The Man with the Baltic Stare

The immigration official in the Prague airport looked at my passport and then at me. Then he looked back at the passport-the fatal second glance. “You have taken an odd routing.”

The tickets had taken me from Hong Kong to Shanghai, then to Madrid, and then back to Prague. “Miles,” I said. “I have a lot of them. A few more and I get a free trip to Copenhagen.”

The immigration official looked closely at one page. He held it up in the booth for me to see through the glass. “You’ve already been to Copenhagen.”

“Sure I have. And I want to go back.” I winked. “If you know what I mean.”

“Don’t disturb the peace here in Prague.” He stamped the passport and handed it back to me. “We aren’t like the Danes.”

From the airport I took a taxi to the hotel where I’d stayed the only other time I’d been in Prague. It was a little more frayed than it had been back then, but so was I. The day was cool but clear, so I decided to take a tram to the river, walk across the bridge, and wander around. Kang-or somebody-went to a lot of trouble to get me here; they could go to a little more trouble if they wanted to find me.

An old man with a hat got on at the next stop. He sat in the seat behind me.

“Long time, Inspector.”

It was Kang. The voice was older, but it was still tough.

“Don’t turn around. We’re getting off soon.” He spoke in Russian. None of the other passengers looked up. The tram swayed around a corner and then stopped. “This is it,” he said. “Walk with me.”

2

We climbed the stairs to an apartment house that looked like the one next to it, and the one next to that. They all looked the same. The door opened before Kang could put his key in the lock.

“Christ on a cloud, Inspector! You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you, Richie.” The stick figure in the doorway was nothing like the man I’d met in this city fifteen years ago. That man had been burly, self-assured, filling the safe house with his presence. This man was wasting away. He was dying. I searched for something to say. “You still have that little silver tape recorder you used last time we saw each other? It didn’t work very well. I’ll bet half of what I told you was lost.”

“Maybe, but we don’t use that stuff anymore. We read brain waves.” He shook my hand. His grip was fragile like one of Colonel Pang’s ancient cups. “Come in and have some tea. I can’t remember-with milk or without?”

Another man stepped into the room. I try not to be judgmental, but he was Russian in the worst way. Put together from ugly discards, and none the happier for it. He stood next to Richie.

“Kulov here is my batman. Kulov, meet the Inspector.”

Kulov extended a meaty hand. “A pleasure, I’m sure,” he said in a low, cultured voice.

A tremor of pain passed over Richie’s face. Kulov watched silently until it passed. “Next time,” he said, “you’ll take the pill when I give it to you. Sit on the sofa. I’ll bring the tea.”

Richie sat down. “Kulov is not full of sympathy. That’s all right; sympathy is the last thing I need. Maybe a week at the baths would do some good. What do you think, Kang?”

Kang was on a stool that looked like it had been shoved into the corner as an afterthought. “How about trying some food now and then? That might help, too.”

“Food I need even less than sympathy.” Richie put his head back and closed his eyes. “So, Comrade O. Glad you made it. We weren’t sure you’d come. Welcome back to Prague.” He meant to smile, but there was nothing left, just the prospect of the void.

They must have pulled Richie from his deathbed for this. Did they think it would make me more comfortable, being welcomed by a near corpse? For some reason, they decided that they needed him to take the lead, even though there was no doubt that this was Kang’s meeting. “How did you know I was in the Nam Lo?”

“It’s a cinch you weren’t at the Lisboa. How did you like it in Macau? I was there once, about thirty years ago.”

“It’s all right. They could use a few chestnut trees.”

“Did you happen to get to the maritime museum?”

“It wasn’t on my itinerary.”

“There used to be a good restaurant in the neighborhood. Past a street called Rua da Barra. I never drove, so I never knew how to get there exactly. Just wondering if it’s still in business. Maybe I’ll go back one of these days.” That didn’t ring hollow; it didn’t ring at all.

“You called me halfway around the world to ask about restaurants?”

Richie started to laugh, but then he coughed. “It’s over, Inspector. All done, finally done. Time to choose. That’s why we called you halfway around the world.” He coughed again, a long, painful, desperate effort for air. “Kang said we should give you a choice.” Kang and I waited while Richie caught his breath. Kulov brought a glass of water from the kitchen. Richie waved him away. “Get me some whiskey, you bastard.” The Russian put the glass down on a table and disappeared into the kitchen.

I turned to Kang. “And you? Where have you been all these years?” The odds were he would never tell me, but it never hurt to ask. Sometimes even a short answer led somewhere. Not this time.

