“Koestler, or something like that,” McGarvey said. He vaguely remembered the incident, because for a couple of months the German press had a field day taking America’s “lawless gun club culture” to task.
“Willi Koestler,” Rencke said. “And he also threw me for a loop at first, until I finally got it. Moore was positioning himself to be the new architect of a Middle East peace between Israel, Iran, Syria, and Iraq, and Koestler wanted to trade nuclear energy across the region for stability to guarantee the steady flow of oil.”
McGarvey turned away from the window. He was still missing something, this just wasn’t adding up. “I’m not sure that I follow you, Otto.”
“I didn’t see it at first either. You gotta step back so you can see the whole thing. With China and North Korea at odds, who has more to gain than us?”
“No one,” McGarvey said.
“Correcto mundo, ergo no connection among all five assassinations,” Rencke said. “But flip it over, and ask who has the most to lose if China tries to take out North Korea and Kim Jong Il actually launches his six nukes?”
Now McGarvey saw what Rencke was driving at, but it made even less sense. “I don’t know if we would have the most to lose, but we’d probably be sucked into the mess, especially if Beijing took the opportunity to hit Thailand.”
“Not only that, but if one of the missiles got through and a nuclear weapon was detonated somewhere over downtown Beijing, you could kiss off our trade deals with China until the country stabilized. We’d be back to paying the actual value for everything from T-shirts and ironing boards to cell phones and dog food. Our market economy would get slammed big time.”
“With Moore assassinated, we took a step backward from any sort of peace accord in the Middle East.”
“Means we keep funding the arms race,” Rencke said.
“Plus it continues to be a breeding ground for Islamic fundamentalists,” McGarvey said. “And if Koestler would have succeeded, or at least made a dent in the problem, and solved some of the energy needs over there, it would help reduce the poverty levels and take away at least one of the reasons for al-Quaeda to continue the fight. Or at least it would put a crimp on their funding.”
“Bingo,” Rencke said. “It’s not us who have the most to gain, it’s us who have the most to lose.”
So far as McGarvey could see, they were still at the starting gate. “The Huks worked for Turov. Who does the Russian work for?”
“Whoever it is,” Rencke said. “They don’t like us very much.”
“Keep digging,” McGarvey said.
“Will do.”
THIRTY–SIX
Kim paced up and down in her room as the hour approached eight when Alexandar had told her to go upstairs, knock on McGarvey’s door, and invite herself in for a drink. “He’ll arrest me on the spot,” she’d responded. “How will that help Soon?”
“But you’ve got it wrong, my dear. He’s not here to arrest you, though he’ll probably turn you over to the NIS when he’s finished. He came here for information.”
“On what?”
“On me, of course,” Alexandar had said. “But the thing is, if you show up in the same provocative dress you wore for the hit in Paris, he’ll have to let you in. From what I’ve read he’s always been something of a ladies’ man. Even left his wife some years ago, and took up with a Swiss cop in Lausanne.”
“So he lets me in, then what?” Kim had asked, even though she’d known what would happen next.
“Why, you kill him, of course.”
“Not much place to hide a pistol in that outfit.”
“Tape it to your thigh,” Alexandar had told her. “When the time is right, pull it out and shoot him. He’ll check your purse, but I think that he’s too much of a gentleman to pat you down.”
“What about afterwards?”
“You and I will arrange for Soon’s release.”
“Where will I meet you?” Kim had asked.
Alexandar had laughed. “Oh, I won’t be far. And when you’ve finished this little job, I’ll make contact.”
His call had come nearly two hours ago during which time she had given serious thought to what she would have to do in order to have a chance at saving her husband’s life, and she had come to the conclusion that assassinating the former director of the CIA wouldn’t help. In fact his death would make things worse. The NIS knew about her and Soon, it’s why they had shown up at the apartment. With Mc-Garvey shot to death in his hotel room, South Korea’s normally tight security would intensify tenfold. Cops with her photograph would be posted on practically every street corner. If she moved she would be taken in, and Soon would never get out of Pyongyang alive.
