Buddha's money gsaeb-3

by Martin Limon

  A sigh of appreciation arose from the women.

  I kept interrogating Sooki, but it quickly became apparent that she knew nothing else. I pointed my finger at her nose. "If you're lying to me, I'll find you."

  She slapped her painted nails on her hip. "No sweat, GI. Anytime you want to catch Sooki, can do easy. Only need this one."

  She nibbed her thumb and forefinger together.

  Sooki had been hired twice in the same night to carry a message to us. Maybe by sending us after the mugger of the little nun, this foreign man had been trying to get me and Ernie-the only two CID agents in Itaewon-out of the way. To divert our attention from Mi-ja's kidnapping. But he'd been fooled. Even though there'd been a riot outside the Itaewon Police Station, Herman the German had managed to break through to us.

  Herman shoved his huge body in front of me.

  "What the hell does the note say?"

  I ignored Herman and scanned the dark skyline. Two-or three-story buildings. A few yoguans, Korean inns, hotbed operations for GIs and the girls they picked up. Most were apartments. Housing business girls and the families of those Koreans who did legitimate-or semilegitimate- work here in Itaewon.

  Beyond the buildings, between drifting rain clouds, the tristudded belt of Orion glimmered with a faint glow, no match for the glare of the Itaewon neon. Still, the pale stars seemed somehow heroic. I swiveled slowly in a 360-degree turn, scanning high and low. The three-quarter moon was rising. No sign of observers. But they were there. We were being watched. I was sure we were.

  Because I had stopped moving forward, the business girls pressed in on me, breathing their hot breath on my arms, clutching my elbows. I shrugged them off and unwrapped the note.

  "What's it say?" Herman demanded.

  I showed it to him.

  "That's Chinese." Herman looked back and forth between me and the note. "I can't read it."

  So many business girls had their arms laced around Ernie that he looked like a man towing an acrobatic troupe. "You couldn't read it anyway," Ernie told Herman, "even if it was in English."

  The business girls giggled.

  Herman just stared at Ernie. Amazed. Not by what Ernie had said but by the stunning fact that we wouldn't be able to read the note. Herman could only work on one problem at a time. Ernie's sarcasm couldn't break through.

  "I can read the note," I said.

  "You can?" Herman leaned over the paper, blocking my light.

  "Yes." I pointed to the three characters at the top. "These are simple. The name of the district we're in: Itaewon."

  Herman peered at the paper. So did Ernie.

  "And this is the character for temple."

  "Temple?" Herman said. "There's no temple in Itaewon."

  "Then we'd better shit one," Ernie said.

  Sooki stepped forward again. "Yeah. There's a temple in Itaewon. GI never go there. GI babo." Stupid. "GI don't know."

  Herman grabbed her soft arms. "Where is it?"

  Sooki leaned as far back as she could. "Sooki show you. But cost ten dollars."

  The surrounding business girls cackled in glee. Herman backed off as if Sooki had suddenly become radioactive.

  "There's one more thing that has me worried," I said.

  "What?" Herman asked.

  "The three characters down here on the bottom of the note."

  "What do they say?"

  "Oh bun hu."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means they've given us five minutes to get to the temple."

  Herman let out a whoof of air. "We've already used three."

  "Maybe four. We don't have time to be dicking around," I told Herman. "Pay her the ten dollars."

  "I'm broke."

  I couldn't believe it. Herman's daughter had just been kidnapped and the asshole was still trying to stiff me for a measly ten dollars. I reached in my pocket, dug out a wrinkled Military Payment Certificate, and slapped it in Sooki's hand. "Here. Let's go. Bali bali!" Quickly.

  Sooki smiled, slipped the money in the top of her bra, then trotted off into one of the alleys that led off from the top of Hooker Hill.

  Ernie flapped his arms like a flamingo preparing for flight. About three business girls fell back. They pouted and straightened their skirts.

  Without hesitation, Herman rolled forward after Sooki. This time I kept score. He bowled over nine business girls. But didn't have time to try for the spare.