“Here.” Silverware rattled in the kitchen. “And there.” A tiny bit of irony arced over Kang’s lips. Richie closed his eyes and smiled.

“Here and there,” I said. Those were the boundaries. Near and far. Up and down. It was a mystery to me why I had even bothered to ask. “I always figured you got clear that night in Manpo when the shooting stopped. Your name came up a few times afterward; then people stopped asking.” The door had closed and been permanently sealed. There was never a warning to drop the subject; there didn’t have to be. The word was out that Kang had been shot, eliminated. Anyone who thought otherwise knew not to raise their doubts. “Richie here was particularly concerned about you. I had to tell him you were dead. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Mind? Why would I mind? I only did what anyone can do, Inspector.” Kang gave me that look, the same one he’d used in the old days-the bear watching the rabbit.

“And what is it that anyone can do?”

“Accept fate.”

This made me laugh. “Fate. I would never have guessed that was your style. What do we call it that I’m here with you and Richie? Fate?”

Kang went over to a low cabinet with a decanter on it. He poured a glass of whiskey and handed it to Richie. “Have a glass, Inspector? Calm your nerves.”

“What makes you think I’m nervous?”

This time it was Kang who laughed. “You were always nervous, Inspector. You’re a bundle of nerves, though you pretend not to be. Something like that never changes.”

“Things change. I’m older.”

“Good for you. So am I. So is Richie, here. The only ones who aren’t older, I guess you’d say they’re dead.” That also didn’t ring.

Richie raised his glass. “There are a lot of them, for sure. All the best ones are on the other side.” He sipped the whiskey, then broke out coughing. When he stopped, his eyes were unfocused, as if they weren’t seeing anything anymore. “That’s a comforting thought,” he said to nobody. “I wonder if they’ll recognize me.”

Kang moved to the window and pulled the curtain back slightly. “Walk around the city for a few days, Inspector. Go up to the castle, maybe, down to the Old Town. Take your time going through the paintings on the Charles Bridge.”

“Am I looking for anything?”

“No, you’re taking in the sights, that’s all.”

“How long?”

“Two days.”

“Forget it. If I don’t get back to Pyongyang right away, they’ll wonder where I’ve been. I can’t afford that.”

Nothing. Richie didn’t cough. The sounds of silverware being polished stopped.

Kang continued as if I hadn’t said anything. “Day three, you go to the main square in the Old Town.”

“There won’t be a day three. What makes you think I’m going to hang around? Waiting is a bad idea. It’s always a mistake. Things go wrong; threads unravel where you didn’t even know there were threads. It happens tomorrow, or it doesn’t happen.”

“You sit on the edge of the fountain; make sure the town hall is on your right.” Either Kang’s hearing was getting bad or I was mumbling. “Can you remember the layout of the square from your last visit? If you don’t, get over there and walk around. Take it easy. Amble. If you think someone is on your tail, let them stick. Don’t do anything fancy. Just walk.”

“Sure, I’m a piece of bait. That’s me, Inspector O-bait-for-hire. Just send a plane ticket and book a room at a crummy hotel. Other people rent out as assassins, not me. I’m a little fish; want to see me dance on the hook?”

“The square, Inspector. Do you remember the layout?”

Hopeless! The man had no sense of give-and-take. Of course I remembered the square. The image of those buildings came back to me as perfectly as if I’d seen them yesterday. Maybe I couldn’t remember where I put my keys anymore, but my memory of meeting places was still good, better than good. Someone once told me I had a sense of location like a homing pigeon. I could never figure out if that was a compliment. “You want me facing south. Coincidence, I suppose.”

Kang let the curtain fall back. “Nothing is coincidence.” He turned around and looked at me. “From here on out, there is no such thing.”

Richie drained the rest of the whiskey. “That’s better.” He took a deep breath. “Forget the baths.”

“Right, you just sit here and drink.” Kang refilled the empty glass. He turned back to me. “I thought it would be a nice touch, Inspector, using the square as part of the plan. Ironic, don’t you think?”

“Sure, a little irony is good. This plan of yours-I take it you want a meeting in front of Kafka’s house.”

“You’ve got to admit, it’s funny. You and Kafka.”

“A barrel of monkeys, him and me.” I remembered what the doctor had said. “Any special time?”

“Four o’clock. A crowd gathers to watch the clock strike in the town hall tower. The police in the square focus on the crowd for pickpockets. The shadows are getting longer by then. You’ll have a few minutes for the contact. It won’t be me, incidentally.”

Suddenly, this plan was more and more interesting. “Anyone special, or anyone but you?”

“Don’t worry; you’ll know.”

