The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2)

by Chester D. Campbell

  "To be honest, yes. I spoke with Frederick Birnbaum last night. He told me about your involvement in thwarting the plot to assassinate the American and Soviet presidents."

  Burke wondered just how much Birnbaum knew about the real story of the Jabberwock operation. Had he merely told Yun the part that was made public at the White House ceremony? Most of the details had never been revealed. He shrugged. "I did what I thought I had to do. What did Fred say about it?"

  "He said you exposed several plotters in the CIA and the KGB, that you had risked your life to save the presidents."

  Exactly how he had risked his neck was one point never mentioned. He frowned at the thought.

  Yun correctly guessed what lay behind the frown. "Mr. Birnbaum said he could not tell me a great deal because most of the details were still classified. He also said your resignation from the FBI had been faked, allowing you to go undercover to investigate the Mafia conspiracy."

  Thank God that part had been cleared up, Burke thought. His record had been left with a big question mark until it was corrected by presidential order in the wake of Jabberwock. "That was a long time ago," he said. Then, a bit embarrassed, he stuck his fork into a bowl that had what appeared to be chunks of cabbage in a liquid, with bits of red mixed in. "What's this?"

  "You had better try a small amount first," Yun said, grinning. "That is our national food, kimchi. This kind is made from Korean cabbage and radish, pickled in brine with chili peppers and garlic. Americans usually find it quite hot."

  Burke sniffed at it and took a small bite. It wasn't bad, he thought. But definitely hot. And the garlic aroma was strong. He recognized it as the odd odor he had detected frequently during his stay in Seoul. Everybody, he presumed, must eat kimchi. He took another bite.

  "I might get to like it, you know."

  "Good. If you don't like kimchi, you may not be too well accepted here. There is a saying, a man can live without a wife, but not without his kimchi.'

  Burke laughed. "I'll remember that."

  Yun was obviously prepared to get down to business. "You may be interested to know I have concluded that the murder of Dr. Lee was, indeed, committed during a burglary. But not an ordinary burglary."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The criminal took a briefcase containing a book manuscript and related material."

  Burke looked puzzled. "Something Dr. Lee had written?"

  "Yes." He told about the missing manuscript and how it also had been erased from the computer.

  "Erased? Damn! Somebody must really want it suppressed. Do you have any idea why?"

  Yun absently shifted some of the dishes on the table into a symmetrical pattern as though sorting out his thoughts. "I have a theory, but I will need the manuscript to test it. According to Dr. Lee's son, he was working in collaboration with a professor in the United States. He says the professor probably has a copy."

  Burke saw his opening and jumped in. "That's a lucky break. Could I help you track him down?"

  Captain Yun nodded with a soft smile. "His name is Dr. Cabot Lowing. He is with something called the Highsmith Foundation." His look changed to one of surprise as Burke suddenly broke into a wide grin and shook his head.

  Lowing, the man Dr. Robertson Ramsey had mentioned. "Talk about small worlds. That foundation was established by the president of our company, Nathaniel Highsmith. Consider you've got the manuscript, Captain. I'll call Washington when I get back to the hotel tonight."

  "Excellent. Please let me know as soon as you have it."

  "Be happy to. Incidentally, what's your theory? A history book hardly sounds like grounds for murder."

  Captain Yun had pondered all day just how much to reveal to Burke Hill. His initial intention was merely to seek assistance in obtaining a copy of the missing manuscript. But Frederick Birnbaum, whom Yun looked upon as next to a Korean deity, had said he would trust Hill implicitly. According to the FBI agent, Hill had worked in cooperation with the CIA and the Canadian government in wrapping up the Jabberwock conspiracy. With Hill's background, it seemed reasonable that he could bring some special insight to this case. Yun had been impressed by the soft-spoken, low-key American, especially his consideration for Korean culture and customs. Most important, he had not exhibited the slightest degree of condescension, no boasts of things done better in the U.S.A., no implications that Koreans might somehow be less able than their American counterparts. This was a problem that had caused many a Korean to lose respect for an American acquaintance, particularly among the military.

