by James Church
“You realize I can’t hang around here for long. I’ll have to get back to Pyongyang by the day after tomorrow at the latest. They’re already wondering where I am.”
A key turned in the front door, and Kang walked in carrying a paper bag. “I brought you something, Richie.” He pulled out a bottle of whiskey. “Go easy on it, though. I don’t want you passed out on the couch.” He took off his hat and coat and threw them on the sofa. “Greetings, Inspector. Your day was good?”
“Nothing that I’d put in a logbook.”
Kulov came out from the kitchen with a couple of glasses. He gave one to Richie and one to me. “Inspector.” He nodded.
“You’re not drinking?” I asked Kang.
Richie was pouring himself a triple. Kang grimaced. “I drink, but only sometimes, and this isn’t one of them. Maybe you should wait until we’re done, as well.”
“Maybe I should.” I put my glass on the floor. “Do we talk here, or is there someplace else where the walls don’t have ears?”
“We’re in Prague, Inspector, land of the free. And we’re in a perfectly secure place, courtesy of Richie and friends. There is nothing here, not a single thing, that Richie hasn’t personally approved; besides which, he controls all the on switches. Let’s have our nice talk. How did you get along with Greta?”
“We’re old acquaintances, it turns out.”
“You saw her one time across a parking lot.”
“Well informed, as always. You have your own spy satellite or what?” Apparently, not a satellite that could see into noodle shops.
“She saw you, too. That’s how I knew you were in Pyongyang, home from the hill.”
“Greta . . . that’s what we’re going to call her?”
“That’s right.”
“Greta keeps you up to date on what’s going on, I presume.”
“It isn’t like the old days, Inspector. Getting information in and out of Pyongyang is not nearly as difficult as it used to be. For example, I know that Major Kim sent you to Macau on a mission he fully expected you to botch.”
“And did I?”
“Not yet.”
“Excellent, there’s still time. You know Kim, I take it.”
“Our paths have crossed.”
“What’s he doing in Pyongyang?”
“What he’s doing there, what he says he’s doing there, and what he thinks he’s doing there are separate things.”
“He thinks he is bossing people around. Me, for instance.”
“That’s good. Let him keep thinking that.”
“He reminds me in some ways of that Military Security goon that wanted to kill you. His name was Kim, too.”
“I know what his name was, Inspector.” Kang paused. “He got promoted, I heard.”
I waited to see if he would say anything else, but he let the subject drop.
Richie coughed. “I have a good idea: Let’s rake over the most hellish coals we can find.” He waved his glass at me. “Let’s remember every failure, every bit of pain, everything that should have worked but didn’t. Let not a single sleeping dog lie. Kick the shit out of every fucking one of them, how about that? Should I go first?” He finished the whiskey and banged the glass on the table. “God, what a bunch of stupid bastards I chose to die around.”
Nobody said anything for a couple of minutes. Kulov made some noise in the kitchen, rattling silverware and slamming drawers.
Finally, someone had to break the silence. “SSD is up to something, by the way,” I said.
Kang smiled at me. “Fine, let them think that nothing stands in their path.”
“Kim says he’s there to oversee a transition.”
“Did you ask him from what to what?”
“We didn’t get that far. We were only on the first date.”
“German sugarplums are dancing in their heads, Inspector. They think we’re going to fall on our knees and beg forgiveness for seventy years of sin, like the East Germans did.”
“Are we?”
“You can if you want to. I have other ideas.”
“So do the Chinese, apparently.”
“They’ve got Kim worried?” There was a note of urgency in the question, not much, but I was weighing every word Kang used, measuring every inflection. The question could have been nothing, but the way Kang asked it told me this was something he really wanted to know. And that told me his network had a hole in it.
I thought over what Kim had said about the Chinese. The file I’d read in the windowless room had contained page after page about Chinese penetration into the country—agents operating under different sorts of cover, defectors being fed back in, agents of influence in the security services. “Worried,” I said, “but not as much as I would have guessed. He thinks he has a handle on it.”
“A handle. He has a handle on China. Mull that over a little. I’ll be interested in what you conclude. And while you’re at it, think about what you were doing in Macau.”
“I was putting the Macau police off the scent. It’s not like they had a click-clack case.”
“Click-clack.” Kang closed his eyes and thought a moment. “You were talking to Luís.”
“You know Luís?”
“Luís helped me with a complicated funding issue some years ago.”
“That’s funny. He told me he couldn’t even launder his shirts.”
Kang smiled. “Luís knows more about laundering money than anyone alive or dead.”
“Tell me that he’s not MSS.”
“Luís? Not anymore. He and discipline don’t do well together. They transferred him to the police, where they figured he couldn’t do any harm.”
“When I was in Pyongyang, someone told me I don’t even know what I don’t know.”
“True.”
“So, maybe you can tell me. What don’t I know?”
Kang moved his coat and sat down on the sofa. “I’ll give you the thirty-second version. Two years ago, the center, aging and unwell, decided that by 2017 he wanted to achieve a first-stage unity between the two Koreas.” Kang turned around and yelled toward the kitchen, “Kulov, bring another glass and some of your awful vodka.”
