by Jeremy Finn
The subway attendant seemed weary of the task, but sided more with Han based on the treatment he received from both men, so he replayed the clip prior to the President's station.
"There's our fake," Chae said pointing at the bearded man as he passed under the camera.
"Wait, stop!" Han told the attendant. The man froze the image and Han pointed to a short man entering behind their suspect. He was unremarkable, probably a shop owner just getting by in life. He dragged a fairly large cooler behind him on a small dolly. "Could you rewind just a few seconds?"
The old man complied.
"There, do you see that?" Han asked pointing to the shop keeper as he lugged his goods onto the subway...
"What?" both inspectors replied in unison.
"Look at the way he lifts the cooler. He just rolls it easily over the small gap between the platform and the subway car."
"So?" Jung replied, still sounding sarcastic, but with less strength than before.
"So didn't you notice him in the clip at this station?"
"Um, no, not really," Jung answered. "Should I have?"
"Keen observation is key to a good investigation," Han scolded. "Could you please go back to our station?" he asked the attendant. The man played the clip with the President getting off the train once more. "There!" he shouted and pointed to the hunched over man pulling the cooler off the subway. When he reached the gap between the train and the platform, he had to pull hard. Even so, the wheels were momentarily stuck in the crease and he had to rock it out onto the platform.
Jung and Chae looked at one another uncomfortably. Neither one knew what exactly drew Han's attention, but both were becoming hesitant to criticize the man too quickly.
"It's heavier!" Han said as if it were obvious. "Didn't you see him effortlessly pull it on the subway, but when he got off it was quite a struggle?"
"Yeah, I guess so, now that you mention it," Jung conceded. "Humph!" was all Chae could muster.
"So...help me out here, Detective," Jung mumbled.
"The President is, or was, in that cooler. He never made it to the bathroom. Our bathroom president is a fake - a decoy who likely crawled up into the ceiling in the men's room, grabbed a stashed dress in the false ceiling, changed in a women's room stall and exited unbeknown to the security guards."
Jung sat staring at the screen for a moment trying to find a reason why the detective's proposal would not work. "So, what should we do now?" he finally conceded.
"Chae, why don't you go try to track down our once-bearded friend," Han asked. "Jung and I will stay here at the station and pursue a path to the shop keeper."
Both inspectors nodded and Chae left on his mission.
"What do you think would be our best next move?" Jung asked without any sarcasm for once. "Should we start asking around some of the folks who work at the station?"
"How about starting with the cameras?" Han proposed. "They have been helpful so far. Sir, how many exits are there from this station?"
"Only the one right here," the man replied pointing to the turnstiles before them beyond the window.
"Can we see the video of the turnstiles after the President's train arrived?"
The man played the video and they easily spotted the shop keeper lugging his cooler. He struggled to get it through the handicap turnstile and disappeared around the corner.
"Do you have cameras of the exit onto the street?" Han asked.
"Sure do," the attendant replied. "And a camera in the elevator too," he added. "I don't think I would try to carry that thing up the stairs if I were him."
"Good point," Han said. They watched the films from both and never saw the man with the cooler, though.
"Is there any other way to get out of here?" Han asked.
"No, sure isn't," the old man replied confidently.
"You know my next question is going to be what were you doing while this all transpired?" Han said with a serious gaze.
"Takin' a shower, probably," the man answered innocently.
"A shower?" Jung repeated.
"Yeah. I didn't get on shift until about thirty minutes ago.
"Who was on shift before you?" Han asked.
"Oh, the same two guys who usually are. One of 'em is sick, though, and he didn't show up today. That’s why I'm burnin' this candle. Kim is always frettin' about his spirits and how they need placatin'. I figured I'd do him a favor and light his special candle, more out of sympathy than belief, of course.
"Hey, the red wax!" Jung exclaimed. "Wasn't that candle wax on the President's shoes?"
"So, the culprit is likely the sick worker. That gives us a lead, but I expect we will not find him at home. This also gives me cause for alarm," Han pondered.
"Why?" Jung asked nervously as Han began to pace around the room, sweeping the small area with his eyes.
"This door, what is behind it?" Han asked the attendant.
"Just the mechanical room," he replied.
"I would like a look inside."
The attendant shrugged and grabbed a key off the messy desk. He unlocked the door and opened it to reveal a small, dusty room. Han stepped into the doorway and pulled the overhead light on.
"Empty," Jung observed. "What did you think you might find?"
"This," Han said as he squatted on the ground and traced his index finger along a path in the thick dust. "Wheel tracks from the dolly. And something else I did not expect," he said touching his finger to a small puddle of water beside the tracks. He lifted it to his lips and licked it. "Fish," he spat.
"Fish..." Jung repeated absently.
"Yes, fish," Han confirmed and rose with a spring in his step. "Sir, could you please show me the camera at the exit again. This time, you can fast forward. I am looking for something in particular."
The attendant complied and Jung grabbed him on the shoulder as a refrigerator truck pulled up rapidly beside the exit. The three men watched silently as two men emerged from the subway station carrying a long cooler marked with black pen identifying it as containing abalone. They tossed it in the back of the truck and drove off.
