Mortal Allies (14 page)

“You know better!” she said.

“I don’t
know
any such damned thing. Neither do you. All I do
know
is that you embarrassed the South Korean people last night, and today one of our co-counsels ends up in the hospital. You can build a case on circumstantial evidence, but you can’t build a case on coincidental evidence.”

I got up and stood over Katherine. She was looking at me like she’d pay anything for a ticket to my funeral.

“This isn’t the United States, Carlson. Remember what that big goon warned you yesterday? Learn to respect the rules around here. It goes better for everybody.”

She started to open her lips and I held up my hand. “Look, I’ll see what I can find out. Just don’t hold another meeting with your press buddies while I’m gone. And skip those sessions with NBC and ABC I heard you planning yesterday. They won’t do any good for our client, not to mention our health.”

I left them in the room to stew. I can’t say I was friends with Keith, since I barely knew him, but on general principles alone I was just as shocked and furious about what happened to him as they were, and I sure as hell hoped he wouldn’t die. The problem was Katherine and her buddies had no idea what they were messing with here. I’d tried to warn them. They hadn’t listened. Thomas Whitehall, guilty or innocent, was a symbol for all kinds of extremist groups with fiery views, and when you’re standing next to a lightning rod, don’t act surprised when a stray thunderbolt lands in your lap.

When I got back to my room, I called Spears’s office and told that colonel with the world’s snappiest salute that I needed to meet with Buzz Mercer. He said okay and hung up.

Twelve minutes later, the phone rang. It was a woman’s voice. She told me to hurry downstairs and wait by the entrance of the hotel. So I did.

When I walked outside, a gray sedan was already idling under the entrance and a Korean woman stepped out. She peered around till she spotted me, then waved for me to come over.

“You’re Drummond, right?” she asked when I got within earshot.

“That’s me,” I admitted.

“Please get in.”

I climbed in, then briefly studied the cut of her jib. She was slender, conservatively dressed, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, and was somewhat attractive, but in a buttoned-down, stern, wintry sort of way. Her hair was cut short and was clearly unstyled. She wore gold wire-rimmed glasses that made her look like an academic who’d somehow gotten lost outside the ivory tower.

“So what’s your name?” I asked, wondering who the hell she was.

“I’m Kim Song Moon. My friends call me Carol.”

“Carol? How does Kim Song Moon get you to Carol?”

“It doesn’t,” she admitted. “I’m American. My real name is Carol Kim. Here in Korea, I use Kim Song Moon.”

“No kidding? And you’re with that same company that employs Buzz Mercer?”

“Buzz is my boss.”

“Let me guess. You were raised in California, went to Stanford, or maybe Berkeley, got recruited there, and you’ve spent the last three years doing skullduggery here?”

“Oh my God, am I that obvious?” she asked with a shocked look.

“I’m throwing out stereotypes. Besides, telepathy is one of my strong suits.”

“Actually,” she said, “I grew up in Boston and went to Middlebury College, which was where I learned to speak Korean, then I spent a few years at Duke getting a law degree. And I wasn’t recruited. After law school, I sought out the Agency and convinced them my language skills and Korean looks might come in handy. I’ve been here less than a month.”

“Ah, so I got most of it right.”

“Which part did you get right?”

“You went to college, right?”

She ignored that. “So you’re a lawyer?” she asked. “You don’t look like a lawyer.”

“No? Well, what do lawyers look like?” I asked, fishing around for a compliment.

“They’re usually very intelligent-looking.”

“Oh.”

“And they’re usually very chubby, or very skinny and undeveloped.”

“Ah,” I said, perking up a bit.

“And the good ones, the really good ones, they usually have chewed-down fingernails and a perpetually nervous look about them.”

“But you don’t get that sense from me?”

She glanced at me again. “No. You seem far too confident, maybe even cocky.” She let that sink in, then followed with: “I should tell you I’m the case officer for your trial. I was brought here to keep an eye on things for the Agency.”

“And what nice eyes they are,” I said, flirt that I am.