“No recognition signal? No shoelace untied? A copy of The Trial carried in the left hand, maybe?”

“Nothing. You won’t need it.”

“Right, I won’t need it. I have no needs. I am a piece of straw adrift on the wind currents of time.”

A groan came from the kitchen.

“Then what?” I said. “Someone walks up, hands me a white envelope, and I buy a villa along the Dalmatian coast for persons as yet unnamed?”

“If everything works out, you’ll be taken to me, at which point we can have a long meeting. There are things we have to talk about.”

“None that I know of. Look, Kang, I’m here right now. Why wait? My ears are good today; who knows about tomorrow? At our age, parts are falling off every day. You have something to say? I’m listening.”

“You were in Macau. You’ve been rubbing shoulders with a Major Kim in Pyongyang. Should I go on?”

Kang knew Kim? This did not sound right; it gave off that odd buzzing sound that meant a wire was overheating. So, all right, maybe I’d stay an extra day or two. I could come up with something as an alibi. Planes were always delayed. I could tell Kim I’d been quarantined in Macau with bird flu. The last place Kim would figure I’d go would be Prague. Or maybe it wasn’t; maybe that was why Kang wanted me walking around for a couple of days.

“We’ll meet if things work, you said. What if they don’t?” Kang knew what the question meant; it meant I had bought into his plan, whatever the hell it was. He had the grace not to smirk in victory.

“If things don’t work, there’s a Korean restaurant over toward the Jewish Quarter, not far off the square. Go in and get something to eat. The mandu is good. Then take a plane home, get back to your mountain, and stay there. If you hear shots and cries for mercy, ignore them.”

“I’m sorry about your daughter, Kang. There was no time that night to tell you I was sorry.”

Kang turned away.

“Well,” said Richie, “I think we’ve done enough damage for one evening. Good night, all.” He struggled to his feet. “Kulov! See the man out!”

3

I should have left the next morning. Kang wanted me to tell him about Macau, which meant he must know what happened there. Maybe he was even involved with the murder. If he was still angry about his daughter, maybe he’d been plotting an assassination all these years as revenge. He also knew about Major Kim, and that meant Kang had a good idea what was going on in Pyongyang. If he knew what was going on in Pyongyang, he had sources of information. And if he had sources of information, he had money.

Instead of leaving, I walked around the city, asking myself questions and chasing answers. If Major Kim was right and the game was over, we were in for years of heartache. I hadn’t been kidding with Kim about chopping wood and hauling water; he hadn’t been kidding about my shining his boots. Pyongyang would be razed, dug up, rearranged, subdivided. Streets would be repaved, memorials toppled, factories put under new management and made to produce. Food would come into the markets, goods into the stores, rations brought back, prices controlled, intelligence files pored over, people taken away in the night. The rest of the country would barely get a taste of the new money for a long time. When Kim told me that the camps would stay, I knew everything I needed to know about what the next ten years would be like.

Kim said he wanted a smooth transition. He wasn’t going to get it. If nothing else, the Chinese were not going to let it happen. Colonel Pang had made that very clear. There was also some sort of homegrown opposition stirring, and Kim didn’t seem to have a hammer he could bring down on it. The longer he waited, the stronger the opposition would get. Even so, they needed a rallying point. I didn’t see one-unless that’s what Kang was working to create. Contacting me in Macau and getting me to Prague was not a major feat, but it took money and a pretty good network. We were back to money. Funds weren’t so hard to get, if you knew where to look. A network was more difficult. That took time to build. How long had it been in place? I could probably date its origins precisely-to that night in Manpo when Kang’s daughter was taken away. No one ever knew what happened to her. Maybe Kang knew. Maybe that’s why he refused to forget.

On the afternoon of the third day, I wandered into the main square just past three o’clock. I wanted to see who moved into position before they spotted me. At first I hung back, drifting along the southern edge. A police van was parked near the fountain in the center. Compounds had ponds; squares had fountains-it was a law of nature.

Two uniformed police were talking to an Asian who was gesturing broadly the way people do when they don’t know the language. He reached for his wallet, which made them nervous. They both stepped back. Unless this was designed to be a distraction, it all looked absolutely routine. Not far from the police, sitting on the lip of the fountain, very relaxed and red-faced with liquor, were three Koreans wearing black cadre jackets. A Westerner edged over to them, pretending to be uninterested. One of the men looked at him sharply; then all three stood up and walked away. Seconds later, another Korean, gray haired and bent in a shabby raincoat, shuffled after them. He kept turning his head from side to side like a mechanical toy. None of them gave any sign that they were looking for something special. But the whole thing made me uneasy. Too damn many Koreans in one place all of a sudden.