"That's it, then!" Jung exclaimed. They transferred the body into the fish cooler and loaded it onto the truck. We've got it!"
"Not quite," Han said gravely. I couldn't make out the name of the vendor on the side of the truck from the angle of the shot."
"Oh yeah, me too," Jung deflated.
Jung's cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. "That was Chae," he said after a moment on the phone. "He found our fake president."
"Already?" Han said with raised eyebrows.
"Yeah, but he's dead. Suicide, apparently," Jung said regretfully. "Oh, and he talked to a few of the secret service who were with the President. They said when they got on the subway it was pretty chaotic. The President was actually shoved and fell down, but they were able to get him back up in a few seconds. Chae was thinking this might have been the opportunity for the swap. The President fell next to the door between cars. You know there is a small space in between two cars separated by the doors to each car. If they were able to conduct a quick swap, they could have incapacitated the President and stuffed him in the cooler while huddled in that small space."
Detective Han tapped a pen on the table several times than jumped up.
"Where are you going?" Jung asked excitedly, but Han was already out the door. He ran after the detective up the stairs, out the exit and onto the street outside colored with the soft hues of late twilight. Han stood in the street casting glances frantically in all directions. Cars honked horns at him, but he was lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly he caught sight of something and dashed across the street, nearly running into a taxi in his haste. Jung reached him as he came to the front of a bank.
"Open up!" Han shouted as he banged on the glass door.
"They're closed," Jung said and tried to pull him back. A perturbed employee appeared by the door, though. Han pulled out his badge and pressed it against the glass. T
he employee looked dismayed, but unlocked the door.
"Do you have any cameras watching the street out here?" Han asked.
"Well, yes we do, but..."
"I need to see the video. I can tell you what time," Han ordered as he pushed his way into the closed office and dragged Jung with him.
A quick look at the bank videos revealed their truck passing by with a perfect shot of the side of the vehicle. Dobang Seafood Stew Restaurant the advertisement read.
"I know that place," the bank employee remarked, noticing the officer's interest. "It's just up the street about three miles near the entrance to the Dobang Mountains Park.
"Ok, we need to act fast," Han said resolutely. "Sir, please allow Inspector Jung the use of one of your phones and look up the address of that restaurant for us. Inspector Jung, this is going to require some special measures, I think."
About an hour later, Detective Han sat at a two-person table across from Inspector Jung at the Dobang Seafood Stew Restaurant. They were posing as two hikers just coming down off a long day's trip into the mountains. They even rubbed some mud on their pant legs to add to the disguise. Han felt certain they were walking on thin ice, and any indication of police presence might set off events that could rapidly lead to the President's death, if he was not dead already.
The restaurant was less than basic. The wallpaper was stained and faded. The chairs and tables did not match and a broken TV hung over one end of the small dining room. There was a dried fish nailed over the kitchen door to ward off unfortunate spirits, and a small altar was erected in one corner with a few miniature statues of bestial humans surrounding a red candle that cast an eerie glow over the angry faces of the gods.
Han tilted his head toward another corner and Jung turned his head to look. There were three coolers exactly like the one loaded at the subway station stacked against the wall.
"Good evening," a young man greeted as he emerged from the kitchen. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in." He was thin and his head was shaved like a monk. He was wringing his hands and looked more anxious to be rid of them rather than serve them. "What brings you here?"
"Well, the seafood stew, of course," Jung replied.
"It's quite desolate here," Han observed. "Is business slow these days?"
"Yeah, mostly," the waiter replied distantly. "Well, just relax and I'll get the food started for you."
Jung and Han sat for a few moments nervously trying not to look at each other.
"That's it, I don't have a good feeling about this," Han said and rose from the table.
"What are you doing?" Jung asked and followed.
Han pushed aside the curtain separating the dining room from the kitchen and stepped into the back room unannounced. The waiter stood by the counter devoid of any food or cooking instruments. He was on the phone and gave a startled expression when he looked up at Han.
"You are not allowed back in the kitchen!" he barked as he hung up the phone. Jung came in beside Han as the tension grew tangible.
Han decided to take a risk and try to throw the man off balance. "Where is the President?" he asked calmly. Jung gasped, but the waiter's eyes shot unintentionally over his shoulder in the direction of the mountains. He knew instantly he had betrayed his secret.
"Han, what are you doing?" Jung asked, but his attention turned to the waiter who had grabbed a nearby knife and rushed at them with a wild scream. Han tried to grab the man in the narrow kitchen, but he was younger and faster. The knife hit Jung in the chest and he fell back onto the kitchen floor. Han pulled his revolver out of its holster in his coat and shot the crazed man as he turned to attack him. He died as he hit the floor. A moment later, a SWAT team rushed into the kitchen. They heard the shot and acted.
"Take Inspector Jung!" Han ordered. "He has a knife wound in the chest. Team leader, call the chopper in!" Han suspected time would be of the essence, so he had persuaded Jung to keep a special ops chopper hovering in the area in case they needed to move somewhere quick.
