The Geneva Trap

Chapter 37

At this time of the evening Queensway was crowded with after-work shoppers. The cold wind and rain which had lingered all week, a reminder that winter wasn’t long over, had now given way to a warm southerly breeze and clear skies. As dusk fell traces of pink mingled in the sky with the yellow of the streetlights.

Andy Bokus found Ujin Wong waiting for him at a table in the back of the dim sum restaurant. Bokus had come straight from Grosvenor Square and wore a suit, but Wong was dressed trendily in a cotton jacket and black turtleneck – he could have been a film director, designer or the owner of an art gallery. To Bokus, as they shook hands, Wong was practically unrecognisable from the timid youth he had first known.

‘It’s been a long time,’ said Bokus, thinking of their last meeting in Washington. Wong had been seconded to the Agency as part of the exchange programme with close allies, and Bokus had been his mentor for a month. At that time the Korean had spoken poor English and had been very shy; it was difficult to know just what the hell to do with him. After a week, Bokus had been counting the days until he was shot of the guy.

Bokus was also tasked with looking after his visitor outside work. He was damned if he was going to take him to the theatre, or lead him, uncomprehending, through the halls of a museum. Instead, almost out of desperation, he took him along to FedExField in Maryland to watch a Redskins football game – Bokus had season tickets.

To his complete surprise, Wong had taken to American football at once, hollering for the Skins with the best of them, and cheering like mad each time they scored a touchdown. Most important, he had matched Bokus beer for beer, which for Bokus was always a good sign in anyone.

After that, he took a belated look at Wong’s file, and discovered that the Korean had already experienced more misery in his life than Bokus was ever likely to. Both his parents had been killed by a North Korean incursion when he was little more than a baby; his childhood had been spent in an orphanage. But he was a plucky little guy, who was working hard to improve his English and was willing to pitch in with anything Bokus threw his way. By the time Wong’s secondment had ended, he and Bokus had become firm friends.

‘We must mark this occasion,’ Wong said now, motioning to a waiter. ‘Two Tsingtao,’ he ordered.

‘I heard you were coming here,’ said Bokus. ‘When did you arrive?’

‘Last month. They asked me to take things slowly – we’re pretty low-profile in this country. I was going to call you though.’

They reminisced for a while and exchanged news of their respective families. Then Bokus said, ‘You’ll have to come out to the house for dinner one night. But I wanted to see you alone this time. I’ve got a little business I could use your help on. Strictly unofficial, if you don’t mind.’

‘Okay. Tell me about it.’

The waiter arrived with their Chinese beers and a trolley loaded with dim sum, and Bokus waited while they were each served. Then, after taking a large gulp of beer, he said, ‘There’s a guy from your agency seconded to the MOD here. He was vetted by us two years ago for a secondment to Langley. He was clean then…’

Wong raised an eyebrow. ‘But now?’

‘Let’s just say we’re not sure. The Brits are convinced he’s up to something but they don’t know what or who with.’

Wong nodded, pursing his lips. ‘You said he’d been vetted two years ago?’

‘Yeah. But our vetting has to depend a lot on the information you guys supply.’

‘Meaning?’ asked Wong, bristling.

‘Ujin, relax. You guys are as good as we are at this sort of thing. Which means occasionally both of us slip up. I’m not saying that’s happened here – in fact, I’d put money on this guy being clean. But the Brits are on my case, and I need to know for sure, if I’m going to tell them they’re wrong. You can understand.’

Wong nodded, a little reluctantly. ‘So what do you want me to do?’

Bokus poked awkwardly with his chopsticks at a dumpling, held it up slowly, then snapped at it before it could escape and started chewing. Between chomps he said, ‘I want you to get your people to take another look. I could do it through my channels, go to Langley, have them request it officially, then sit over here on my fat ass and wait. But I haven’t got time for that. Like I say, the Brits are pressing me. I have my own ideas about their problem, but they’re not going to listen to me until I erase their own suspicions.’

Wong signalled the waiter for two more beers. ‘So who is it you want to know about?’

Bokus reached inside his suit jacket and took out a small envelope which he put down on the table and pushed across to Wong. ‘His name’s Park Woo-jin. There’s a mug shot and enough personal details in there to find him in your database.’

Wong ignored the envelope. ‘Is this a very senior guy?’

‘Not at all. He’s just a computer gnome working in the MOD’s systems division. He’s good – they wouldn’t have sent him here otherwise – but not a big cheese.’

Wong laughed. ‘I never understood that expression, you know. But then, we Koreans don’t eat much cheese. Anyway, I’ll talk to some people back in Seoul. Is there anything else I should know about this guy?’

‘Don’t think so.’ Bokus added, more casually than he felt, ‘The one thing you might want to look for is some Russian connection. Like I say, I doubt our friend here – ’ and he gestured at the envelope which lay untouched near Wong’s plate ‘ – is the guy the Brits are looking for. But if he is, I’d give you odds he’s got some SVR tie-up.’

Wong looked at him inscrutably. Bokus realised that the guy had grown up; there was nothing kid-like or unconfident about the Korean now. He said, ‘That’s twice you’ve offered to put money on this guy being clean, Andy. But I guess you’re not that sure yourself.’

Bokus frowned, and Wong went on cheerfully, ‘Anyway, how did the Skins do this year?’