by Brian Haig
“There were several reports of American children being fondled by a large Caucasian male. The reports went to the Itaewon station because the children were lured outside the grounds of the housing area before they were molested. In fact, it was Michael Bales who reported this to Choi and handled the American side of the investigation.”
“Then there should’ve been a report in Bales’s file.”
Carol still had her perky little nose tucked inside Choi’s file. “The Itaewon station put up a stakeout around the housing area at the request of American authorities. On April 19, a police officer named Pang saw a large American male wearing jeans and a sweatshirt leading a small boy out of the housing area. He led the child behind an office building and into a vacant courtyard. When Pang moved in, the man had his trousers down and was in the process of taking down the little boy’s underpants.”
I said, “Yuck, I hate child molesters.”
“Don’t we all. Anyway, the American was arrested and brought to the Itaewon precinct house. Choi took a statement from the arresting officer and handled the booking. He called in Bales, and they conducted a joint interrogation.”
“Turn to the interrogation sheet and tell me what it says.”
She flipped through the pages for a moment, then looked up. “There’s no interrogation sheet.”
“Figures. The last page, the disposition, what’s it say?”
She turned to the last page. “Closed due to lack of evidence.”
“Lack of evidence my ass. The son of a bitch had his pants down.”
“You know him?”
“Yeah, I know him. Janson is Spears’s legal adviser. He’s a lawyer. He’s also the guy overseeing the disposition of the Whitehall case. He made sure it was put on a fast track and expeditiously handled. He worked the deal to get Whitehall transferred to the Korean prison. He picked the judge. He picked the prosecuting attorney. He’s probably the guy who selected the potential members of the court-martial board.”
Carol dropped the file. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. The son of a bitch has been putting loads in the dice.”
CHAPTER 40
It made no sense to sleep, so we kept working. Carol wrote down English summaries of every relevant point contained in the nine reports we’d culled out. I read through her notes and tacked on recommendations on how to further winnow down the pack.
All nine remaining files appeared in some way suspicious, but three others stuck out like outrageously rotten thumbs. For one thing, like Janson’s, they contained no witness statements.
One concerned an Army major in the intelligence section whose Korean wife was caught running a blackmarket ring. When she was arrested, she was driving a van loaded with over a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of American cosmetics. Korean women are nuts about foreign cosmetics, which have ridiculously heavy duties tacked on by customs in Korea’s staunchly protected economy. As blackmarket goods go, they’re hot sellers. Given that she was caught red-handed driving a truck filled with contraband, it seemed impossible the charges were dropped.
A second case involved an Air Force lieutenant colonel in the strategic plans shop who was arrested on charges of raping a fourteen-year-old Korean girl. You get an instinct for these things, and something smelled wrong. The girl’s photo was in the packet; she didn’t look fourteen. Not to me. But maybe she was just physically precocious. Another thing, though, there was a raw hardness to her face. It was like that hackneyed look an experienced streetwalker acquires after her third or fourth hundredth john. The American officer swore she was a whore, that he’d paid her, while she claimed he’d yanked her into an alleyway and forced himself on her. No medical exam was performed. The girl claimed she had five witnesses, but none of them were ever interviewed. There was no way to tell on such thin evidence, but it smelled like a setup.
The third case involved the Navy captain who was in charge of protocol at the headquarters. Protocol is the office that plans for and oversees all important visitors, making sure they have hotel rooms, cars and drivers, experienced guides, and security if necessary. It even puts together their schedules. In this case, the captain was arrested for a hit-and-run that resulted in a death. He was investigated for DUI and manslaughter, specifically for running over a twenty-year-old pregnant Korean girl, who survived but lost her baby. He’d attempted to flee but was forced to stop by a crowd of irate Koreans who witnessed the accident. Case closed; no grounds for prosecution.
By four-thirty, Carol was napping on the bed, and I decided to slip into the bathroom and take a shower. My body stank and I needed to clean and re-dress some of my stitched-up cuts.
When I came out, Carol was hanging up the phone.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Your co-counsel, Miss Carlson.”
“What did she want?”
“She didn’t say. She hung up.”
This didn’t sound good. “How come?”
“I don’t think she was expecting a woman. I told her you were in the shower.”
I had bigger fish to fry at the moment, so I merely grunted my acknowledgment, then asked Carol to call whomever to pick up these files.
We ordered a room service breakfast — in my case a greasy, cheesy omelet and another pot of coffee; in hers, a fruit bowl and two more Evians. Our eating habits, among many other things, implied we were not a compatible couple.
Then we straightened up the room and put all the files back in the boxes, excepting of course the nine we’d earmarked as suspicious. The food came. We dug in.
While we ate, I asked, “How come you get so coy and withdrawn around Korean men?”
She pondered that a moment, like it was some unconscious thing. “My father’s a very traditional Korean man. He loves America, but he stays with his Korean customs. I suppose I picked it up from him.”
“What? So every Korean male reminds you of your father?”
She chuckled. “I hope not. It makes Korean men more comfortable. Most American women get under their skin. They consider them bossy and pushy, rude even. They’re especially peeved when the woman is racially Korean.”