I moved around to the opposite side of the square, trying to find a place where I could watch but not be noticed. A cloud went across the sun, and the scene suddenly didn’t look so friendly anymore. The fountain lost its appeal; the old buildings lost their gracious air and became angry. Then the sun came out again, and everything went back to normal. A woman moved out of the shadows and stood beside me.

“Hello, Cousin,” she said in perfect English. She was studying a map and facing away, so I couldn’t see much of her features. From the way her clothes fit and the strands of gray in her hair, she looked about fifty, well dressed but nothing flashy, a canvas bag over her shoulder, comfortable shoes. Then she turned to face me, and I got a good look at her. “Kafka lived over there for a while.” She pointed and flashed a diamond ring. It caught the sun and burned a hole in my heart. This was the same woman Li and I had seen in Pyongyang in front of the hotel, getting into the car. It was the same woman who had trailed the golden thread. “He went to school right here.” She turned sidewise to look at the building behind us. I don’t know if she had Chinese blood or Tartar blood or the blood of Mongol princes in her veins. She was Korean, gorgeously so. This was exactly like Kang, to have such perfection in reserve for a meeting in plain view. Anyone watching would fixate on her. I might as well be a Styrofoam cup.

“I thought the meeting was four o’clock,” I said.

“Change of plans. You’re here; I’m here. No harm done. Let’s be flexible.”

“I don’t have a cousin.”

“Tough luck for you. No uncles, no cousins.”

Someone had a very good network. “Well, it’s your lead. I’m just hanging around hoping this doesn’t work, so I can have the dumplings.”

She laughed softly and looked across the square at something. “It appears we have liftoff.”

Everything about her English was perfect-the cadence, the rhythm, the ease with which the lips found the perfect word. If I closed my eyes, I’d think she was a blonde with blue eyes.

“Let’s walk,” she said. “Engage in animated conversation. Put your arm around my shoulder. If we’re not cousins, we’re old friends. We have a lot to catch up on. How have you been?”

“A life squandered until thirty seconds ago. Which way do we walk?”

She made a show of taking my hand. “There’s an old house in an area called the Karlin section, not far, just around the bend in the river. That’s where we’ll end up. It’s nice in its own way. Some people find it drab, not quaint enough, but it’s quiet. If you want, we can stop for coffee before we get there. The coffee is better on the other side of the river than it is here, though, so we may have to walk a little. Then we can sit and relax. Anyone who is interested will think we are chatting gaily about old times.”

“No chance of going to the Korean restaurant?”

“You’re in Prague, my friend. Try something new.” She kissed my cheek. “You never know what might be good unless you try.”

We crossed a bridge, took a streetcar, walked in narrow, winding streets. After a while, we climbed a steep hill, up a flight of stone stairs that led to more narrow streets. The café where we finally stopped was nearly empty. A few locals sat by themselves, smoking. We found a table in a corner, away from the window. She took the seat facing the door.

“Good thing we stopped,” I said. “Those hills are killers. What if I had a heart attack?”

“Sorry, I thought you’d like the exertion, give you a chance to get your blood pumping.” She leaned toward me. “Isn’t that what old friends do? Get each other’s blood moving?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.” She was right, my heart was pumping, and not from the stairs. “I’m not in the mood, and I doubt if I’m in shape.”

“Well, well. Why don’t we stop at a pharmacy and get you some of those pills.”

“Aren’t we off track a little? I don’t think Kang set up this meeting for us to play the sultan and the harem.”

“It may have crossed his mind. Kang has a strange sense of mission sometimes. But you’re right. Business is business. Let’s have a cup of coffee and a pastry. You’re not too far gone for pastry, I hope.”

4

She looked at her watch several times while we sat and talked.

“That’s a good way to spoil a friendship,” I said. “Love dies where deadlines loom.”

“Cute,” she said. “But we have a schedule to keep. Drink your coffee and shut up.” She licked the sugar from the pastry off her lips.

She paid the bill, and we stepped out the door into the brilliant end of a golden autumn afternoon. The schedule seemed to have gone away. We walked slowly, not saying much. I was about to edge into something endearing when we came upon a stretch of lawn across from an old palace already deep in shadow.

“You ever notice that?” I dumped the endearments and knelt to run my hand across the grass.

“The palace? Looks like a cold place, too austere for me. I’d never want to get out of bed in December. Do you like to stay in bed in December, Inspector?”

