Hidden Moon

5

The man in the brown suit was leaning against the wall when I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see his face in the shadow, but his posture was one of patience. There was nothing aggressive about it, not a hint of tension. That might have been soothing, except I sensed he had been watching me for some time, and being under observation put me on edge whether I was walking on the street or tied up in a chair. “You slept well, Inspector?” he asked solicitously.

The word “bastard” rose up through the fog in my mind. “I’ve slept better.”

“It isn’t easy to sleep sitting up that way, I realize. But it can be done. I did it, others have done it, I knew you could, too. In any event, while you slept, I was busy working.”

I looked down and was surprised to see my hands on my lap. They were completely numb.

“Feeling will return in the next few minutes, don’t worry. But don’t let them fall off your lap just yet, lest they detach themselves from your wrists and clatter to the floor. I don’t think we have the means to put them back.” He chuckled and let a few beams of light strike his lips. “I’m only joking.” There must be marks on the floor; I never saw anyone who could judge distance so precisely.

“You were working while I slept, and what were the results, if I may ask a question.”

“A good question, one I might ask if I were you. I discovered that you were right, you are the wrong person.”

“So, it’s good-bye, then.” I started to get up, but a hand behind me pulled me back onto the chair.

“You are the wrong person, Inspector, but that still leaves a question.”

“No, I don’t know who the right person is.”

“Ah. You don’t know who the right person is. Good, then we are a team; we are on the same side of ignorance. In that case, why don’t we establish some common perceptions? Maybe we can help each other.”

“That’s unlikely, but what did you have in mind?”

“First of all, I have a chart I’d like to show you.” He took a paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it. After studying it for a moment, he sighed. “It has a number of blanks, troubling blank spots. I’m not yet sure where to put you, for example.” The chart came out of the darkness and was dropped on my lap. When I could move my arms and my fingers, I picked it up.

“You forgot my grandfather.”

“No, Inspector, I know you are the grandson of a Hero of the Revolution, but he died a long time ago, and if I don’t put a time limit on these charts, they get too big. That’s why your parents don’t appear, either. They died during the war; if I notated everyone connected to you who died during the war, we’d run short of paper. Let the dead rest in peace, Inspector; we have enough problems with the living.”

“Fine.” I glanced at the chart again. “It looks alright.”

“Actually, it errs on the thin side, but that’s deliberate. If I asked you to study it carefully, you might add one or two acquaintances and then think it was done. People have a tendency to feel they only know a few other people, but the interconnections over time are actually quite complex, especially for someone like you.”

“Someone like me,” I repeated. That did not have a good sound to it. My heart was starting to beat so loudly, I thought for sure both the man in the brown suit and the mastiff behind me could hear it. A bomb had been dropped; they were waiting for me to react. In so many words, I had been told that the shield my grandfather’s status had provided all these years was suddenly worthless. “Let the dead rest in peace,” the man in the brown suit had said. The only possible conclusion was that someone in the center had decided that my being raised by a Hero of the Revolution-and equally important, my knowledge of the old stories-had become a burden. But why now, all of a sudden? To most people, the appearance and disappearance of protection stemming from the Center seemed whimsical, shifting winds over an ocean of people treading water. But I knew that usually there was nothing whimsical about it. These shifts were almost always a reflection of something important, a failed policy or an unexpected event that the Center saw as a threat. Not a bank robbery, something bigger, much bigger.

“Your work brings you into contact with the sort of people who have, shall we say, threads reaching around the world.” The man in the brown suit let the words cover me, like a net. “Russians, for example. You often have business with Russians?”

Yakob seemed to be on everyone’s list. “Not really.”

“You speak Russian.”

“My grandfather spoke it sometimes.” I wasn’t going to let them discard my grandfather without a fight. “He learned it when he was working against the Japanese, and he taught me. He said if I was going to outsmart the Russians, I had to think like them, and if I was going to think like them, I had to know the language.”

“So, do you think like them?”

“Only when it’s necessary.”

“And when would that be?”

“Let’s stop dancing around the forest. I never met that stocking salesman before. I was looking for information that was germane to a case I’m investigating.” The man in brown must know about the bank robbery, but I wasn’t going to be the first to raise it. “I had a tip he might have what I needed.”

“Did he?”

“Good question. Maybe, yes.”

“Let me give you a piece of advice, Inspector. Stay away from that Russian.”

“Everyone tells me that.”

“Don’t pay attention to everyone, Inspector, just pay attention to me.”

I looked down at the chart and saw the name Chon Yu Mae, with the words “Gold Star” next to it. So, at least now I knew Miss Chon’s full name. She must have had a file after all, even if SSD couldn’t find it. Miss Chon’s name was connected by a dotted line to someone named Pang.

“May I ask a question?”

“Please do, Inspector.”

“Who is Pang?”

“The manager of the Club Blue.”

“Why is he connected to Miss Chon?”

“You didn’t know? They are very close. She spends a lot of time at his place, most nights, actually. It probably shouldn’t be a dotted line.”

No, I thought, it probably shouldn’t be. Yang’s name was on the chart, along with everyone else in the office, and even the chain of command up to the Minister. Also on the chart were my apartment neighbors, the man who fixed my bicycle tire, and my brother, whom I rarely saw. Off to the side, not connected to anyone, in a box drawn with red ink was Han Gun So-who, I supposed, was Lieutenant Han from SSD. Also, as the man said, there were a number of boxes left blank. One of them was labeled “Prague,” in a different handwriting.

“I need you to sign it, just so we know you looked at it carefully.”

I flexed my shoulders and wiggled each of my fingers. “I don’t think I can hold a pen yet. You realize, this might be easier if I knew what you were looking for.”