She gave me a weary look as she pulled the sedan into a parking place in front of the officers’ club. We got out and she started walking in a way and at a pace that indicated she did a lot of speedwalking in her spare time. I followed her like a panting poodle up some steps and through a set of double doors into a small, comfortable lobby. She led me through a dining room that was completely barren of customers, then through another set of double doors and into a back room.

Buzz Mercer sat there, feet up on a table, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, talking on a mobile phone that was far too big and clunky to be a commercial model. It had to be a secure phone. The moment I entered, he lowered his voice, murmured a few things, then uttered a swift good-bye and hung up.

He could’ve been ordering a pizza, for all I knew. CIA folks are like that — so secretive, it’s beyond hilarious.

“Have seats,” he said to Carol and me. So we did.

He examined my face a moment, then said, “I’m sorry to hear about Merritt.” He didn’t look real sorry, but then, why should he?

“Yeah, it’s an awful thing. He’s pretty beat-up, from what I hear.”

“He slipped into a coma about twenty minutes ago.”

“That sounds worse.”

His eyebrows did this tiny shrugging thing. “Well, they’ve got the internal bleeding under control. The coma aside, at least he’s not gonna bleed to death.”

“Since you seem so well-informed, you got any idea who did it?”

He bent forward and put his elbows on the table. “Drummond, there’s forty-six million people in the Republic of Korea. Rule out the ones in wheelchairs, the ones in hospital beds, and all the tots who’re too small to have lifted him and thrown him into the road. That gets your number of suspects down to a nice workable number. Say thirty-five million or so. Oh, and don’t forget the twenty-two million folks up in North Korea.”

“Well, Carlson thinks the South Korean government’s behind it.”

He did that eyebrow-shrugging thing again. “Ten years ago, maybe. But frankly, we don’t see much of that kind of shenanigans anymore. Not since they learned how to spell ‘democracy’ down here, anyway. I’m not saying they didn’t; I’m only saying you better be damned careful with your assumptions.”

“How about the guys up north?”

“Carol and I batted that back and forth, but frankly, we can’t see a fit.”

“But you don’t rule it out?”

“Nope. But like I said, we don’t see a good fit either.”

“So that leaves some anti-American South Korean group. Or maybe some pissed-off vigilantes who can’t get their hands on Whitehall, so they settled for one of his defenders.”

“That’s where I’d put my money. There’re probably plenty of both groups around. The problem for you is, are they done?”

“So you think we’re in physical danger?”

He stood up and walked over to the coffeepot. He poured himself a cup, but didn’t ask if I wanted one. That meant one of two things: He was either a rude bastard, or this meeting was on the cusp of being over.

“I don’t know what to tell ya.”

“How about telling me you’re going to protect us?”

He kept his back turned to me. He was done pouring his cup of coffee, so I wondered what was so damned interesting about the blank wall he was facing.

“That’s not our job,” he finally said. “But if it helps any, we’re watching you.”

“You’re watching us?” I stupidly asked. I mean, he’d just told me we were being watched. But why, if they didn’t intend to protect us?

“How else did you think Carol got to your hotel so fast? She was already in the parking lot.”

“If you were watching us, how come you didn’t see Merritt get tossed?”

He finally turned around and faced me. If I were to choose a metaphor to describe his facial cast, it was like a tiger studying some strange animal he’d never seen before and wondering if it was worth eating.

“Well, it’s only a skeleton crew, so it’s more haphazard than I’d like. He slipped away and we missed it. It would be much simpler if I could put someone in your office. Somehow, though, I don’t think you’ll let me do that.”

He was right. I couldn’t let him do that. Maybe he’d play it straight up and whoever he put inside our office would never whisper a word about how we were managing Whitehall’s defense. Then again, maybe not.

Then Carol explained, “I’ve got three people keeping an eye on you. But that’s all we can spare.”

And I said, “But there’s all us co-counsels, and there’s the legal aides, and then there’s twenty-four hours in a day, and your people have to sleep.”

“I can count, Major. Look at the bright side. My job just got a little easier. Yesterday there were five co-counsels. Today there’s only four.”

I angrily said, “Merritt’s not dead yet.”

“Okay.” She smiled. “Make it four and a half.”