“I meant the color of the grass. There is nothing in the world sadder than green, green grass on an autumn afternoon. Trees, crops in the field, animals-everything else alive knows this is the season to prepare for the worst. But grass? Hoping against hope that the sunshine won’t ever go away. Or maybe too dumb to realize what is coming. It gives me chills just to look at it.”

“Why?”

“Too many memories of when I was the same way.”

The woman leaned down so that her face was even with mine, and very close. “Don’t bring up anything like that when you talk to Kang. Don’t talk about disappointment. Don’t rake over memories. He has a job to do, and he can’t lose focus now.”

She gave me her hand and pulled me up. The light was fading. The buildings’ shadows already buried the streets. “There’s a car up ahead fifty meters on the left, a brown Škoda. Here are the keys. Go ahead and get in. I’ll be behind you by about a minute.”

“I don’t think I should drive.”

“Nor do I, Inspector. I’ll take the wheel.”

And drive she did. From the sound of it, the engine of the car seemed to have been worked on recently. There was no way of knowing if the brakes had received equal attention, because she never used them. I was not sure where we were going, but then again, I had no idea where we had been. Wherever we were headed, it was in a great hurry. I tried to fix a location in case I needed to find the spot later, but at that time of night one sixteenth-century building looks like another. The last time I was in Prague, it had been in winter. Everything had looked different then, in the gloom. We pulled up in front of a narrow three-story building with an elaborate doorway.

“Out,” she said. “Ring the bell and if that doesn’t work, knock politely. I’ve got errands to run. I’ll see you later, old friend.”

“Good thing we’re not related.”

“You react badly to pastry.” She gunned the motor. “It’s bad for your heart.”

The front door opened before the sound of the bell had faded. Richie stared out at me. He looked like hell. No, he looked like death itself.

“You better see a doctor, Richie.”

“What for? He’s not going to do anything for me.” He coughed, doubled over. “Let’s get inside; this cold air is bad for me. Everything is bad for me.”

“Where’s Kang?” I stepped in. The place was very tidy, very sterile. No one lived here.

“Kang’s not here yet. You’re early. Greta drives fast, doesn’t she?”

“Greta? Is that her name?”

“Wonderful woman, well trained, very thoughtful. She looks after Kang like she was his daughter.” He made a face. “Don’t do that again, mentioning what happened.”

“I know; I’ve been warned. He needs to stay focused.”

“Who told you that? Greta?”

“What’s her real name?̶

“Let’s sit down. I can breathe better when I’m sitting.”

We sat-Richie on the sofa, me in a pale yellow chair.

“Better? You want a glass of whiskey?” So, all right, no one was going to tell me Greta’s real name. I’d ask Li. He clearly knew who she was. He’d stopped breathing when he saw her in the parking lot at the hotel in Pyongyang.

“We don’t keep any alcohol here,” Richie’s eyes searched all the corners of the room. “In the other place, I can drink as much as I want. This is the safe house, and Kang doesn’t like liquor in a safe house. He thinks of a safe house as a chapel or something.”

“What was that charade in the square about?”

“Flushing quail.”

“And?”

“Working with Greta is a pleasure.” He coughed until his face turned red. “There isn’t a quail around who can remember to keep his head down when she gets moving. You must have done a good job getting here from Macau. There’s no one new in town that we can spot on your tail.”

“You realize I can’t hang around here for long. I’ll have to get back to Pyongyang by the day after tomorrow at the latest. They’re already wondering where I am.”

A key turned in the front door, and Kang walked in carrying a paper bag. “I brought you something, Richie.” He pulled out a bottle of whiskey. “Go easy on it, though. I don’t want you passed out on the couch.” He took off his hat and coat and threw them on the sofa. “Greetings, Inspector. Your day was good?”

“Nothing that I’d put in a logbook.”

Kulov came out from the kitchen with a couple of glasses. He gave one to Richie and one to me. “Inspector.” He nodded.

“You’re not drinking?” I asked Kang.

Richie was pouring himself a triple. Kang grimaced. “I drink, but only sometimes, and this isn’t one of them. Maybe you should wait until we’re done, as well.”

“Maybe I should.” I put my glass on the floor. “Do we talk here, or is there someplace else where the walls don’t have ears?”

“We’re in Prague, Inspector, land of the free. And we’re in a perfectly secure place, courtesy of Richie and friends. There is nothing here, not a single thing, that Richie hasn’t personally approved; besides which, he controls all the on switches. Let’s have our nice talk. How did you get along with Greta?”

“We’re old acquaintances, it turns out.”

“You saw her one time across a parking lot.”

“Well informed, as always. You have your own spy satellite or what?” Apparently, not a satellite that could see into noodle shops.