Kulov appeared with both items. He put them on the table in front of Kang, nodded to me, and returned to the kitchen.
Kang poured a few drops for himself and a few for me. “Kulov keeps the vodka hidden, but I know where it is. Cheers, Inspector.”
“We were on first-stage unity.”
“That year, as you realize, will mark the one hundred and fifth birthday of his father and his own seventy-fifth. The plan he has in mind, I’m told, is for a loose union, largely cosmetic but enough for him to be able to claim success in reuniting the ‘bloodlines’ of the Korean people, if not the territory. Last year, the two sides agreed to limited and quiet exchanges of personnel, mostly in the field of internal security.”
“Funny place to start,” I said.
“It would be in the real world, but, as we know, this isn’t the real world. So everyone decided that they wanted eyes and ears right where they could do the most good. Pyongyang sent two incompetents to Seoul from a department that shall remain nameless.”
“And whom did Seoul send?”
“Its very best, also incompetent but well shod and well fed. This exchange led to a lot of stumbling around for the better part of twelve months. Then, in March this year, the center had another health setback, serious enough to be confined to bed but not so serious that it was impossible to issue orders. I have my suspicions about who else is in the room when those orders are signed, but we can talk about that later. In any case, the South saw this development as a chance to replace its people with someone who actually knew what he was doing, could consolidate the gains, and could even—with a little luck—go on to the next phase. In pursuit of these goals, the incompetents were recalled and Major Kim was sent to Pyongyang in April. He had orders to proceed in all haste to achieve the consolidation part of the plan, and then to mov
e with caution to explore the possibilities for next steps.”
“How do you know so much about the South’s plans?”
“Not everyone in the North is incompetent, Inspector. And Kim is not as smart as he thinks.”
“All very interesting, but none of it explains why Kim sent me to Macau.”
“It does, in a way. Consider: Officials in Pyongyang with even one eye open are already concerned about the drift of events, and have been searching for a rallying point, some sort of brake on what they recognize as dangerous, almost fatal South Korean inroads. To buy time, they have been urging that one of the center’s sons be put in place immediately to ensure stability for an eventual transition. They gather all of this under the cloak of carrying out plans for the first stage of ‘national unity.’ That isn’t what they want, of course, but it’s the best they can hope for until they figure out something better.”
Click. Clack. “Up the chimney and out to sea,” I said. I nudged my glass nearer the bottle in hopes that Kang would pour more—a lot more. There was a leadership transition in the works? And a successor in play? And I figured in this exactly how? I had been brought down from the mountain to be thrown headfirst into a pit of snakes, big snakes, the sort of snakes that swallow full-grown deer and then burp with pleasure. My hands weren’t shaking, but if Kang didn’t fill the glass right away, I might not be able to hold it still. “That was the chosen son whose tracks I was sent to erase in Macau, wasn’t it? Chopping up a prostitute can’t be very good for a smooth transition.” I remembered the room and its view. Nonchalance fled as reality knocked at the door. “No wonder Kim wanted me to get the evidence pointing somewhere else.”
Kang waited a moment before letting a few drops fall into my glass. “You actually believed him?”
“I take it you mean that wasn’t his intent.”
“Oh, no, he really did want you to go through the motions. One of Kim’s main tasks, though, is to accomplish exactly the opposite. He is supposed to make sure the son is so badly compromised that no one can possibly follow him. He must have wondered how to do that, until you crashed into view. Your appearance lets Kim claim that he’s made every effort to save the successor’s reputation, but due to the bad faith of the Chinese and the incompetence of a former North Korean policeman—the grandson of a Hero of the Republic no less—that has proved impossible. He discredits Beijing and the opposition in Pyongyang in one move. Brilliant.”
“I didn’t realize my skills were in such demand.”
Kang screwed the top on the bottle. Vodka time was over.
“This leaves me with a question.” I said. “Do you think the son did it? Murdered that prostitute in his hotel room?”
Richie coughed and fumbled with his glass. “How can you drink that potato water? Have a bit of this whiskey, why don’t you?”
“The Chinese have become concerned,” Kang ignored my question, “and concern has rapidly become alarm, at what the South is doing. Colonel Pang and his teacups are already moving to stop the process.” Astounding, did Kang have Chinese maples on his payroll? “But the scent of blood is on the wind. Gangs from China and everywhere else see an opportunity to carve up the country into spheres of influence. For all I know, the Mafia has set up shop on Kwangbok Street.”
“You forgot something.”
“The opposition. Yes, meanwhile, there is a loose resistance building against outside efforts to seize on the situation. It isn’t anything coordinated—yet.”
“So I noticed. It sounds a lot like holly.”
“Really?” Kang looked at Richie and smiled faintly. “Holly takes at least a couple of years to germinate after you put the seed in the ground, or so I’ve heard.”
Richie sat up. He seemed better, energized somehow.
“Holly . . . ,” Kang said. “Tough little tree. Refresh my memory, what kind of leaves does it have?”