The man in the brown suit pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Yes, and it would certainly be even easier if I knew what I was looking for.” He held out a cigarette. “Perhaps holding one of these will help your fingers, Inspector. Here, I can light it for you.”

I shook my head.

“Well, as you wish. I’m told you prefer wood to cigarettes. Odd. Any reason?”

Something told me this was about to take off in the wrong direction. I wiggled my fingers again.

“Alas,” he said, “we have no wood around here, nothing suitable, anyway. By the way, where do you get this wood you prefer, Inspector?” It was a curious question, but the man had not followed a particular line ever since he opened his mouth. Mostly he had been setting up, marking off our boundaries.

“Scrap wood; you run across it here and there if you are looking for it.” I didn’t think that would exhaust his interest in the subject.

“And you are, I assume, looking for scrap wood. All domestic wood, from our forests?”

“That I wouldn’t know. I don’t go out and chop things down, if that’s what you mean.”

“You never deal in foreign wood, of the Siberian variety, for example?”

“I’m not partial to Russian wood, no. In any case, forests don’t pay attention to national boundaries. There’s no such thing as Russian wood, or Chinese wood, or”-I paused a fraction while I considered whether this would get me on the wrong foot-“or Korean wood.”

“Forests do not follow boundaries; trees are not particularly concerned with ethnicity or social systems-is that what you are saying, Inspector? I should note that for future reference.”

“Do you want me to say whether I think some countries have better trees than we do?”

A low chuckle came out of the darkness. “What about ash, Inspector?” the man in the brown suit said after a moment. “I’m interested, how would you describe the wood from the ash tree?”

I ran through the possibilities. At least this was specific. Maybe he was getting at something, finally. “Strong, flexible, lots of uses. Very friendly tree, grows quickly. You can use it for furniture, veneer mostly.” I felt a tapping on my shoulder; I didn’t have to turn to know what it was. “It can be used for sticks and clubs of all sorts. You can beat someone with it. Most people will break before the stick does.”

He lit a cigarette. “And the Sogdian ash?”

I watched his fingers as they cupped the flame, so it would not light up his face.

“Couldn’t say. I never saw one.”

“Is that so? The Sogdian ash grows in Central Asia, Inspector. One of the largest remaining forests of these lovely trees”-a puff of smoke drifted into the light-“is in Kazakhstan.”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. So, we had arrived. “Is there a question in there for me, somewhere?” I could feel the club resting on my right shoulder. The man in the brown suit shook his head. The club moved to my left side.

“We don’t get a lot of Sogdian ash in this country, would you think?”

“I have no way of knowing.” The club bounced, not hard, but I could feel the effect down to my fingertips. I exhaled slowly. “I wouldn’t think there would be a lot of anything from Kazakhstan in this country.”

“No, you’re probably right, not much. But perhaps more than one might expect. By the way, have you ever been to Prague, Inspector?”

Another question out of nowhere; it might have jolted me more, but I’d seen the box on the chart. And he knew I’d seen it. “It says so on the chart. I must have been there at some point.”

The man in the brown suit clucked his tongue. “People forget many things,” he said, “but they know when they have been abroad, when they have held in their hands a passport that permits them to cross the border. Passports, by the way, are stamped, Inspector. Shall we have a look?”

“I didn’t say I’d forgotten.” I thought of Yakob’s passport stamps. Mine at least were real, even if they weren’t accurate. “It isn’t a mystery where I’ve been. It’s all a matter of record; every won I spent is accounted for.”

“No one doubts your financial probity, Inspector. Would you say there are thorough reports on everyone you met in Prague?”

“Of course.”

“Of course.” I didn’t care for his tone. “So when word reaches us that in Prague several years ago you met with a member of British intelligence, and there is nothing about that in your trip report, we can assume… well, what can we assume, Inspector?”

I contemplated the situation. The mantle of my grandfather’s protection was in grave doubt. Now they were suggesting I was a traitor. Only the British knew I had met a man who called himself Richie Molloy in Prague, that we had talked for a few hours, that I had given him information on a colonel from the Military Security Command who had been responsible for many deaths and whom I was determined to destroy. If the man in the brown suit had heard even faint echoes about the meeting, it could only be because the British wanted him to hear it. And they must have wanted it because they knew that, when word got to the right people in Pyongyang, I would be squeezed. Then, they hoped in their European way, I would come running to them. They were wrong, of course. I wouldn’t come over to them. But unless I convinced the man in the brown suit it was false information, I would probably never get a chance to tell the British to fuck themselves, which at the moment I fervently wanted to do. The ash club tapped me on the hip bone. The pain radiated down to my leg and up into my chest. I gasped for air.

“Prague, Inspector, that was my question.”

“Well, there won’t be any answers if that club touches me again.”

The man in the brown suit waited.

“I need a drink of water.”

He nodded from the shadows, and a glass was held in front of me. I took a swallow, shook my head to clear my thoughts. “I was in Prague on a courier run for my ministry. There are reports in the file describing everyone I met. The embassy had someone with me the whole time. You can probably check that in their logs. If I had disappeared for even a few minutes, it would have been noted.” The embassy had lost track of me for half a night, but they didn’t dare admit it. They didn’t care; I was just another visitor, and they didn’t want to use their funds to look after me. But I didn’t have to tell that to the man in brown; either he already knew it, or he didn’t.

“I think we are getting somewhere, wouldn’t you say, Inspector? Perhaps it’s time for a break. You must be fatigued.”

Only an interrogator with bad things in mind would say “fatigued.” I wanted to get this over and, if it was still possible, go home. “I’m wide-awake. There’s no reason to take a break, though if there is a toilet nearby, I could use it.” My hip ached; I needed to walk, maybe splash some water on my face, get out of the suffocating gloom of this room.

“Of course, of course.” The man in the brown suit nodded.