by Paula Stokes
“Sebastian,” I say. “Don’t forget we have to focus on the mission. Not let our emotions get in the way. All of those things you told me.”
“Oh, I’m very focused,” Baz says. “I just need to clarify something for our new friend.”
One of the boys from the zombie game cluster has noticed the situation. “Is he going to kill him?”
“Hopefully not,” I say.
As the minutes tick by, I start to worry. I rise from my chair and try to decide if I should go intervene. But maybe they’re just talking. Baz didn’t look mad, exactly, when he pulled Chung toward the bathroom. It’s possible everything is fine. I transfer my weight from one foot to the other. Just as I’m about to go see what’s happening, Baz strides out of the bathroom. There’s no immediate sign of Chung and I’m wondering if trusting Baz was the best idea after all. But then the door to the bathroom opens again, slowly, and Chung emerges. His shirt is a bit rumpled and he looks a little dazed, but there are no obvious wounds.
I grab my coat and purse. “We should probably go, right?”
Before Baz can respond, Chung makes his way back to us. “I’ll do my best to get you the rest of your information.” He nods as he tugs the brim of his hat low over his face.
“Sounds good,” Baz says. “I’ll call you.” He’s logging off the terminal now. He’s focused on the screen, not looking at me or Chung.
Chung exits through the back door of the PC bang. The kids behind the counter who rent out the machines probably never even knew he was here.
“What just happened?” I say. “I was afraid you were going to kill that kid.”
“Why? Do I look like a homophobic asshole to you?”
“If we’re being honest, kind of?”
“Well, I’m not,” Baz says wryly. “Let’s get out of here.”
I slide my coat back on and train my eyes on the floor as we make our way back to the counter. We leave the PC bang and turn toward the subway station.
Outside, the bright sun takes the edge off another blustery winter day. I tuck my hands deep into my pockets. “Seriously. What happened in there?” I ask again.
Baz chuckles. “You don’t want to know.”
Chung is standing outside the subway station smoking a cigarette. He doesn’t say a word, but the look he gives Baz as we walk by is impossible to confuse.
“Wait a second.” I start down the subway stairs right behind Baz. “Did the two of you … please tell me you didn’t hook up with a strange guy just to get information about UsuMed. I’m not sure what Gideon told you about my past but—”
“I know about your past,” Baz says. “Look. If I tell you I didn’t mind, will you drop it?”
“All right.” I didn’t mind? What does that even mean? We pass through the station turnstiles and find the escalator that leads down to our platform. I pace back and forth for a few seconds but I can’t stop wondering. “So you’re … gay?” I whisper.
“That is not dropping it,” Baz says.
“Sorry. I guess I’m just surprised.”
“You should probably stop judging people by their looks, then.” He pauses. “And I’m bi, not gay.”
I’ve never met a bisexual person, or for that matter a gay person. It suddenly strikes me how tiny and isolated my world has been. “Is that why you quit working for the government?”
Baz laughs out loud. “Are you kidding me? If my employers had known, I’m quite certain they would’ve put that particular attribute to very good use. But like you, I prefer to make my own choices about who I sleep with, so I didn’t exactly advertise my preferences.”
The train roars into the station. “I still can’t believe you … So you like him?” I press. I don’t know why I’m so fascinated by this turn of events. Maybe it’s seeing cold and mercenary Sebastian Faber as a human, with feelings, for the first time.
“I don’t know. He seems cool,” Baz says, as the doors open and a swarm of passengers disembarks. “But we’re done here. I’m not your sister. I’m not your girlfriend. We’re not going to talk about boys, all right?”
“Fine.” But I can’t resist giving Baz a little poke as we squeeze into the already crowded subway car. “You like him,” I hiss.
“Shut up, Winter,” he says. But his lips twitch at the corners like he’s fighting back a smile.