  So far, except for what he had told Prosecutor Park, Yun had kept his real intentions strictly under wraps. He appeared to be investigating four unrelated, somewhat baffling homicides. His normally quiet, unassuming manner effectively deceived most people, leaving the impression he was often a bit befuddled by the course of events. But those familiar with his mode of operation knew not to underestimate the mental gymnastics that took place behind those round, metal-rimmed spectacles. He was fully capable of turning one hundred and eighty degrees when the situation warranted. That was precisely what he made up his mind to do now. He would reveal the whole complicated affair to Burke Hill.

  "This particular history book," Yun said in a voice that reached a new level of intensity, "may hold a clue to several murders."

  Burke frowned. "As they say at home, it's a jungle out there."

  "No, Mr. Hill, animals don't maul each other out of malice, or for fun and profit. This job doesn't lend itself to a belief in the innate goodness of mankind. What I am about to tell you must remain entirely confidential."

  He proceeded to lay out in detail his case for a conspiracy aimed at eliminating leading Koreans who vocally supported maintaining close ties with America. Then he described the puzzling Poksu symbol and how it appeared to hint at some as yet obscure Japanese involvement.

  "Dr. Lee's manuscript deals with the partisans who fought the Japanese in Manchuria," Yun explained. "I hope it may shed some light on those who crossed back into Korea as the Poksu group. Particularly, I would like to know the identities of the two who were never captured. I would like to know where they are and what they are doing now."

  Burke found Captain Yun's account both fascinating and disturbing. According to the investigator's theory, which appeared to be backed by an impressive amount of circumstantial evidence, what Damon Mansfield had taken for a jinx was actually a diabolical plot by some shadowy group. Considering who might have a motive to cut America out of the picture in South Korea, he could only think of the new regime in Seoul. No doubt they would like the U.S. out of the way to protect the secrecy of their nuclear arsenal plans. But would the leaders of a supposedly responsible government go to such extremes?

  "Conspiracies of this sort are usually motivated by either economics or politics," Burke said. "From what you've told me, I don't see any obvious economic gain. So that leaves us looking for a political motive."

  "That sounds reasonable."

  "Based on the number of people involved, and who they are, I'd say it must be masterminded by somebody pretty high up in the government."

  "Somebody quite powerful," Captain Yun said.

  "Yes. Somebody determined to misuse his power for reasons we can only guess at. That galls me as much as anything, the naked abuse of power. We had it with Watergate and Iran-Contra. Of course, neither of those involved a string of homicides."

  "I'm afraid such things have been a problem here for many years, although conditions have been improving."

  Burke knew Captain Yun would have no knowledge of what his government might be up to in the nuclear field, and there was no way he could give so much as a hint of it. But whether it might be related to Yun's conspiracy was pure conjecture at this point.

  He turned to stretch his cramped legs out beside the table. "If you're right, Captain, anybody who cooperates closely with Americans could have a problem. Particularly someone making moves that would threaten to expose the conspiracy."

 
; Yun nodded. "You refer to me, of course." He hesitated for a brief moment before continuing, as though weighing his options. "This brings me to a key development in the case, one that has proved the most difficult to deal with."

  He told Burke about the tentative identification of Hwang Sang-sol as the killer of the hotel owner and the chaebol executive. And he related the circumstances surrounding the murder of his informer, the old fruit merchant, Mr. Chon.

  "I can only conclude that Hwang did not learn my identity," said Yun. "I was sure he would come looking for me. I've had a team maintaining surveillance of this neighborhood for nearly a week now, but he hasn't been seen."

  Burke listened intently, his frown deepening. The CIA might well have a line on someone like Hwang. Their anti-terrorism files were impressive. It was an angle he could get Nate to pursue. But he would have to disguise his plans with Yun.

  "Have you asked the legal attaché at the U.S. Embassy to see if the FBI has anything on him?" Burke asked.

  The Captain stirred as if in discomfort, though Burke suspected it was mental, not physical. "I've queried Interpol. The name meant nothing to them. He probably has many aliases, of course. As for the FBI, I'll be frank with you. I have had problems with your current legal attaché. I would prefer not to have to deal with him again."

