The Plotters

by Un-su Kim

  Reseng awoke to find Mito standing over him. He had no idea how long she’d been there. Her expression was grim.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Three a.m.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I have instructions for you.’

  ‘I don’t need your plans. Just a gun and a knife.’

  ‘Don’t get any stupid ideas. Now is not the time for another of your childish tantrums.’

  ‘When assassins come bursting in here, what’re we going to fight them off with? Pots and pans?’

  ‘The election is less than twenty days away. Hanja doesn’t have time to worry about us, and frankly, he doesn’t have any reason to yet. We’re going to hit him before he hits us.’

  ‘Fine. What the hell is your plan?’

  ‘So you’ll help?’

  ‘Don’t know. Can’t make any guarantees.’

  She gave him a long, quiet look before continuing.

  ‘I have all of Dr Kang’s data. Information on plots dating back twenty years, of people who died without a trace. And Hanja keeps ledgers in his safe. They contain records of every transaction he’s ever made with politicians, businessmen, the library, contract kill brokers and assassins. He’s landed himself a big account for the election, so that information will also be in the ledgers. Also, there’s Old Raccoon’s book.’

  ‘What book?’

  ‘The book that describes in detail every major assassination in South Korea’s modern history over the last ninety years. The previous library directors wrote the chapters for the first fifty years, and Old Raccoon wrote the last forty.’

  ‘Old Raccoon wrote a book? You certainly know a lot about it, considering you’ve never set foot in the library. Meanwhile, I’ve been there for twenty-eight years and have never heard of it.’

  Mito glanced towards the librarian’s bedroom.

  ‘There’s definitely a book. And I know where it is.’

  ‘Are you telling me that this book that will overturn everything we think we know about contemporary Korean history, and throw the entire country into turmoil, is sitting right out in the open alongside the other two hundred thousand books in the library? Where? Next to Crime and Punishment? Or no, wait, I know. It’s next to The Grace and Drama of Japanese Baseball, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s under Old Raccoon’s study,’ she said calmly.

  ‘In the basement?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s a thick book with a leather cover. Looks like a Bible. You’ll know it when you see it.’

  ‘How did you find it?’

  ‘Men like Old Raccoon think all women are airheads. Especially when those women are cross-eyed.’

  Reseng burst out laughing. To think that the dopey-looking cross-eyed librarian had been screwing over Old Raccoon the whole time. Reseng tried to imagine the look on proud Old Raccoon’s face when he found out.

  ‘Hanja doesn’t keep his ledgers at work,’ continued Mito. ‘They’re in a safe house, and only Hanja and his lawyer have access to them. Hanja won’t respond to threats, but his lawyer will. He has two pretty daughters and a wife, and he’s a weak, snivelling coward. If you poke him a few times with your knife, he’ll start talking. As for the library basement, two people have access: Old Raccoon and you. If you can bring me both Old Raccoon’s book and Hanja’s ledgers, your work is done. Whatever you do after that is up to you. Once I have all three, including Dr Kang’s data, I’ll be holding all the cards.’

  Reseng stared at her.

  ‘You really think you can pull it off? Even if you do get your hands on all those documents, you’ll have every assassin in the country out for your blood. And not just them. The government, the military, the police, the prosecutors—everyone will be after you. Because everyone in this country who’s ever held even the slightest bit of power is connected to a plotter.’

  ‘Aren’t elections fun? It’s like one big party. Ambition, greed, and vanity, all gathered together in the same spot, all sticking their necks out. And everyone’s eyes are fixed on the spectacle, hoping to see the lies exposed. It’s perfect timing for something to explode. And everyone’s hoping something will explode. I have a plan. What do you think? Will you help me?’

  Reseng thought it over.

  ‘If you succeed,’ he said, ‘then everyone I know dies. I’ll die, too. But the plotters behind the scenes, who control us like puppets? They’ll come out of it alive. That’s what history tells me.’

  Mito laughed.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. I haven’t gone into battle yet. But at least you won’t die a cowardly polar bear.’

