Fisher thanked him, held the phone to his ear. “Detective Park, Special Agent Gary Fisher. Thanks for taking my call.”
“What is it? I’m very busy,” Park said with obvious irritation. Given the watery quality of his voice and what sounded like vehicular traffic in the background, Fisher figured he was on a cell.
“This is about Dr. Ritter. He called me about the situation there.” Fisher intended to reveal as little as possible, hoping to draw out more information from Park that way.
“Fisher, is it?”
“Yes, Special Agent Gary Fisher, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Seattle field office.” Hadn’t his position been made clear by the translator?
“There is no
situation
, Agent Fisher. And I would appreciate you not trying to meddle in Korean affairs. Are we clear on this?”
Fisher was taken aback, momentarily at a loss for words. “Hold on just a second, I— ”
Park cut him off with, “There is really nothing to discuss. Goodbye Agent Fisher,” and hung up.
N
IGEL FEIST STOOD
on a sidewalk in front of a plate-glass window with a bright red and blue blinking neon sign that read “Karaoke Bar” in English and Korean. Earlier in the day, after verifying the police had Ritter safely in custody, he moved from the Sheraton to the Ramada Seoul to be able to monitor the situation more closely. Less expensive there also.
He planned to hang around only long enough to assure Stillman that Ritter was never leaving Seoul, then dump this job, get the hell out of fucking Korea forever, and begin his retirement and fantasy road trip. Figured a week, max.
Then the situation took an unexpected turn.
He dialed Stillman as four laughing twenty-year-olds opened the bar door, momentarily blasting him with a bad rendition of a vaguely familiar country western song. He plugged his free ear to listen to the connection. “Stillman.”
“It’s me,” he said crisply, turning toward the street.
“And?”
Stepping further from the bar, “Your friend’s bloody well gone walkabout.”
“What?”
“Escaped. Your boy’s escaped.”
“Escaped? From the police?”
“Right-right.”
“How the hell did he manage that?” Stillman said in an accusatory tone, as if Feist were responsible.
“How the fuck should I know? One minute he’s in custody, the next minute he’s gone. Everyone’s mum about what happened. I suspect it’s ’cause they’re too embarrassed to let on.” Talking too loudly, he realized, and quickly glanced around, but saw no one in earshot, thank God. Indeed, half the people passing by had their own cell phones to their ears continuously. A few more generations and people will probably come straight out of the womb with a cellphone instead of earlobes.
“You said everything was arranged, that Ritter was signed, sealed, and delivered. How could you let this happen, goddamnit.”
Feist lowered the phone and glared at the display. Just say ‘fuck it’ and disconnect? Better not. Tempting as it was, the fee for finishing this job through would add a tidy sum to his 401(k). Finish this, and he’d never have to deal with the likes of Stillman again. He returned the phone up to his ear and said as calmly as possible, “He escaped from fucking jail, mate. How the fuck am I expected to be responsible for that?”
“If he’d simply been eliminated we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
True. But the geezers were old, on their way out anyways. That’s why he’d chosen to do them instead of Ritter. “Right, but that would draw attention, now wouldn’t it? My way would’ve worked if he hadn’t escaped.”
“Point noted. Now here’s
my
point. I can’t afford him coming back here. If the Korean authorities can’t keep him there, make sure he doesn’t leave Korea alive. Do you understand me? Find and fix the problem.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot. Got me a lead.”
Stillman gave a sarcastic snort. “Do the police still have his passport or did he pick that up on the way out the door?”
Feist spat on the pavement, imagining Stillman there. “According to my source, they do.” That source being the head of Tyasami Security, but how much longer that particular spigot would remain open was highly questionable. Not because of lack of cooperation, but because it was unlikely the police would share any additional information with a private security firm if Ritter no longer had business at the medical center.
“I assume that in order to leave the country he’ll need one. How difficult is it to obtain a counterfeit? Something that will get him through Immigration.”
“Depends. He doesn’t strike me as someone with the right connections for that, so he’ll have to sort that out. Assuming, of course, the coppers don’t catch him straightaway. You tell me, you know him better than me. What do you think?”