  Burke wondered what the attaché had done to incur Yun's disfavor. "Maybe I can help there," he said. "I still have several old colleagues I could call on. You say you have some drawings? If you've got copies, I'll be happy to send them along to Washington and see if anything turns up. Might be a dead end, but it wouldn't hurt to try."

  Yun liked the idea. "I can give you a set of the drawings before you leave tonight. I appreciate your willingness to help. I know I shouldn't let my feelings stand in the way of doing the job properly, but there are times..." He shrugged as his voice tapered off.

  "We all get snared in that trap occasionally. By the way, don't you have a CIA-type operation called the NSP? Could they be of help?"

  "It's the Agency for National Security Planning. Unfortunately, it is not really like your CIA. They tend to get too involved in internal security matters, of a somewhat oppressive nature, if you know what I mean."

  No doubt more like the KGB's Second Chief Directorate during the old Soviet regime, Burke thought. A knock on the door in the middle of the night. Someone taken in for questioning, never to be heard from again. He would have to be wary of their operation. It could be a potential trouble spot.

  "This Hwang character certainly sounds like a good bet for your killer," Burke said. "And if that's the case, he must be the one who left the Poksu symbol. Have you considered that it may have been designed to lead you astray? I'd be inclined to doubt the Japanese angle. I guess we'll just have to wait on the manuscript and see. But it appears to me you've got a pretty good case for your original idea, a plot against people calling for close, friendly ties with the United States."

  "Even without Hwang?"

  "Well, you'd certainly need him to wrap it up. He could tell you who hired him and save a lot of time and effort."

  Yun pressed his hands together in a prayer-like gesture and leaned his chin on his fingertips. "Am I overlooking something here, Mr. Hill? Something that might provide an opening to exploit?"

  Burke let his mind wander back over the facts as the Captain had laid them out. "You mentioned a car or taxi parked outside Dr. Lee's compound. Did you turn up anything more on that?"

  "Nothing of consequence," Yun said. He told about the drunk taxi driver, adding it did not seem relevant.

  Burke gave him a skeptical frown. "I guess I'm more dubious about that sort of thing than most people. My wife's father was with the CIA. It was his death that really got me involved in that Jabberwock operation. A couple of former communist agents staged it to look like an accident caused by drunk driving. But he was murdered, plain and simple. If it was me, I'd take the time to dig into that deal a little deeper."

  The Captain's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you're right."

  Chapter 29

  It was around ten when Captain Yun pulled up to the Chosun Hotel entrance. Eight in the morning, Washington time. Burke took the elevator up and knocked on the door to Jerry Chan's room, which adjoined his own. The Seoul branch manager reported his three staffers had arrived earlier in the evening. They had checked in and promptly bid him good-night, which brought rememberances of a few days back. Burke knew exactly how they felt. He invited Jerry over to listen in as he briefed Nate by phone.

  Opening a leather case about the size of a portable typewriter, he took out an expensive looking fax machine he had checked through with his baggage. It held a telephone handset at one end, along with an impressive array of buttons above a digital display. With the press of a button, a small panel opened to reveal a slot for an ordinary three-and-a-half-inch floppy disk. In a separate case, he had brought a set of special floppies that each contained a unique encoding algorithm selected at random by a computer. There were only two sets of the special disks, one here and one at Worldwide's Washington headquarters. When a floppy was inserted into the drive and an identical one used at the other end of the call, an activate button would turn the fax machine into a perfectly secure telephone scrambler. It could handle either voice or facsimile transmission. After use, the floppy would be erased, eliminating any possibility of the message being decoded later by someone who had recorded it. It was, in essence, a high-tech version of the old one-time pad.

  Before using the scrambler, he took out what appeared to be a TV remote control. He pressed a button and pointed it around the room with a sweeping motion, watching the small lights on its face. It was an electronic gadget used to detect hidden microphones. As expected, it found nothing in his hotel room.

  Burke hooked the fax device to the phone line, lifted the handset and dialed long distance for the private line on the Chief's desk at Worldwide Communications Consultants' headquarters on Sixteenth Street. He soon had Nate Highsmith on the phone.

  "Good morning," Burke greeted him. "How are things in Disneyland on the Potomac?"

