What was the tie-in? The most likely explanation was that Hwang Sang-sol had copied the symbol to use for his own purposes. But where did he find out about it? And if that were the case, why hadn't he used it with Yi In-wha and Mr. Chon? Why only the hotelman, Yang Jong-koo, chairman of the Korean-American Cooperation Association? Could it really relate to the Vengeance guerrillas of the forties? If he could only come up with some way to identify those last two members of the team.
He pushed the overstuffed folder aside and opened the file on Dr. Lee. The son had appeared genuinely distraught over the professor's death. Captain Yun had questioned the ajumma-tul separately and was assured by both that the young man had revered his father. He had a well-paying job with a good company. No apparent financial problems. Yun could detect no possible motive for him to have wanted his father dead.
The missing coin display was quite valuable, containing more than a dozen rare gold Russian rubles from just after the turn of the century.
They bore the likeness of Czar Nicholas II on one side and were in uncirculated mint condition. They had been obtained many years ago by Dr. Lee's grandfather, a large landowner, in a sale to a representative of the Czar. They were a part of history, made rare by the communists' diligence in obliterating anything with a link to the czars. The Soviets had melted all they could find into bars of bullion. Being a history professor, Dr. Lee thought they should be on display rather than hidden away in a bank vault. He had made no secret of their existence. As a result, many people had knowledge of the framed coins. Since they would have passed to the son anyway, there was no reason for him to take them.
Sergeant Kim and Patrolman Han had found no obvious clues on the premises and the task force's questioning of neighbors had turned up but one interesting fact. A man returning home early that morning had noticed a car parked beside the wall of Dr. Lee's compound. It had sat beneath a limb from a tree inside that overhung the wall. Because of the darkness, the witness was not certain what kind of car. He thought it might have been a Pony cab. It was not seen after daylight. When they looked around the tree, they found evidence of small broken twigs, possibly done by someone crawling onto the limb and dropping to the ground. No footprints showed on the hard ground. It was the dry season.
Though the identification had been far from certain, Yun had his people check all of the taxi companies. It turned up no runs to that area beween midnight and dawn. There was one report of a taxi inexplicably out of service during the early morning hours. The company had finally located it parked on the west side of town, the driver unconscious, smelling like a brewery, empty liquor bottles on the floor. Drinking had been a perennial problem among many of Seoul's 35,000 cab drivers. Captain Yun had called the man's home to talk to him, but his wife said he was nursing a major league hangover, had taken a strong sedative and was out again. It was not terribly surprising, considering the taxi company worked its drivers on twenty-four-hour shifts. By the end of a shift, they might be expected to do most anything. Yun knew that pursuing it further would be taking a ridiculously long shot and likely a waste of time.
The phone interrupted his study of the file. It was Dr. Lee's son, sounding highly disturbed.
"My father's leather briefcase is missing," he said in a loud, despairing voice.
Yun drummed his finges on one of the stacks of paper. If Prosecutor Park hadn't destroyed his eardrum, this young man likely would. "Please calm down, Mr. Lee. What was in the briefcase?"
"Material for a book he was writing. Including a draft of the manuscript. It was in the sarang-bang."
During the Yi Dynasty, that was the word for the scholar's quarters. Now it was used more to denote the men's quarters in a traditional Korean house. But in the case of Dr. Lee, the old Yi term fit.
"Was that the room where he had his personal computer?" Yun asked.
"Yes. I was looking through it and happened to think about the leather briefcase. He had others, but I knew he kept the unpublished manuscript in this one."
"Are you sure he didn't leave it in his office at the university?"
"I'm positive he had it here." The young man was insistent. "But I called the university anyway. They looked everywhere and couldn't find it. Why would the burglar have taken it?"
"If the burglar took it," said the Captain.
"But who else would have? Could have? I know it was here the night before my father...before he died."
"What was the manuscript about?"
"It was a factual account of the Korean guerrillas who fought the Japanese in Manchuria during the late thirties and early forties. They were part of an army that included Chinese communists. Kim Il-sung was one of the leaders. My father said the North Koreans had fictionalized Kim's role in the campaign. This book would tell the story with historical accuracy."
Korean guerrillas in the forties? Hadn't Colonel Ha said the Poksu group probably came south from Manchuria? Captain Yun suddenly found himself leaning forward in his seat, gripping the phone as though it had wings and might attempt flight.
"You said there were materials other than the manuscript. What kind of materials?"
"I don't know everything. But his notes, for sure. Letters from people who helped with the research. Copies of old photographs of the partisans. Maybe correspondence from Dr. Lowing."
"Who is Dr. Lowing?" Yun asked.
"Dr. Cabot Lowing. He's an American who was collaborating with my father on the book."
"Would he have a copy of the manuscript?"
"Probably. The original is in the computer."
Yun smiled. He wasn't at all sure why anyone would have taken the manuscript, but it just might have a link to Hwang Sang-sol. He would like to know if there were any mention of the poksu symbol and the people it involved.
"Could you make me a copy of the manuscript?" Yun asked. "It might give us a clue to who killed your father."
