Ping-Pong Heart

– 32-

The next morning in the 8th Army CID office, Ernie and I did our best to avoid the Provost Marshal. We didn’t want to answer his questions. Not yet. The accusations against Captain Blood and the 501st were so fantastic that we didn’t expect anyone to believe them. Taking money from a North Korean agent was too much to even be mentioned until we had proof.

Riley was talking to someone on the phone and then he said, “Okay. I’ll check,” and slammed down the receiver.

“What’d you guys do with Fenton?”

“What?”

“That was one of the nurses from the One Two One Evac, mad as hell, wanted to know if you guys helped him leave the recovery ward.”

“He’s not there?”

“That’s why she called. Said two CID pukes were snooping around the One Two One the night before last. Couldn’t have been you two, could it?”

“We were there,” I said.

“Then what’d you do with him?”

Ernie stirred sugar into a mug of hot coffee. “I know what I would’ve liked to do with him.”

“When did they notice he was missing?” I asked.

“At roll call last night. The nurse on night duty remembered you two being there.”

“Smart cookie,” I said. “But we didn’t help him get away. When we left he was still in bed number three.”

“So you’re saying he took off by himself?”

I didn’t answer. “By the way,” I asked, “where’s Miss Kim?”

Her desk was empty.

“You guys oughtta get to work on time, maybe then you’d know what the hell is going on.”

Ernie set down his coffee cup. “What is it?”

“Who the hell do you think is in there with the Provost Marshal?”

“Miss Kim?”

Riley shook his head at us like we were hopelessly deficient in every positive attribute, especially brains. Before he could answer, Colonel Brace, the Provost Marshal of the 8th United States Army, stormed out of his office.

“Sueno,” he said. “Bascom. Both of you get in here. Now!”

We hurried in. When I saw her, sitting in one of the comfortable leather armchairs, I nearly stumbled and fell flat on my face. Instead, I steadied myself with the doorknob, and as I hesitated, Ernie bumped into me. We must’ve looked like two stooges.

I stepped forward, knelt, and took both her frail hands in mine. I didn’t even have to ask the question. She looked into my eyes and started crying.

Colonel Brace followed us in. “You’ve already met, I see. This is Miss Kim’s mother.” She looked smaller, much paler now than when she’d served us tea at her house.

The Colonel stood upright, as if concentrating on maintaining his posture, and then barked, “You will, immediately if not sooner, commence a search for that young lady. And I don’t need to tell you that you will find her. Is that understood?”

Ernie and I answered in synchrony. “Understood, sir.”

The Head Dispatcher at 21 T Car checked his records. “Yeah,” he said. “Replacement vehicle. Before they have three-quarter-ton, all totaled. Last night he check out ’nother three-quarter-ton.”

“Let me see the register.”

He turned it toward me. Fenton, Spec Four.

“Thanks,” I said.

Ernie was about to start complaining about his new jeep when I grabbed his arm. “No time,” I said.

“Why? They’re gone. What’s your rush?”

I’d never seen Ernie like this. It was as if he were suffering from shock, unable to process that Miss Kim had been taken.

Her mother had told us that Fenton showed up at their home late last night and ordered Miss Kim to come with him. When she said no, Blood climbed over the front gate, pushed their hooch door in and proceeded to tie her up, gag her and carry her out to the truck. Her mother watched all of this helplessly as Fenton held a gun to her head.

Ernie was yelling now. “What’s the freaking rush? We don’t have any idea where they took her.”

“So we start searching,” I said, “that’s the rush.”

I was about to punch him, hoping that would calm him down. Instead, he shook his head, took a deep breath, and said, “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

We topped off the jeep and drove to Headquarters Company of the 501st Military Intelligence Battalion. The building was locked down, the heavy metal doors padlocked from the outside. But Riley had called in some favors, and a detail from the Post Engineers arrived just as we did. With crowbars and bolt cutters, they started in on the door. Within minutes it creaked angrily, then swung open as Ernie and I entered, guns drawn.