“Hah! And I thought you were liberated.”
“Misjudgments abound. I once thought you were a brash, sloppy, obnoxious bore.”
“Yeah?”
She looked around. “Your room’s actually fairly tidy. How could I have thought you were a slob?”
I stabbed and shoveled another slice of omelet between my lips. “New subject. Something I’ve been wondering. Why’d you bug my phone and hotel room?”
She looked up in surprise. “We didn’t bug your room.”
“Bullshit. Come on, I’m on your team now. Tell me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “We didn’t bug your room.”
“Well, I found a little black thing in my phone. And I found two more tucked here and about.”
“When was this?”
“Remember that day I ran out to the parking lot and you pulled away?”
“Of course. I couldn’t believe you did that. You might’ve been watched. You might’ve compromised me.”
“Hey, I lost my head. I’d just found three bugs.”
“And you thought we’d done it? What? You thought we were listening in on your plans for defending Whitehall?”
“Oddly enough, that’s just what I thought.”
“Drummond, believe it or not, the Agency’s got a few more pressing issues on its plate than listening to some lawyer talk about a court case.” Then a dumbfounded expression emerged. “How do you know your room isn’t still bugged?”
“Because Imelda, my legal assistant, has it swept every day.”
“So you removed the bugs?”
“Yeah. All gone,” I confidently replied.
“Did you think about long-range listening devices?”
“Those inverted megaphone things?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Carol said, working her way over to the window. She pulled the curt
ain apart and looked outside. First light was just breaking. “Listen, Drummond, when you removed the bugs, you notified whoever was listening that you’d detected them. If you’re a target of serious interest, they’ll simply switch devices.”
She was putting on a very good act, but I wasn’t buying it. I’d fully expected her to deny it. I just wanted her to know I knew.
Her eyes were sweeping the parking lot, like she was looking for some vehicle, maybe a truck or a van, anything big enough to hide a long-range listening device.
I asked, “Can those things target a single room in a big hotel like this? Wouldn’t they pick up all kinds of babble and noise?”
“If the rooms around you were talking, there’d be bleedover and distortion. But not late at night, like now, when everybody’s asleep.”
She was really putting on the act. Give the woman credit.
I walked over and stood beside her at the window. She turned and looked at me.
I pointed my finger out the window. I yelled, “Quick! Get on the phone and tell your folks to move in on that vehicle right there.”
She started to say something, and I grinned. She looked out in the parking lot. Suddenly a gray van turned on its lights, backed out of its space, and literally tore out of the parking lot. You could almost hear the rubber burning.
“Jesus!” I yelled.
Carol ran to the phone. She punched in some numbers and waited impatiently for somebody to answer. She yelled, “This is Carol Kim. There’s a North Korean spy van headed from the Dragon Hill to the main gate. It’s gray and enclosed. Get somebody to stop it.”
When she hung up, she shot me a furious look. I couldn’t blame her; after all, I’d just ruined a perfectly good chance to catch some North Koreans. In my defense, I really didn’t believe her until I saw this with my own eyes.
I was getting ready to make my excuse when I came to my senses. There was something else we’d better do. And we’d better do it damned fast, too, or else.
CHAPTER 41
Here’s how the rest of the morning went. A number of Agency and military police cars raced around the base for hours trying to locate and collect the suspects Carol and I had immediately identified to Mercer.
Three suspects, it quickly turned out, had been reassigned out of Korea, so they weren’t in imminent danger, although Mercer still took the precaution of sending messages to their new commands to have them taken into protective custody until everything got sorted out. He’d made enough mistakes. He wasn’t taking chances.
A fourth suspect was on leave somewhere in Korea. Since we couldn’t find him, there was no particular reason to expect the North Koreans could, either. An all-points bulletin was sent through American and Korean channels to apprehend him on sight.
Suspects five through eight were picked up without incident, including Piranha Lips, who was literally dragged out of his office with two members of his legal staff watching. What I would’ve given to observe that glorious moment.
The ninth suspect, the protocol officer, was the unlucky one. He was found alone at his kitchen table with a big wound in his head dribbling cranial fluid all over his breakfast.
Nobody had a clue how it happened. Nobody saw anybody enter his quarters. Nobody heard the sound of a shot. Probably the gun was silenced. Probably the assassin was a pro. The captain’s skin was still warm and the blood was still moist, so the MPs who broke into his quarters guessed he’d been executed no more than an hour to thirty minutes before they arrived.
It was ten o’clock in the morning and I was having all this pointedly explained to me by Buzz Mercer himself. I would describe his demeanor as partly pleased, since he was arresting a bunch of suspected traitors, and thus was recouping some of the prior day’s humiliations. The other, much larger part of him, was annoyed, since I’d cued the North Koreans that we were on to them, making an already chaotic situation even more snarled.
The two other guys who were having this explained to them were General Spears and Brandewaite, who were seated just to my left. And if Buzz Mercer looked agitated, Spears seemed deathly worried, while Brandewaite looked ready to leap off a cliff. I wished he would.
