Ping-Pong Heart

by Martin Limon

  Then Nam contacted Commander Ku. This method was more complicated, utilizing blind drops and several other steps standard to international spy craft. One of Ku’s representatives called Nam, also at the number that was supposedly his bokdok-bang, and referred to everyone involved in cloaked terms as if they were part of a typical real estate deal. Nam claimed that Blood had requested the meeting. He hadn’t, of course, but Nam was Commander Ku’s only connection to Blood, so there was no way to verify the claim. Ku had agreed to tonight’s meeting at the Dancing Lady Scotch Corner.

  Ernie sipped his soju.

  “We need to move farther away,” I told him.

  “Is it ten already?”

  “Twenty minutes till.”

  “Okay.”

  Although foreigners—mainly businessmen, English teachers, and a smattering of tourists—did frequent Mukyo-dong, Mr. Kill had warned us to stay away from the action. Nearly the entire nightclub had been wired with Officer Oh’s recording devices. The four rookie cops would be scattered around the premises, and as soon as Captain Blood and Commander Ku started talking business—and Inspector Kill decided there was enough evidence to make the arrest—a KNP squad a few blocks away would be notified and proceed to sweep in. Ernie and I were there not just to observe, but to have the honor of formally arresting Captain Blood when the time came.

  The Provost Marshal would probably pop a gut when he found out about this operation, mainly because we hadn’t informed him. But once Captain Blood was under arrest for espionage and the evidence was presented, Brace would have no choice but to go along with us. The next step would be for him and the Chief of Staff to jockey over how to split blame for the case—and credit for the arrest.

  At first, Nam had been reluctant to even mention Commander Ku’s name. But Inspector Kill had persuaded him with the assistance of a ham-fisted interrogator named Bang, who seemed to enjoy roughing people up. I couldn’t ascertain whether Bang was his real name or not, but he was apparently a legend in the interrogation circles of the Korean National Police. Nobody could resist his persuasion for long. Eventually, even though there were no visible bruises on Nam, he’d revealed everything he knew about Commander Ku.

  Ku was a North Korean agent, as we’d figured. But he’d somehow managed to operate successfully in South Korea for over a decade without being caught. He’d entered the country in 1962 during the chaos of the riots that would evolve into the eventual overthrow of the Syngman Rhee regime, and had remained for the dozen years since. You’d think that in all that time, a North Korean Communist might have been persuaded to change sides, but these guys were brainwashed. As far as they were concerned, the people running South Korea had betrayed the country by collaborating with the brutal colonization of the Japanese military. Even the current President, Pak Chung-hee, had been trained at the Manchukuo Imperial Japanese military academy. According to Nam, Commander Ku was dedicated to his Great Leader, Kim Il-sung, and would be happy to murder anyone who stood in his way.

  When Nam was asked what Commander Ku looked like, he claimed he’d never actually seen him face-to-face. On the phone, he’d always conversed with subordinates who were supposedly in near proximity to their commander. But he had neither seen nor spoken to Commander Ku, so we weren’t sure who exactly we were looking for.

  Ernie and I climbed the steps of an office building to a door marked chilsung import company. We knocked and it opened. We were quickly ushered into a dark room. On the far wall, the window was open, but everyone stood about six feet back from it. Officer Oh sat on a stool at a small table with a telescope sitting on it. She motioned for us to look. I went first, and then Ernie. With all the ambient light from street lamps and blinking neon, the telescope provided a clear view of the front door of the Dancing Lady Scotch Corner. From a speaker on a desk, the clink of glassware and the murmur of conversation sifted through knitted cloth.

  “Nice equipment,” Ernie whispered.

  “Way better than what we’ve got,” I replied. Which was next to nothing in the MP Supply Room. When we needed a tape recorder we went down to 8th Army Audio-Visual and checked the equipment out, which involved a hassle of updating signature cards and the like. If the equipment was even available.