Two stops later, we hop off the train at the Itaewon station. We take the escalators up to the street level. Baz gets a phone call as we’re exiting the subway. I listen to his end of the conversation but can’t get a feel for who’s on the other end of the line.
“I have another job for the two of us,” he says. “Turns out those license plates Ramirez photographed are from a local car hire service. Chances are Kyung uses the same company every day. You think he’s still at work?”
I check the time. It’s only a few minutes after four p.m. “Almost definitely,” I say. “Koreans usually work late and then sometimes go out for food and drink with colleagues before returning home.”
“Let’s grab Ramirez and stake out UsuMed, then. We can’t bug Kyung’s car since the service might not always pick him up in the same vehicle, but maybe we can follow it and see where he’s staying.”
“Follow it how?” I ask. “You mean rent a car ourselves?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you what I did when you guys were at UsuMed this morning. I rented something better than a car.” Baz walks past the front of the apartment building and around to the side where a dark, sloping ramp leads down into a parking garage beneath the building. Parked in one of the front spots is a sleek blue-and-silver motorcycle, with two black helmets looped over one of the mirrors.
“I don’t think we’re all going to fit,” I say.
“Yeah. We’re going to have to split up again. Ramirez can take the subway.”
“He’s going to love that.”
* * *
As predicted, Jesse is less than thrilled about separating again, but even he admits there’s no way for all three of us to fit on one motorcycle. And since Baz is the only one with an international driver’s license, he’s going to be the one driving the bike.
Baz calls up the UsuMed building on his tablet computer and switches to street view. “Ramirez, you’re going to take the subway, leave via exit 7, and buy yourself a coffee at the shop inside the UsuMed building. Winter and I will be across the street at this restaurant.” He swipes at his tablet and the screen changes. “Between Ramirez and us, we should be able to see everyone as they leave the building, regardless of which exit they use.” He turns to Jesse. “If you see him going out the back, you need to let us know right away, okay? You also need to get up from your seat and follow him through the doors so you can see if he gets into a car or goes somewhere on foot.”
“Got it,” Jesse says. “What are you guys going to do if you follow him to the hotel?”
“We’re going to try to determine which room he’s in so we can come back tomorrow and install surveillance equipment,” Baz says. “If we’re going to figure out exactly where Kyung is keeping the tech, and what he plans to do with it, we’re going to need access to some of his conversations.”
A rush of excitement moves through my veins. I know that what we did earlier today at UsuMed and the PC bang was also working toward my goals, but this feels more like action, like instead of just gathering information that may or may not be helpful, we’re finally going after the actual target.
CHAPTER 21
Jesse heads for the subway station and I climb onto the motorcycle behind Baz. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?” I ask dubiously as I slide on my helmet.
He looks back over his shoulder. “Probably not.”
“Very comforting.”
He turns the key in the ignition and the engine of the bike roars to life. “I guarantee you that riding with me is less dangerous than jumping off a bridge or trying to beat a train in the middle of a high-speed chase.” He kicks up the kickstand. “You might want to ho
ld on.”
I wrap my arms around his waist. He’s leaner than Jesse, but muscular, his abs firm beneath my fingertips. Touching him like this feels strange. I’ve known him for years but we’ve never so much as hugged.
When he takes off up the ramp of the parking garage and hops up over the corner of the sidewalk on his way to the street, I quickly get a lot less shy.
He laughs. “I hope you’re recording this,” he calls back over his shoulder. “Riding a motorcycle might not be too exciting in the US, but it’s a whole different story in Seoul. This could be a great ViSE.”
Unfortunately, I know exactly what he means. Motorcycles here are supposed to follow the same rules as cars and trucks, but in reality they seem to function as hybrid cars/bicycles, shooting up the middle between crowded lanes to avoid traffic and making flexible use of sidewalks and public plazas when it suits them.