  X

  The next day, the first snow of the year fell. Misa couldn’t keep away from the window, she was completely entranced. But for Reseng, the heavy blanket of snow made him feel cut off, as if he’d come too far and was in greater danger. He added coal to the stove and topped up the kettle. The muscles in his side still felt stiff, but he could move more easily now. Mito and the librarian were gone. He felt relieved. If they’d been home, the three of them would’ve driven him crazy, prattling on all day, no doubt, about the snow.

  ‘Isn’t the world just so beautiful when it snows?’ Misa said as she gazed out the window.

  ‘Beautiful…?’ Reseng muttered. ‘Five centimetres of snow is all it takes to make the dirt and filth underneath beautiful?’

  Misa frowned at him. ‘Why are you so negative? It’s just snow.’

  Reseng laughed. ‘I guess you’re right. It’s just snow.’

  ‘Ah, I wish I could go out in it,’ she said, stretching her arms overhead.

  Reseng immediately put on a hat and went out to sweep the snow. Snowdrifts filled the garden and forest path. He liked the feeling of the cold flakes that stuck to his face and melted there. As a child, he used to spend hours sweeping up the cherry blossoms that swirled around the courtyard every spring. The broom was taller than he was. He would sweep the ground clean and turn around only to discover more fallen blossoms piled up behind him. Distraught by the dying flowers that never stopped falling, he had spent whole afternoons sweeping up blossoms. He finished clearing a path from the garden out to the main road, and returned to the cabin. He got a blanket and tucked it around Misa’s lap.

  ‘Put on a hat or you’re not going out,’ he said.

  Misa obediently pulled on a knitted cap. He lifted her onto the wheelchair and took her outside. The wheels made a funny crunching sound as they rolled over the snow.

  ‘Isn’t my chair too heavy in the snow?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s not heavy.’

  Each time the wheels rattled over a rock or a root, Misa giggled. She stuck out her hand and caught a snowflake, then tilted her head back and let the flakes fall on her closed eyes.

  ‘What kind of life do you want to have?’ Reseng asked.

  ‘I like this one,’ she said without opening her eyes. ‘Just like this.’

  Mito returned in the middle of the night. The gears ground and the car engine sounded unnatural as it came towards the cabin over the snow-covered road. The headlights illuminated the front window, then there was darkness. But Mito did not come in. Reseng got out of bed and looked through the window. Mito had both hands on the steering wheel, her head down, and her shoulders were shaking. She sat in the car for half an hour before finally coming in. Reseng got back into bed and pretended to be asleep. He heard the refrigerator door open and close, followed by the sound of Mito slumping onto the floor. Then, for a long time, he heard nothing at all. Reseng stared up at the ceiling in the dark for another twenty minutes before getting out of bed and going to the kitchen. He turned on the light to find Mito curled up next to the fridge, crying. He looked at her for a moment and got a bottle of water from the fridge. He drank a glass himself, then poured a glass for Mito.

  ‘I didn’t know tough bitches like you ever cried,’ he said.

  Her smile was more of a sneer. She took a sip. Reseng sat at the table. Mito wiped her tears away with her s
leeve.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask why a tough bitch like me is crying?’ she asked playfully, her eyes still welling with tears.

  ‘No, women cry for as many reasons as there are stars in the sky.’

  She nodded in agreement.

  ‘If I let you live, could you look after Misa?’ The look in her eyes was mournful and earnest. ‘For five—no, just the next three years.’

  Reseng looked at her quizzically.

  She added, ‘I’m not saying that’s what’ll happen, but just in case.’

  ‘What about you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not going to live that long.’

  ‘Why should you die while I get to live? Because of that stupid morality of yours about monsters or whatever? Your dying won’t change the world. So just live. What’s the point of single-handedly saving the world, and then being the only one who dies? What kind of bullshit is that? Who do you think you are, Jesus?’

  ‘I killed a little girl today. I gave her an injection. A little girl who’s been in a coma since she was nine. A little girl with no sins and no power. And I killed her. With an injection.’

