Burke leaned back in his chair and listened with growing interest as Duane covered the conversation with the head of Korea Electric Power, particularly his reply about travel. When Brittany related what she had learned from the travel agent, Burke's face took on the glow of a lottery winner.
"Great work, Brittany," he said.
She smiled. "Sounds like our man who doesn't travel much has been on the Israeli shuttle, doesn't it?"
"And on to France. Wonder if that was a visit to the Riviera, or something more sinister?"
Duane frowned and said, "I'd suggest we ask Washington if they can dig up some additional information on him."
"Right," Burke said. "Do it."
He thought back to the conversation with Ben Shallit in Budapest. The Israeli had said the Korean nuclear expert was coming to Israel the following week. Dr. Nam's trip the end of September would be right on target. The May visit could have been an earlier follow-up on the secret agreement. That was about the best circumstantial evidence he could come up with to verify Shallit's words. The question of how far along the Koreans had gotten with their project would no doubt be a much tougher one to fathom. Maybe Duane could shed some light on it after his trip to Taesong.
The private investigator, Yoo Hak-sil, smiled broadly as he presented his report to Jerry Chan. Noting the expression, Jerry mused that he had found little middle ground among Koreans. Most appeared either gloriously happy or virtually without feeling, based on their smiles or deadpan expressions. Yoo's devil-may-care attire matched his outward demeanor. He wore a jacket with large brown and yellow checks, a pastel green shirt and a mud-colored tie almost thin enough to qualify for the shoestring designation. Beneath that smile, Jerry thought, should lie the reckless soul of a gambler. He would have looked right at home with a racing form stuck in the pocket of his jacket.
Jerry read the written report, pausing at the section on conclusions. After a few moments, he looked up. "Basically, you saw no drawbacks to hiring her?"
"That is correct, Mr. Chan." Yoo was short and built as solid as a Brink's truck. He had a deep voice that seemed all out of proportion to his size. "The young lady has no shortcomings I could detect."
Jerry's major concerns were a reputation for honesty and integrity and a lack of any ties, family or otherwise, to the South Korean government. He had explained to Mr. Yoo that because of the government's apparent antagonism toward things American, he did not want any employee who might feel a compulsion to compromise Worldwide's plans for countering any bias against U.S. products and Americans in general.
"Certainly looks like everyone gave her high marks," Jerry said as he skimmed the pages. "No relatives connected with the government?"
"None. Her father worked on some government buildings, but, of course, he's dead now. Anything else you'd like me to check on?"
"Not at the moment. I may need you again, though. I expect to hire another local employee or two. Thanks for your help."
Yoo handed him an envelope with his bill for services and left. Jerry sat at his desk and read through the report again. He had been impressed with Miss Song initially. Now he was convinced. He picked up the phone and dialed her number.
Yoo Hak-sil did indeed possess the soul of a gambler. And, as any gambler, he preferred to bet on sure things. This situtation, he thought, had the earmarks of certain profit. During his tenure with the police bureau, he had earned a reputation for competence and enterprise. He had turned his back on that career, however, feeling the role of private investigator offered the promise of much greater economic reward. In the course of pursuing that goal, he had discovered some cases could provide a windfall, double compensation. He saw Jerry Chan's peculiar concern about hiring people with no connection to the government offering just such a possibility. He stopped at the first pay telephone after leaving Worldwide Communications Consultants and called the man who provided excellent compensation for details of political, social or economic aberrations.
By the following week, Jerry Chan's office was as busy as a CPA operation in the days before April 15th. Song Ji-young had fit into the scene as smoothly as Miss Universe slipping into her swimsuit. Arms waving like a traffic cop, a big smile on her face, she moved skillfully to keep the phone calls and the paperwork properly sorted out. The guys had a field day with her name. Duane went around crooning "With a Song in My Heart," while Travis Tolliver insisted on calling her Miss Melody. As for the bright-eyed young secretary, she took them all in stride.