But Alexandar was still the key. If she could talk to him face-to-face she would make him understand that once she had Soon back the two of them would take Kirk McGarvey as their next assignment for free.
Instead of the sexy cocktail dress she’d worn for the hit in Paris, she put on a pair of jeans, a nice white blouse, and Nikes. She debated going out armed, but in the end she stuffed the Walther in her shoulder bag. No matter what happened tonight she was not going to be taken without a fight.
And, she thought at the door, Soon had never trusted Alexandar. The Russian was nothing more than a means to their retirement. But he was a man with his own agenda, Soon had argued, and that was staying alive.
She would force a meeting with Alexandar, by going to a highly public place, and he would come to her where she could talk to him in relative safety.
THIRTY–SEVEN
O’Kim’s, the hotel’s cocktail lounge, was busy mostly with Western businessmen who either didn’t care about the impending trouble between North Korea and China or like many others before them were intrigued by hanging out in a possible war zone. It was tempting fate, and it got the adrenaline pumping in a certain type.
McGarvey managed to find a pair of seats near the end of the bar and had just ordered a Rémy neat in a snifter, when Ok-Lee showed up, in a short skirt, tank top, and sandals. She carried a small purse and a manila envelope, and spotting McGarvey at the bar she worked her way across to him.
“A punctual man, I like that,” she said, swinging up onto the bar stool.
“A pretty woman, I like that,” McGarvey said.
She smiled. “That’s quite a sexist remark for a married man with a grown daughter who helps run the Farm, but thanks anyway.”
McGarvey laughed. “Happily married,” he said. “If you’re going to do your homework you might as well do it right.” He smiled. “I thought we’d have a drink first before dinner.”
“Sounds good,” she said.
The bartender came over and she ordered a glass of champagne, then handed McGarvey the envelope. “This is an English translation of our file on the Huks including their ID photographs. A little thin. They weren’t in the service long, and when they got out they all but disappeared. And there’s nothing on them in any of the databases I searched. Not switching apartments was their only real mistake.”
McGarvey glanced at the photos and quickly scanned the Huks’ service record as the bartender came with their drinks. “Nothing much here except for the reprimands.”
“Take a look at their training evals.”
McGarvey flipped to the personnel records that listed the results of their training. Both had gotten the highest grades for not only their marksmanship, but for their stealth skills. They were good snipers, the best according to their supervisor. Their only problem was a tendency to ignore orders.
He looked up. “They know what they’re doing,” he said. “Have you ever had anyone else in the service go freelance?”
Ok-Lee shook her head. “Not that I know of, but that doesn’t mean it’s never happened. We just don’t make a big deal out of it, leastways not in public.”
McGarvey took a drink. “Now we wait,” he said.
“For what?” Ok-Lee asked. “We don’t have a lot of time here.”
“For Turov to come here and for the woman to make a mistake.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She knows that we’re looking for her, and almost certainly why, otherwise she wouldn’t have grabbed her emergency kit and taken off. I think she’s probably contacted Turov about the situation with Soon, and the fact that somebody’s on her trail, and he’s going to come here to kill her.”
“That would have to mean he’s told her where to go to ground,” Ok-Lee said. “Which leaves us nothing.”
“Not quite,” McGarvey said. “He has to know that I’m here.”
Ok-Lee was startled. “How? Unless there’s a leak in my section.”
“He knows because he’s been told that someone wants to hire him to arrange a hit on President Haynes, and they want me as the shooter.”
Ok-Lee was amazed. “He’ll never believe something like that in a million years.”
“You’re right, but I’m betting that he’ll be intrigued enough to find out what’s really going on, and he’ll come to me,” McGarvey said.
“Ego.”
McGarvey smiled. “Yup. And who knows, maybe he’ll try to kill two birds with one stone.”
