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

by Chester D. Campbell

  "To me, the implication is pretty clear. Ko was sent to that party to goad Damon Mansfield into a shoving match. As the police officer who gave me this information said, with his skills, Ko could have put Mansfield on the floor in an instant if he'd wanted to."

  "What police officer?"

  Burke hesitated. "I'm not sure he would want his name mentioned. I'd have to ask him first. But he told me that this Ko was a member of the South Korean Taekwondo team. He competed with them in the Asian Games and did a demonstration at the Olympics."

  Jerry Chan cut his eyes toward Kang as the mention of sports competition triggered a new thought. "Mr. Kang, how did your reporter know about Damon Mansfield's fight, something that happened on a basketball court several years ago? That doesn't strike me as something likely to be in a Korean newspaper's clipping files."

  "I'm sure we had a biographical sheet on him. We receive them from your Embassy when a new attaché arrives."

  Jerry grinned. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I sort of doubt an Embassy bio would include anything about a college basketball brawl. That's not their style."

  Kang was obviously irritated. Burke hoped the anger was not directed at them. He'd hate it doubly since that had been one of Duane's predictions. "These are matters with which I am not totally familiar, gentlemen," the editor said carefully. "But I can assure you I will be familiar with them soon. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

  He stood behind his desk, a clear signal that the interview was over. He hadn't said what he would do, if anything, after he looked into the matter, Burke thought. All they could do was hope Kang Han-kyo was a fair-minded journalist.

  On their way back to the office, Burke debated whether to call Ambassador Shearing and inform him of what they had learned. He finally decided against it. With the Ambassador's convoluted logic, he might consider it interference in the legation's affairs. Should the newspaper correct its story or print a retraction, he would press Shearing to make certain that Damon Mansfield was exonerated.

  Chapter 33

  Duane Elliston craved action. This was his first operational assignment, and he was anxious to get going on something he could sink his teeth into. The morning session with Brittany and the Korean market researchers had been boring with a capital "B." He had made an occasional suggestion to keep things moving in the right direction. Mostly it had been listening to drivel about market segments, audience impact, key words, images. Brittany was as polished as a stainless steel blade, and about as sharp. They would speak English for awhile for his benefit, then the conversation would lapse into Korean. She could babble with the best of them. As he watched her haggle ardently over some obscure point, he wondered idly if she might be that impressive in bed.

  Making out with the ladies had never been a problem with Duane. He had looks and money, and his sometimes bizarre behavior had proved more intriguing than repelling to most of the girls he encountered. Choosing to swim against the tide hadn't particularly endeared him to his family, however. His father had wanted him to be a straight-laced, Brooks Brothers model businessman, like his older brother, Kevin. That didn't interest Duane. In fact, it was primarily his dad's effort to mold him into a clone of Kevin that had propelled him in the opposite direction. His senior year in high school had been the turning point. Kevin was a dean's list football star at Harvard, plowing steadily through the curriculum that would lead to a coveted MBA. Duane, whose high school marks were equally impressive, announced that he would not attend Harvard. He chose instead to head west, traveling halfway across the country to Missouri, a university noted for its prowess in journalism.

  After a few years on a Chicago newspaper, Duane agreed to return home to New York and the family business, but in the PR end rather than advertising. The Highsmiths had always been close family friends. They were Uncle Nate and Aunt Ginger. He saw it as a godsend when Nate agreed to take over the agency and save his father from drowning in a flood of red ink. But knowing that Kevin would eventually become head of the agency, he took advantage of the opportunity to jump ship when Worldwide Communications Consultants was formed.

  Duane was aware that Burke Hill had not been pleased at his inclusion in the Korean operation, but he also knew Burke would not be in Seoul for long. He was determined it would not diminsh his role in any way. After all, he was the only fully qualified intelligence officer on the scene. The fact that he was totally untested seemed inconsequential. He had acquitted himself well as a cub reporter and as a neophyte public relations practitioner. He expected to pull off this debut with equal aplomb.

