A maze of congested streets, drab concrete apartment buildings, and a patchwork of small shops sped past. He didn’t know a thing about how the Korean legal system worked. He’d heard news stories and seen movie depictions of egregious civil rights violations in various Asian countries. Did those include Korea? At the time, he hadn’t paid that much attention, for some reason assumed they related mostly to China. Now he wasn’t sure.
With each passing second, his fear grew stronger. Maybe he really was in serious trouble. After all, like Fisher said, two dead post-op patients certainly raised suspicions. But of what? Hadn’t Park mentioned waiting for the autopsy, so nothing was for sure yet? Yeah, but he used the word ‘murder.’ He’d call Fisher. Fisher would vouch for him.
The unmarked police car dipped down a ramp into the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, then nosed into a slot in a garage half-filled with other police vehicles. Jon followed Park to an elevator, the uniformed cop/driver bringing up the rear. They entered the cage and rode up six floors, where Park led him along a worn linoleum hall to an eight-by-eight-foot room of beige walls, recessed fluorescent lighting, three mis-matched chairs, a scarred Formica table bolted to the wall, and one tar-coated ashtray. The humid, warm air reeked of stale nicotine, staler sweat, and raw fear.
The door slammed, leaving Jon alone.
He tried the doorknob. Locked. Of course.
A rectangular mirrored window was recessed into the wall on his right. Park would be watching, he figured, purposely making him wait in an attempt to increase his anxiety. Well hell, it was working. Unable to sit, he paced in tight circles, working through an explanation of the surgery. Checked his watch again. Jesus, if this went on too long, he’d miss his flight.
Five minutes crawled past.
He continued circling, unable to relax.
The door opened and Park stepped into the cramped room. Jon checked his watch again and discovered he’d been waiting thirty goddamn minutes. But, he reminded himself, he still had enough time to easily catch his flight. Park slammed the door, pointed to a chair, said, “Sit.” An order instead of an offer. Park hooked a thumb over his belt, pulled back his suit coat exposing an empty hip holster. With his other free hand, he slapped a sheet of paper on the table.
Jon ignored the paper, said, “You said you had questions. Go ahead, ask whatever you want. I have things to do today.”
“Your purpose here in Seoul, Dr. Ritter?”
The words sounded more of an accusation than a question. He didn’t like the tone with which this interview was starting. It made him consider his answer carefully. Probably best to stick closely to the truth without divulging any additional information.
“Well?” Park asked.
“I already told you. I work with Lee Jin-Woo on some collaborative research. We’ve worked together for years. Go ahead, ask him. He’ll verify it.”
Park’s eyes bore into him. “Doing what exactly?”
“Like I said, research. He’s worked in my lab in Seattle and I’ve worked in his here before.”
Parked leaned against the door, a subtle reminder that he held the power over who could open it and when. “What research?”
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know if it does until I hear your answer.”
Shit
. Less than a minute and this was already tedious. “We work with stem cells.
“And do what with stem cells?”
Jon looked at Park’s cold, unblinking, irritatingly righteous eyes. “Why am I here?”
Park smirked. “I ask questions. You answer. What do you do with stem cells?”
Jon realized the tactic: piss off the interviewee, making it easier to blunder over lies. But he really had nothing to lie about. Well, except the surgeries. He blew a long breath and palm wiped his face. “Our ultimate goal is to find a way to cure dementia. You know what that is?”
“Why were you in Tyasami last night?”
Jon started to deny being there but caught himself. He
had
been. Momentarily. Just never further than the Emergency Room. “I wasn’t
in
the hospital last night.” Which, if taken literally, was true. He didn’t elaborate.
Park appeared skeptical. “You were seen there.”
“Yes. I was outside the hospital, but never was able to get inside. I took a cab from the hotel to the medical center but the guard in the ER wouldn’t let me enter.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t have my ID. I think I left it there yesterday.”
“What time was this?” The questions coming rapid fire now, Park not giving him a chance to think about answers.
Jon remembered seeing the bedside clock when reaching for the phone. Add the time to dress, catch the cab . . . “Sometime after two . . . two-fifteen, maybe, something like that. Yeah, two-fifteen sounds about right.”