Ok-Lee was troubled. She sipped her wine and stared pensively at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “I think it’s too big an assumption to think he’d risk everything to come here,” she said.
“What’s the NIS doing?” McGarvey prompted after a moment.
She turned to him. “Waiting for your government to bail us out,” she said bitterly. “In the meantime we know Huk Kim was involved and if I gave the word she would be in custody before morning.”
“She’s very good at what she does” McGarvey reminded her. “You could wind up with some dead cops, and a dead assassin who wouldn’t be of any help.”
“Goddamnit, you’re playing it too loose and easy,” Ok-Lee shot back. “This is my country’s life we’re discussing.”
“Believe me, if I didn’t think I could help I wouldn’t have come all this way to put my head on the chopping block with yours and Tokyo’s and Taipei’s.” McGarvey leaned closer. “Huk Kim and her husband were the shooters, but Turov was the expediter. He’s the only one who can lead us back to the source. Who ordered the assassination and why. Without that we’ll never be able to convince Beijing it wasn’t Kim Jong Il.”
“And without that China will go to war.”
McGarvey nodded. “I think whomever Turov is working for wants just that very thing to happen.”
Ok-Lee sat forward. “But why, for God’s sake? What maniac would want something like that? Think of the millions of innocent people who would be incinerated in even a limited nuclear exchange. Think of the millions who would die from their burns and infections in the next few weeks, and more in the coming months and years of leukemia and every other radiation-caused cancer.” She looked away, momentarily overcome by what she was saying. “Why?”
“I don’t know. But it’s one of the reasons I’m going to have a chat with Turov.”
“Asap,” Ok-Lee said when she suddenly turned around. “My God, it’s her!”
McGarvey turned in time to see a slightly built Korean woman darting past the barroom door and disappearing into the lobby.
“Police! Stop that woman,” Ok-Lee shouted, jumping off the bar stool. She pulled a pistol out of her purse and took off in a dead run.
Everyone looked up at the commotion but no one made a move to help, or even get out of the way. The situation was happening too fast.
McGarvey was right behind her. “Be careful,” he cautioned her. “He’s probably here.”
Ok-Lee pulled up at the doorway. She held the pistol in both hands, the muzzle pointed up. “A setup?” she demanded.
“I think so,” McGarvey said. “Go right, I’ll go left.”
THIRTY–EIGHT
Kim raced across the lobby, turning several heads, but she didn’t have time for stealth. The woman at the bar, who had shouted at her, was the same woman from the apartment earlier today, and the man seated with her was the Amercian.
It was just rotten luck that she had run into them like this, but at least she was sure that they had no idea she was staying here. If they had, they wouldn’t have sat down at the bar for a drink. They would have found her room and arrested her.
Halfway to the outside doors, it suddenly came to her that she had been set up. Alexandar had known that one way or another they would come face-to-face, even if she didn’t go through with the assassination, at which time he would kill them both.
He’d never meant to help get Soon out of Pyongyang. In fact it was likely that he had planned on killing both of them if they’d made it back.
She looked over her shoulder just before she reached the doors, in time to see McGarvey and the woman emerging from the barroom and splitting up.
A bellman pushing a cart loaded with baggage was just coming from the driveway and she had to sidestep to the left to miss him, and she ran headlong into a tall, stocky man with thick white hair and a flowing mustache wearing old-fashioned steel-framed glasses.
She had only a split second to look up into his eyes, which were startlingly blue but lifeless.
He grabbed her arm.
“Hold that woman!” Ok-Lee shouted. “Police!”
The old man looked up, startled, and he stepped back, releasing his hold on Kim’s arm.
It was the opening she needed. No way in hell was she going to be taken here. Not now, not like this, not until she had a chance to figure out how to rescue Soon. She darted outside, the night warm and humid and noisy with car horns and a distant siren, and hurried down the driveway, dodging cars and a couple of taxis.