  During the weekdays, when all of the GIS are on compound, the Korean business girls have a life of their own. They gossip and play huatu, Korean flower cards; they visit the public bathhouses with their friends; they smoke cigarettes and eat chop. The fact that there was a temple in Itaewon shouldn't have surprised me. A place to worship Buddha would fit right into the business girls' routine.

  But what surprised me most was that I didn't know about it. Maybe none of them wanted to tell a GI about their secret temple. I didn't blame them. We Americans have a habit of ruining everything that's good.

  Sooki wound through the alleys like an expert. I wasn't sure if we could trust her, but with only a minute or two until our rendezvous, I had no choice but to take a chance on her. I didn't have to explain this to Ernie. He was alert. Watching for a trap.

  Up here above Itaewon the lanes became even narrower and darker. Even the clangs of rock and roll from the main drag faded into silence. All I heard was heavy breathing and our footsteps sloshing through the mud.

  Finally, Sooki stopped and crouched at the corner of a tall stone wall. I squatted down next to her and she pointed, whispering. "The Dream Buddha," she said. "That's His temple."

  "The Dream Buddha?"

  "Yes. We call him Maitreya."

  I'd read about Maitreya. The Buddha of the Vision of the Coming Age. A Buddha who has not even been born yet in his human form but who still manages to help mortals in the here and now. It makes sense when you think about it. All Buddhas are eternal. Neither the future nor the past is a barrier to their will.

  Ernie and Herman crouched next to us, breathing heavily. I peered around the wall.

  It was a small pagodalike temple. Made of wood, painted blue, with red and gold filigree along the tile of the layered roofs. A few candles shone inside, illuminating a gold-plated Buddha. His enigmatic smile beamed out at the world. The odor of incense wafted through the gentle rain.

  "Nobody's there," Ernie told me.

  "They're here," I answered. "Somewhere."

  Herman motioned for us to keep quiet. "Listen," he said.

  We heard creaking in the pagoda. Up high. Through the mist I saw another stone wall, looming behind the pagoda, almost as high as the highest roof.

  "Somebody's up there," Herman said.

  "Sounds like it," I answered. "Okay. They want us in the temple, so we go in the temple. Me and Herman. Ernie, do you think you could work your way around behind?"

  Ernie chomped on his ginseng gum. "Can do easy."

  "Good. That'll give us an extra measure of safety if they try anything."

  A high-pitched moan sliced through the rain.

  We all froze, looking toward the top of the temple. Sooki shivered, rubbing her bare arms. She stood. "Sooki go now."

  Herman grabbed her elbow and yanked her back down. "If you mess us up," he told her, "I'll come looking for you. You alia?" You understand?

  Sooki swallowed and slowly nodded her head.

  "Good." Herman released his grip and Sooki rose and trotted down the dark lane.

  Ernie waited until her footsteps faded. "Scared the shit out of her, Herm baby." There was admiration in his voice.

  Herman grunted.

  "Come on," I said. "Let's get this show on the road."

  "Right." Ernie scurried off through one of the side alleys, happy as a drunkard in a saki factory. There was nothing like the prospect of violence to brighten up his outlook on life.

  Ernie'd spent two tours in Vietnam. Driving trucks and hiding in bunkers from rocket attacks an
d buying vials of heroin from the snot-nosed boys who sold it through the wire. And he'd run the ville there, too. But Vietnam was a lot more dangerous than Itaewon. Bar girls turning tricks at night and selling military secrets in the morning. Still, Ernie loved it. The lying, the hatred, the intensity.

  When I asked him about the Vietnam War he said, "There will never be another sweet one like that."

  After Ernie's footsteps faded, I slapped Herman on the shoulder. "Looks like you and me are going to have to talk to these assholes."

  Even in the darkness, I could see that Herman's features were bunched into wrinkles of worry.

  "Follow my lead," I told him. "But if you see a chance to grab Mi-ja, take it. Better to have her and to fight for her-no matter what happens-than to let them keep her."

  Herman nodded. "What if they have guns?"

  "Not likely. They're foreigners."