On Wednesday morning, Jerry closeted himself in Burke's office to review the status of the operation as a whole, both "blue" side and "amber." He had been pleasantly surprised when Nate Highsmith picked him for this job. Getting a management post this early in his Amber Group career was more than he had dared hope for. He was determined to make the most of the opportunity, and that meant working closely with his operational boss to see that everything proceeded according to plan. And while he wasn't directly responsible to Burke for the public relations end of the business, he knew the financial officer would make a full report to the Chief on his return to Washington.
Jerry summarized the status of each staff member's activities. Brittany's desk had stayed piled high with papers as she analyzed the results of the Korean market survey. After her report was completed, there would be a brainstorming session with the entire staff to refine the steps they would follow. The PR plan that had been developed in Washington would serve as the basic guideline, adapted to fit the situation as detailed by the research.
Travis had made a number of useful contacts in the media, plus he had located an ambitious young bilingual reporter interested in learning the craft of writing news releases and radio and TV spots. Jerry had put Mr. Yoo on his trail, with orders to check him out thoroughly. Since news people were by nature highly inquisitive, he wanted to know as much as possible about the man before deciding to hire him.
Duane had spent the bulk of his time calling on local managers of firms affiliated with the American Council for Business in Korea. He briefed them on the Council's objectives and how they could cooperate in carrying out the planned PR campaign. On the "amber" side, his request that Washington supply additional background on Dr. Nam U-je had turned up several revealing details. Dr. Nam had been one of the primary members of the Korean Weapons Exploitation Committee, the group appointed in the seventies to gather information on establishing a nuclear weapons program. Among other things, he had dealt with a French firm that was ready to contract for a uranium reprocessing plant when the U.S. finally squeezed hard enough that the deal was canceled. Over the past few years, he had worked with the same French firm on building two nuclear power generation units.
"How are you coming with the bureaucrats?" Jerry inquired after they had finished discussing the staff's status.
Burke shook his head. "Don't ask."
"That bad, huh?"
He leaned back in the chair and clasped his hands over his head. "Ever dream you're in a crowd of people, and no matter what you say, nobody pays any attention? That's about how I'm doing with the bureaucrats."
Pusan, South Korea
Chapter 35
Duane Elliston and his photographer, a short, thin man whose name, Mr. No, had the sound of a character from a James Bond movie, took a KAL Boeing 707 out of Kimpo on Friday morning, landing fifty minutes later at Pusan's Kimhae Airport. The visit to Taesong had been cleared the previous day by Dr. Nam U-je's office. Although the airfield was some distance outside the city, the flight circled the big seaport on the way in. Duane craned his neck to stare out at the packed mass of buildings that seemed to flow down a mountainside into the sea, more properly the Korea Strait. Pusan wasn't as large as Seoul, but with three-and-a-half million people, it looked just as crowded. And, like Seoul, it's cluttered, hilly landscape featured a tall spire topped with a restaurant and observation deck. The Pusan Tower, perched on a promontory in Yongdusan Park, jutted into the sky like a lofty Olympic torch, providing a perfect vie
w of South Korea's largest port, including dozens of ships from around the world anchored in the bay.
The first thing Duane noticed was the warmer temperature. Pusan lay at the southern tip of the peninsula. He had been bundled into a topcoat when he left for Kimpo Airport that morning. Comparatively speaking, it was mild here. He rented a car at the airport, loaded No's camera equipment aboard and, with the photographer's help as navigator, circled north of Pusan and east toward the coast. Once they reached what most maps identified as the Sea of Japan, but in Korea is called Tonghae, East Sea, they took a narrow local road that ran north along the coast, past a nearly deserted beach that would become littered with sunbathers again after the passage of winter.
