A Corpse in the Koryo

by James Church

  “No, I’ll take your explanation of the cars. Where does the corpse in the Koryo come into this?”

  “At this point, the only connection is Hyangsan.”

  “Meaning? And I don’t want to hear about teeny-weeny pine cones, either.”

  “I played your game of Continents with the guide at the temple at Hyangsan. She said all the continents had been there. We got a good enough reconstruction of the hotel records. Three Americans and a Chinese tour group on the third floor, four people—technicians of some sort—from Brazil on the sixth. A couple of Australian businessmen and an African cultural troupe were on the seventh. They had a small riot in the upstairs bar over one of the hostesses. Next morning, they all made up and everyone went on a tour of the temple.”

  “No Europeans?”

  “Only one. A male. Partial registration was on the computer. Paper copies with signatures and passport notation are gone, but I found a night note from the floor lady. Eighth floor. The man had the room on the end of the corridor, came back real late with a couple of other people. Very drunk, could barely walk. I showed a picture of the corpse to the temple guide. She nodded.”

  Pak slammed his fist onto my desk. “There must be more records. Someone made a reservation for him at the hotel, he checked in somewhere, he checked out of somewhere, he took a plane or a train into here, crossed a border. Why are there no traces of this character?”

  I pulled out my notes from Hyangsan. “The local guy up there, what’s his name, the one with the golden voice.”

  “Song.”

  “Song told me girls came up when a Politburo nephew was there. His exact words were, ‘Very discreet, one in each car.’”

  “Prostitution? Why would anyone try to blow up a car on the main highway over that?”

  “Not girls.” I looked up at the molding along the ceiling and wondered if I’d ever get to it at this rate. “Not girls. Cars. They’re smuggling cars, from someplace south, up to Hyangsan, then to Manpo, and then into China. They sell them at a profit, a big profit because they get around the Chinese import duties. One car may not be worth all that much, but if you do it several times a month, over the course of a year or two, it would be worth a bundle.”

  I took a piece of wood from the top drawer of my desk. I smoothed it between my fingers; it was oak. Good, friendly, strong, reliable oak. Pak shook his head. “If we were in the Sahara, you’d be worthless, completely worthless. Can’t keep that badge on to save your life, but always got a piece of wood nearby.” He sighed. “Keep going. It’s cars. Not girls.”

  “It’s cars, but it’s not just cars. Song told me that Military Security was involved in this smuggling operation. I didn’t believe him at first. Now I do. Remember when Kang and I met for a beer at the Koryo? He wanted me to think Military Security was trying to set him up that morning I missed taking the picture of the black car. Only I don’t think they were trying to set him up. I think Kang has his own smuggling operation going. He and Kim are both running cars to China, but for different reasons, and they’re stumbling over each other.”

  “Kim wouldn’t like anyone cutting into his profits, especially the Investigations Department. But this can’t just be about money.”

  “Kim must have made plenty already if he started this a few years ago. And for all the political crap they feed us at the Saturday study sessions, one thing they have right: having money makes you greedy for more. There’s no sense in getting killed over money, though. They could just carve up the operation, agree to move on alternate weeks or something.”

  “Impossible. Kim hates Kang’s guts. And if Kang is running cars, like you said, then it’s not for the money, not for himself, anyway.”

  “Song also told me South Korean intelligence money is greasing things.”

  “Maybe, but if it is, only Kim is taking it. Kang wouldn’t do that. I’m telling you, I know he wouldn’t.”

  “Alright, tell me Kang didn’t want me up on the border to protect a car-smuggling operation.” Pak’s face didn’t reveal anything; he had closed his eyes. “Maybe the Finn was a bagman.” I was thinking out loud. “He must have been on Kang’s payroll. That’s why there isn’t any trace of him. Maybe Military Security found out and killed him. You think I’m crazy? There’s a link. Kang is up to something in Finland. He told me so himself. If you ask me, he’s trying to use us. He’s trying to put us between himself and Military Security, have them stop for fresh meat while he gets a step ahead of them. You trust him, fine. I don’t. I don’t know him, and I don’t trust him. Don’t forget, I was standing on that hill next to Li after that car got shot up. I was standing there when Kim looked up the hill to make sure I had seen the whole thing.”