  In Korea, gun control is absolute. No nonsense like the bad guys have guns but the good guys don't. No way. In Korea, nobody has guns. No one except the Korean National Police and the military. And each weapon is tightly accounted for, from manufacture to dismantling. No black market for guns exists in Korea. And if anybody tried to start one and was caught, the sentence would be death.

  The chances of a group of foreigners managing to buy small arms once they arrived in-country was slim to none. Knives, though. Clubs and axes. That was a different matter. What happened next in the temple could get rough. But I knew that Ernie wouldn't let me down. And something told me that, in a fight, Herman wouldn't be any slouch, either.

  When we'd busted him for black-marketing, I'd seen Herman's military record. He'd been a straight-leg grunt in the Korean War and an infantry platoon sergeant in Vietnam.

  I pulled the roll of dimes out of my pocket and clenched them in my left fist. Herman adjusted a short cudgel beneath the belt behind his back.

  We stepped across the cobbled street to the Temple of the Dream Buddha.

  It was dark inside, I knew it would be, but there was no way to hide our entrance. The old varnished boards creaked with every step.

  I felt bad about not taking off our shoes at the entrance- it seemed like a great sacrilege-but with a little girl's life at stake we couldn't add the disadvantage of being barefoot to all the other disadvantages we were facing. The golden Buddha seemed to recognize our breach of religious etiquette: Somehow the corners of his smile had lowered into a frown.

  The heavy sting of incense pricked its way up my nostrils. I snorted a couple of times. So did Herman.

  Brightly painted statues of saints and demons flanked the Buddha. In the darkness, some of their faces seemed almost human. Something moved. Herman grunted. I swiveled.

  A man, a dark Asian man, stood next to the red-faced effigy of a snarling demon. The man's arms were crossed, he wore a heavy jacket and wool slacks, and his head was shaved bare. He smiled at our surprise. With one finger, he pointed up the stairs in front of us.

  I turned and looked. It was dark up there.

  As if on cue, another high moan drifted down from the upper floors. Mi-ja.

  Herman took a step toward the man. I grabbed his arm.

  "He's just a lookout," I told Herman. "If we beat the crap out of him, they could hurt her. Our only choice is to go upstairs, listen to what they have to say."

  Herman was breathing heavier now. He didn't answer me but turned and followed me up the stairs.

  The only light was the glimmer from the candles below. The stairs were so narrow that I had to cant my shoulders to squeeze through. Helpless, I thought. And the kidnappers are waiting for us. I felt my heart beating wildly in my chest, pumping blood up through my throat.

  Finally, a shaft of moonlight revealed an open chamber. I stepped into it. Men pressed around me. All of them Asian, burly, their arms crossed. Knives stuck in broad sashes around their waists. I scanned the room for Mi-ja. She wasn't there.

  One of the men stepped forward. I raised my fists but he paused and held up his open palms. Then he made patting motions. He wanted to frisk me.

  Another moan drifted down from upstairs. "She's up there," Herman said hoarsely.

  "And they won't allow us to see her," I told him, "unless we allow them to frisk us."

  "No sweat," Herman said, glancing at the tough faces around the room. "My little cudgel wasn't going to do much good, anyway."

  "Okay," I said. "But be careful when they get close. It could be a trick."

  I stepped away from Herman and raised my arms, signifying that I would allow them to search me. The dark Asian man who had approached me patted me down quickly, stepped back, and pointed upstairs.

  I was free to go.

  That was fine but I didn't particularly want to go alone. I pointed at Herman.

  The man shook his head.

  Herman understood. "They only want you to go up there," he told me. "Don't worry. If anything happens, give out a holler. I'll be up there lickety-split."

  I gazed around the chamber. "There's six of 'em, Herman."

  "They won't be able to stop me," he said, "if they start to hurt Mi-ja."

  Hollow words. I knew we were playing right into their hands. No weapons. Our strength divided. And I sure as shit didn't want to climb those last stairs alone. But what choice did I have? These foreign thugs were holding Mi-ja and they'd already proven that they'd do anything, including slicing off her ear and sending it special delivery to her mother, if we didn't follow their instructions exactly.

  I started up the creaking steps.