The place was empty. We switched on the lights and did a quick sweep of every room, including the Orderly Room, Commander’s Office and even the small phone booth with its classified satellite connection to D.C. No one there. I searched Captain Blood’s desk, but found nothing that could help us locate Miss Kim. I pulled back the curtain covering the giant map on the wall. It was a mosaic of smaller Army-issue maps that, when pasted together, covered the entire southern half of the Korean Peninsula. I studied it carefully.

In yesterday’s interrogation, Nam had mentioned the biggest deal of his career, which involved the former US Army Anti-Aircraft Artillery base of Camp Arrow. I found it on the map. It sat atop a line of hills just south of the Imjin River, near Liberty Bridge. Its mission had been to defend the bridge from air attack and, just as importantly, stop enemy aircraft as they flew past on their way to the capital city of Seoul. Advances in anti-aircraft-artillery technology and the overwhelming American superiority in air power had made the placement of Camp Arrow obsolete. As a result, it was one of the first base camps abandoned by the US military during drawdown. Still, because of its lack of strategic importance, the ROK Army didn’t want it, and because it was in such a remote location, no civilian buyer could be found. According to Nam, Blood had made a point of inspecting the facility and even moved some equipment in, which was how Nam had originally met him.

What Camp Arrow did provide was a clear view of the traffic, mostly military, crossing Liberty Bridge. That’s when Mr. Nam found a real buyer. An agent for an anonymous Korean man he later came to know as Commander Ku contacted him about renting space on the compound. It would be an excellent produce transshipment point, he claimed. Nam didn’t see how it could be, pushed right up against a tributary of the Imjin River like it was, and in that area, the northern side of the river was used strictly for military training, so no agriculture was allowed. But as they say in Korea, “Sonnim-un wang ida.” The customer is king. So he didn’t argue. When Commander Ku became aware that the seller was the 501st MI, he insisted on meeting Captain Blood. After Blood took a few interviews with Commander Ku’s men, according to Mr. Nam, the two went into business together.

Each Army-issue map composing the mosaic was about three feet by three feet. I reached up and grabbed the one held in place with a red pin representing Camp Arrow. Carefully, I pried loose rows of staples until I was able to pull that section of the map off the wall.

“That’s where they went,” I said.

“How do you know?”

I pointed to the contours of the ridgeline. “You could hold off an army from there.”

“That’s why they put Camp Arrow there in the first place,” Ernie said.

“He’s waiting for us.”

“Why?”

“To deal.”

“Deal for what?”

“Miss Kim’s life.”

The phone rang. Ernie and I looked at one another. It rang again. I reached for it.

“Sueno,” I answered.

“If you want to see her alive, you’re going to call off the KNPs. And I want Nam brought up here to me. Now.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You’re not stupid, Sueno.”

So my hunch was correct. Even if Nam had signed a statement that implicated Captain Blood in espionage, it was just a piece of paper. Eliminate the live witness, and a good attorney could go to work to destroy the credibility of a statement that they’d claim was signed under duress. So Mr. Nam was the key to this whole mess. What Captain Blood wanted to do now was put a bullet into Nam’s skull and throw him into the Imjin River.

“If we bring Nam, you’ll turn Miss Kim over to us?”

“That’s the deal. But only you and Nam. No KNPs.” He confirmed that he was at Camp Arrow.

“I need my driver.”

Ernie winced.

“No dice,” Blood replied. “You and Nam. That’s it.”

“How am I supposed to pry him loose from the KNPs?”

“You’re a clever guy, Sueno. You’ll think of something. Eighth Army has clout with the Korean government.”

“Okay,” I said. “But it’ll take time to convince them to turn him over to us and drive up there. At least a couple of days.”

“You have until twenty hundred hours.” Eight p.m. “Tonight. If you’re not here by then, we’ll toss what’s left of her in the river.”

“I want to talk to her,” I said.

Instead, there was a scream so loud even Ernie could hear it. Blood hung up.

“Who screamed?” Ernie asked. When I didn’t answer, he said again, “Who screamed?”

“Easy, Ernie,” I warned.

But the answer sat uneasily, weighing on both of our chests. The voice unmistakably belonged to Miss Kim, and we had just a few hours to save her.