The girl was soon to be married, an arranged marriage against her will, so the old woman wanted to see her one more time.

  The girl also wanted to meet one last time with the old lady so she left her home after dark and the two women passed in the night without seeing each other. She arrived at the old woman's house and went inside where the youngest son was sleeping. He awoke and soon they spoke and became friends as they shared their stories. He spoke of the fate of his brothers and soon himself; she told of her unwanted marriage. Soon they fell in love.

  The next morning the young man was dead as was foretold. Deeply saddened, the girl took his body back to his mother. When she told her tale to the mother and the brothers' widows, they acknowledged her as the youngest son's wife. As time passed, she became the mother of a son, then a second son, and a third. The three boys grew up and became successful as the prophecy foretold.

  I asked Reddy, "Did you use a geomancer when you buried Anne and my ashes?"

  Reddy replied, "Have you been having dreams about a grave site?"

  I replied, "Yes, for most of my life I have had a recurring dream of a man climbing a mountain to visit two graves."

  "Hamish introduced me to an ancient looking man with a grey and white beard that hung down to his knees. He consulted many of the elderly people around Namsan Mountain when it came time to determine their gravesites. The people all called him the geomancer. As he laid out the directions for Anne’s and Shannon’s graves using an ancient magnetic compass, he told me that someday my daughter and my wife would meet on this very spot. However, he also told me that I must keep this a secret or the meeting would not occur."

  "Someday I would like to thank the geomancer."

  PART III: UNFINISHED BUSINESS

  Chapter 11: Closing the Zubaida Case: Return Flight

  While I was digesting the secret of my mother's grave and deciding to leave my grave marker on Udo, Rhyly was at the Jeju-do airstrip doing a pre-flight check on the Pilatus PC12 and filing a flight plan for our return flight to Oakland via Hakodate, with a stop-over at Kamchatka as promised, and on to Alaska. When Reddy arrived, he did his own pre-flight walk around of the PC12. Reddy got settled in the pilot’s seat and Rhyly buckled in to the co-pilot's seat while I stored the gun crates in the cargo bin of the aircraft and buckled myself in. The crates were labeled motorcycle parts and included the disassembled parts of Reddy's bike, just in case our cargo got inspected.

  The flight back home took us from Cheju-do to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky (PKC) on south Kamchatka Peninsula to the USA. During our return flight we kept our promise to Rhyly and did a three day stopover on the Kamchatka Peninsula so she could interview and research the Ainu. Meanwhile, Reddy and I planned on playing tourist once more. We could see the big bears and do some mountain trekking on a few of the volcanoes of the northern segment of the Pacific Ring of Fire.

  Reddy pointed for Rhyly and me to look down off to our port side as he banked and began circling one of the mountain craters that gives the Kamchatka Peninsula its reputation as the land of fire and ice. We soon had a bird’s eye view of snowcapped Koryaksky volcano to the north of the city of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky.

  Reddy clicked on the mike and said, "Yelizovo tower, this is PC12 (tail number LCN777RB) requesting landing instructions."

  "Roger PC12, I have you on radar at 15 kilometers north. Winds are NE 20 knots gusting to 35 knots. Runway 30 is being cleared of snow and deiced. Reduce your altitude to 1,500 feet and stay on this channel until touchdown, and then go to channel 122.9 for ground control."

  "Roger Yelizovo, descending to 1,500 feet, airspeed 120 knots, runway in sight, changing channels on touchdown. Thanks!"

  With the sun setting behind us, we came in for a landing using the elongated shadow of the mountain as our glide path. Reddy pumped the brakes and skidded the PC12 to a stop on the icy tarmac at Yelizovo airport (PKC/UHPP). Our landing reminded me of a hockey player slowing down by skidding sideways to avoid hitting the boards head-on.

  Rhyly grinned and said, "Nice landing."

  Reddy grinned back and replied, “Your turn is coming on the next leg to the Aleutians and Alaska. The storms hit hard and fast there and flying won’t be a picnic this time of year."

  Ground control guided us to a space in hangar B, to shelter the PC12 from buffeting by fifty-knot gusts of wind. Reddy and I refueled her; then, we took the snow-tractor shuttle and headed for the Avacha International Hotel.

  The muffled sounds of Paladin’s call to arms were emerging from my smart phone inside my backpack. I was surprised we had service way up north in the Ring of Fire.

  "Hi, Angie, what’s up? I can barely hear you over the engine noise of this snow-tractor. Stay with me."

  "Snow-tractor! Where the hell are you? I thought you were going to visit your mother's grave on Cheju-do?" Angie shouted. "I won't keep you guessing why I’m calling. Clemson went down on bended knee and proposed to me yesterday. It was real sweet. You should have seen him; he actually teared up when I said yes. We want to marry and honeymoon on Cheju-do. I understand it’s a popular honeymoon resort and we both found the photos and history of the island to be beautiful and intriguing. You will, of course, be my maid of honor, and I’ll put you in charge of hiring the flower girls."

  I found myself recalling one of the Silla era legends about the shape-changing Toad-Bridegroom. The story was told to young girls to instill the important virtues of filial piety while also elucidating the bone rank system that defined society and ordered the marriage customs of the time.

  Angie's voice came back on line as the snow-tractor came to a stop at the hotel entrance. "We are putting together a guest list. Clemson's partner, Special Agent Newsome, is on assignment in Central America. Clemson is rather dodgy about her exact location. Both of his parents are deceased and he has only one aunt who might attend, but she can't make it on such short notice. You, Dalisay, and Reddy are my family so it won't be a long list," Angie said.

  Reddy and I felt relieved, but Clemson’s being an active CIA agent was still a problem. How could he help but discover Reddy's Halla-san mountain hide-away and for that matter, Reddy himself. Reddy whispered to me, "The wedding packages at most of the Cheju-do hotels include a recep
tion in the beach cabaña, so we do not really need to invite anyone up to my place on Mount Halla-san."

  "All well and good; however, Angie won’t be pleased if you aren’t part of the wedding ceremony," I whispered back.

  "As it happens, girl friend, I know where to hire some flower girls. I'll ask Hamish to check on them ‘cause they're usually booked well in advance."

  Reddy sided up beside me and said, "Let's get inside out of this cold."

  I said goodbye to Angie, promising to contact Hamish and find out about hotel and wedding package availability including flower girls. Then I dropped the phone in my backpack and said to Reddy and Rhyly, "Angie's getting married to Agent Rapier and wants to have the wedding on Cheju-do."

  "I think it's a great idea. We can do some more tourist stuff," Reddy said. "Call Hamish when we get home. He’s got the contacts and can make enquiries about hotels and wedding stuff. I understand that the best places are booked solid for years in advance. If Angie is set on July, we’ll need Hamish’s magic connections. Besides, the local police are still all over the Parks’ Home for Girls compound, meaning we may need a new source for flower girls."

  I pulled the fur lined hood on my parka tight and fastened its snaps down to my knees before pulling on my gloves and stepping out of the snow-tractor into the sharp cold evening air. A blast of air hit me that almost sent me back into the tractor for warmth. I felt like I was walking into a meat freezer that had a forty mile an hour fan. Everything seemed frozen and the wind actually howled and blew sheets of white powder across the runway. The snow plows and blower trucks were working 7/24 to keep the runways clear.