  “Kang has operations all over, that’s his job. Don’t worry about Kang’s motives. He’s okay.” Pak opened his eyes. “I’d bet my life on it.” He turned back to the window. “Car outside. Two cars, actually. What’s our next move?”

  I walked over to my filing cabinet, pulled out a pine dowel, and threw it to Pak. “Start sanding.”

  8

  Pak wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing. Though his hands were moving the sandpaper over the wood, all of his energy was in listening for the sound of two people, maybe three, coming up the stairs. After a while, he put down the wood. “Buy a bookcase. Save yourself a lot of time.” From below, a car door slammed, the sound echoed in the courtyard. Pak and I looked at each other. His face had gone a little pale. “In a minute or so, they’ll knock on the door,” he said. “They always knock. So polite all of a sudden, like lowering your voice during an interrogation: We’re all gentleman, aren’t we now, let’s just go quietly, no fussing, down the stairs, into the car, care for a blindfold, glass of water, anything we can get for you?”

  I shook my head. It wasn’t like Pak to get so nervous. “Only one car door slammed. No one’s coming up here. Maybe the guy got a leg cramp, sitting there all the time. You ever get cramps during a surveillance?” I started sanding again. “Relax, or you’ll get the wood all riled up.”

  The knock on the door was like the crack of a rifle. The sound tumbled down the hall; then I couldn’t hear anything but Pak’s breathing. Pak stood up slowly and nodded to me as he walked out into the hall. For a moment I thought he was going back to his office to shoot himself. Then I heard the door open.

  “We going to get noodles or aren’t we?” Kang’s voice, booming into the room, sunshine after rain. I put down the wood carefully, then folded the small piece of sandpaper, thinking that if I did something with my hands, they would stop shaking. I fumbled on my desk for the piece of oak again, but it slipped out of my fingers.

  Kang stuck his head into my office. “Sorry to be late. A traffic jam in front of your building.” I heard a car engine start up, then a second one. As I glanced out the window, two black cars moved slowly down the street, in the direction of the river. Kang stood with arms folded, watching me. “Nice weather. The hills on the east coast are very pretty this time of year.” He nodded down toward the floor near my chair. “You dropped something.”

  “I’m staying, I’m not leaving town. They don’t scare me.” I looked down to make sure my hands were steady. “Let’s get lunch. Pak thinks we should go up to the monuments afterward and drink ourselves silly.”

  Pak had put on a light jacket. I knew it was to cover his holster. If he was caught wearing a gun, they’d have an excuse to shoot him, but first he’d get one of them, because they’d never expect it of him. Pak didn’t always play their game, but no one ever questioned his loyalty.

  Kang reached into his waistband and produced a pistol. He slid it across the desk. “You might want this. You only need one shot.”

  I stared at it for a moment, then put it in my back pocket. “Remind me, or I’ll pull it out instead of my wallet at lunch.”

  The noodle restaurant was half full, but it was still early. Most of the customers wouldn’t come in for another hour, and they would spend the re
st of the afternoon talking and enjoying the view, watching the boat full of tourists that plied up and down the river in good weather. The three of us ate in silence. The waitress tried to cheer us up with some small talk, but Kang gave her a sullen look and she slunk away. Afterward, we went out onto the balcony looking over the river and across to the tower on the other side.

  “I always meant to take that boat,” Pak said. “Maybe I’ll write a list of things I meant to do.”

  Kang clucked his tongue. “Too soon to be morose. No one will make a move yet.”

  Maybe it was his tone of voice, but I felt a sudden surge of anger. “You are pretty calm about this. You’ve been awfully damn calm the whole time, even in Manpo after you killed Chong.”

  Pak’s right hand moved slightly. I thought he might be going for his gun. “Chong? The guy they were asking me about?”

  Kang didn’t change expression. “The inspector didn’t tell you about our adventure?” He laughed. “Did he tell you about his Finnish girlfriend?”

