The Expediter (32 page)

It was nearly noon by the time by the time the police car came down the highway from Ich’on, and made a U-turn directly in front of Kim and stopped. Both cops got out and walked back to her.

“Where are you going?” one of them asked. Both men were short and slightly built, their uniforms hanging on their frames.

“To Pyongyang.”

“On foot?”

“No,” Kim said, taking her identification card out of her pocket and handing it over. “Whoever you telephone after you arrest and question me will come out to fetch me.” Her heart was beating rapidly and her mouth was dry. For this to work these country cops had to be willing to stick their necks out a little, something that wasn’t often done up here in the North.

The cop who’d taken her card glanced down at it and his eyes suddenly went wide and he fumbled for his pistol on his hip. “You’re a spy!” he shouted.

“No,” Kim said, trying to keep her voice calm. She raised her hands over her head. She’d didn’t want to get shot to death by some fool cop after coming this far.

“You’re from the South,” the other cop accused her. Both of them had their pistols out now and pointed at her.

“I’ve come across with some information that your Safety and Security Agency in Pyongyang is going to be real interested in. But they’ll be needing it right away.”

“How did you get across the border?” the first cop asked.

“I found a tunnel,” Kim said. “Listen to me, this is about General Ho’s assassination last week and the trouble with China.”

The cops were looking at her like she was from Mars. “Search her for weapons,” the one who’s been driving ordered.

The second cop holstered his weapon, but did not secure the flap before he came over and frisked her, his hands lingering on her breasts, and on her crotch. He was a moron, and Kim thought how simple it would be to grab his pistol and using his body as a shield kill the other cop and then him. But she endured the search without saying or doing a thing.

“Nothing,” the cop said.

Kim took the small amount of money she’d brought over out of her pocket. “You forgot this,” she said, holding it out.

The cop who’d frisked her snatched it out of her hand.

“Now, I’ve come a long way and I’m tired and hungry.”

The cop still holding the pistol on her glanced again at the ID card. “How do I know this isn’t a forgery?”

Kim couldn’t believe what was happening. “Why the hell would I fake a South Korean national identity card and give it to the first North Korean cop I saw?”

“So that we’d take you to jail and feed you.”

“Listen to my accent, you idiots. Do I sound like I’m from here?”

“We’ll keep her money,” the second cop suggested.

“And this fake identity card,” the other one said.

It was like being in a comedy and if she hadn’t been so frightened she would have laughed at them. Suddenly she spat on the pavement in front of them. “Fuck Dear Leader,” she said.

The cop raised his pistol and pointed it directly at her head, and she raised her hands higher.

“My name is Huk Kim, I know who ordered General Ho assassinated, and at this moment my husband Soon is being held in Pyongyang as a suspect in the shooting. If you don’t want to feed me some of your fine grass soup, at least take me to jail and inform your superior officer who I am before it’s too late.”

“I think it’s already too late for you,” the cop with the pistol said. “Whoever you are and wherever you’ve come from you’ll soon learn
that your humor is not appreciated. But you’ll get your wish to get to jail, and so will all your family when we round them up.”

“No wonder you’re starving to death up here,” Kim said.

The second cop pulled her arms behind her back, roughly cuffed her, and shoved her in the backseat of the blue-and-white cruiser. She had survived the DMZ and now these cops without being shot, but the ball was in their court. It was possible that they would put her in a cell and leave her there until they figured she would finally tell them who she really was.

But there was no time. Everyone in the world was talking about the assassination and the possibility of war, but here no one knew a thing. It was pitiful. And frightening. All she needed was for one more piece of luck, a cop downtown who would dare to make a call to Pyongyang about her. It was her only hope.

Pak drove back to his office down the middle lane reserved for official traffic, keeping his silence all the way. They were passed through the gate by the sentries and went immediately around to the rear of the massive granite building and parked. Pak shut off the car and turned to McGarvey.

“Who were you talking to on your satellite phone?” he asked. “Somebody at the CIA?”

McGarvey figured there was no use lying. He nodded. “A friend.”

“What money trail? And what’s this about missing something all along? Would you care to explain?”

“Assassinations cost a lot of money. We think that wherever it’s
coming from might be funneled through a bank or banks in Prague.”

“That’s nothing new,” Pak said. “What have you been missing all along?”

“The obvious, Colonel, who’s supplying the cash and more important, why.”

Pak stared at him for a moment or two. “Then you believe me.”

“I think that you’ve told me the truth, so far as you know it.”

“But there’s more,” Pak said.

“There always is,” McGarvey replied and he started to open the door, but Pak stopped him.

“I meant that General Ho’s assassination was just part of something much bigger. Is that what you’re thinking?”

“I want to see Huk Soon now.”

“Goddammit, we’re fighting for our lives here,” Pak said, and McGarvey could hear genuine fear in the man’s voice. “It doesn’t matter what you think of my country, you understand what’s at stake here. We asked for your help and you came.”