Stillman grunted what sounded like agreement. “Far as I know, his only connection is Jin-Woo. But he’s been to Seoul before, so he might have other friends. A girlfriend, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Right-right. Coppers had the slant doctor in for questioning, last word I got. Figured I’d check on him in a few hours. Should be out by then. Got himself a condo not too far from here. Who knows, maybe Ritter is holed up over there as we speak. Which raises an interesting point. Supposing I find him—Ritter, I mean, not the slant. What exactly you want done?” Wanting it clearly spelled out so there’d be no debate over the appropriate fee.
“Exactly? That’s up to you. Depends on the situation.”
Not enough clarity. If things played out as he suspected they might, he’d have to kill Ritter. The original contract covered one snuff, but the two geezers used up that fee. “Just so we’re straight, best case is him in jail with the death penalty or life without parole. Right-right?” His preference too. Didn’t much fancy killing Ritter. Seemed like too good a man. Real bastards, now that was a different matter. Real bastards, well, they were expendable and usually deserved what they got. Mostly though, it boiled down to risk. Didn’t want to jeopardize retirement, what with his heart set on it now.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Feist asked, “And if that’s impossible?”
“We’ve already discussed this. See to it that he doesn’t come back here. Does that give you enough clarity?”
“All right then. But just so it’s understood, that happens, I’m owed my premium.”
“Understood.”
40
Y
EONHEE DROPPED ONTO
the floor cushion next to Jon, crossed her legs, tossed her head back, and finger-combed her black hair in one fluid movement. “The embassy will not help you get a passport?”
“No,” he answered bitterly. “Not as long as the police want me.”
“How can I help you?”
The walls of the small apartment seemed to close in on him. “I can’t stay here. I do, they’ll find me for sure.”
“My friend isn’t home, so I talked to her on her cell. She’ll be home later. We can wait here until then. Or,” her face brightened, “you still owe me dinner.”
A quick check of his cell charge showed the battery critically low. He also worried about his appearance. By now, every cop in Seoul had probably memorized a detailed description of him. Which, now that he thought about it, probably explained how the cop spotted him so easily outside the Intercontinental. He held up the cell. “I need to find a charger for this. And, I need fresh clothes. Know any stores open this time of night?”
“No problem. There are several close by.” She jumped up and held out her hand for him. “Let’s go.”
I
N A SMALL
dressing room Jon pulled on a pair of denim jeans and a black polo shirt. A perfect fit. He’d already selected a fairly good Ralph Lauren knockoff of a black shirt with epaulets. He undressed, removed the price tags, and redressed. Jon also bought a pair of Nike running shoes, a disposable cell, a charger for his Droid, and a small black gym bag to store everything. He was surprised at not thinking of getting a new cell sooner. He opted for one that gave him 200 minutes of international calling time. If that didn’t last until he got out of here, well. . . .
Now packed, he opened the dressing room door and headed for the cashier, Yeonhee falling in beside him. Initially, he worried about paying by credit card, but figured Park already knew he still in the area so what difference did it make?
Holding Yeonhee’s hand and acting like a couple, they walked back to the apartment from the restaurant. For the first time since meeting her at the Ritz-Carlton, she seemed relaxed.
She said, “Come, we go to Gayeon’s apartment now.”
“Hold on, let me make a call.”
“No. It can wait until you’re off the street.”
Good point. He slid the cell phone back into his pocket.
Gayeon’s apartment was slightly bigger than Yeonhee’s, a one-bedroom affair with a double bed. She worked as a secretary at a large company, Yeonhee told him. She was thin and strikingly beautiful, a few inches shorter than Yeonhee with a flatter face with pronounced cheekbones and equally large, innocent almond eyes. Oversized glasses gave her a studious appearance.
As Yeonhee introduced them Gayeon smiled, bowed, and blushed.
“She speaks less English than I do,” Yeonhee explained.
“Thank you for sharing your apartment,” he said to her.
She put perfectly manicured fingernails to her lips and glanced at Yeonhee with a giggle. Yeonhee muttered a stern reply in Korean. Then to Jon: “Make your calls now, okay?”
