"You must understand the differences between American democracy and Korean democracy, Mr. Hill," he said. "Your constitution forbids any laws abridging freedom of the press. Prior restraint is not allowed. Your newspapers can print whatever they wish, be it factual, speculative, spiteful, even libelous, though, of course, they could be sued. Our constitution is a bit different. It provides that neither speech nor the press shall violate the honor or rights of other persons, nor undermine public morals or social ethics. The Ministry of Culture and Information is our watchdog."
Burke shook his head in disgust. "I see your problem," he said.
Now that he thought about it, he recalled having read where the South Korean government had closed down newspapers in the past. Surely that couldn't happen over something as simple as a low-level bureaucrat stepping out of line. But Kang obviously knew the limitations of Korean press freedom much better than he. Supposedly South Korea had become more liberal than in the past. No doubt to some degree it had. But the old spectre of intimidation was still alive and well. And when it was your newspaper that was on the line, you didn't push your luck too far.
He decided it might be worth asking Captain Yun about. He caught the policeman in his office and attempted to sound more upbeat than he felt.
"This is Burke Hill, Captain. I hope you're having a good day?"
"Some people believe if they awaken to see another morning, it is a good day," said Yun. "I'm not so easily pleased. But I won't bore you with my problems. How can I be of help to you, Mr. Hill?"
"For one thing, I thought you might be interested in a follow-up on the information you gave me regarding the Embassy brawl." He related Editor Kang's findings.
"I'm not surprised at Ko's union connection," said Yun. "The government job is another matter. Normally, the government doesn't like unions. Evidently this is one they control or one that is working for them."
"I was hoping Koryo Ilbo would print a retraction or a new story explaining what really happened. Kang says they can't." He explained the editor's reasoning.
"Yes," Yun said, "Our newspapers are not so free to do as they please. Unfortunately, that apparently applies also to our National Police."
Burke frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"I don't think it would be wise to say any more," Yun said.
Burke sensed that something had gone badly wrong. But what? Did it have anything to do with the cases they had discussed? Was Yun being purposely vague on the telephone? He had to find out. Perhaps an invitation was in order. Jerry had told him the Koreans considered it impolite to refuse another's hospitality. "I really enjoyed my recent visit with you," he said, baiting the trap. "It would be a pleasure to have you as my guest for dinner."
Although Burke thought he might have detected some reluctance, Captain Yun accepted his invitation. They agreed to meet Wednesday evening at a traditional Korean restaurant in Iksun-dong that Miss Song had recommended. The Iksun-dong section north of Pagoda Park was home to some of the best Oriental style restaurants in Seoul, as well as the most noted kisaeng houses.
Chapter 38
Kurt Voegler agreed to meet Jerry Chan and Duane Elliston early that evening at a maggolli house, a sort of Korean neighborhood pub, across from the high-rise Reijeo Building, the business group's expansive, modern headquarters. It was a favorite after-hours hangout for young, mid-level Reijeo executives. After an exhaustive, free-wheeling afternoon of bouncing around ideas for a promotional giveaway that would send the Korean winners on all-expense-paid junkets to Disneyland, Disney World, and Washington, D.C., Jerry and Duane were primed for the "happy hour."
"We might learn something of interest tonight," Jerry said as they approached the bar, "but our primary mission is to make some contacts we can pursue later. It's important to make them feel we're a couple of normal guys. One thing we can expect to encounter is the old Korean drinking game."
Duane grinned. "I'm good at drinking games."
"You need to know the rules on this one. The guy next to you will hand you a glass and pour. You take it in both hands. turn it up, and pass it on to the next guy."
Duane smirked. "Got it."
Maggolli is a milky-white rice brew, traditionally Korea's most popular drink. Though mild, it can pack a punch that sneaks up on the unwary. Maggolli houses in the blue-collar sections tended to be untidy taverns where the partying usually became rather raucous. Since this one catered to Korea's version of the yuppy, it was quite decent and upbeat in appearance. The unwinding was well under way when they arrived, the crowd noisy in a cheerful way and constantly milling about. The place served excellent anju, bar snacks, including pindaeduk, mung bean pancakes with shrimp or meat mixed into the batter.