  Officer Oh resumed her seat. The other KNPs shuffled around the room nervously. Twenty minutes later, Officer Oh waved her hand, leaned back, and motioned for me to take a look.

  Captain Blood, wearing a navy suit and red tie, entered the front door of the Dancing Lady Scotch Corner. A few minutes later, I thought I heard someone say a few words in English through the speakers, but they were drowned out by the general hubbub of conversation. Officer Oh stepped over to the glowing radio-control-like device next to the speaker and fiddled with a knob before the conversation came across more clearly.

  “Here you are, sir,” said a male waiter in English with a Korean accent.

  Presumably after money changed hands, Captain Lance Blood said, “Keep the change.”

  We waited an hour. Several groups of businessmen had entered the Dancing Lady Scotch Corner, but as far as we could tell, no one had sat down at the table with Captain Blood.

  “He’s not gonna show,” Ernie said.

  “What went wrong?” I asked.

  “Ku smelled a rat. Maybe Nam had a special code word to let him know he’d been compromised.” Ernie turned to me. “Or maybe Fenton told them.”

  “Fenton?”

  “Yeah. We dropped Commander Ku’s name last night to spook him into confessing, but maybe it just made him more set on keeping the whole thing quiet.”

  A sinking feeling rushed through my gut like a tide of suds and bleach. I grabbed the soju bottle out of Ernie’s hand and downed the last glug.

  Officer Oh waved to us again. She adjusted her headset and spoke to me in Korean. “Target on the move. One of our operatives thinks contact may have been made inside the men’s room. He’s checking it out now.”

  I squinted in front of the telescope. A double door opened, Captain Blood shoving through. “He’s running,” I said.

  “Follow him,” she ordered into a handheld microphone.

  After he’d turned a corner, three plainclothes Korean cops, converging from different directions, followed Captain Blood. Ernie and I thanked Officer Oh and hurried downstairs. On the sidewalk, we pushed through the growing late-night crowd. Blood was out of sight now, but I thought I spotted one of the KNPs tailing him. We jogged to catch up. And then we were running because the cop in front of us was running.

  When we found the KNP officers, they were screaming at one another in Korean, gesticulating and calling for a vehicle. From what I could understand, a US military truck—one matching the description of a three-quarter-ton—had rolled through the narrow road and Captain Blood had made a mad dash for it. He’d jumped up onto the running board before the driver had gunned the truck’s engine and sped away.

  I grabbed one of the cops and asked, “Did anyone see Commander Ku?”

  He didn’t understand me at first, so I repeated my question in Korean. “No,” he replied in English. “Only Captain Blood. He go alone.”

  “And the guy driving the truck? Did you see him?”

  The man shook his head and jerked himself away.

  -32-

  The next morning in the 8th Army CID office, Ernie and I did our best to avoid the Provost Marshal. We didn’t want to answer his questions. Not yet. The accusations against Captain Blood and the 501st were so fantastic that we didn’t expect anyone to believe them. Taking money from a North Korean agent was too much to even be mentioned until we had proof.

  Riley was talking to someone on the phone and then he said, “Okay. I’ll check,” and slammed down the receiver.

  “What’d you guys do with Fenton?”

  “What?”

  “That was one of the nurses from the One Two One Evac, mad as
hell, wanted to know if you guys helped him leave the recovery ward.”

  “He’s not there?”

  “That’s why she called. Said two CID pukes were snooping around the One Two One the night before last. Couldn’t have been you two, could it?”

  “We were there,” I said.

  “Then what’d you do with him?”

  Ernie stirred sugar into a mug of hot coffee. “I know what I would’ve liked to do with him.”

  “When did they notice he was missing?” I asked.

  “At roll call last night. The nurse on night duty remembered you two being there.”

  “Smart cookie,” I said. “But we didn’t help him get away. When we left he was still in bed number three.”

  “So you’re saying he took off by himself?”

  I didn’t answer. “By the way,” I asked, “where’s Miss Kim?”

  Her desk was empty.

  “You guys oughtta get to work on time, maybe then you’d know what the hell is going on.”