  He and Brittany ate lunch near the research firm, which was located in a commercial area south of the Han River. It was around two when they returned to the office. Duane immediately put in a call to R. Mitchell Steele at the Taesong nuclear power plant.

  "Steele here," said a gravelly voice.

  "Mr. Steele, this is Duane Elliston with Worldwide Communications Consultants in Seoul. Did your people in California tell you we were coming?"

  "Oh, yeah." He sounded unenthusiastic.

  "How is the project coming?"

  "We're on schedule, but the next four weeks are critical. If those desk jockeys in California and the engineering geniuses in Seoul will stay off my back, we'll make it."

  That sounded like a veiled warning to keep out of his way. Duane decided to try a little back door approach. "How would you like another good project to work on when this one is finished?"

  "That's what they hired me for. What did you have in mind?"

  "Bartell wants me to come down there and shoot some photos, get a feel for the project and turn out a promotional brochure. Something they can use to sell other prospects."

  Steele mumbled a reply that sounded like, "Oh, they do."

  Duane wondered if he had an ego. "They said to play up Mitch Steele as the man who can produce miracles."

  "I don't know about any damn miracles," he said. "But if I get this sonofabitch done on schedule, I'll sure deserve some kind of medal."

  Duane chuckled. "I'll see that you're put in for a commendation. What would be a good day to come down?"

  "Listen, sonny...what did you say your name was?"

  "Elliston. Duane Elliston."

  "Well, Duane, if you want to make pictures down here, you'd better get your ass over to Kepco and see what they say. They're more security conscious than the U.S. Defense Department."

  "Would Dr. Nam U-je be the one to approve it?"

  "He's the man with the brass balls."

  Duane grinned. Despite the grouchy tone, Mitch Steele was a man he could admire. He believed in the direct approach. "We have an appointment with Dr. Nam on Thursday. I'll get back to you."

  He had never heard the prosecutor in such a state of panic. It was shortly before noon on Tuesday, and Captain Yun had just arrived at his office following a fruitless morning of battering heads with the bureaucracy. First he had tried the Ministry of National Defense. He wanted access to the files of former members of the ROK Army Special Forces. That was not possible, a harried young personnel captain insisted. Talk to the colonel. The colonel, a husky, beetle-browed ogre with the tact of a drill sergeant, was more adamant.

  "Shit, Captain, when the Army needs the help of the police, we'll call you." He growled like a bear just out of hibernation.

  "This is an important homicide case," Yun said. "It involves a relative of the president of the republic."

  "Then bring me a piece of paper with the president's signature on it and you can see the records."

  End of conversation.

  Next he had gone to the Ministry of Education, in hopes of finding something on Suh Tae-hung among the records of university graduates. Which university, he was asked? He had no idea. What year? He was not sure. An exasperated clerk threw up her hands. Talk to the head of the division, he was told. And so it went.

  "You want me in your office right away?" Yun asked Prosecutor Park in a voice of disbelief. It was lunchtime. The
bulbous lawyer normally reserved an hour or more at mid-day to re-stock the paunch that made his trousers look like a wind sock in a gale.

  "Yes, for God's sake! Get down here right away. And drop everything until you do."

  "Have you learned something about Hwang?" His voice held a cautious note of optimism.

  "Yes, damn it," Park said, lowering his voice, "and I can't talk about it on the telephone."

  The Captain made it in record time. He couldn't imagine what the prosecutor had learned to put him in such a state of alarm. Something unusual had obviously occurred, judging from the pile of cigarette butts that crowded the brass-bottomed dragon on his desk.

  Yun took his seat and looked across at Park expectantly.

  The prosecutor had managed to calm himself some during the time it had taken Yun to get there, but he still sounded a bit unnerved. "I was summoned to the Minister's office a short while ago," he said. "He had Colonel Han, director of the Agency for National Security Planning, with him. They told me that your information was obviously flawed. Your informer is apparently not so reliable after all. If there were someone by the name of Hwang Sang-sol, which they did not confirm, he would not have had anything to do with any of your cases. You are to drop any further investigation of this person. The Colonel stressed that it was a matter of the highest national security. Nothing is to be mentioned to anyone outside of this office. Is that clear?"