“She saw you, too. That’s how I knew you were in Pyongyang, home from the hill.”

“Greta… that’s what we’re going to call her?”

“That’s right.”

“Greta keeps you up to date on what’s going on, I presume.”

“It isn’t like the old days, Inspector. Getting information in and out of Pyongyang is not nearly as difficult as it used to be. For example, I know that Major Kim sent you to Macau on a mission he fully expected you to botch.”

“And did I?”

“Not yet.”

“Excellent, there’s still time. You know Kim, I take it.”

“Our paths have crossed.”

“What’s he doing in Pyongyang?”

“What he’s doing there, what he says he’s doing there, and what he thinks he’s doing there are separate things.”

“He thinks he is bossing people around. Me, for instance.”

“That’s good. Let him keep thinking that.”

“He reminds me in some ways of that Military Security goon that wanted to kill you. His name was Kim, too.”

“I know what his name was, Inspector.” Kang paused. “He got promoted, I heard.”

I waited to see if he would say anything else, but he let the subject drop.

Richie coughed. “I have a good idea: Let’s rake over the most hellish coals we can find.” He waved his glass at me. “Let’s remember every failure, every bit of pain, everything that should have worked but didn’t. Let not a single sleeping dog lie. Kick the shit out of every fucking one of them, how about that? Should I go first?” He finished the whiskey and banged the glass on the table. “God, what a bunch of stupid bastards I chose to die around.”

Nobody said anything for a couple of minutes. Kulov made some noise in the kitchen, rattling silverware and slamming drawers.

Finally, someone had to break the silence. “SSD is up to something, by the way,” I said.

Kang smiled at me. “Fine, let them think that nothing stands in their path.”

“Kim says he’s there to oversee a transition.”

“Did you ask him from what to what?”

“We didn’t get that far. We were only on the first date.”

“German sugarplums are dancing in their heads, Inspector. They think we’re going to fall on our knees and beg forgiveness for seventy years of sin, like the East Germans did.”

“Are we?”

“You can if you want to. I have other ideas.”

“So do the Chinese, apparently.”

“They’ve got Kim worried?” There was a note of urgency in the question, not much, but I was weighing every word Kang used, measuring every inflection. The question could have been nothing, but the way Kang asked it told me this was something he really wanted to know. And that told me his network had a hole in it.

I thought over what Kim had said about the Chinese. The file I’d read in the windowless room had contained page after page about Chinese penetration into the country-agents operating under different sorts of cover, defectors being fed back in, agents of influence in the security services. “Worried,” I said, “but not as much as I would have guessed. He thinks he has a handle on it.”

“A handle. He has a handle on China. Mull that over a little. I’ll be interested in what you conclude. And while you’re at it, think about what you were doing in Macau.”

“I was putting the Macau police off the scent. It’s not like they had a click-clack case.”

“Click-clack.” Kang closed his eyes and thought a moment. “You were talking to Luís.”

“You know Luís?”

“Luís helped me with a complicated funding issue some years ago.”

“That’s funny. He told me he couldn’t even launder his shirts.”

Kang smiled. “Luís knows more about laundering money than anyone alive or dead.”

“Tell me that he’s not MSS.”

“Luís? Not anymore. He and discipline don’t do well together. They transferred him to the police, where they figured he couldn’t do any harm.”

“When I was in Pyongyang, someone told me I don’t even know what I don’t know.”

“True.”

“So, maybe you can tell me. What don’t I know?”

Kang moved his coat and sat down on the sofa. “I’ll give you the thirty-second version. Two years ago, the center, aging and unwell, decided that by 2017 he wanted to achieve a first-stage unity between the two Koreas.” Kang turned around and yelled toward the kitchen, “Kulov, bring another glass and some of your awful vodka.”

Kulov appeared with both items. He put them on the table in front of Kang, nodded to me, and returned to the kitchen.

Kang poured a few drops for himself and a few for me. “Kulov keeps the vodka hidden, but I know where it is. Cheers, Inspector.”

“We were on first-stage unity.”

“That year, as you realize, will mark the one hundred and fifth birthday of his father and his own seventy-fifth. The plan he has in mind, I’m told, is for a loose union, largely cosmetic but enough for him to be able to claim success in reuniting the ‘bloodlines’ of the Korean people, if not the territory. Last year, the two sides agreed to limited and quiet exchanges of personnel, mostly in the field of internal security.”

“Funny place to start,” I said.

“It would be in the real world, but, as we know, this isn’t the real world. So everyone decided that they wanted eyes and ears right where they could do the most good. Pyongyang sent two incompetents to Seoul from a department that shall remain nameless.”