Baz accelerates as we turn onto a major street, and the bike’s engine whines. My helmet has a face shield, but the cold air funnels itself down the front of my coat and threatens to freeze the skin of my neck and chest. My eyes start to water. I hunker down and try to use Baz’s back as a shield against the wind. The pedals beneath my feet vibrate heavily. Riding a motorcycle is not nearly as fun as it looks in beer commercials.
We shoot across the Han River, and the cold air gets even colder. My eyes gravitate toward the dark, twisting water. We reach the other side and turn sharply onto one of the main streets of Gangnam-gu. We pass the Buddhist temple Bongeunsa, its traditional architecture in stark contrast to the jungle of glass and concrete of the surrounding business district. The Hyundai Department Store comes up on my right and then I can see the UsuMed building on the horizon, the giant U on top of it backlit by the setting sun. Jesse is probably still en route unless he managed to catch the trains at the exact right moment. Subways in Seoul are kind of like the traffic lights back in St. Louis. You have to deal with several of them to get where you’re going, and some days it seems like everything is timed just right to get you to your destination, while other days you end up waiting at every possible spot.
We turn down a side street before we pass UsuMed, and Baz finds a place to park the bike. He puts down the kickstand and then glances back expectantly at me. I realize he’s waiting for me to get off first. Resting my hands lightly on his shoulders for balance, I dismount the bike. I give the helmet to him and then button the top button of my coat, pulling the collar up to my chin. “Now I see why everyone is wearing a scarf.”
Baz slides off the motorcycle and loops both helmets over one of the bike’s mirrors. “Fix your hair,” he says.
“You’re not really my date,” I remind him. “You don’t get to critique my appearance.”
He rolls his eyes. “Well, I would hope your actual dates don’t critique your appearance either. But your headset is showing.”
“Oh.” I quickly reach up and feel for the base of my wig, which was pulled to the side when I removed the helmet. I straighten it as best I can and then use the reverse camera on my phone to double-check that everything is covered.
A blast of warm air hits me in the face as we step inside the restaurant. Baz rests a hand on my lower back as we approach the hostess and ask for a booth by the window. I know it makes sense for him to pretend to be my boyfriend—plenty of Korean girls date foreigners who are older—but I’m still a little uncomfortable with it. Then again, it would be worse to be here with Jesse, because that would feel like a real date and I’d have to struggle with all the distractions that come along with it.
I glance out the window at the UsuMed building across the street. My phone buzzes with a text. It’s Jesse letting us know he’s in place. Baz orders us appetizers and a bottle of soju—a vodka-like liquor that almost all Koreans drink. He pours us each a shot, but I’m definitely not going to drink it and I’m hoping he’s not either if I have to get back on that motorcycle with him.
“I just figured with a soju bottle on the table, we’d blend in better,” he murmurs.
I nod. My phone buzzes again.
Jesse: Are you guys having a nice date?
Me: Jealous?
Jesse: Is it lame if I say yes?
Me: Kind of.
Jesse: I guess I’m lame, then.
Me: Kind of. ;)
“What are you laughing about?” Baz asks.
“Nothing.” I set my phone next to me on the table.
“Nothing? What’s going on with you and Ramirez, anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you into him or not?”
The server arrives with our appetizers. She averts her eyes from both of us as she sets the dishes on the table.
“Oh, look. Our food is here,” I say loudly.
Baz ordered us two of Korea’s most popular appetizers, a dish of stir-fried tofu and kimchi and a pajeon, a savory pancake filled with vegetables.
“So,” Baz says, helping himself to some of the tofu stir-fry. “Does your lack of answer mean that you are into him?”
“God, Baz. How is that your business? I thought we weren’t sisters or girlfriends. We’re not going to talk about boys, remember?”
“Like most people, I change the rules when it suits me.” He grins. When I don’t answer, he continues, “I just want to know where your head is at. This whole thing could go sideways really quickly if you’re not on your game.”