  What came through loud and clear was that Hwang had, indeed, worked for the NSP. And likely still did. It was not clear whether the NSP had anything to do with Hwang's involvement in the murders. They certainly did not want any probing into his activities that might become a matter of public record.

  "I asked is that clear?" Park repeated with emphasis.

  Yun nodded. "Quite clear, Mr. Prosecutor. You realize what that would do to these cases if I were to drop Hwang—"

  "If you were?" Park gasped in disbelief.

  Yun exhaled a deep breath. "If I drop Hwang as a suspect, I'll be right back at the beginning, starting all over at square one. He was my only suspect. The evidence against him is far too strong to be coincidental."

  "I don't believe what I'm hearing," said Park, as though the Captain had just announced his decision to fly to the moon. "I distinctly remember saying this person, or non-person, had nothing to do with any of your cases. Nothing means not anything. Period."

  Yun folded his arms and stared at the prosecutor as the anger began to well up inside him. Politics had raised its ugly head. The law was the law, and in Yun's mind it applied to politicians equally as with any other citizen. Four people had died, apparently at the scarred hands of Suh, alias Hwang. Letting someone get away with murder was bad enough. With four murders it was unconscionable.

  "Are you telling me I can't discuss this with my superiors in the National Police?"

  Park shook his head. "Man, are you crazy? Don't you know what power the NSP possesses?"

  "They have no authority to interfere in police matters."

  "This is a matter of national security. It comes from the Minister of Justice. Do you want them to go to the Minster of Home Affairs? It might bring your removal from more than just these cases. Look, I'm a reasonable man. I know I've criticized you for lack of progress on these homicides. But I'm willing to give you whatever time it takes to start anew. If you must, go find yourself a drunk you can get a confession from."

  That was too much. "I've been a police officer for twenty-one years, Mr. Park, and I have never arrested a man I did not believe guilty. If you have nothing else to discuss, I'll get back to work. Obviously, I have much to do."

  His insides churned all the way back to his office. He pulled out the biographical sheet on Suh Tae-hung and read it again. A nice piece of American fiction, if I am to believe Prosecutor Park. The man who does not exist. He looked at the files bulging with evidence pointing to murder and conspiracy. He sat there for a long time entertaining all sorts of dark thoughts about political expediency and misplaced concerns over national security and plain old malfeasance. But in the end, he had to accept the reality of it all. They had the legal right to stop his investigation. He shoved the files into a drawer and slammed it shut. Damn it, he was not about to invent evidence to convict some innocent party. If he couldn't pursue Hwang Sang-sol, the cases could damn well lie there and rot.

  Chapter 34

  The office of Dr. Nam U-je was bright and spacious, furnished with an intricately carved desk and chairs of polished teak wood. Several large plants were placed about the room, assured of sunlight from the large windows that faced a view of the Olympic Stadium. It was not unlike a corporate chief executive's office in the U.S. Dr. Nam sat behind the desk as the two Americans took the chairs facing him. He kept a busy schedule, with all the additional responsibilities that had been given him over the past couple of years. The job of overseeing all the power generating facilities, the nationwide transmission network and the local distributors was enough to drive a normal man gray. But Nam, on his fifties, had hair as black as the crude oil that once had been his biggest headache. Now, with most of the nuclear power on line, oil imports had been cut back considerably. Still, he had other, pressing concerns. He had only agreed to meet with the Americans out of an abundance of caution.

  He wanted to know just what interest they had in Korea Electric Power Company.

  Brittany Pickerel was dressed in a fashionably feminine dark blue business suit. She smiled at the utility president. "We appreciate your taking the time to meet with us, Dr. Nam," she said in Korean. He was fluent in French but did not speak English. His degree in nuclear physics had been earned in France.