“But you didn’t have ID?” His tone now sarcastic and drenched in doubt.
“Right. I, eh, left it somewhere. I don’t remember exactly where.”
Park appeared even more doubtful than before.
“Look, this is simple enough to verify,” Jon said. “Find out which guard was on duty last night and ask him. There was a nurse there too. She translated for the guard because he doesn’t know English very well.”
The weightlessness in Jon’s gut intensified. Park clearly wasn’t buying it. Mind racing, he searched for other details to validate his story. “Oh, here’s another thing: I spoke with Dr. Lee moments before leaving the hotel. Check the phone records.”
Park poked a finger at him. “
Before
that. Where were you?”
Jon licked his lips, checked his watch again. “Asleep. In bed asleep. Why?”
“Then how do you explain the computer records that show you entered hospital at one twenty-two?” Park’s eyes bore into him.
“What records?”
“Security system records. They show you entered through front door at one twenty-two.”
The missing ID.
Shit!
He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. He was sweating, his heart beating wildly, all obvious signs of stress that Park surely noticed. He held up both hands in surrender. “Whoa . . . stop. I told you, I lost my ID. I couldn’t have used it. Listen, there’s some background you need to hear about this that will clear things up. Maybe it will be easier for you to hear it from someone else in law enforcement, so let me give you the name and phone number for an FBI agent in Seattle. In fact, I’ll call him. His name is Special Agent Gary Fisher. May I call him for you?”
“Why I need to talk to him?”
“Because I’m being set up. Framed. He’ll explain it to you since clearly you don’t believe me.”
“No. You tell me.” Park continued to lean against the wall, arms casually folded across his chest, face expressionless.
Jon took a moment to organize the story before starting with Lippmann’s murder and the Avengers’ threat. By the time he got to Feist’s call to the hotel room earlier in the morning, it was clear from Park’s face that he didn’t believe a word. In desperation, Jon said, “Please. Call Fisher. Hear it from him.”
Park pushed off the wall, blocking the door. “You just admitted you were at the hospital early this morning.”
This time Jon turned to the mirrored window to answer, making sure any recording captured his words. “Fuck no, I didn’t! I said I WENT TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM. I didn’t go further into the hospital. The nurse and guard wouldn’t let me get past the door because I DIDN’T HAVE ID. That was the only time since leaving late yesterday afternoon that I was ever near the medical center.”
“Why didn’t you have your ID?”
Park’s tactic seemed clear. Keep hammering and probing his story repeatedly from different angles, mining for inconsistencies and contradictions until he trapped Jon in a lie. At this point Jon wondered if he should simply give up on making the afternoon flight, stop the interview, and demand to speak to the American Embassy. Then again, if he could convince Park he was innocent, he still had enough time to catch his flight. Once he was out of Korea . . . He gave it one more shot with, “I was sound asleep when Dr. Lee called and said there was a problem and wanted me there. He hung up. That was it. By then I was upset and in a hurry. I got dressed and left. I didn’t even think about the ID.”
“When did you lose it?”
Jon realized this was a no-win interview, especially with his frustration building. He stopped pacing. “I told you, I don’t know. Just fucking call Fisher, all right?”
Park raised his eyebrows. “He is here in Seoul?”
Park seemed to be intentionally badgering him now, trying to provoke him. He drew another deep breath and shook his head. “I already told you that, too. He’s in Seattle.”
“Then how can he tell me you were not in the hospital?”
“That’s not the point. The point is he can tell you who killed the patients.”
“Ah, so you admit patients are murdered?”
Stunned, Jon stared at Park. The anger of a moment ago suddenly turned to raw fear as what just happened clicked into focus: instead of a fact-finding interview, Park intended this to be a confession. Jon raised a palm, the interview had gone far enough, he needed help. “We’re done here. Before I say another word, I want someone from the United States Embassy in this room with me.”
Park shot his sleeves and straightened his suit coat. “Why you want that? You do something wrong?”
“What don’t you understand about what I just said? I want to talk to the United States Embassy.”