  Ernie set down his coffee cup. “What is it?”

  “Who the hell do you think is in there with the Provost Marshal?”

  “Miss Kim?”

  Riley shook his head at us like we were hopelessly deficient in every positive attribute, especially brains. Before he could answer, Colonel Brace, the Provost Marshal of the 8th United States Army, stormed out of his office.

  “Sueño,” he said. “Bascom. Both of you get in here. Now!”

  We hurried in. When I saw her, sitting in one of the comfortable leather armchairs, I nearly stumbled and fell flat on my face. Instead, I steadied myself with the doorknob, and as I hesitated, Ernie bumped into me. We must’ve looked like two stooges.

  I stepped forward, knelt, and took both her frail hands in mine. I didn’t even have to ask the question. She looked into my eyes and started crying.

  Colonel Brace followed us in. “You’ve already met, I see. This is Miss Kim’s mother.” She looked smaller, much paler now than when she’d served us tea at her house.

  The Colonel stood upright, as if concentrating on maintaining his posture, and then barked, “You will, immediately if not sooner, commence a search for that young lady. And I don’t need to tell you that you will find her. Is that understood?”

  Ernie and I answered in synchrony. “Understood, sir.”

  The Head Dispatcher at 21 T Car checked his records. “Yeah,” he said. “Replacement vehicle. Before they have three-quarter-ton, all totaled. Last night he check out ’nother three-quarter-ton.”

  “Let me see the register.”

  He turned it toward me. Fenton, Spec Four.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Ernie was about to start complaining about his new jeep when I grabbed his arm. “No time,” I said.

  “Why? They’re gone. What’s your rush?”

  I’d never seen Ernie like this. It was as if he were suffering from shock, unable to process that Miss Kim had been taken.

  Her mother had told us that Fenton showed up at their home late last night and ordered Miss Kim to come with him. When she said no, Blood climbed over the front gate, pushed their hooch door in and proceeded to tie her up, gag her and carry her out to the truck. Her mother watched all of this helplessly as Fenton held a gun to her head.

  Ernie was yelling now. “What’s the freaking rush? We don’t have any idea where they took her.”

  “So we start searching,” I said, “that’s the rush.”

  I was about to punch him, hoping that would calm him down. Instead, he shook his head, took a deep breath, and said, “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  We topped off the jeep and drove to Headquarters Company of the 501st Military Intelligence Battalion. The building was locked down, the heavy metal doors padlocked from the outside. But Riley had called in some favors, and a detail from the Post Engineers arrived just as we did. With crowbars and bolt cutters, they started in on the door. Within minutes it creaked angrily, then swung open as Ernie and I entered, guns drawn.

  The place was empty. We switched on the lights and did a quick sweep of every room, including the Orderly Room, Commander’s Office and even the small phone booth with its classified satellite connection to D.C. No one there. I searched Captain Blood’s desk, but found nothing that could help us locate Miss Kim. I pulled back the curtain covering the giant map on the wall. It was a mosaic of smaller Army-issue maps that, when pasted together, covered the entire southern half of the Korean Peninsula. I studied it carefully.

  In yesterday’s interrogation, Nam had mentioned the biggest deal of his career, which involved the former US Army Anti-Aircraft Artillery base of Camp Arrow. I found it on the map. It sat atop a line of hills just south of the Imjin River, near Liberty Bridge. Its mission had been to defend the bridge from air attack and, just as importantly, stop enemy aircraft as they flew past on their way to the capital city of Seoul. Advances in anti-aircraft-artillery technology and the overwhelming American superiority in air power had made the placement of Camp Arrow obsolete. As a result, it was one of the first base camps abandoned by the US military during drawdown. Still, because of its lack of strategic importance, the ROK Army didn’t want it, and because it was in such a remote location, no civilian buyer could be found. According to Nam, Blood had made a point of inspecting the facility and even moved some equipment in, which was how Nam had originally met him.