“That’s right, but before I go back to Washington with this I’m going to make damned sure of what really happened here. And to do that I’ll need to talk to Huk Soon.”

Pak hesitated. “You’ll need to leave your pistol at the security desk. No weapons are allowed in the cell area.”

“Then get him dressed and bring him up here,” McGarvey said. “We can go for a walk away from the tape recorders.”

“You must be crazy.”

“No, but I’m getting sick of arguing with you. Either bring him up here so that I can talk to him with no one listening—so that he believes no one is listening—or take me back to Wonsan so I can catch the ferry. The sooner I’m out of this workers’ paradise of yours the happier I’ll be.”

Pak hesitated again.

“Do it, Colonel. And you and your sergeant can follow us.”

“Where do you think you’re going to take him?”

“Out the gate and across the street to the park, for now.”

“Don’t get out of the car until I return, or you’ll probably be shot,” Pak said. He got out and went into the building.

Sitting back, McGarvey contemplated phoning Rencke again to get more details about the search for the source of the money that was directed to the general in Mexico City for the polonium operation and to Turov in Tokyo for the three assassinations. If the source could be pinned down, they might be able to get a heads up for whatever was coming next. He did not think fomenting a confrontation between China and North Korea was the endgame, nor was smuggling the radioactive material into the States the entire story.

If the situation here did escalate into an exchange of nuclear weapons, and if the polonium was used for mass murder in some major city, maybe New York or Washington again, what else could be coming toward the U.S.?

Islamic fundamentalists were at war with the entire world, against the Hindus, the Jews, and the Christians, and the most worrisome part was that the level of sophistication had risen dramatically since 9/11. Bin Laden dead no longer mattered. A new leadership, willing and able to keep out of the public’s view, even out of sight of their own soldiers, was directing the battles now, and they were good.

Afghanistan and Iraq had been misdirections, as were al-Quaeda’s mountain hideouts on the Pakistan border. The hot spots were constantly shifting—Mexico City, Paris, Tokyo, here—and would continue to do so, leaving the U.S. to fight an enemy that had no headquarters and no clear battle plan that could be met by a counterattack.

But Otto and his machines were working the problem, and McGarvey was certain that if anyone could crack the code it would be Rencke.

Pak and Sergeant Ri emerged from the building, leading a man dressed in a gray jacket buttoned up to the neck, gray slacks, and slippers, and came over to the car as McGarvey got out.

“Huk Soon,” Pak said.

The man’s eyes were slightly glazed, but it didn’t appear as if he had been beaten too badly. He was taller and heavier than either Pak
or the sergeant, and probably in much better physical shape even now.

“Are you up for a walk?” McGarvey asked.

Soon’s eyes widened. “You’re an American,” he said, and he started to say something else, but McGarvey held him off.

“We’ll be alone, no microphones, no jailers, no one to listen to what you have to tell me. Do you understand?”

Soon nodded after a moment.

Ri wanted to argue, but he went ahead and cleared the way with the guards in front, so that McGarvey and Soon were able to walk out and cross the street into a pretty park where people were strolling, some sitting on park benches, others practicing tai chi. McGarvey’s size and Western clothing attracted attention but for the most part people were too polite to stare or come close.

“I’ve seen your wife Kim in Seoul,” McGarvey said.

“She made it okay, that’s good,” Soon replied. He glanced over his shoulder at Pak and Ri who were out of earshot. “You’re American, CIA? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Trying to stop World War III.”

“Did the NIS ask for your help? Have they arrested Kim?”

“We tried but she got away from us, which is too bad for her, because Alexandar Turov, the Russian who hired you, came to Seoul to kill her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We tossed your apartment and found the key to the storage locker. We also found your laptop computer and my people cracked it. We know about all your hits, including the ones in Paris and Tokyo.”

“Now you want to make a deal,” Soon said. “That’s slick. What do I get in return? A ticket out of here?” He shook his head. “That won’t happen, and I’m surprised they let you in, but they probably won’t let you leave.”

“They asked for my help, and I came, not because I give a shit about some two-bit hit man who cares more about money than what might happen because of him. And when I do get out of here, I hope they stick it to you.”

“Point taken. But the question stands, what’s in it for me?”

“Your wife’s life. Or don’t you give a shit about her either?”

Soon looked away and they walked in silence for a little while. “What do you want?”

“Tell me what you know about Turov.”

“I didn’t even know his last name until you told me,” Soon said. “He’s just been a name on an e-mail, and the guy who deposits money in our account.”

“How did you find him?”

“I didn’t. He found us after we did a contract kill for a Korean mafia family.”

“Turov’s just an expediter,” McGarvey said. “Did you ever get a hint who he was working for?”

“I had the idea that whoever hired him had something to gain, otherwise they wouldn’t have spent that kind of money.”

“Who did you figure that would be?”

Soon stopped and looked at him. “The United States, of course,” he said. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“I want you to show me how you and your wife did it.”

Soon nodded over his shoulder. “Think they’re going to allow that?”

“Count on it.”