“And whom did Seoul send?”

“Its very best, also incompetent but well shod and well fed. This exchange led to a lot of stumbling around for the better part of twelve months. Then, in March this year, the center had another health setback, serious enough to be confined to bed but not so serious that it was impossible to issue orders. I have my suspicions about who else is in the room when those orders are signed, but we can talk about that later. In any case, the South saw this development as a chance to replace its people with someone who actually knew what he was doing, could consolidate the gains, and could even-with a little luck-go on to the next phase. In pursuit of these goals, the incompetents were recalled and Major Kim was sent to Pyongyang in April. He had orders to proceed in all haste to achieve the consolidation part of the plan, and then to move with caution to explore the possibilities for next steps.”

“How do you know so much about the South’s plans?”

“Not everyone in the North is incompetent, Inspector. And Kim is not as smart as he thinks.”

“All very interesting, but none of it explains why Kim sent me to Macau.”

“It does, in a way. Consider: Officials in Pyongyang with even one eye open are already concerned about the drift of events, and have been searching for a rallying point, some sort of brake on what they recognize as dangerous, almost fatal South Korean inroads. To buy time, they have been urging that one of the center’s sons be put in place immediately to ensure stability for an eventual transition. They gather all of this under the cloak of carrying out plans for the first stage of ‘national unity.’ That isn’t what they want, of course, but it’s the best they can hope for until they figure out something better.”

Click. Clack. “Up the chimney and out to sea,” I said. I nudged my glass nearer the bottle in hopes that Kang would pour more-a lot more. There was a leadership transition in the works? And a successor in play? And I figured in this exactly how? I had been brought down from the mountain to be thrown headfirst into a pit of snakes, big snakes, the sort of snakes that swallow full-grown deer and then burp with pleasure. My hands weren’t shaking, but if Kang didn’t fill the glass right away, I might not be able to hold it still. “That was the chosen son whose tracks I was sent to erase in Macau, wasn’t it? Chopping up a prostitute can’t be very good for a smooth transition.” I remembered the room and its view. Nonchalance fled as reality knocked at the door. “No wonder Kim wanted me to get the evidence pointing somewhere else.”

Kang waited a moment before letting a few drops fall into my glass. “You actually believed him?”

“I take it you mean that wasn’t his intent.”

“Oh, no, he really did want you to go through the motions. One of Kim’s main tasks, though, is to accomplish exactly the opposite. He is supposed to make sure the son is so badly compromised that no one can possibly follow him. He must have wondered how to do that, until you crashed into view. Your appearance lets Kim claim that he’s made every effort to save the successor’s reputation, but due to the bad faith of the Chinese and the incompetence of a former North Korean policeman-the grandson of a Hero of the Republic no less-that has proved impossible. He discredits Beijing and the opposition in Pyongyang in one move. Brilliant.”

“I didn’t realize my skills were in such demand.”

Kang screwed the top on the bottle. Vodka time was over.

“This leaves me with a question.” I said. “Do you think the son did it? Murdered that prostitute in his hotel room?”

Richie coughed and fumbled with his glass. “How can you drink that potato water? Have a bit of this whiskey, why don’t you?”

“The Chinese have become concerned,” Kang ignored my question, “and concern has rapidly become alarm, at what the South is doing. Colonel Pang and his teacups are already moving to stop the process.” Astounding, did Kang have Chinese maples on his payroll? “But the scent of blood is on the wind. Gangs from China and everywhere else see an opportunity to carve up the country into spheres of influence. For all I know, the Mafia has set up shop on Kwangbok Street.”

“You forgot something.”

“The opposition. Yes, meanwhile, there is a loose resistance building against outside efforts to seize on the situation. It isn’t anything coordinated-yet.”

“So I noticed. It sounds a lot like holly.”

“Really?” Kang looked at Richie and smiled faintly. “Holly takes at least a couple of years to germinate after you put the seed in the ground, or so I’ve heard.”

Richie sat up. He seemed better, energized somehow.

“Holly…,” Kang said. “Tough little tree. Refresh my memory, what kind of leaves does it have?”

“Leathery, spiny.” I hesitated because I hated to give him what he wanted. “And glossy.” What a son of a bitch he was, both of them were. “And you two want to talk me into joining this loose resistance, I suppose. It was you who pulled me back into this sewer from the beginning, wasn’t it, from the moment that car stopped in front of my cabin. How you did it I don’t yet know, but if I go back and look, I’m sure I’ll find your paw prints.”

Richie was staring at me intently.