Duane hadn't been told the full story, which he took as another slight at the behest of Burke Hill, but it was easy enough to figure that the South Korean government was suspected of embarking upon a nuclear weapons program they were attempting to hide from the outside world. That could bear all sorts of ramifications. As a child of the nuclear age, Duane had viewed the atom bomb as a fearsome, unfathomable monster whose existence he had first encountered as a small boy. In the pantheon of horror, it had ranked right up there with Godzilla and whatever it was that ate Cincinnati. During his days as a reporter, he had visited a Minuteman missile silo amidst a peaceful farming community on the Great Plains. Watching the launch control officers coolly going about their deadly business of preparing for the unthinkable had left an impression in his mind that could not be easily erased. Years later, he could still picture the scene with frightening clarity.
"That's it up ahead," No told him as they approached a bridge over a small river. He could see the plant in the distance, its round cooling towers rising against the horizon.
Duane followed the signs to the power station, where armed guards instructed him to park at the gate while his credentials were checked. Finally an escort arrived, a stern-looking man named Chung, who took them to the project manager's office.
Duane stuck out his hand as he approached the tall, flinty-eyed engineer. "Duane Elliston, Mr. Steele. Nice to meet you."
Steele's handshake was firm, but there seemed little enthusiasm behind it. He was a big, rough-edged man who appeared to have a lot on his mind. He didn't waste any time. "Hello, Elliston. This your photographer? Since you're here, we might as well get on with it. Know what you want pictures of?"
"Yes, sir. This is Mr. No. I've gone over with him what we'd like in the way of photos."
"Mr. Chung here will doubtless have to approve everything," Steele said, standing with fists jammed against his hips, looking like an umpire anticipating objections to a close call. "I just put things together. He decides if they're okay to look at."
"My only interest is in protecting matters of security," Chung said.
Duane nodded. "Why don't we let Mr. No and Mr. Chung go do their thing, and I'll spend a few minutes getting a little background from you?"
Steele grunted his agreement and the photographer ambled off with his escort, multiple cameras draped around his neck. Steele sat at his desk and motioned Duane to a chair.
"What do you want to know?" the crusty engineer asked, leaning back and propping a large foot against an open desk drawer. He pulled a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and held it out. "Smoke?"
"No thanks."
"Mind if I do?"
Duane shrugged. "It's your lungs."
Steele shot him an icy look. "I know. I quit after I came over here. Couldn't stand the damned Korean cigarettes. Then we had a new guy arrive, must have had a suitcase full of Marlboros. After I run out of these, I'll probably quit again."
"When we talked on the phone, you sounded like a man under a lot of pressure. Is there a big push to get this project finished?"
"Yeah. They threw me a curve. The contract called for completion of Unit One next June, and Unit Two in January of the following year."
"You mentioned four weeks."
He nodded. "Back last June they told me they wanted Unit One done by the end of this year. Unit Two was moved up to June of next year. Said they planned to pull a unit of the Kanggu power station off-line in December. That was the first I'd heard of it."
Kanggu was where the satellite had spotted all the activity, Duane recalled. "Why would they want to do that?"
"Who knows? Guy from Kepco who used to work with me said he'd heard they planned some sort of research facility. Their fuel fabrication plant's there, and their waste storage site. I understand they've already pulled some of the power output from the unit there off the network."
Although Steele took pains to blow his smoke the other way, some of it drifted back toward Duane, who detested the odor. He leaned away from it. "Kanggu's north of here, isn't it? You ever go up there?"
"Naa." The sound was that of a deep-voiced sheep. "I got enough to worry about here. Obviously they don't want me around there anyway. The new guy from Kepco won't even talk about it."
Kanggu definitely bore looking into. Duane eyed him contemplatively. "Doesn't that make you a little curious?"
That brought the first hint of a smile Steele had allowed. "Sure as hell does. I learn more from truck drivers than anybody. They've been hauling equipment to Kanggu for several months. As early as last spring. One guy told me he saw loads of crates that came from Israel and France. He said some of the stuff apparently went to the Reijeo factory at Mt. Chuwangsan."