Young Lee was hesitant. "It probably runs several hundred pages in the computer. But if you think it will help find the murderer, I'll gladly do it."
The Captain had just locked his files away and was about to leave when Dr. Lee's son called back, even more distressed than before.
"There's nothing in the computer!" he shouted.
Yun grimaced and jerked the phone away from his head, glaring at the offending instrument. He slowly put it back to his ear. "You mean the manuscript is not in the computer?"
"I mean nothing is in the computer. Everything has been wiped out."
Captain Yun frowned. "How could that happen?"
After a pause, the young man replied, "By reformatting the disk. Or by bringing a strong magnetic field close to the computer. Like a bulk eraser, a gadget used to erase magnetic tapes. You know, cassette tapes or videocassettes."
"It couldn't have happened accidentally? Maybe a short circuit, a voltage surge on the power line?"
"Maybe it could. But I'm involved with computers where I work, and I've never heard of it happening."
Thoughts were racing through Yun's mind. It appeared he was really onto something now. Somebody was deliberately sabotaging Dr. Lee's new book. They evidently believed it contained information damaging to someone or something. But who or what could it be?
"Do you have an address for the American who may have a copy of the manuscript?"
"I do. I found my father's correspondence with Dr. Lowing. It wasn't in the briefcase." He gave Yun the address.
After he had hung up, the Captain considered his best route to obtain the manuscript. He didn't know about other countries, but in South Korea the academics did not get along too well with the police. He thought it unwise to try approaching Dr. Cabot Lowing direct. Of course, he could go through the Korean Embassy in Washington, but that would require a lot of explanation which he had no desire to indulge in. Or he could seek help from the legal attaché at the American Embassy in Seoul. This was the FBI liaison. But Yun had butted heads with the current attaché over a previous case, getting brushed off in the mos
t disparaging manner, as though he were some second-rate local cop. The loss of face had been devastating. He would have no further dealings with that man.
Then he thought of Burke Hill, the former FBI special agent. His public relations firm was here to improve America's image in Korea. Wouldn't his people in Washington be in a good position to seek cooperation from a professor whose Korean collaborator had just been murdered? It was possible that Dr. Lowing was not yet aware of what had happened. The idea appealed to him, but he hesitated. The American had passed the small test he had put him to at the murder scene. But what did he really know about Burke Hill? It was not his style to take anything at face value.
Yun glanced at his watch. It was just past 8:30 a.m. That would translate to something after 6:30 p.m. in Northern Virginia. He dug into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a thick three-ring binder with the FBI crest on the cover. One of the first pages contained a list of names, addresses and phone numbers. He found Frederick Birnbaum, both office and home numbers. He had corresponded with his old FBI mentor a few times over the years but hadn't talked to him since he'd left Quantico. Hopefully the phone number was still correct.
It was late afternoon when Burke and Jerry returned to the Chosun. They had spent a busy day looking at office furniture, arranging for telephone service, ordering supplies, taking care of the myriad of small details required to get Worldwide's Seoul branch in operation. Thanks to Jerry's ability with the language, it was going smoother than Burke had dared hope. If all went well, they would be ready to set up shop by Friday. The three staff members were due to arrive in Seoul Thursday evening.
When they stopped at the front desk, Burke was handed an envelope with a message that had come in during the morning. Thinking of Lori, he opened it quickly. But there was no problem with his wife. Captain Yun Yu-sop had called, wanted Burke to call him back.
He showed the message to Jerry. "I hope he hasn't changed his mind and decided to book me for murder."
"I'll go your bail. What do you think he wants?"
"I have no idea. But it'll save me having to come up with an excuse to call him later."
When he got to his room, Burke dialed the number Yun had left.
"Mr. Hill, thank you for returning my call. I trust you have had a good day?"
"Yes, Captain, we've been trying to round up everything to get our office in business. It's been sort of hectic, but we're making headway. Have you come up with anything new on Dr. Lee?"
"Yes, I have developed some new leads I would like to discuss with you, if possible. I wondered if you might be in position to have dinner with me tomorrow evening?"
What a break, Burke thought. "I'd be delighted, Captain Yun. Just tell me the time and place."
"Do you think you might enjoy a Korean dinner?"
"Certainly," Burke said. "I've sampled a few native dishes. Very different, but good."
"I think most Americans find our foods a bit too hot. I'll tell my wife to be careful of that."
"Your wife?"
"Yes, Mr. Hill. I would be pleased to have you join me for dinner at my home."
At his home. Great. He couldn't have bought this kind of entrée. "Well, thank you, Captain. I'm honored."
"I can pick you up at your hotel around six, if that is agreeable."
"Look forward to seeing you."
He called Jerry's room immediately. "Guess who's having dinner tomorrow night at Captain Yun's?" he said.
"You're kidding?"
"Nope. He invited me, and I damned sure accepted."
"Any idea why?"
"Said he wanted to discuss some leads in Dr. Lee's murder."
"Sounds great. At dinner tonight, I'll coach you on a few pointers about Korean table manners."