  The top chamber was the smallest of all. The only light was moon glow filtering through oil-papered windows. A dark figure sat in the center of the wood-slat floor. Against the far wall, a shadow moved slightly and whimpered.

  I could barely make out who she was: Mi-ja.

  I could kick the shit out of this guy, grab Mi-ja, and carry her downstairs. But how far would I get? All the thugs downstairs looked tough and determined, and all of them made a big display of the leather-handled knives stuck in their waistbands. I wouldn't get far. But if it came to that, I'd have to try.

  Better to try talking first.

  The dark figure in the center of the chamber rose straight up, almost as if he were levitating, until he stood on two feet.

  He was a husky man. Not as tall as me, but he exuded an aura of strength. Dark. Asian. Everything outsize. A big-boned man of raw power. He wore trousers and a tunic, like the men downstairs, and dirty linen wrapped around his head.

  "Where is the jade skull?"

  The voice cut into me like a blade. I took an involuntary step backward and cursed myself for showing weakness. It was the same voice I'd heard on the phone. In English. The voice that sounded like grating gears.

  "We don't have it," I said. "The girl's father doesn't have it. He's never had it."

  There was a long silence. "Then you must acquire it."

  I pointed at the small figure cowering at the edge of the wall. "Let her go. You can get your jade skull without hurting her any further."

  Stray beams of light shone into the man's eyes. For a moment it was as if two tiny moons were floating in the center of the chamber. I thought I heard something, along the outer wall. A scraping. If he heard it, too, he showed no sign.

  "Do you have any idea how valuable this jade skull is?" he asked.

  "Not as valuable as a little girl's life."

  He barked a harsh laugh. "You are a fool. The jade skull is the most valuable antique in the world!" His eyes blazed brighter. Muscles in my face must've twisted. He noticed and stared at me quizzically. "You think I'm mad, don't you?"

  I didn't answer.

  "Then let me show you." He leaned over and lit a small oil lamp. The guttering flame cast eerie beams into the thick darkness. He reached atop his head, grabbed at the dirty linen, and ripped the turban off his head. Laughing crazily, he bowed. The flickering light showed a thousand scars crisscrossing the top of his head like some sort of nightmarish spider's we
b.

  He rose and his mad eyes stared into mine.

  "Do you know why these lines were etched on my skull? Do you have any idea?"

  I realized that my mouth was open. I closed it.

  "These scars are a badge of honor,'" he continued, "designed to remind me that my mission in life is to find the jade skull! They were put there when I was a boy, by the monks who trained me. Monks who trained me for high position. Why me? Why the son of a common Mongol yak herder? Why should I be trained for high position? Because the monks had determined that inside here…" he pounded his gnarled fist on his chest. "… inside here resides a great soul. The reincarnated soul of a great man. The reincarnated soul of the emperor who had once owned the jade skull!"

  I suppose he mistook my stupefied expression for understanding. He lowered his voice, as if we were conspirators.

  "My name in this life is Ragyapa." He waved his hand dismissively. "Don't bother to write it down. You will find the name Ragyapa on no passport. It is my religious name only, not my official name. But centuries ago, while wearing a different body, I was known by the name of Kublai Khan, grandson of Genghis Khan and the Emperor of the entire Central Kingdom!"

  He laughed through yellowed teeth.

  Kublai Khan was a conqueror greater even than Napoleon. In addition to his native land of Mongolia, he ruled China and Burma and Vietnam and Korea and Tibet. He tried twice, without success, to invade Japan. The fact that this man called Ragyapa believed he was the reincarnated soul of Kublai Khan convinced me-beyond a doubt-that he was insane.

  "So you see," Ragyapa continued, "I am only trying to reclaim my own property. And regain the jade skull of Kublai Khan for its rightful owners, the people of Mongolia!"

  His eyes narrowed.

  "Many men have died for possession of this jade skull, Agent Sueno

  …" How did he know my name? Probably through Sooki. Or anybody else in the village, for that matter. Ernie and I were famous in Itaewon. "… and many more will die soon unless / gain possession of what is rightfully mine!" Once again, he thumped his fist on his chest. "The dead will include this undisciplined child, if you don't produce my jade skull for me."