“Sorry,” I said, “but I don’t have the time or the inclination to help.”

“Is that so?” Richie had sunk back against the cushions. His voice was flat. “You went to Macau to help Kim.”

“I didn’t. I went to find out what is going on. Besides, I had to prove something to myself.”

“That’s fine,” Kang said. “That’s good. A little self-validation before the sheet is pulled over your face for the last time. While you’re at it, you might consider whether you really want to be treated like dirt between the toes of China. Because that’s what you’ll end up being. The South Koreans will lose the game; the Chinese will win. Seoul is a pack of fools. You want to join them? I wish you the best of luck.”

Succumbing to imagery never leads anywhere good. On the other hand, the mental image of 10 billion Chinese toes did carry a certain weight. “What do you propose doing about it?”

“We don’t need to fight the Chinese, Inspector. We don’t even have to make them unhappy. We need them to think we are prepared to cooperate. It wouldn’t take much. Colonel Pang is a reasonable man, as you’ve seen. It’s too bad he’s been marked to die.”

“Pang? Marked to die?”

“That surprises you? Not by us. Kim and Zhao have apparently decided they need to get rid of him. Kim is under strict orders not to rile the Chinese, so he’ll let Zhao and his viper do it.”

“Kim and Zhao are cooperating in this?”

“Not only in this.”

“What about Pang-I assume you’ve warned him?”

“Warned Pang? Why would I? He wouldn’t warn me if he learned that I was on a list for elimination. And he won’t warn you, either; don’t fool yourself into thinking he will. He’s very smooth.”

“This is beginning to sound like a class reunion. Is there anyone involved in this whole thing that you don’t know?”

“I haven’t had much to do these past long years but go over my mistakes, pummel myself for all the missteps, and think ahead to this moment. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. I’ve examined every angle. I’ve run through all the options. I’m ready to do whatever is necessary. My only question at this point is: Are you?”

5

That night, Greta drove me back to my hotel.

“You don’t like the brake pedal?” I said as we went through the gears.

“I’m saving it for someone special.” She pulled into a spot near the castle, with a view of the city. “You’re not as much of a coward as you pretend, are you, Inspector?”

“That depends.” We weren’t anywhere near my hotel.

“We went through a lot of trouble to bring you here.”

“So I noticed. It might have been easier if you’d stayed in Macau long enough to talk to me there.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you do. You go there to gamble, or just leave messages?”

“Macau is an interesting place,” she said. “I’m sure you must have enjoyed your stay.”

“Something went wrong; the message didn’t get to him on time.”

“ ‘For want of a nail,’ isn’t that what they say?”

“You must know why he wanted that room, that particular room.”

She looked at her watch. “Deadlines loom, Inspector. Your hotel is at the bottom of the hill. It’s not that long a walk, though the cobblestones can be murder in the dark. Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

Her car disappeared before the engine even made third gear. As I made my way down the hill, I looked for a phone. It seemed to me that I couldn’t stand aside and let events take their course. If I knew Pang was targeted, he deserved to be warned. Yes, absolutely, I wanted him out of the country, back on his own side of the river. For that to happen, he didn’t need to end up dead. Whatever he had done to the captain was between the two of them. This was different; it was between Pang and me.

“The colonel isn’t here.” The voice on the other end was clear and crisp. There was no crackling on the line. We could have been within a few blocks of each other. More likely, the voice was in Beijing, ready to route the call to Pang once a few details were cleared up-like who had dialed the number and why.

“Yeah, he isn’t there. Never mind that. I need to talk to him, urgently.” I was using a pay phone, and I didn’t know how long I could talk. The woman who sold me the phone card in the tobacco store had been short-tempered. She was about to close for the night and didn’t like it when I showed up. After I fumbled with the money, she muttered to her husband, grabbed the bills from my hand, and held up a few.

“What?” she said in Russian. “Tabak?”

It was the only Russian she knew, or all she would admit to knowing. I wanted the most expensive phone card she had, but judging by how she threw it on the counter, I wasn’t too sure that was what I got.

“You need to talk to Pang urgently?” said the voice on the other end. “So do I. So do a lot of people.”

I figured I knew what that meant. “Something happen?”

“You have a reason to know?” The voice became full of thorns. “Where are you calling from, anyway? Who told you how to access this system?”

“Maybe I owe him money, a lot of it.”

A pause. “Well, invest it. Put it under your pillow.” Another pause, longer this time. “Never mind; forget the pillow.”

“He’s dead?”

“You could say that. His lungs were next to him when he should have woke up this morning.”

“Ah.” It was all that came to my mind. I took a deep breath and hung up.