Chapter 28
They drove out of the central business district with its high-rise hotels and office buildings aglow in the darkness of early evening, through the tunnel beneath Namsan Mountain, and headed south past a patchwork area of offices, shops and homes toward the Han River. Captain Yun lived south of the river, where traditional style houses stood almost in the shadow of endless rows of towering, look-alike, contemporary apartments.
"Have you had an opportunity to see much of the city?" Yun asked, his eyes darting about to keep up with the madly rushing traffic.
"I haven't had any spare time as yet," Burke said. "Maybe this weekend I'll get a chance to look around. Just from what I've been able to see from the street, those palaces downtown look fabulous. The closest thing we have to that in the States would be homes of some of the oldtime business tycoons. People like the Vanderbilts and the Rockefellers. Nobody can afford the upkeep these days.'
The Captain gave him a skeptical look. "I've read about all of your millionaires and billionaires."
"They don't live in monumental homes on large estates anymore. Billionaires like Sam Walton even drove pickup trucks."
"Our very wealthy were royalty in the old days," Yun said. "But no longer. Today's wealthy are owners of the chaebol, the conglomerates. They're family businesses, but not from the nobility. Many of them started out just like you and me. In the old times, only the nobility were educated and wealthy. Now our skilled and educated people come from every walk of life."
"You're lucky to still have the emphasis placed on families. I've heard several generations live together."
"This is one tradition that is being lost in the haste of modern living," Yun said. "Mostly now it is just the parents and children. Once the children are grown, they want to get out on their own."
"I know how that is. Do you have children, Captain?"
"A son, Se-jin," he said proudly. "He is a lieutenant in the National Police."
"Does he live at home?"
"No." Yun's mood darkened. "That is a source of friction among us. The young people today think they must be liberated, as they call it. They rebel against the old social order. Marriages in Korea were always arranged by the parents, the partners selected to provide the best children through combining favorable family characteristics. Marriage was meant to assure that the family would continue to flourish and prosper."
Burke realized he had best tread lightly through this minefield. "Is your son married?"
"No. He told us not to choose him a wife. He says he is in love with a young policewoman." He emphasized the words "in love" with derision. "They want to get married. Under the Family Law prior to 1977, a man required the consent of his parents to marry until the age of twenty-seven."
Twenty-seven. That would produce a revolution back in the States, Burke thought. Or at least enough ACLU lawsuits to slow the court system to a crawl. "I hope everything works out for you. Life can get complicated."
The Captain was silent for a moment. "This probably strikes you as so much about nothing. I know your society does not make marriage arrangements. Everyone believes in love, romance. Like Se-jin."
"That's usually how it starts," Burke said, "but after the honeymoon is over, reality sets in. If a marriage works, it's usually because the partners respect and admire each other."
Captain Yun broke into a knowing smile. "Then we are not so different after all. The Confucian laws governing relationships require deference between husband and wife. That is the same thing, is it not?"
He got no argument from Burke.
When they arrived at the modest, one-story Yun home, Burke was ushered into a combination living-dining room. He saw in the center of the room a low table of reddish wood with delicate carving on the sides, floor cushions around it. An attractive, traditionally-dressed woman was placing dishes on the table. She wore what Burke would learn was a simple white chima, the hanbok's long, flowing skirt, with a light blue chogori, the brief, full-sleeved jacket. Her hair was parted in the middle and pulled into a knot at the back of her neck, the style of a married woman. When the men entered, she lowered her head shyly and bowed. The Captain spoke to her in Korean, then turned to Burke.
"She doesn't underst
and English, but she knows who you are."
Burke bowed to her. She smiled and backed out of the room into the kitchen.
"Have a seat, Mr. Hill. It appears our dinner is ready."
"Your wife isn't eating with us?" Burke asked.
"No. This is a men's affair. She wouldn't be comfortable with it."
Jerry had told him that would probably be the case. Burke sat on a cushion and crossed his legs in front of him as Yun did. He noticed the warmth of the ondol floor. He wasn't sure if he would be able to stand after sitting this way for long. He looked over the colorful array of food in plates and bowls that crowded the table. It should have been enough for half a dozen people, he thought. In the center was a brass pot with a chimney, similar to a fondue dish, with chunks and strips of meat and various vegetables arranged in a circle. Beside it was an octagonal-shaped lacquered dish, more like a tray, with thin crepes in the center, surrounded by segmented compartments containing such things as shredded egg, shrimp, sauted cucumbers, mushrooms, carrots and beef.
As they began to eat, Yun cautioned him, "You must make lots of noise while eating, or my wife will think you don't like her cooking."
Burke grinned. That was one Jerry forgot to tell him about. "As I said, I've got a lot to learn about getting along in this society."
"I think you will do well," said Yun. Then he scrutinized Burke through narrowed eyes. "I understand in your own country, you have been something of a hero."
Burke put down his fork and studied the Captain's face, which seemed calm and serene, betraying little emotion. These people would make great poker players, he thought. How the hell did you read them at times like this? He decided to treat it lightly and see where Yun was headed.
"Have you been checking up on me?" he asked with a casual smile.
The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2) Page 18