  Nam's face remained expressionless. "I'm afraid my time is somewhat limited. I read where your firm was establishing a branch here. I would be interested in learning a bit more about it."

  Translating for Duane Elliston, Miss Pickerel told Dr. Nam about Worldwide's plans in Korea and a little about the company's Seoul staff. He was a good listener, prompting her with a question now and then.

  "Basically, we want to know what your people like about America and its products, what they don't like, and why. Then we can recommend steps to improve."

  Dr. Nam had remained poker-faced but now allowed himself a slight smile. "We know what our customers don't like. They don't like the rates they have to pay, and they don't like it when the power goes out. I don't think public relations could have an effect on that."

  "You'd be surprised," she said, a grin tugging at the corners of her eyes. "They might be persuaded that the rates are better than they think they are. And a little publicity on how quickly you respond to complaints of outages could easily improve your image."

  "So what is it you wish from me?" he asked.

  "We also represent Bartell Engineering, the firm that's building your Taesong nuclear plant. They want us to produce a promotional brochure highlighting their experience in the field. Mr. Elliston would like to take a photographer down there and shoot some photographs, gather some information we could use in the brochure."

  Dr. Nam frowned. "Nuclear facilities are highly sensitive areas. We don't permit outsiders to tour them or take photographs."

  She gave Elliston's reply. "Since we're employed by Bartell, we aren't really outsiders. The photographs and the brochure would give your country good publicity in showing how technologically up-to-date you are."

  Dr. Nam sat silent for a moment. "Perhaps it could be arranged. We would want someone escorting them at all times. We would have to approve the photographs prior to their use."

  Miss Pickerel smiled. "No problem, Dr. Nam. When could our people go down?"

  "I will have someone contact you. Probably early next week."

  As they were preparing to leave, Elliston posed a few questions on whether Dr. Nam had visited any nuclear plants in the U.S. He had, several years ago. And did he have a chance to do much traveling otherwise? He had not been able to do any traveling for the past several months due to the pr
ess of business.

  As Duane and Brittany passed through the secretary's office. After Dr. Nam had closed his door, Brittany thanked the prim, doll-like woman for her help. As an afterthought, she asked, "By the way, we're looking for a good travel agency to handle our needs. Does Dr. Nam use a local agency?"

  "Yes, we use East Asia Travel Service. Dr. Nam has been quite pleased with them. I'll give you the number if you would like it."

  They took a taxi back to the office. Brittany immediately went to her desk and called East Asia Travel. She explained that Dr. Nam U-je of Kepco had recommended their service. She asked to speak with the person who handled his arrangements.

  "I have to make a trip to Israel," she told the woman who came on the line, explaining again about the recommendation. "Can you tell me about the arrangements you made for Dr. Nam? I think I'd like the same thing."

  "Which trip?" the travel agent asked.

  "Oh, I didn't know he had been more than once."

  "Yes, let's see...three times in the past year, I think. As a matter of fact, I believe he took the same flight each time. That's probably why he didn't mention more than one trip."

  "When did he go?"

  "Oh dear. May, the first time. That's when he went on to France. Then August, with the trade delegation, and the last time at the end of September."

  Brittany was smiling as she hung up the phone. Shortly afterward, she and Duane met with Burke to report on the day's developments.

  Burke occupied a small office he would turn over to Duane when he headed back to Washington. Currently he was embroiled in discussions with government agencies over the status of Worldwide's Seoul office. They had opened initially as a "liaison office," which permitted only limited activities. It required no payment of corporate taxes, but technically it gave the company no legal standing. Burke was pursuing a change to the "branch office" form of business. This would permit the generation of income in Korea. It also required registration with the court and approval of operations by the Bank of Korea. As Jerry had warned earlier, the process was tedious. He felt he had been moving in slow motion, like something he might have experienced in a dream, or perhaps swimming in a pool of molasses.