  Pak’s hand stayed put. “It must be raining Finns. We’re drowning in them. Come to think of it, I never did get a report, Inspector.”

  “No time for that.” Kang nodded at three men who had just stepped into the restaurant. One of them was Colonel Kim. He was wearing civilian clothes; the two others were in well-fitting Military Security uniforms, fine buttons and all. Kim glanced out the window at us. He caught my eye and held it, then looked away and followed the restaurant manager to a private room off to the side. The manager, a tall man with a sad face, was sweating profusely. He did not look happy to see Kim.

  Kang had already started down the steps to the parking lot, two at a time. “I’ll meet you at the monuments.” He flashed that smile of his, the one with the teeth. “Should be a splendid view.”

  Pak started his car and then turned the ignition off. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me about Chong?”

  “Chong? Arab blood? I started to, but you said you didn’t want to know.”

  He gave me an acid look. “I didn’t need to know if you two were acquainted. That’s a hell of a lot different from knowing one of my inspectors was present when Kang shot a Military Security operative. Did you at least report it to someone?”

  “Ha! He didn’t shoot him. It was a rock.” Pak stared out the windshield. “Kang said not to report it. He had some sort of operation under way at a compound in the hills just below where it happened, and he didn’t want activity.”

  “What compound?”

  “I don’t know. He said it was run by Military Security, and he wanted me to get inside, but then you found the Finn and I had to come home.”

  “Did Kang seem rattled that I ordered you back here?”

  “Kang? You’ve got to be kidding. Even when those three guys were frying in the jeep—”

  “What jeep?”

  I paused. “Let me give you the whole story as we drive.” When I finished, Pak pulled into a narrow side street where an ice cream vendor had set up in the shade of three enormous mulberry trees. A few of the customers looked over when the car stopped next to the curb, but on a sunny afternoon, eating ice cream beats staring at a parked car. After a minute, no one looked to be paying much attention.

  “You go back to the office.” Pak ran his fingers through his hair. “Take the bus, if it’s running today. No one will be laying for you on a city bus. I saw the way Kim sneered at you in the restaurant. They may not be tailing us right now, but it won’t take them long to locate our cars.”

  “This is what you meant, isn’t it, about all hell breaking loose.They’re about to move in on Kang, and you think you’re on the list, too. Have you been working for Kang? Military Security has no reason to get you. You weren’t there when Chong was killed.” Pak didn’t say anything. “Does it go back farther? You and Kang?”

  “What you don’t know, Inspector, can’t hurt you.”

  “I’m not worried about what I don’t know. I’m worried about you. Why don’t you go back to the office? Or better yet, get over to the Ministry. The Minister won’t let Military Security into the building. I can get to the monuments from here on foot. There won’t be any trouble there. I think they’re still waiting for something. That look from Kim wasn’t the one a snake gives before it strikes. More like an invitation to play a little longer. Come on, mouse, try to get away. Anyhow, I have some business with Kang.”

  Pak reached over and opened my door. “Nope. You’re outvoted, comrade. The People’s Committee of Ministry Unit 826 has just voted and recommends you go back to the office. Period.”

  “You’re going to have to tell me sooner or later what this is about. You just can’t leave me dangling. Kang says you two know each other a long time.” I got out and slammed the door.

  Pak started the engine. “Go back to the office, straighten things up. Get to my desk. It was used by the Japanese army, probably the security people. It’s not the normal junk we have. Second drawer, there’s a fitted compartment. Inside is an envelope. Use it when you need it. You’ll know what to do with it when the time comes. If they took apart the desk, they’d find it. Otherwise it would sit there for years, and then it would be too late. In my filing cabinet, there are transfer papers for you, a residence card, and a temporary food certificate.”

  “For where?”

  “Not Kanggye.” He smiled. Then the smile disappeared. “Stay low. Sand your wood if that’s what you need to stay sane. The unit where you’re going won’t ask questions. Don’t raise any. And wear the fucking pin, will you?”

  I started to say something, but the car pulled away. The people sitting on the curb across the street concentrated on their ice cream and pretended they hadn’t heard a word.