“Jesus Christ, what a disaster,” he kept mumbling over and over.
Mercer was saying, “Of course, at this stage we don’t know how bad it is. Let me remind you, the eight men we have in custody, or are still trying to apprehend, are only suspects. We’re bringing them in for their own protection. And for questioning, of course.”
Brandewaite sniffed once or twice. “And when will we know more?”
“Can’t really say,” Mercer told him.
He said it in a breezy, deflective manner that gave me the impression there was no love lost between the two men. No surprise there, I thought. Brandewaite was the quintessential immaculately coifed, oily, narcissistic man of the nineties. Mercer was more of a crew-cutted, austere, meat-and-potatoes throwback to the fifties. Spies and diplomats; if you threw them both in a blender, you’d get something poisonous.
For my part, I was trying to blend into the woodwork, because the room was filled with powerful men who had no particular reason to think highly of me right at that moment.
Spears’s eyes kept glancing over from beneath those eaglelike, fierce brows. I wondered what he was thinking. On the other hand, maybe I didn’t want to know.
Mercer went on. “Anyway, right now we’re busy collecting legal counsels for all of them.”
“Did they all ask for lawyers?” Spears asked.
“Nope. We automatically provide it. We don’t want any procedural shit to come back and bite us in the ass down the road.”
Brandewaite said, “How stupid. You’ll slow the whole thing down.” He looked spitefully at me. “Once the lawyers get there they’ll all clam up.”
Mercer impatiently said, “Look, you stick to what you know, and I’ll stick to what I know.”
Brandewaite pointed a manicured finger in his face. “Right now, Mercer, you’ve got a bunch of American military officers in custody and one dead body. Don’t lecture me. Get results and get them fast.”
They went back and forth like that for a while and I found myself wondering about the Navy captain who got shot in the head. Why him? I mean, whoever was eavesdropping out in that parking lot overheard Carol and me mention the name of every one of the suspects. Probably some weren’t going to pan out. There’d be perfectly good explanations why their names weren’t in Bales’s file, or why Choi dropped the charges. But I was pretty sure there’d be no good explanations for at least three or four others. They were simply caught in Choi’s web.
So why only the Navy captain? Carol had notified Mercer of our concerns at 5:20, and the MPs had burst into the captain’s quarters at 6:36, which meant he could have been murdered as early as 6:00. In other words, as soon as the North Koreans learned what we’d figured out, they dispatched an assassin to bump him off. Mack Janson wasn’t arrested till 8:30. Another suspect wasn’t picked up till 9:00.
Did that mean I was wrong? That the others weren’t guilty? That the captain was the only fish who ended up in Choi’s net? Or were the others just too hard for the North Koreans to get to? Or was there something more here?
As much as I didn’t want to emerge from the woodwork, I said, “Hey, Mr. Mercer, why do you think they knocked off this Navy captain?”
Mercer and Brandewaite were into each other’s faces, so it took him a second to tear his attention away. “What?”
“That Navy captain?”
“Elmore. Harold Elmore.”
“Yeah, right . . . Harold Elmore. Why do you think they popped him? I mean, if I’ve got this figured right, they had two or three hours to kill some more, right? Why’d they rush right over and clip Elmore? Why just him?”
Mercer’s lips curled inward. “Damned if I know. Of all the suspects on the list, Elmore is in unquestionably the least sensitive position.”
I said, “You knew him, right, General?”
“Why’s that?”
“Because Harry was a damned good man. A Naval Academy grad, twenty-five years of good service, hardworking, honest, reliable.”
I gave him a respectful shrug. “Right, sir. And one night he went to a bar and had one drink too many. The next thing he knew he was driving home and there was a hard bump on his fender and a young mother was cartwheeling over the top of his car. Then he found himself in a foreign police station, being told he was gonna be charged with manslaughter and DUI, and he might be facing twenty years in a prison.”
Mercer said, “What was his access to plans and sensitive information?”
Spears looked puzzled. “He was cleared for Top Secret, but limited to whatever he needed to know. In Harry’s case it wasn’t much.”
I asked, “Did he sit in on briefings on war plans, or sensitive intelligence, that kind of thing?”
“Not routinely, no. Uh, actually, he might have sat in on some. Particularly if he assigned himself as the escort officer for some particularly important visitor.”
Brandewaite asked, “You mean, like a senator?”
“We don’t brief senators on war plans. Say the Secretary of Defense, or the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. They get over here a few times a year. Even the President was here last year.”
We fell quiet a moment.
Spears broke the silence. “Harry always handled the big ones himself. I never associated anything with that. I always thought Harry was just . . . well, taking responsibility for the tougher ones.”
That’s exactly what it was, I thought. Elmore’s guests were privy to the most sensitive knowledge. He could sit in the back of the room at the heftiest briefings and report back to Choi. He’d be the last person anyone would suspect because his position was so drab and perfunctory. He was the only person in the room who came as a coatholder, a petty, unimportant escort, the guy who was there to make sure the VIP got from this briefing to the next on time.