“Leathery, spiny.” I hesitated because I hated to give him what he wanted. “And glossy.” What a son of a bitch he was, both of them were. “And you two want to talk me into joining this loose resistance, I suppose. It was you who pulled me back into this sewer from the beginning, wasn’t it, from the moment that car stopped in front of my cabin. How you did it I don’t yet know, but if I go back and look, I’m sure I’ll find your paw prints.”
Richie was staring at me intently.
“Sorry,” I said, “but I don’t have the time or the inclination to help.”
“Is that so?” Richie had sunk back against the cushions. His voice was flat. “You went to Macau to help Kim.”
“I didn’t. I went to find out what is going on. Besides, I had to prove something to myself.”
“That’s fine,” Kang said. “That’s good. A little self-validation before the sheet is pulled over your face for the last time. While you’re at it, you might consider whether you really want to be treated like dirt between the toes of China. Because that’s what you’ll end up being. The South Koreans will lose the game; the Chinese will win. Seoul is a pack of fools. You want to join them? I wish you the best of luck.”
Succumbing to imagery never leads anywhere good. On the other hand, the mental image of 10 billion Chinese toes did carry a certain weight. “What do you propose doing about it?”
“We don’t need to fight the Chinese, Inspector. We don’t even have to make them unhappy. We need them to think we are prepared to cooperate. It wouldn’t take much. Colonel Pang is a reasonable man, as you’ve seen. It’s too bad he’s been marked to die.”
“Pang? Marked to die?”
“That surprises you? Not by us. Kim and Zhao have apparently decided they need to get rid of him. Kim is under strict orders not to rile the Chinese, so he’ll let Zhao and his viper do it.”
“Kim and Zhao are cooperating in this?”
“Not only in this.”
“What about Pang—I assume you’ve warned him?”
“Warned Pang? Why would I? He wouldn’t warn me if he learned that I was on a list for elimination. And he won’t warn you, either; don’t fool yourself into thinking he will. He’s very smooth.”
“This is beginning to sound like a class reunion. Is there anyone involved in this whole thing that you don’t know?”
“I haven’t had much to do these past long years but go over my mistakes, pummel myself for all the missteps, and think ahead to this moment. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. I’ve examined every angle. I’ve run through all the options. I’m ready to do whatever is necessary. My only question at this point is: Are you?”
5
That night, Greta drove me back to my hotel.
“You don’t like the brake pedal?” I said as we went through the gears.
“I’m saving it for someone special.” She pulled into a spot near the castle, with a view of the city. “You’re not as much of a coward as you pretend, are you, Inspector?”
“That depends.” We weren’t anywhere near my hotel.
“We went through a lot of trouble to bring you here.”
“So I noticed. It might have been easier if you’d stayed in Macau long enough to talk to me there.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do. You go there to gamble, or just leave messages?”
“Macau is an interesting place,” she said. “I’m sure you must have enjoyed your stay.”
“Something went wrong; the message didn’t get to him on time.”
“ ‘For want of a nail,’ isn’t that what they say?”
“You must know why he wanted that room, that particular room.”
She looked at her watch. “Deadlines loom, Inspector. Your hotel is at the bottom of the hill. It’s not that long a walk, though the cobblestones can be murder in the dark. Maybe we’ll see each other again.”
Her car disappeared before the engine even made third gear. As I made my way down the hill, I looked for a phone. It seemed to me that I couldn’t stand aside and let events take their course. If I
knew Pang was targeted, he deserved to be warned. Yes, absolutely, I wanted him out of the country, back on his own side of the river. For that to happen, he didn’t need to end up dead. Whatever he had done to the captain was between the two of them. This was different; it was between Pang and me.
“The colonel isn’t here.” The voice on the other end was clear and crisp. There was no crackling on the line. We could have been within a few blocks of each other. More likely, the voice was in Beijing, ready to route the call to Pang once a few details were cleared up—like who had dialed the number and why.
“Yeah, he isn’t there. Never mind that. I need to talk to him, urgently.” I was using a pay phone, and I didn’t know how long I could talk. The woman who sold me the phone card in the tobacco store had been short-tempered. She was about to close for the night and didn’t like it when I showed up. After I fumbled with the money, she muttered to her husband, grabbed the bills from my hand, and held up a few.
“What?” she said in Russian. “Tabak?”
It was the only Russian she knew, or all she would admit to knowing. I wanted the most expensive phone card she had, but judging by how she threw it on the counter, I wasn’t too sure that was what I got.
“You need to talk to Pang urgently?” said the voice on the other end. “So do I. So do a lot of people.”
I figured I knew what that meant. “Something happen?”
“You have a reason to know?” The voice became full of thorns. “Where are you calling from, anyway? Who told you how to access this system?”
“Maybe I owe him money, a lot of it.”
A pause. “Well, invest it. Put it under your pillow.” Another pause, longer this time. “Never mind; forget the pillow.”
“He’s dead?”
“You could say that. His lungs were next to him when he should have woke up this morning.”
“Ah.” It was all that came to my mind. I took a deep breath and hung up.
PART III