Voegler arrived at about the same time. They ordered bottles of the cloudy brew and nibbled on pancakes as they began circling through the crowd. The attaché quickly spotted a table of Reijeo people that included a few acquaintances. He introduced the Americans and they squeezed into a couple of narrow openings at the table. The man beside Jerry was named Kwon. Most of the Koreans understood English, but Jerry spoke in Korean to show that he wasn't your average American visitor.
"The weather's been great since we got here," Jerry said, going with a tried and true opening gambit for any conversation. "When do you expect snow?"
"Before the end of December," said the bespectacled young man. "Of course, it could happen any time now. What is the weather like where you came from?"
"I came here from Washington, though I've lived all around. The Washington weather is a lot like here. It's cold back there now, but so far no snow."
They had to lean their heads close to hear above the noise. Kwon said, "Too bad you didn't get here in the spring. That's the best time to see some of the countryside."
Jerry smiled. It provided the perfect opening. "A friend of mine wants me to go visit Andong."
Kwon's face lit up. "That's where my ancestors came from. The Kwons were yangban during the Yi Dynasty." The yangban were aristocrats who held down high government posts.
"Then you can tell me what I should be sure to see while I'm down there."
Kwon took a big gulp of maggolli and wiped his mouth. "A lot of the old homes are still there. On the east side of town is a seven-story pagoda you should definitely see. It's the oldest and largest in Korea. And, of course, you'll want to go up to the Amita Buddha. It's just north of town. Twelve meters high, carved into a huge boulder."
Jerry finished his drink and ordered another. Kwon was well ahead of him and chattering without restraint.
"I read where your company built a plant inside a mountain down there a few years ago," Jerry said casually. "Chuwangsan, I believe. Isn't it southeast of Andong?"
"Right." Kwon moved his head closer, lowering his voice. "It's one of those projects we don't talk about."
Jerry nodded knowingly. "Because they make explosives. I'm manager for the local office of an American public relations firm. I know how it is to have to deny something everybody knows is so."
Kwon rumpled his brow and gave a half-grin. "We don't deny our Explosives Division is there. But they have some government contracts for materials used in military weapons. The government gets touchy about it."
"Seems like the article I read also said it had a Special Something Division. Special Services?"
Kwon shook his head. "No, no. I'm in Special Services. We cover such areas as accounting and finance, advertising and public relations. You're talking about Special Projects. They have a research laboratory down there that works on things like equipment for nuclear medicine. I really don't know what all they do. Classmate of mine's a chemical engineer at Chuwangsan."
The man next to Duane decided it was time to start the old drinking game. As Jerry watched, he saw that Duane remembered to hold his glass in both hands as the man poured it full to the rim. Duane turned it up and gulped down about half a glassful before pausing. The Koreans cheered. Another glass was passed to him. The tri
ck was to pass yours on as quickly as possible and not let the glasses accumulate in front of you.
Too late, Jerry realized he had forgotten to tell Duane it wasn't necessary to drink the entire glassful every time someone passed a glass and poured for you.
The following day, Jerry Chan finished his morning run and pulled off the bright orange warm-up suit lettered in white: "University of Tennessee Volunteers." It was damp and heavy with sweat despite the cold outside. He showered, shaved, dressed and headed down to the coffee shop for breakfast. Burke was already into his second cup. They chatted casually as they ate. He found Burke was not all that thrilled about his morning walk as the mercury continued its drop. He suspected that back home his boss would have been striding comfortably in the warmth of a nearly-deserted shopping mall.
When Burke asked how the evening had gone, Jerry delivered an innocuous reply accompanied by a grin that said all he needed to say until they had reached the safety of the office. They were seated close to a table full of apparent Korean businessmen, but they didn't take chances in such situations.