Wayne answered immediately. “My God, Jon, you okay? I’ve been worried sick when I didn’t hear back from you. Get hold of Fisher or the embassy yet?”
“Yeah, but I’m getting jammed. Park notified the embassy before I called so the guy I talked to—Bundy something—says there’s a warrant out for my arrest, which, according to him means there’s no way they can help.”
“Aw shit, this just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”
Yeonhee whispered to Gayeon as both of them sat on floor cushions, watching him.
“How about you? Do any better on finding a lawyer?”
“At least that’s good news. I called around. Remember that thing a year or so ago with Tom McCarthy?” McCarthy, another Seattle neurosurgeon, had been falsely accused of stealing classified material from the military.
“Yeah?”
“Figured he might know someone, so called him. He recommended a guy named Palmer Davidson. I got hold of him and explained your situation. He said there’s nothing he can do in Seoul, that you’ll have to find someone there, but went on to say that if you can figure out a way to get back home, he’s happy to represent you. He made a point of saying to get out of there with or without a passport. Meaning if you have to, find a way to get one illegally. Way he sees it you wouldn’t be heading back to Seoul any time soon, so screw ‘em.”
“Bundy basically said the same thing. I just haven’t had time to do anything about it. And really don’t know where to start.”
“That anything Jin-Woo might help you with? You’d think with all those cousins of his, one of them would have a connection.” Seemed like Jin-Woo had a cousin in every business they’d ever discussed.
He’d already considered and rejected that possibility. “No good. I don’t want to contact him. Park had him in for questioning earlier today and for all I know, he may still be there. And you better believe that before they release him, Park will lean on him to give me up the moment he hears from me.”
“You’re probably right.” Wayne made a little humming sound. “Know what? Somehow, I can’t believe the State Department would completely abandon a US citizen, regardless of the circumstances. Thought of trying someone other than Bundy?”
“Yeah, but only if nothing else works. Bundy pretty much convinced me they’re not about to help.”
“Damn!” Made the little hum again. “So how do I reach you if something happens here? The number showing up isn’t your cell.”
“Figured that’d be too easy for Park to track, so I picked up a disposable. I plan to keep my regular cell turned off in case Park has any way to trace its GPS.” He had Yeonhee specifically check with the sales clerk to make sure his new one didn’t contain any GPS function.
“Got it. Be careful.”
He punched off and spent a moment reconsidering Wayne’s suggestion to call Jin-Woo. Was there any way to enlist his help and still dodge Park? Maybe he did know someone who could help him obtain a counterfeit. He dialed Jin-Woo’s cell, heard it ring until finally flipping over to voice mail. Worrisome. Maybe he was correct about Jin-Woo still being questioned by Park. Nevertheless, it was worrisome.
41
S
OON AS JON
put the phone down, Yeonhee said, “You look like you could use a drink.”
Gayeon stood and moved to a cupboard above the sink.
Not a bad idea. He’d done about as much as he could tonight. They’d had only tea at the restaurant, so a drink might relax him and, in turn, help jog loose an idea or two about how to find a counterfeit passport. If Park was able to track him down tonight, there wasn’t much more he could do to prevent it. Being out on the street or checking into a hotel probably carried more risk than staying here. “Sure, why not.”
A thought hit. “Does Jin-Woo know you and Gayeon are good friends?”
Gayeon was pulling down glasses and a fifth of Johnnie Walker Green Label from the cupboard when she paused to shoot a questioning look at Yeonhee. Yeonhee thought about it a moment. “Know what? I don’t know for sure. I may have mentioned her to him at some time, but there’s no reason that he should remember it.”
“So, you haven’t talked about her a lot?”
“No. Actually, I tell him very little about my personal life.”
He trusted her judgment.
Gayeon served them each a glass of scotch, neat. They raised glasses in a silent toast, sipped, then sat on floor cushions, each absorbed in their private thoughts. Yeonhee suddenly looked up at Jon. “My friend Jung-Kyo has connections. Maybe he can help.”
A twinge of jealousy tapped his heart. “The guy you’re dating?” He swallowed a large portion of the scotch, sending a burning ember down his throat on into his gut. Without a word, Gayeon took his glass and returned to the counter for a refill.