When Ko had finished shooting and they were ready to head back to Pusan that afternoon, Duane tried to think of some excuse to take a northern route back. But it would have been completely out of the way, and he didn't want to risk rousing any suspicions on the part of the photographer. He would have to come up with a logical reason to make a trip down to Andong, the biggest small town in the vicinity of both the Kanggu power facility and Reijeo's cavern in the mountain. He had a feeling that those two locations were the key to whatever the Kwak government was up to.
Seoul, South Korea
Chapter 36
The cold wind cut through the night air like a wayward knife, causing Burke to emulate a turtle, retracting his neck below the collar of his navy blue topcoat. He and Jerry were returning from dinner at a fashionable restaurant in a nearby office building. Its clientele consisted mostly of Western and Korean businessmen. They had seen Kurt Voegler, the Embassy's commercial attaché, huddled with a group of Koreans in the lounge. It was one of countless watering holes around downtown Seoul where business people unwound at the end of a long, hectic day.
They made it back to the office around nine, shortly before Duane was due to return. No one gave them a second glance. Working late was endemic to the highly industrious Koreans. It was not unusual to find lights still burning at this hour in offices all around the building.
As he dropped into the armchair behind his desk, Burke considered calling Lori. Her due date was only a month away now. He was fond of telling other people not to worry about things over which they had no control, but it was advice not so easily taken when it came to Lori's pregnancy. Still, this wasn't his night to call, and when he had ageed upon a schedule, he stuck to it.
Duane arrived a short time later. Looking through his office door, Burke saw him stripping off his coat as he crossed the room. He appeared to be in a testy mood after a long, tiring day of travel. Spotting Burke, he blurted, "Damn, it's cold around here. I should have stayed in Pusan."
Jerry came out of his office. "How was the flight?"
"Fine. If you like being strapped in a den full of Kimchi Eaters Unanimous." Duane sniffed at the lapel of his wool jacket. "My clothes reek of garlic."
Jerry shrugged. He had learned to like the spicy stuff. "If you can't beat 'em, you might as well join 'em, Duane."
"Me, join a movement? Ha!" It was a derisive laugh. "I'd as soon pay homage to the Devil. Matter of fact, I'd rather. At least he might be able to warm things up around here."
He trailed the manager into Burke's office.
"W
hat did you learn from R. Mitchell Steele?" Burke asked.
"I picked up a few eye-openers." He told them about his conversation with the burly engineer. "I assume France and Israel are behind whatever South Korea is involved in. If they have some kind of nuclear program going, I'd say Kanggu and Reijeo's Chuwangsan plant are a good bet for its location."
Burke nodded. "You're probably right there. But I wouldn't jump to too many conclusions based on the crates. The shipments may not have had government approval."
"Our customs people wouldn't have allowed it."
"Do you know what was in the crates?" Burke eyed him with a cold stare.
"I can guess."
"More assumptions?" Burke frowned. "Assumptions won't get it in this business, Duane. We need facts. Verifiable facts."
Jerry moved over to sit on the corner of Burke's desk, apparently placing himself as a buffer between the two. "Too bad we don't have a good Korean agent we could insert down there," he said, twisting his mouth in thought.
"I haven't met a Korean yet who'd make a good agent," Duane said.
"Don't sell the opposition short," Burke said. "That's a good way to get your neck chopped off."
Duane shrugged off the warning. "We don't need a damned Korean anyway. I can rent a car and drive down to Andong. It's the closest town of any size. I'll do my American writer routine and put some pointed questions to the people around there."
"Yeah, and get a pointed gun in your face." Burke's voice was caustic. He had vowed he wouldn't let Duane provoke him this way, but that superior attitude and the tendancy to jump into things before thinking them through was too much. "You'd stick out like a sore thumb. You won't find English-speaking folks out in the provinces like you do in Seoul."
The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2) Page 23