After Burke returned to his room, Jerry took the elevator to Duane's floor. He knocked at the door and listened, but heard nothing. He knocked again, louder. After the third knock, he half expected someone from a nearby room to stick their head out and berate him for disturbing the peace.
The door finally cracked open. About the worst-looking face he had ever encountered materialized in the small gap. It reminded him of something out of a Stephen King horror novel. His hair looked like he'd been caught in a rainstorm. His eyes, streaked with red thunderbolts, blinked uncertainly, and he smelled as if he had been doused with a rather unappetizing French fragrance called Le Vomit.
"Jerry?" The wretch spoke haltingly.
"In the flesh. But I'm not too sure you're Duane. At least not the Duane I knew yesterday."
Duane held a hand up to his forehead. "I've got the mother of all hangovers." His voice was strained. "How did I get back here?"
Jerry shook his head at the miserable sight. "Courtesy of yours truly and my new Reijeo friend, Mr. Kwon. You don't steer very easily when you're dead on your feet, old buddy."
Duane turned to look around the room behind him. "I'd invite you in, but I don't believe you'd want to."
"Thanks. I'll pass. You gonna be okay?"
Duane stuck out his tongue and wagged it as if searching for moisture.
"Give me a little time. I'll be all right."
"No rush," Jerry said. "Come on over when you feel like it. Did you learn anything useful last night?"
Duane gave him a blank stare, then shook his head. "I can't remember."
Andong, South Korea
Chapter 39
Jerry took the Kyongbu Expressway south to near Suwon, where he turned east on the Yongdong Expressway. The superhighways were well maintained, and he made good time in the black Hyundai he had purchased that morning. Near Wonju, he headed southeast through the mountains. The scenery was breathtaking, particularly around Mt. Sobaeksan, north of Yongju. There he saw rugged ridges, deep valleys and occasional waterfalls. Fringes of white reflected in the sun where snow had fallen over the high peaks. He arrived at Andong in mid-afternoon and checked into a yogwan, a Korean-style inn, which featured rooms with ondol floors, furnished with a mattress, quilt and hard pillow.
He spent an hour or so familiarizing himself with the area. The central part of the town presented the usual modern jumble of commercial enterprises, including shops, tabangs and maggolli houses. But he found many large traditional style homes in the residential areas. He drove east of the town and saw the impressive seven-story pagoda Kwon had told him about. A little farther out, he came to a restored village of traditional houses alongside Andong Lake, an artificial body created recently by a dam project. The village was composed of buildings moved to the site to save them from the encroaching lake. It had an authentic atmosphere of old Korea, including inns where maggolli and anju were served.
Jerry took a brief stroll around the village, then headed back to his car. As he approached the parking area, a yellow bus drove up and pulled in near where he had parked. The familiar Reijeo logo with the hangul characters surrounded by four thunderbolts was painted on the sides of the vehicle. When the doors opened, a stream of men in casual attire poured off and headed toward the nearest inn. Jerry walked up to the open front door of the bus, where a tall man wearing a baseball cap and a heavy blue jacket stood talking to the driver. Jerry saw the Reijeo logo embroidered on the left of his jacket, beneath it the word Chikchang, foreman. Lettered on the door of the bus was "Special Projects Division, Chuwangsan Plant."
"Hi! I'm Rhee Po-san." Jerry introduced himself using the name that appeared on a set of fake Korean documents he carried. They would only be used in a setting where there was no chance of anyone following up on the identification. "You guys get up here often?"
The tall man nodded. "Once a month."
Jerry smiled. "It must be a pretty welcome break in the routine. They looked awfully happy coming off that bus."
"A break certainly helps. We spent a few hours in Andong before coming here. This place offers something a little different. Of course, they'd really rather go to Pusan or Seoul. That's a bit far, though, and the company's afraid they might not all make it back."
"Can't blame them. Pusan can get pretty wicked." Jerry changed to a little more businesslike tone. "I'm a chemical engineer from Changwon. I have a lady friend in Andong who's been after me to move up here. Do you know if Reijeo is hiring any chemical engineers at Chuwangsan?"
