A Corpse in the Koryo

2

Song Chon Kun, the local security man, was about fifty years old, tall, very fit, a firm handshake and a winning smile. I did not like him. It did not help his case that I knew about his singing ability. His speaking voice was rich and melodious, and he used it dramatically. Another black mark. "Nice to see you up here, Inspector," he said, cocking his head slightly as if he expected me to break into an aria in reply.

"Business brings me here, not pleasure. Official business, the capital investigative body." I figured inflating my rank a little might wipe the smile off his face. He only beamed all the more.

"Then it is a true pleasure, a true pleasure." His hair was dyed, a shade too dark. Most young girls didn't have shining black hair like that, much less a middle-aged security officer at a resort hotel, never mind how easy his job was. "Anything I can do, anything at all. My humble resources are at your disposal."

This must be his Japanese upbringing. Either his resources were at my disposal or they were not. Humble didn't make a damned bit of difference. "I will need your discretion, your knowledge of the surrounding countryside, and your memories about anything unusual over the past two or three weeks. This pertains to a murder investigation in the capital."

Song's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second. He realized I was not going to share very much with him, and he was not used to being squeezed for information. Hyangsan was rated as a special area, and that gave Song special privileges. He could sense I was threatening his cozy existence. His voice lost its golden cover for the briefest moment, then regained it as quickly. "Let's get away from the hotel and go down by the river, where we can talk."

We walked the whole way in silence. A little small talk about the weather wouldn't have cost either of us anything, but I figured he was sore at me. That was alright; it meant he was on edge, probably trying to figure out how much damage I could do if he didn't answer my questions.

When we got to the river he faced the water, his back to the hotel.

The water pounding over the rocks was even louder than it had been earlier in the morning and was throwing up a spray.

"I apologize, Inspector, for seeming rude, but I didn't want to speak until we were standing here. It makes it hard for them to calibrate the microphones up there on the balcony."

Alright, so I had misjudged him; his voice didn't detract from his critical faculties as much as I'd thought. "We don't go in much for technical stuff in the Ministry, so I assume they aren't our mikes," I said.

On a hot July day the spray might have been refreshing. Now it was just damp.

Song took out his handkerchief and mopped his face. "Gesture toward the river or up the mountain, would you? Otherwise they're going to become suspicious."

I stabbed my finger at the top of one of the hills. Song laughed, a rich baritone laugh. "No need to be too theatrical, Inspector. Now, you have some questions for me? You are quite an expert on our pine trees, I hear." Okay, so I had doubly misjudged him. He had already talked to the tall guide.

"I take it those mikes aren't here all the time. Something special going on?"

Song's hand pointed for a moment at the largest boulder midstream and then moved languidly in a smooth motion toward a bird in the trees, "See that rock?" I saw that the top had been chipped recently.

"I hose fools wanted to put a remote microphone on there, disguise it with some leaves or something. I told them it was crazy, that as soon as it rained and the river rose, it would wash away. Two of them tried it anyway. One of them fell into the river and broke his shoulder. Had to be carted away. The other five decided to take my advice."

That explained why the guide saw five, not six, Military Security monkeys climbing the hill. There were two whole teams originally.

"What are they doing up here now? They aren't checking up on tourists or the hotel staff with remote microphones." Song didn't respond. "So who is the target? And I'll know if you are screwing with me."

Song picked up a small stone from the riverbank and threw it into the water. "In the time I've been here, we had this sort of thing once before.

Two years ago." He paused. "No, three. You remember the nephew of a Politburo member who held some position in the party's Youth League? He was forever bouncing up here to 'rest,' but he never rested. He was always meeting people, Chinese businessmen in plaid shirts, Koreans from Japan with extra-oiled hair. Automobiles would come up from Pyongyang, carrying girls, always discreet, never more than one in each car." Song started moving up the riverbank, in small steps, keeping his back to the hotel. "About three or four months after the first visit by this guy, a captain from Military Security showed up.

Real mean son of a bitch."

Song's voice was too mellifluous for such vocabulary; it made his curses sound like compliments. "His name is Kim," I said. "Short haired snake, eyes sort of sharp, like little kitchen knives."

"Yes, that's the one." Song looked over at me and then pointed downstream. "You know him, I take it."

I was soaked from the spray; the sky was clouding over and the wind picking up. "I don't suppose there is someplace other than this riverbank where we can talk?"

Song pointed up the side of the hill. "We could go up there, if you don't mind the climb. That's where the other five security-"

"Finish what you were saying about Kim first." I didn't want to get onto the subject of the pine trees just yet. "And get to the point."

Song shrugged. "It's your session. Whatever you wish." He thought a moment. "Kim walked around the grounds. Sometimes he'd corner one of the staff members. They were all terrified, the way he stared at them.

I kept out of his way but picked up bits and pieces of what he was unearthing.

The nephew was involved in a smuggling operation. Cars mostly, used luxury cars from Japan that were driven across the border into China where they got double, even triple the price and paid no tax.

There were rumors the operation was greased with South Korean intelligence money, Kim figured he would set a trap for the nephew, bag a Politburo member, and take over the operation for himself."

My shoes were wet, and it was always hard to dry them out completely.

I'd be walking in these hills feeling that dampness for days.

"Then what?"

"Nothing."

"No, not nothing. The cars kept coming, didn't they?"

"Maybe."

"Every other Thursday, in the afternoon, another car."

"Who told you?"

"I do my job, you do yours, if you still have one when I'm through with you. When I ask you a question, don't tell me 'nothing.' "

Song's face got a funny look-some fear, a touch of loathing, then the sickening realization that his fate was in someone else's hands. Only I didn't want his fate in my hands.

"When did the cars stop coming?"

"Last week of June nothing showed up. Nothing at all in July.

That's when the Military Security teams arrived. I figured something was wrong."

"Kim's paying you off, isn't he?"

Song looked away.

"I asked you a question."

"I don't work for him."

"But you take his money."

"You think things are easy here, Inspector?"

"You've kept this to yourself until now, didn't even let the Ministry have a hint, didn't send in an anonymous report, didn't ask someone up here for a beer. Nothing." If I didn't get into a hot bath and some dry clothes pretty soon, I'd catch a cold that would stay with me until April.

I stepped over to Song, put my arm around his shoulder in what would look like a friendly gesture to whoever might still be interested in our conversation and squeezed until he winced. "I'm going back to my room. If you have anything else to tell me, anything you left out accidentally on purpose, you better spill it before I leave here, or you and your velvet throat are going to be singing with the canaries in a deep, dark mine with other greedy local police. They have a special place assigned for people who served in cushy spots like this."

I released my grip, turned toward the hotel balcony and nodded slightly, and then walked up the path to the hotel. By the time I reached the steps to the front door, it was raining hard. When I looked back at the river, Song was still there, gesturing now and then at the mountain in front of him. As far as I could tell, he wasn't singing.