A Corpse in the Koryo

5

I was at my desk, typing an initial report, when Pak walked in. "You dispatched a guard to the Koryo?"

"I did. The room is a joke, but we might as well preserve what we can."

"On whose authority did you send the guard?"

"Mine. I do it all the time. It was standard procedure, last time I checked. If I ask for permission, we lose a day or two getting approval, by which time a guard is useless."

"I've pulled him."

"You what?"

"Captain Kim said a guard would only attract attention, and he wanted no attention. Also the Foreign Ministry said it would scare the foreign guests."

I yanked the form out of the typewriter. "Then there isn't any sense in starting a file, because there can't be any investigation."

Pak leaned against the edge of my desk. "You seem unhappy these days, Inspector. Nervous, jumpy."

"No, thanks, I'm against another vacation to the border." I sat back in my chair and focused on the molding between the ceiling and the wall. Our offices were in an old building, one of the first to rise from the shattered city after the war as a symbol of defiance and a statement of victory for people who had lost everything. Most of the trim had been stripped off over the years, victory not being all it was made out to be. A little remained, though, miraculously in my office. The molding had been carved by someone who had taken pride in his work, but the features had disappeared under layers and layers of paint. I often promised myself, on quiet afternoons, that I would find a ladder tall enough, climb up and take the molding down, sand off the paint, and restore it to its original glory. Sometimes I thought it was flowers or vines, but it might also be birds in flight. I had to hope it wasn't something foolish, like a line of workers waving tools.

Pak moved to the doorway. "I leave for Kim's lair in fifteen minutes.

You can go partway. We'll stroll by the river. It's too nice to drive." That meant he hadn't received the month's gas ration yet, but he always hated to admit it to me.