The foreman stepped down out of the bus. "Come on. We can talk while we walk. I'd better get over to the inn and see what's going on. I'm responsible for these guys."
"Sure," Jerry said, getting in step beside him.
"You're interested in a chemical engineering job, huh? My division isn't looking for any, but Explosives might be. I don't really have any idea. As you can imagine, Explosives is pretty particular about who gets into their side of the plant. Takes a different type of identification from this." He pulled a security badge from his pocket and held it up. Attached to it on a chain was a small vial.
"Why the dosimeter?" Jerry asked.
"We work some with nuclear materials, use them in things like medical supplies and equipment."
Jerry nodded with a thin smile. "But you don't need any chemical engineers."
He shrugged. "Explosives might. I have a friend in personnel who says they're still hiring professional people. What school did you get your degree from?"
Jerry decided not to risk getting tripped up by someone familiar with the Korean college scene. "I graduated from California Institute of Technology in the United States," he said.
"That's good," said the foreman. "It could increase your chances of getting on. My friend says you'd be surprised at the number of American college graduates there are at Chuwangsan."
Jerry wondered what significance that might have. "Do they take applications at the plant?"
"No. Security is too tight around there. You can't get near the place without a badge. There's an employment office in Andong. "
"I'll probably drop by and check into it tomorrow," Jerry said. "Is it a good place to work?"
The foreman raised a bushy eyebrow. "If you like hard work and long hours and stick with the company line."
Jerry grinned. "Doesn't everybody?"
"Apparently not. Word got around recently about a scientist who got himself fired for objecting to something he was involved in."
"That offends our Confucian conscience," Jerry said, feigning indignation.
"Tell that to the students at the next demonstration in Seoul." The foreman laughed. He had a prominent dimple in his chin.
A dissident scientist might be a fertile source for information on the plant. Could his objections have had anything to do with work on nuclear weapons, Jerry wondered? "What was the name of the guy who got fired?" he asked nonchalantly.
"What happened to him?"
"They shipped his ass out, that's what. I'll guarantee you he didn't go to another plant. I understand they blacklisted him. There was a rumor he'd gone to Pulguksa Temple to become a monk. Wouldn't be the first professional to take up the priesthood after a career was shot out from under him. Of course, I don't know if any of this is true."
Jerry begged off a visit to the inn with the excuse that he had to get back to Andong to meet his lady friend. Actually, he was ducking what might develop into another drinking game. This guy looked like he would probably be an old pro at it, capable of drinking the hardiest imbiber under the table.
On his way back to Andong, he came up with a plan. Pulguksa, he recalled, was one of the most famous temples in the country, built by a Silla Kingdom monarch in the fifth century, when Buddhism first came to Korea. It was located near Kyongju, which served as the Silla capital from its founding in 57 B.C. until its downfall near the middle of the tenth century. Kyongju was a couple of hours drive southeast of Andong.
Back at the yogwan, he called Burke and explained his plan, which would require the Worldwide office to back him up should any inquiries come through. They would confirm that he was representing an American client called the Coalition for Nuclear Freedom.
He started out early the next morning, as soon as there was enough light for driving in unfamiliar territory. Andong was already stirring, but he saw none of the frantic rush that marked this hour of the day in Seoul. Here the people went about their lives in the centuries-old way, seeking order and harmony at a traditionally timeless pace. Overnight, the clouds had moved in, casting the town in shades of gray, giving it a more prounounced aura of age. He took Highway 28 southeast, which paralleled a railroad most of the way to Kyongju.
In 1979, UNESCO named Kyongju one of the world's ten most important ancient historical sites. It was also South Korea's top tourist attraction, but Jerry had no interest in sightseeing at the moment. Pulguksa was only sixteen kilometers away, though it required following a tortuous road up the side of cloud-shrouded Mt. Tohamsan. About halfway up, just beyond a tourist-oriented village, he found the temple complex, a series of walled compounds set on stone terraces in a glade of pine and juniper trees.
The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2) Page 25