  Mito sounded drunk.

  ‘Who was she?’

  ‘The Barber’s daughter.’

  Reseng stood up. He’d seen a pack of cigarettes somewhere in that kitchen. As he was opening the empty coffee jar on the shelf and peeking inside, Mito pulled a pack from her pocket and offered him one. He took it and lit it. On his second inhale, a wave of dizziness hit him; it was his first cigarette in a month.

  ‘Why her?’ he asked.

  ‘Because she was what kept him working, not Hanja.’

  His left eye was suddenly throbbing. He rubbed it with his palm. Had he ever killed before out of faith or justice or anything like that? Never. He hadn’t believed in those things. He’d killed because he was told to kill. Because the person he killed was on a list, and because he was an assassin. What was Mito killing for? The idea that you could kill someone for something you believed in suddenly filled him with fear. When he thought about it, that might have been what made plotters tick. Reseng took another drag.

  ‘People hide their true motivations even from themselves,’ he said. ‘And they have to invent fake motivations in order to keep on fooling themselves. You don’t know what your true motivation is, do you? You don’t actually know what you’re doing, do you? From what I see, you’re no different from the rest of us. You’re just like the Barber. And just like Hanja. You’re exactly like all the other plotters out there. This new world you’re imagining will end up being no different from the old world. The way cats still catch mice, no matter what colour they are.’

  He stubbed his cigarette out in the water pooled at the bottom of the sink and tossed it in the garbage bin. Mito was still slumped on the floor, a look of devastation on her face.

  ‘I’ll get Hanja’s ledgers for you,’ he said, aiming the words at the top of her head. ‘But not Old Raccoon’s book. That’s the best I can do.’

  The next afternoon, Reseng packed his things. Misa brought out winter clothes from the wardrobe and put them in his bag. The clothes had belonged to the sisters’ deceased father. Most were slightly too big for Reseng.

  ‘Your father was tall?’

  ‘Tall and handsome,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘I’ll drop you off at the station,’ Mito said, standing next to him.

  He could tell she wanted to say something to him in private.

  ‘No, thanks,’ he said. ‘I want to walk alone.’

  With one eye on Misa, she offered him an envelope. He looked at it. He assumed it contained the location of Hanja’s safe house and the room with the safe, the method for bypassing the security system, the date and time the lawyer would be there, and the list of ledgers he needed to retrieve. He put the envelope in his bag.

  ‘Don’t be late,’ she said.

  ‘I won’t,’ he said firmly.

  Reseng smiled at Misa. She looked sad. He patted her on the shoulder and turned to leave, then walked slowly down the now slushy road. Misa waved until he was out of sight.

  Hanja’s safe house was in a quiet residential area. It was an ordinary two-storey home with a well-tended garden. The neighbouring house was so close the eaves were nearly touching. It was the kind of home where you’d expect to see a family man walking up to the front door with a giant birthday cake for his twin daughters. Following Mito’s instructions, Reseng climbed onto the neighbour’s roof first and jumped over to the roof of Hanja’s safe house. Next to a water tank was a boiler cabinet with a thirty-centimetre-square ventilation window. He gave the window frame a shake. It was shoddy quality; he was certain he could lift the frame out without breaking the glass. This is her big idea for getting me inside? Some plotter she is, he thought with a laugh.

  Hanja’s lawyer still hadn’t arrived. Reseng checked his watch: 8 p.m. With his back against the water tank, he took the PB-6P9 out of the holster and looked at it in the glow of the streetlight. He unscrewed the silencer and reattached it, then took out the magazine, pulled back the empty slide and released the trigger. Not bad, he thought. He liked Russian handguns because they were quiet. So quiet that the gun seemed to have been designed for the silencer, rather than the other way around. When was the last time he’d used a handgun? Several years ago, at least. If they had to get close enough to a target to need a handgun, then most professionals preferred knives. Handguns were sloppy and left behind gunpowder and bullet casings. Not that he had to concern himself with that anymore.

