The Expediter (8 page)

He’d been out here to personally brief Dear Leader on three other occasions, and each time, like now, he’d felt a profound sense of peace and well-being mixed with the sense that an incredible malignant force was just inside.

An old man in a plain gray tunic buttoned to the neck, Dear Leader’s pin on his lapel, came out of the house and bowed before Pak. “Your presence is most welcome, Colonel Pak. He’s waiting for you inside. Please allow me to present you.”

Pak followed him up the walk through the maze of bushes and dwarf trees. He’d not seen this particular servant before, but the man seemed genuinely pleased by the presence of a counterinsurgency colonel.

“Can you tell me his mood this morning?” Pak asked cautiously.

The old man smiled faintly. “Tread with care, Colonel. This business has upset him worse than the Americans and the nuclear inspectors. Shall we say, Dear Leader is volatile at the moment.”

“Thank you,” Pak said, and he genuinely meant it. The warning might help him get out of here alive.

“Oh, you are most entirely welcome.”

Linking verandas, balconies, and wooden patios ran the entire length of the back of the house, which faced the lake with its islands. The place wasn’t as elaborate as some of the palaces Saddam Hussein had maintained before his fall, but it could have been the Beverly Hills estate of a wealthy movie producer.

Kim Jong Il, his hands clasped behind his back, stood rocking on his heels looking out across the lake when the old man left Pak off and disappeared back into the house. No one else was around; no advisers, no guards, no one watching to make sure that Pak made no false moves.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Colonel,” Kim Jong Il said, his voice soft, delicate, almost feminine. He turned to face Pak across a distance of seven or eight meters. He was dressed in a dark blue jacket unbuttoned at the neck, matching wool slacks, and softly polished black shoes. His pushed-up dark hair, sharply receding forehead,
jowls, and large, steel-framed glasses made his round face seem chubbier than it was. His tight-lipped smile was more enigmatic than usual.

“My pleasure is to serve, Dear Leader,” Pak recited the formulaic response.

“I understand that you have made excellent progress already.”

“Yes, sir. We made a preliminary identification of the two assassins and arrested them as they were trying to make their escape by air back to Seoul by way of Beijing.”

Kim Jong Il’s eyes tightened perceptibly, but he said nothing, nor did he motion for Pak to come any closer.

“One of the assassins was shot trying to make his escape, thus proving his guilt. But the second assassin is at this moment being prepared for vigorous interrogation. I can speak with confidence that our State Safety and Security Agency will solve this crime to your satisfaction in the shortest time possible.”

“You say that they are Koreans?”

“Yes, sir. From the South.”

With no change in his expression, Kim Jong Il suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs. “South Koreans! Trained by the war-mongering CIA! The Chinese are convinced that I ordered the assassination of General Ho! Their ambassador says they will cut off aid to us! Their ambassador actually threatened me with a military attack!”

Pak stood absolutely still, as neutral an expression on his face as he could possibly maintain.

“They do not believe me,” Kim Jong Il said, his voice back to normal, almost sad as if he were having a difficult time accepting that anyone would question something he’d said. He turned again to look at the lake, his hands clasped behind his back.

Pak didn’t know if he was expected to continue with his report, leave, or remain where he stood.

“I am convinced that it is the Americans behind this deed,” Kim Jong Il said. “I want you to personally find the proof and bring it to me. In this investigation you shall have the power of all Chosun behind you.
You may use anyone, go anywhere, and commandeer anything and any amount of money you need to accomplish your task.”

“Yes, Dear Leader.”

“You must be quick. If our friends launch an attack against us I will unleash the dogs of hell upon their heads. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Pak responded evenly. The man was talking about nuclear weapons.

“Succeed and you live, Colonel Pak. Fail and you die. We all die.” Without glancing back, Kim Jong Il walked to the nearest set of stairs and, head bent low, headed down one of the paths that led to a footbridge to one of the islands.

Pak walked back through the house to his car. Two South Koreans had done the shooting, but Dear Leader did have a point; the Americans had the most to gain by meddling in North Korea’s strong relationship with China. The only problem was apparently no one over there really understood the depth of Kim Jong Il’s insanity. If China actually attacked, Dear Leader would not hesitate for one second to embroil the entire region in a nuclear war that would not only mean the end for Chosun, but mass murder on a scale in the millions.

Time was his chief enemy now.

It was well after lunch by the time Pak got back to his office and took the elevator down to the interrogation center. He lit a Chinese-made cigarette, the only kind available in Pyongyang unless you were a foreigner, and leaned against the wall looking through the one-way glass
at what was being done to their prisoner, his stomach doing a slow roll. He never liked these sorts of things.

Mr. Kwan was strapped to a chair in the middle of the small white-tiled interrogation cell, his head lolling forward. Dr. Gi Song had just finished giving him an injection and stepped away, an indifferent look in his deep-set black eyes.

“This is far as I dare take it,” he told Sergeant Ri who was perched against the edge of the steel table facing the prisoner. “Any more and the drug could kill him, or at the very least scramble his brains badly enough so that he would probably never recover.”

“Not much use to us like that,” Ri said.