  What Camp Arrow did provide was a clear view of the traffic, mostly military, crossing Liberty Bridge. That’s when Mr. Nam found a real buyer. An agent for an anonymous Korean man he later came to know as Commander Ku contacted him about renting space on the compound. It would be an excellent produce transshipment point, he claimed. Nam didn’t see how it could be, pushed right up against a tributary of the Imjin River like it was, and in that area, the northern side of the river was used strictly for military training, so no agriculture was allowed. But as they say in Korea, “Sonnim-un wang ida.” The customer is king. So he didn’t argue. When Commander Ku became aware that the seller was the 501st MI, he insisted on meeting Captain Blood. After Blood took a few interviews with Commander Ku’s men, according to Mr. Nam, the two went into business together.

  Each Army-issue map composing the mosaic was about three feet by three feet. I reached up and grabbed the one held in place with a red pin representing Camp Arrow. Carefully, I pried loose rows of staples until I was able to pull that section of the map off the wall.

  “That’s where they went,” I said.

  “How do you know?”

  I pointed to the contours of the ridgeline. “You could hold off an army from there.”

  “That’s why they put Camp Arrow there in the first place,” Ernie said.

  “He’s waiting for us.”

  “Why?”

  “To deal.”

  “Deal for what?”

  “Miss Kim’s life.”

  The phone rang. Ernie and I looked at one another. It rang again. I reached for it.

  “Sueño,” I answered.

  “If you want to see her alive, you’re going to call off the KNPs. And I want Nam brought up here to me. Now.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You’re not stupid, Sueño.”

  So my hunch was correct. Even if Nam had signed a statement that implicated Captain Blood in espionage, it was just a piece of paper. Eliminate the live witness, and a good attorney could go to work to destroy the credibility of a statement that they’d claim was signed under duress. So Mr. Nam was the key to this whole mess. What Captain Blood wanted to do now was put a bullet into Nam’s skull and throw him into the Imjin River.

  “If we bring Nam, you’ll turn Miss Kim over to us?”

  “That’s the deal. But only you and Nam. No KNPs.” He confirmed that he was at Camp Arrow.

  “I need my driver.”

 
Ernie winced.

  “No dice,” Blood replied. “You and Nam. That’s it.”

  “How am I supposed to pry him loose from the KNPs?”

  “You’re a clever guy, Sueño. You’ll think of something. Eighth Army has clout with the Korean government.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But it’ll take time to convince them to turn him over to us and drive up there. At least a couple of days.”

  “You have until twenty hundred hours.” Eight p.m. “Tonight. If you’re not here by then, we’ll toss what’s left of her in the river.”

  “I want to talk to her,” I said.

  Instead, there was a scream so loud even Ernie could hear it. Blood hung up.

  “Who screamed?” Ernie asked. When I didn’t answer, he said again, “Who screamed?”

  “Easy, Ernie,” I warned.

  But the answer sat uneasily, weighing on both of our chests. The voice unmistakably belonged to Miss Kim, and we had just a few hours to save her.

  -33-

  Ernie downshifted the jeep over a patch of black ice. The temperature had dropped by ten degrees Fahrenheit. According to the Armed Forces Korea Network, a cold front was moving out of Manchuria down the Korean Peninsula, and the full force of the storm traveling with it was expected to hit at midnight.

  Nam wasn’t with us. After Captain Blood hung up, I called Inspector Kill and explained the situation. He refused to turn Nam over to us for a rogue mission without KNP involvement. What he did promise to do was meet us in Tuam-dong, the old village that once served Camp Arrow. He, Nam, and a troop of armed KNPs would be waiting there.

  “We’ll stay out of sight,” he told me. “We’ll turn Nam over to you up in Tuam-dong, and then two of our officers will conceal themselves in your vehicle as you bring Nam into the camp.”

  Miss Kim’s scream replayed in my head. Her life was at stake. I had no choice but to agree to Inspector Kill’s plan. Once we made our way to Camp Arrow, I’d play it by ear.