  He went to take out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, but hesitated. Then he took one out anyway and lit it. He didn’t need to worry about smoking anymore either. When he was halfway through the cigarette, his mobile phone vibrated. Mito was calling.

  ‘Hanja’s lawyer just left the office. He’ll be there in twenty,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid like try to tail him. Just get over here and wait.’

  ‘When you get the ledgers, tell him you’ll give them back for seven hundred and fifty million won. Otherwise Hanja will get suspicious.’

  ‘Why’s it got to be seven-fifty?’ Reseng grumbled. ‘Why not an even seven hundred or eight hundred?’

  ‘The lawyer will have two bodyguards with him. Be careful. I’ll be in the lane across the street.’

  She hung up. Reseng stubbed out his cigarette and slipped the butt into his pocket out of habit. Then he removed the ventilation window, slowly lowered it to the floor, and stuck his head inside. The space was tight, but if he wiggled his shoulders, he wouldn’t have too much trouble getting in and out.

  Just as Mito said, the lawyer arrived almost twenty minutes later. Reseng stuck his head out over the roof and watched. A heavyset man came running out to open the car door. The lawyer got out of the back seat, followed by a tall, slender man who appeared to be a bodyguard. He looked strong and deadly. The engine shut off, and a man who looked nothing like a chauffeur got out from behind the wheel. One fat guy, two bodyguards and a lawyer. If things went badly, this could get complicated.

  As the lawyer went into the house, Reseng slipped through the ventilation window. He cracked open the door to the boiler cabinet and waited. He heard the men talking on the first floor. After a moment, the lawyer came up to the second floor alone, unlocked one of the rooms and went inside. That room would have the safe. Reseng crept out into the hallway and checked the first floor. The other three men were eating in the kitchen and cracking jokes. Reseng came back and tested the knob to the door of the lawyer’s room. It was locked from the inside. He glanced downstairs again. The three men were laughing loudly. Reseng knocked on the door. He heard the lawyer say, ‘What is it?’ He waited and didn’t answer. More laughter from the kitchen. He knocked again. He heard a chair squeak and the lawyer’s irritable voice. Reseng squeezed a wet handkerchief in his left hand and gripped the gun with his right.

  ‘What the hell is it?’ the lawyer asked, as he opened the doo
r.

  Instantly, Reseng shoved the wet handkerchief into the lawyer’s mouth as he pushed him backwards into the room, then fired a bullet into his left thigh. The lawyer looked bewildered as he gazed down at his bleeding leg. Reseng turned to check downstairs. The sound of raucous laughter was still coming from the kitchen. He closed the door and locked it.

  ‘Make a sound and I shoot you in the head. Got it?’

  The lawyer nodded. Reseng took the handkerchief out of the lawyer’s mouth. Then he shot him in the left knee. The lawyer shrieked. Reseng raised one eyebrow.

  ‘What’re you, deaf? I just said two seconds ago that I would shoot you in the head if you made a sound.’

  He aimed the gun. The lawyer closed his mouth, his eyes welling with tears.

  ‘Think you can follow directions now?’

  The lawyer nodded repeatedly. Reseng shot him again in the left knee. The lawyer gritted his teeth and fell to the floor. He rolled from side to side, smearing the carpet with blood. After a moment, he seemed to adjust to the pain, and his groans subsided. Reseng nodded at him.

  ‘That’s a very painful place to get shot, but you’re handling it like a champ. I guess that’s how you were able to pass the bar exam.’

  Reseng sat down at the table in the middle of the room. The lawyer had his face to the floor, grinding his teeth. Reseng lit a cigarette.

  ‘You won’t be able to use that knee anymore. The knee joint’s a tricky thing. Once it’s broken, it’s very difficult to repair. But there’s a big difference between limping on one leg and limping on two legs. Let’s say it’s the difference between a cane and a wheelchair.’

  Reseng exhaled a long puff of smoke.

  ‘So what do you think? Would you like to keep your right knee?’ The lawyer nodded.