He raced out the front door and climbed a pile of trash to jump onto a rooftop. the streets were narrow here and a helicopter could never land safely, especially not at night. The bird dropped low enough for him to jump up onto the skid, and the crew inside pulled him on board.
"Quick!" he called to the pilot once he had a headset jammed onto his head. "Follow the telephone lines leading up the valley into the mountain."
The pilot looked oddly at him for a moment, but did not argue. Soon, they were zooming over the houses, shops and restaurants lining the valley leading up into the mountains. The structures thinned out until they were left following a rough dirt road extending into the heights. Dark masses of rock outcroppings and tall pines loomed on both sides and they clipped a few branches as the pilot struggled to navigate through the difficult terrain while keeping an eye on the thin telephone line. Eventually, the road ended and the line shot up toward the tops of the mountains.
"I think I lost it!" the pilot called.
Han stuck his head out the open door, air pushing violently against his face and twisting his lips like a flag in a hurricane. "There!" he cried pointing at a dark spot near the top of the mountain where the tree line was broken and more angular shadows nestled in the darkness. The pilot shot a searchlight onto the location and illuminated what looked like an ancient wooden temple. He came up fast and nearly hit the ground on the small clearing just before the sanctuary.
Han was the first out, but the police had youth and training on their side. They reached the door to the building first and kicked it in. Han rushed to follow, but nearly fell backwards when both policemen were thrust out the door, long lances protruding from their stomachs as crazed monks pushed them back out and kept running until both they and their victims tumbled off the cliffs on the sides of the cleft.
Han plunged through the open door, wincing as he anticipated a spear would fly at him from the darkness. Instead, he found himself in a smoky room. It smelled heavy with the scent he remembered from the subway station office. A large red candle burned in the back of the room behind two men. One was sitting stripped to the waist and his head lolled back and forth as if he was in a trance - it was the President. The other had a shaved head and an ornate ceremonial blade in his hand. He stared into Han's eyes for a second, and then reached across the President's throat with his dagger.
"No!" Han shouted and lifted his pistol. He did not have time to aim. He didn't even have time to stop the rise of his weapon. he just pulled the trigger as it rose before him, sensing the moment when the pull would meet the lift and hit his mark. The shot was loud but muffled in the small wood room, but the priest lurched back instantly. The bullet went straight through the center of his chest. He fell backwards and his body landed on the red candle. Han heard it hiss as the flesh extinguished the flame.
"I still say you deserve this far more than me," Jung said as he painfully pulled himself up in his hospital bed and fingered the presidential medal. Both men had received one.
"Nonsense," Han replied. "You're the one who actually received an injury."
"True," Jung mused. "But anyways, I'm glad you had that sense of urgency. How were we to know that a cult had come up with an elaborate plan to do a rapid swap with the President right under his guards' notice and set him up for some kind of crazy sacrifice to their gods?"
"I guess that's what you get for passing a law allowing apartment buildings to be built on sacred ground," Han chuckled. "I'm glad I'm not the President - too many crazies to worry about."
"But how did you know it was a cult?" Jung asked.
"I didn't, at first," Han admitted, "but like often happens to me on cases, the clues seem to come together in my subconscious before they emerge in my conscious. Until they do, I just get this gut feeling that leads me. I guess it's my subconscious trying to warn my conscious. The thread that really pulled it together for me was those red candles. Once I saw the one in the restaurant, there was no doubt in my mind the President's
life would not be spared or bargained for."
"Well, good man," Jung complimented. "I hope you'll forgive me for my doubts when we first met."
"Of course," Han replied. "In fact, I have a little peace offering to patch it all up between us."
"You shouldn't have," Jung said as he accepted a small bag and reached inside. He grabbed something solid and slid it out of the bag. "Well, this will certainly be memorable," he remarked as he pulled out a plain red candle and set it on the table beside his bed with a smile.
Insight
This story accomplished two desires - to write a mystery, and to write a story about subways, or at least involving subways. If I was going to write a book with an overall subway theme, I should at least have one story in it about subways. I used a lot of the scenes and imagery from subways I traveled in Korea and some of the environments around the stations. Writing a mystery was harder than I expected, and I found myself having to plug a few holes and cram a few facts in just to make it all hold together. It is fun to look back on, but was not as much fun to write.
TWILIGHT OF THE INNOCENTS
I am trapped in silence. Darkness encompasses me like my mother's womb, but it is cold and hard here. The air carries the smell of death. I feel as if I am coming back from the dead, but how would I know? When I wake, am I waking into the after-life? If I am, then I am the boy who lived in hell. Every time I open my eyes, I am born into a world of sorrow. For days, the only light I have seen leaks through a tiny peephole in the thick oak door. I hunger, thirst and feel pain, but more than relief for any of these I just want to touch another person or even just hear a voice.
No one is there to keep him sane. He lives in total absence. His days are immeasurable periods of clandestine pain.
Who are you? Are you me? Am I me? Who am I?
I hear the voices in his head. I can see through his eyes. I am him, but I am not. I am disembodied. Ethereal. A wraith.
Then it is possible for you to be free! An unchained soul. Floating through the confines of this prison, passing where you please and fleeing from this inhuman slaughterhouse.