  9

  Pak’s phone was ringing when I walked in an hour later. As soon as I picked it up, the line went dead. My office had been searched. The sandpaper I’d left on the desk had been opened and then refolded the wrong way. Why had they driven away just after Kang came up? How did they happen into the same restaurant just as we were leaving?

  The only thing I was sure of was that Pak was yelling at Kang this very minute, demanding to know why the Investigations Department had exposed one of his inspectors to danger without telling him, and warning that he was going to cut off cooperation with Kang once and for all.

  Pak’s phone rang again. I let it go several times before I picked it up. It was the vice minister. “Inspector, your phone seems to be disconnected.” His voice was dangerously normal, like the lid on a bottle of poison. “Get over to the Ministry, now. The Minister wants to see you. There’s been an accident.” Before I could ask what he meant, he hung up.

  The Ministry was a five-minute car ride away. On my bicycle it would take longer. The bicycle was leaning against the tree where I had left it. It looked like the back tire had lost more air, but there wasn’t much I could do about that. At the first intersection, the traffic lady whistled for me to stop and use the underpass. I ignored her. She could blow her whistle until she was red in the face, because I knew she didn’t have a radio, and by the time a patrol car appeared to ask her what was wrong, I’d be at the Ministry. I gave her a salute as I rode by.

  The guards at the Ministry’s gate waved me through without asking to see my ID. The vice minister was in the Minister’s outer office, sitting on a couch with an assistant, going over some papers. He pretended I wasn’t there. Finally, he stood up and nodded to me. “The Minister is on the phone. As soon as he gets off, we’ll go in. You will stand and listen to what he says. Don’t ask him any questions, and don’t comment on anything he says. When he’s done, come back out here and wait for me.”

  “What happened? You said there was an accident?” I realized I still had the pistol in my back pocket. A good reason to let the vice minister walk ahead of me.

  “Inspector, do us both a favor. Say nothing.” His lips quivered with the rage that had long ago boiled away all his other emotions. “You think you’re above
the rest of us. You think you can ignore the regulations, sidestep politics, forget to come to the study sessions for months on end. Sanding wood instead, like some backcountry carpenter. You don’t even bother to read the editorials in the newspaper. Don’t think it hasn’t been noticed. Did you think you’d get away with it forever?” The vice minister’s aide shot me a warning look. He never wanted trouble, always wanted things calm until he could get out of the room.

  The double doors to the Minister’s office opened. The vice minister went in first, I followed, and the aide stepped past me into the hall, but not before he had mouthed one word: “Pak.”

  The Minister looked up slowly as we walked in. His face was haggard, his eyes sunk into his head, his cheeks hollow. He rested his glance for a moment on the vice minister as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it and turned to me. “Inspector, have a seat.” He gestured to a chair in front of his desk. The chair looked as frayed as he did, though it had once been a handsome piece. The arms were carved in an unusual shape, sloping down slightly and then flaring at the ends,so that whoever was sitting there did not have to grip the arms but could relax. “Your grandfather made that for me.” From the corner of my eye, I could see the vice minister stiffen, and as he did, the shadow of a smile played across the Minister’s face. I sat down, favoring one side. I didn’t want to blow a hole in grandfather’s chair, or my leg.

  “Everything he did, everything he made, was perfectly planned and crafted. Not that he was perfect himself. But he left behind an example of enduring value.” The Minister paused a moment to consider his next remarks. “I’m sure he passed those traits, and those values, on to you. I’ve watched you for years, Inspector.” He glanced at my shirt. The absence of the pin was noted with a cough.

  The vice minister walked around the desk and put a piece of paper in front of the old man. The Minister read it quickly, and as he did his shoulders slumped. “On the road leading up the hill to the monuments, weapons were discharged,” he said. This was very much the Minister’s style. He never said “shots were fired,” but rather “weapons were discharged.” He looked back down at the paper. “Your chief inspector was hit several times. He died in the hospital a short time ago. He had a pistol in his hand, an Israeli army pistol. It had been discharged twice.” The Minister paused. “You were seen at lunch with him, along with an official of the Investigations Department. Do you know anything about this?”