Park raised his palms in mock innocence. “You refuse to cooperate with an important investigation into the death of two Korean citizens?”
Jon turned to the mirror again and spoke slowly and clearly. “I want it on record that I am a United States citizen being held against my will. I have requested to contact the United States Embassy. Before I say another word I want to talk to someone from our embassy. Also, for the record, my passport has been forcibly taken from me by Detective Park. There must be something in the Geneva Convention to cover this.” Then, pointing at Park. “I will be happy to answer this man’s questions once a representative from the US government is present.”
Detective Park asked, “Mind if I smoke?”
“Yes I—”
“Is okay? Good.”
Jon heard the metallic clink of a lighter lid, the scrape of a flint wheel, the hard snap as the lid closed, followed by a deep exhale. He smelled fresh cigarette smoke as he continued to face the mirrored window, his back to Park. He could see Park’s reflection in the window, still blocking the door in an arrogant posture.
Park said, “I know many things about your business in Seoul, Dr. Ritter. Many things. If you refuse to cooperate, I will make things uncomfortable for you.”
Jon suspected Park intended to egg him on into more statements to use as contradictions, so he decided to not answer.
After a moment of silence, Park said, “You not think so? I know you come to Seoul to experiment on innocent Korean citizens. This you do because the FDA forbids you do the same experiment in your own country.”
“Not true.” Jon started to add more but stopped.
Don’t say another word
.
“I know you do this work without hospital okay.” Park paused to let this new bit of information sink in. “I know you put something in those patient’s brain. I know the patients now dead.” Another pause. “These are things you want American Embassy know about? I think not.”
Park stepped closer, pointed a finger at him. “For these reasons you must consider your situation very very carefully. Very carefully.” Park gave a self-satisfied nod. “I come back in few minutes with cup of tea. This give you time to consider. I not be so patient next time. Oh yes,” he pointed to the paper on the table. “Read confession carefully. You sign. Things will go much better when you sign.” His English was worse, as if trying to make Jon believe he had trouble with it. “You sign, I make sure you treated good and tell American Embassy you here.”
Jon heard the door open, then footsteps. He looked up to see two muscular guards enter.
Park said, “Oh, yes, security guard in Emergency Room remember you very well. He sign statement he see you in hospital. Westerners in a hospital in middle of night are very obvious.”
The door latch clicked shut. The guards assumed parade rest, one to each side of the door. Why were they here in a room this small and secure? There was no need for even one. But two?
Shit!
32
T
HIRTY MINUTES
later Park opened the door. The guards stepped out so he could enter. They closed the door, leaving Jon and Park in the cramped room. Park looked at the unsigned confession on the table. “You refuse to sign?”
“You’re not listening, so I’ll say it again: State Department. I’m not doing anything until someone from the State Department is standing here to advise me. And a lawyer. Maybe both.”
Park gave a what-do-I-care shrug. “You wait long time, then. Day. Week. Month. No matter. I wait too.” Without another word, Park left the room and closed the door. This time taking the guards with him.
Now alone in the room with his back to the two-way glass, Jon fished his cell phone out on the off chance something had changed since the last time he checked. So far he hadn’t been able to get a signal and suspected the room was shielded. Maybe he could get a signal from a different room . . . maybe a bathroom? Worth a shot.
He tried the door but, as suspected, it was locked. He pounded on it with the flat of his hand. No answer. Pounded again with more insistence. Several seconds later the door cracked open and a guard peeked in. Jon pressed both hands against his stomach and moaned. “I need to go to the toilet,” and pointed to his groin to clarify the point.
The guard studied him a moment before grudgingly opening the door wide enough for him to step into the hall and glance around. To his amazement, the other guard wasn’t there, leaving just him and the one guard alone in the hall. The guard motioned him to go left and Jon began slow crouching steps as if in pain. Muttering Korean, the guard shoved Jon’s shoulder. Jon stumbled into the wall, glanced back at the guard, noticed a matte black gun in a hip holster. Without a second thought, he knew what he should do. Gave another moan and twisted around, knees bent and butt against the wall, hugging his gut. “How far?” he asked.