Traffic on the main avenue was extremely heavy and she didn’t have time to wait for the light, so she turned left and almost immediately lost herself in the crowds of pedestrians clogging the broad sidewalk. No one seemed to be in a hurry, and she slowed down with the flow so she wouldn’t stand out. She resisted the urge to turn and look over her shoulder.
Alexandar had told her on the phone that he was close, and she thought that it was a real possibility that he’d seen her leave the hotel with McGarvey and the NIS officer on her tail. It meant that not only was she being chased by the American and the woman, but Alexandar could be right behind her, sighting his pistol on the back of her head.
She’d never felt so alone and vulnerable in her life. If Soon were here he would know what to do, how to get away. He’d certainly tell her not to look back, or try to run, either move would make her stand out in the crowd. Blend in, he would say.
She came to the intersection and as luck would have it the walk light was on and she crossed to the other side of the street with the surging crowd.
Soon would also tell her not to rely on anyone else. They’d both worked out the tradecraft that they would need to go to ground if something ever happened. Her only mistake this afternoon and evening was relying on Alexandar to help. Now he too was coming after her.
She headed back in the direction of the hotel, ducking into the broad entry of a busy electronics store that sold everything from cell phones and iPods to televisions and computers.
She positioned herself so that she could see the hotel entrance up the block.
Know your opposition, Soon would say. Find out who they are and how they operate.
Then make your plan.
THIRTY–NINE
At the end of the hotel driveway Ok-Lee pulled up short, McGarvey right beside her. A number of people had come out of the lobby to see what the commotion was all about, but no one made a move to get close to a woman brandishing a pistol.
“We’ll never find her by ourselves in this crowd,” Ok-Lee said bitterly. “I’m calling for backup before this gets out of hand.”
McGarvey was scanning the pedestrians on this side of the street as well as the other. But it was like looking for a needle in a stack of needles. And he forced himself not to look back.
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“She knows that we’re after her,” he said. “And now she’ll go to ground. The more cops you put on the street the deeper she’ll hide.”
“Goddamnit,” Ok-Lee said in frustration. She put the pistol back in her purse. “What the hell was she doing here at this hotel? Stalking us? Because it certainly wasn’t a coincidence.”
“Turov knows I’m here, and I think he probably sent her to try to kill me,” McGarvey said. “Or at least force me out into the open.”
Ok-Lee was startled and it showed on her face. “Like right now?”
McGarvey nodded. “We’re still looking for the woman. Head left, and I’ll get across the street.”
“We’ll never find her—”
“If Turov is watching I want him to think that we’re still trying,” McGarvey said. “Now move it, but watch yourself.”
Ok-Lee offered him a faint smile. “This is my city, McGarvey, you’d better watch your own back.”
She turned and headed left, almost immediately lost in the crowd. As soon as she was gone, McGarvey started across the busy street, dodging traffic like a bullfighter dancing just out of harm’s reach. An S-class Mercedes was suddenly there, the driver laying on the brakes and the horn. McGarvey jumped up on the hood, slid across to the other side, just missed a small three-wheeled van, and slipped behind a bus to the sidewalk. Almost immediately traffic got back to normal.
The bus temporarily blocked anyone standing in front of the hotel from seeing him, and before it moved off he ducked into the corner of a bank’s entryway, and flattened against the wall in relative darkness.
Otto’s message to Turov had evidently worked, otherwise he would not have sent Huk Kim to the hotel. It would be one man, alone, someone hanging back to watch what was going on. Someone who wouldn’t seem overly curious. A Westerner, nevertheless, who would stand out among the much shorter, smaller Koreans. He would be at the hotel, or nearby so that he could monitor the woman’s movements as she tried to flush McGarvey out into the open where he could be easily taken. Turov wasn’t a martyr. He might want McGarvey dead, but he wouldn’t be willing to give up his own life or freedom for it.
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