  "What are you sounding so chipper about?" Nate said. "Figured out a way to overcome the effects of that Embassy madness?"

  He had been so wrapped up in Captain Yun's tale that he'd forgotten all about Damon Mansfield's encounter. "No, but I have some information I think you'll find even more interesting." He began to recount the Captain's startling story.

  Burke joined Jerry and his newly arrived staffers the following morning in shifting desks and chairs about, locating filing cabinets, setting up everything from a copying machine to computers and printers and a paper shredder. They also unpacked boxes of files and equipment shipped over from the States by air freight. Travis Tolliver left at noon, heading to the hotel to pick up his wife and begin the task of hunting an apartment.

  They could have passed for a moving van crew. Brittany Pickerel looked the most decent, dressed in blue jeans and a matching blue shirt. When Burke saw her gritting her teeth in a vain attempt to budge an oversize box, he offered to help. Wedging his fingers under one end, he barely got it off the floor, and then only with a loud grunt.

  "What the hell's in this thing, Brittany? Rocks?'

  She grinned. "Books, the life's blood of a researcher."

  "I sure hope you don't want to move it far," he said, breathing heavily. "That's enough to make a guy pop a vein."

  "Sorry." She gave him the tolerant look of a schoolteacher bent on straightening out an errant pupil. "Venous blood flows steadily, Mr. Hill. You would need to pop an artery for the blood to squirt."

  He shook his head. He thought of saying lighten up, Brittany, but didn't. "I stand corrected. What about the box?"

  "I'd like to get the books near that shelf beside my desk."

  "Let's see if we can't push it over there," Burke said, leaning into one end of the large carton. Brittany joined him and they slid it slowly across the carpet toward her desk.

  Jerry
managed to get his office into a semblance of order just in time to interview a secretarial prospect. It was a Korean girl he had learned about from the manager of the store where they bought the office furniture. She had resigned from her last job to look after her parents, who had been injured in an automobile accident. Her father suffered serious brain damage and had recently died. Jerry checked with her former employer and received an excellent recommendation.

  Song Ji-young was a small girl with a quick smile and an abundance of black hair, attractively teased into a fluffy hair-do. In her late twenties, she was dressed Western style, a long-sleeved white blouse tucked into her blue skirt, a pair of shapely legs rounding out the trim figure. She spoke English with only an occasional stilted phrase and gave answers to Jerry's questions that marked her as a sensitive, intelligent young woman who enjoyed meeting and working with people. She held a degree in education but had decided to forego teaching for a career in business. Jerry had her fill out one of Worldwide's employment application forms and promised to get back to her as quickly as possible.

  "I hope she checks out," Jerry said after she had left. "She strikes me as exactly what we need."

  "Have you decided how to handle your background checks?" Burke asked.

  "We talked about your policeman friend, remember? Think he'd run a check for a police record, maybe recommend a good private investigator?"

  "I'll give him a try. Wish I had something to tell him on that hit man. Hopefully I'll know something tonight."

  He telephoned Captain Yun and confirmed that he had put in the request for information on Hwang Sang-sol and for a copy of the manuscript from Dr. Lowing. He planned to call Washington again late tonight. If he learned anything, he would contact the Captain first thing in the morning. Then he brought up the idea of checking out a prospective employee. Yun said it would be no problem to see if she were in the bureau's computer.

  "You may be interested to know that I followed your suggestion," Yun added. "I questioned the taxi driver. You were right. There was a lot more to it than a simple case of drunkenness, though he hadn't realized it until I started questioning him. It seems he picked up a passenger in front of the Seoul railroad station a little before midnight. The man gave him an address in Songdong. He had a small bag, like a carry-on, and he pulled a bottle out of it as soon as they left the station. He insisted the driver have a drink. Of course, the idiot took it. After a few minutes, he began to feel light-headed. The passenger said he was in no hurry, so the driver pulled over to the side of the road, where he was offered another drink. The fool said he thought that might make him feel better. Some fools are worse than others. After turning up the bottle a second time, his vision blurred. He's not at all sure what happened after that. Not until he woke up at home with a terrible hangover. Drug induced, I would imagine."