“No,” the doctor agreed, but it was clear that he didn’t care. The prisoner was an enemy of the state, and Dr. Gi was a true believer. Pak had never cared for him.

But there were times like these when his skills were a necessary evil.

“When will he be ready?”

“The drug works fast,” the doctor said. “A minute or two. What’s he done?”

“Pissing in public,” Ri replied caustically. He didn’t like the doctor either.

“Not so bad.”

“On a photograph of Dear Leader.”

“The hell you say,” Dr. Gi said. “The bastard.” He tossed the hypo in his bag, gave Kwan a last contemptuous glance, and left the room.

When he was gone, Pak stubbed out his cigarette and went in. “One of these days the good doctor is going to realize that you’ve been playing with him, and he’ll report you.”

“You’ll save me,” Ri said. “How did your meeting go?”

“I’m still in one piece.”

“That’s something,” Ri said.

Soon was starting to come around and he looked up, a stupid expression on his face. He’d been drooling and the front of his shirt was spotted.

“Has he been cooperative?” Pak asked.

“Says his name is Kwan Sang-hung, he’s an electrical engineer from Seoul, and he came here on a tourist visa because he wanted to see what life was like in the North. He says he never left the hotel.”

“What do you think?” Pak asked. The prisoner was looking at them.

“He’s lying, of course,” Ri said. “But there’s something else going on. Like he’s waiting for something to happen. Doesn’t seem to be afraid for his life though. He’s a cool customer.”

“A professional.”

“Yeah, but a professional what?”

“Mr. Kwan, is that your real name?” Pak asked the prisoner.

“No.”

“What is your real name?”

“Huk Soon.”

“Well, Mr. Huk, why did you come to Chosun?” Pak asked.

“To assassinate a Chinese intelligence officer,” Soon replied.

“That was too easy,” Ri said. He was staring at the prisoner and Pak could see that his sergeant was also bothered by something.

“It’s too bad we had to shoot your partner,” Pak said. “But who hired you to come here and kill General Ho?”

Soon smiled, more saliva sliding down his chin from the corner of his mouth. “No, you didn’t,” he said, his words slurred and his South Korean accent thick.

“You were right there, and watched the whole thing,” Ri said.

Soon’s smiled widened and he shook his head. “You waited too long. She’s already home.”

“What are you talking about, you crazy bastard?” Ri demanded.

Soon just looked up, a silly grin on his face.

“We arrested the wrong man,” Pak said. The more slender of the two figures in the shadows outside the Chinese Embassy had been a woman. It had never occurred to him.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t shoot this one instead,” Ri said.

“Find out if any of the passengers on that plane are still in Beijing for whatever reason. Maybe we still have a chance.”

“They’ll be long gone by now,” Ri said.

Pak was impatient. “Just make the call, please. Maybe there was mechanical trouble, or a problem with someone’s papers, or a weather delay.”

“It was the wrong guy,” Ri muttered as he left the interrogation room.

Pak pulled a chair over and sat down close to the prisoner. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the man’s chin. “What is her name, Mr. Huk, can you tell me that?” he asked pleasantly.

“Huk Kim,” Soon replied, and Pak was startled.

“Your wife?”

Soon nodded. “Yes.”

“Were you working for the South Korean government? Did the NIS send you here to assassinate General Ho?”

“No.”

“But you’re in the military.

“Not anymore,” Soon said. “We quit.”

“Who hired you? Was it the American CIA?”

“Alexandar,” Soon mumbled. He was starting to fade, and was becoming increasingly difficult to understand.

“Alexandar who or what?” Pak prompted.

“Used to be KGB, I think. But he’s in Tokyo now. Rich bastard. Mafia.”

Soon’s head started to loll. Pak slapped him lightly on the cheek to bring him back. “How do you contact him?”

“Internet.”

“What’s his address?”

“Too complicated. Kim knows.”

Pak sat back. The Russians? It made no sense for them to want to destabilize relations between Chosun and China. So far as he knew no problems existed between Putin and Dear Leader.

Soon was on the verge of passing out again, and Pak slapped him harder. “Alexandar is a KGB agent. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“He’s a businessman now,” Soon mumbled.

“Who does he work for?” Pak demanded.

Soon’s eyes focused for a moment. “Just like us, I suppose. For the highest bidder.”

Pak nodded, trying to work out the possibilities. The prisoner was not lying, that was impossible under the influence of the cocktail of drugs that had been injected into his system. But he’d talked too easily. Answered every question without evasion. It was as if he was proud of himself.

The light faded from the prisoner’s eyes and he slumped forward, the straps holding his wrists to the arms of the chair keeping him from falling to the floor.

Ri was just coming down the stairs, a sour look on his face, when Pak emerged from the interrogation room. “No luck,” he said. “The flight to Seoul landed two hours ago.”

“Have someone get our prisoner cleaned up and back in his cell, I’m through with him for now. But I want him treated well. Give him all the food he wants, showers, clean uniforms, and exercise every day,”

“I don’t have it that good,” Ri complained.

“No. But we’re not going to trade you to China.”

“What’s next?”

“You and I have to do some homework, and then I have to arrange for a flight out.”

“Where’re you going?”

“New York.”

New York/Sarasota