“I’m focused,” I say. “I swear to you. I won’t let Jesse distract me.” I glance over at my phone, just making sure there are no new messages. “Now can we change the subject?”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Let’s just eat.” I glance down at my phone again. Jesse’s last message is still on the screen. I wish I were with you instead, I type.
And then I erase it. I’ve established actual boundaries with Jesse here. I shouldn’t be sending him flirty text messages, especially not five seconds after I promised Baz I was focused.
We pick at our food for a few minutes. It’s delicious, but my stomach feels like it’s full of spiders, and every mouthful I manage to swallow threatens to crawl its way back up. I keep peeking out the window, looking for Kyung.
“Oh,” Baz says. “I found out about the Singing Crane. They closed down a year and a half ago. Lost their government funding due to bookkeeping issues. No one seems to know where the paperwork went.”
“Where’d the kids go?” I ask, thinking of the girls I grew up with.
“Spread out to different group homes throughout the city.” Baz lifts a slippery chunk of tofu to his mouth with his chopsticks and chews thoughtfully.
My phone buzzes again.
Jessie: He’s heading your way.
I glance up from my phone and out the window. A long, black car has just pulled up to the front of the UsuMed building. A man emerges from the central revolving door.
Kyung is on the move.
CHAPTER 22
“Let’s go.” Baz drops a couple bills on the table and heads for the door. This is not normal behavior in Korea, but since he’s a foreigner and it’s more than enough money, he’ll probably get away without being stopped.
We push back out into the chilly evening and I tug the helmet over my head as Baz pulls away from the curb. I fumble with my phone and manage to send Jesse a short text:
On the move.
We follow Kyung’s driver through the streets of Seoul, staying a couple of cars away from him in order not to be spotted. Our face shields are tinted, so even if he noticed us, he wouldn’t recognize me, but neither of us wants to raise his suspicions. Kyung no longer has a way to contact me since Sung Jin’s burner phone doesn’t work here, and I’m hoping he thinks I just gave up and let him win.
The driver slows and then signals to pull into a parking garage less than two miles from the UsuMed building. I glance up at the glitzy glass hotel. It’s the Seoul SkyTower, one of the city’s most exclusive business hotels.
Baz turns at the street pa
st the hotel and pulls his bike over in front of a noodle shop.
“Now what?” Once again, I use Baz’s shoulders for balance as I somewhat clumsily dismount from the bike.
“Now you stay with the bike and keep the helmet on so you don’t end up on a security camera. I’m going to head inside and see if I can at least figure out what floor he’s staying on.”
“Makes sense. You’d better hurry.”
Baz heads toward the front of the SkyTower at a fast clip. I check my phone. Jesse has left several messages:
Jesse: On the move where?
Jesse: Should I meet you guys somewhere?
Jesse: Are you okay?
Me: We’ll meet you back at the apartment. We’re fine.
At least I hope we’re fine. I tap one foot nervously against the cracked asphalt while I wait. It feels like forever. A man saunters past me walking a fat bulldog. Two girls come behind him, both in short dresses and thick woolen tights. Finally I see Baz emerge through the glass doors of the hotel. He jogs across the street and over to the bike. “His room is on the twentieth floor,” he says.
“You got in the elevator with him?”
“No, I waited until he was moving and watched where it stopped,” Baz says.
“Smart. So how do we narrow down which room?”
“Luckily, the twentieth floor is the penthouse and there are only two units up there. Guess who’s in the other one?”
“I don’t know. Who?”
Baz pulls a hotel keycard from his pants pocket. “Me.”
“You rented a penthouse?”
“Well, I didn’t want anyone else to rent it. And I think the only way we’ll be able to access the twentieth floor with our keycards is if we actually have a room up there.”
I glance up at the top of the SkyTower Hotel. The roof is lined with white lights. “You are a big spender.”
He arches his eyebrows. “Revenge and international corporate theft don’t come cheaply. You’ll get a detailed report of my expenses once we’re back in St. Louis. I will be expecting reimbursement.”