I found that smile really unnerving. She might have nice eyes, but I’d just come to the unwelcome realization she was as coldhearted as a lizard. Maybe tomorrow somebody would toss me off the sixteenth floor of a high-rise, and she and Mercer would be trading high fives and talking about how much easier
I’d
just made their jobs.

I got all puffed up and said, “So that’s it? All you’re going to do is watch?”

“That’s all we’re gonna do,” Mercer blandly admitted. “Our hands are damn full watching the bad guys up north, not to mention trying to keep an eye on our South Korean friends down here. I don’t mean to sound cavalier, Drummond, but this Whitehall thing, it’s way outside our bailiwick.”

And here’s what bothered me about that. If we were way outside his bailiwick, why’d he already have a team of four people watching us?

And that’s the moment when I saw through all the odd glances and double-talk. No wonder Mercer had snuck up to my room in the dead of night. And no wonder Carol Kim and her goons were keeping an eye on us. As far as the CIA was concerned, Carlson and the rest of us were nothing more than expendable pawns in their big game.

It didn’t make a damn whether we lived or died. No, actually, that’s not right: It did make a damn. If somebody
did
bump off a couple of us, and North Korea did have a hand in it, and the CIA was there to watch it happen and be able to prove it — well, that would just be helpful as all get out. To them, anyway.

A few minutes later, Carol dropped me off under the overhang at the hotel entrance. She gave me that chilling smile and said, “Warn the others not to take any unnecessary risks. And stay together as much as you can.”

I very bitterly said, “Do I take it this represents an official warning?”

“That’s right,” she said. “This is your official warning.”

“You know what bothers me?”

“What bothers you?”

“I just can’t figure what a lawyer like you’s doing in the CIA.”

She looked me straight in the eye. “After three years of law school, I decided I didn’t want to practice law. I discovered I didn’t like lawyers.”

“Aha,” I said.

“Aha,” she frostily replied, then drove away.

I went back to my room, tugged another box out of the closet, then sat down to read what Captain Thomas Whitehall said to Chief Warrant Officer Michael Bales on the morning of May 3.

It began with the obligatory reading of rights, then the equally obligatory questions about name, assignment, etcetera. Whitehall waived his rights. He insisted that since he was innocent, he had nothing to hide. Dumb move there, I figured. An innocent man doesn’t protest he’s innocent until somebody accuses him. An innocent man naturally assumes everybody knows he’s guiltless.

Like a skilled interrogator, Bales then spent a few minutes loosening up Whitehall with the standard warm-up questions: where did he live, what was his job, how long had he been in Korea, blah, blah, blah. The real purpose was to get the suspect comfortable giving answers.

Then Bales asked, “Did you know the victim?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know him?”

“We met through a mutual friend. He was a Katusa, and we went shopping together a few times.”

“Were you friends?” Bales asked, and I guessed it was a perfectly innocuous question. At that stage Bales had no way of knowing the circumstances of the death, or about Whitehall’s sexual peccadillos.

“Not friends, no. Acquaintances, really. I didn’t know him well. It was nice having someone who knew Seoul, who could speak the language. He showed me some good places to shop and eat, and helped me bargain on prices with shopkeepers, that kind of thing.”

“What was he doing at your apartment?”

“I invited him.”

“For what purpose?”

“I was having a small party. I thought he might enjoy meeting other Americans.”

“What about Moran and Jackson? Were they your friends?”

“Moran’s a friend. He brought Jackson along.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really ask. I guess he thought Lee and Jackson might hit it off.”

“You’ll excuse me, Captain, but that sounds a little odd. You’re an officer and they’re all enlisted.”

“Not odd at all,” Whitehall insisted. “It’s hardly unusual for officers and senior NCOs to have relationships outside of work. And Lee’s a Korean and had done me some favors. I saw nothing wrong with helping him make more American friends.”

“I guess,” Bales said, and I imagined that his tone was somewhat dubious. “There were a lot of empty bottles in your apartment. Was there drinking?”

“I served refreshments.”

“Alcohol?”

“Yes, sure. Why not? They’re all grown-ups.”

“Drugs?”

“I don’t like the nature of that question.”

“Captain, a man was murdered in your apartment. You’re going to get lots of difficult questions. Now please answer. Were there drugs?”