by Allen Wyler
Hamilton said, “Given these facts, you are hardly an uninvolved observer.”
Jon had to say something to defend himself, to set the record straight. “Even if what you say is half true—which it isn’t—that doesn’t mean I’m guilty of murder.”
Hamilton gave an I’m-losing-patience-with-you sigh. “I don’t know how to get this across to you more clearly than what I just told you, so listen to me again: the State Department will not provide you with any under-the-table assistance in fleeing the country. Please resign yourself to that fact and move on. It’s just not going to happen. Understand?”
“Please don’t just leave me dangling in the wind.”
“Dr. Ritter, listen carefully to what I’m telling you. You’re in a foreign country and at the moment you’re a political hot potato. So hot, in fact, we can’t even consider bending rules for you.”
Whoa, this is new. “What do you mean, hot potato?”
“Don’t be naive. Or have you not been watching the news?”
News? What news? “What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t followed the story of the rape? Up near the DMZ?”
Vaguely remembered hearing something on CNN . . . “What does that have to do with me?”
“Then let me spell it out for you. Last week two American G.I.s allegedly raped a fifteen-year-old girl from a small village near the border with North Korea. The story hit the local news and then immediately went viral. Facebook, Twitter, you name it, it’s there, and the Korean press is having a political field day over it. They want to cut the dicks off those two service men and frankly, who can blame them?”
“What has that to do with me?”
“If you have to ask, you are not listening. The political climate in this country is not ripe for cutting Americans any slack. No matter what the circumstances. If anyone at State helps sneak you out of the country, we, meaning the United States government, could be in for a great deal of grief. We can’t afford that now. Lest you ask, I’ll give you one very good reason. Korean Air is on the verge of ordering thirty new Dreamliners. At the moment, they could go either way, Airbus or Boeing. And this is but one example.” He paused dramatically. “Now do you see the bigger picture, Doctor?”
Disgusted, Jon hung up, leaned back against the wall, and blew between pursed lips.
What about Richard Stillman?
He thought about that a moment, sat bolt upright. Why not? The man was well connected. Maybe that meant he had some connections over here. He looked at Yeonhee, still straightening up the apartment. She seemed uncomfortable with asking her boyfriend to help, so why put her through the hassle if Stillman could solve the problem? Yeah, maybe he could help. Worth a try. He picked up the new cell phone and dialed.
“Yo, Jon!” Stillman sounded surprised. “What’s up, dog? When I didn’t hear from you after surgery I tried calling. No answer. I’ve been worried sick about you.”
Jon quickly highlighted the story, starting with the phone call from Feist.
When Stillman heard the part about Jon’s escape from the police he laughed, said. “Some cop probably got a new asshole for letting that happen.”
Jon wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Here’s the problem. Park has my passport and I can’t board a flight without one. The embassy refuses to help, so it looks like the only way I’m getting one is illegally. But I don’t know anyone to ask for help. Any chance you might know someone in Seoul with the right connections for that?”
“Hold on, let me think.” Stillman hesitated a few beats before, “Matter of fact, I do. There is this ex-pat friend who lives in Seoul. Bet he can help. Where exactly are you?”
At last! A major wave of relief swept over him. Jon opened his mouth to answer when a sixth sense cautioned him. What possible reason could there be to tell him? He hedged with, “Not sure. Downtown Seoul someplace. Why?” Which was true.
“This your number?”
No sense lying about that. “Yes.”
“Give me a few minutes to make a call, see what I can arrange. I’ll get back to you soon as I have something. One way or another. Give me, say, fifteen minutes, max. If I can’t arrange something by then I’ll let you know. Call you back soon as I hear.”
Another spike of paranoia rippled through. “No. I’ll call you.” He planned to shut down the phone the moment they disconnected.
“Fine. Give me fifteen minutes.”
Jon felt stupid for not having asked Stillman before now. If he had, he might be on a flight this very minute. This was also best for Yeonhee. Not that he didn’t trust her friend, but he didn’t know him. Besides, the more options he had, the better. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“No problem. Glad to help. After all, you’re part of the Trophozyme team now.”
43
AFTER CLOSING THE office door, Richard Stillman returned to his desk with his back to the window and dialed Feist. For fifteen seconds he listened to dead space as computers and satellites magically ferreted out Feist’s cell on the other side of the Pacific. What was life like before the telephone? He couldn’t imagine.
Feist answered with, “What?” almost sounding annoyed.
“We just had a stroke of luck. Our mutual friend called with an update. Sounds like things haven’t been going well for him and he needs help. I offered to accommodate him.”
“Bloody hell! Where is he?”
Stillman leaned back against the soft black leather, enjoying this situation. Mr. Bigshot Intelligence Agent needed his help locating the person he was being paid to keep an eye on. “Wouldn’t say, other than he’s still in Seoul. But you were right, the cops have his passport so at the moment he’s stuck. At least until he can get his hands on a fake. He asked if I knew someone who might facilitate finding one. Told him yes, that I’ll arrange for him to meet you.”
Feist laughed. “Outstanding. Where?”
“You tell me. You’re over there. Besides, I have no idea how you want to handle this. You name the place and time and I’ll have him there. And listen, change of plans. It’s not enough to just have him locked up, too many things have gone wrong. He’s been too damn lucky. I’ll set up the meet. You eliminate him and be done with it. Doesn’t matter where or how, just as long as he never surfaces again. We perfectly clear on this?”
“If that’s the case, just about any place will do. Out in the open in a crowd would be best. I pop him up close, no one will see, and I’ll be on me way.”
JON ANXIOUSLY WAITED fifteen minutes to the second before calling Stillman back.
“We’re in luck,” Stillman said. “My friend says no problem obtaining what you need. But given the circumstances, he stressed completing this transaction soon as possible. The longer you’re in Korea, the more likely you are to be caught. You ready to move?”
Jon couldn’t believe it. Fifteen minutes ago he had no idea how to proceed. Now his problem appeared to be solved. “Oh man, I can’t thank you enough.” He flashed thumbs up to Yeonhee who, he realized, was watching him with a worried expression.
“He said everything can be taken care of at once. They snap a passport photo then fill in the document. Name a place you feel is safe to meet and he’ll be there.”
“Hold on.” Jon covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Yeonhee, “That big building on the next block. What’s the name of it?” with a nod in that direction.
She glanced out the window. “The Hyundai Building?”
Jon gave Stillman the name of the building but claimed it would take thirty minutes before he could possibly get there. Stillman repeated the name and the agreed upon time and added, “He’ll meet you on the street outside the front door. You set?”
“Yes.” Then, just before disconnecting, “How will I know who he is?”
Stillman laughed. “That’s the easy part. I’ll email him your picture. You’re a westerner, so that makes you stand out. He’ll be looking for you at the front entrance. What’re you wearing?”
&
nbsp; Once again, a chill of paranoia rippled down Jon’s spine. He trusted Stillman, but could the Avengers monitor his phone? Could they find out another way? He lied with, “Jeans, black T-shirt, black blazer.”
“Got it. You think you can find it okay or do you need more time?”
Jon looked through the window at the building a block away. “No, thirty minutes should give me enough time if I start out now.”
“Fine. He’ll see you in a half hour. If, for some reason, he can’t make it within thirty minutes I’ll call back with a revised estimate.” Stillman’s tone became more personal. “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but be careful, keep a low profile. And come home safely.”
Jon reached for his coat and stood. Yeonhee stood too. “I go with you.”
At first he considered going alone but didn’t want to risk getting lost even though it was only two blocks away. “Great. I appreciate it.”
She put her hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, but paused, looking at him closely. “You trust this man?”
Good question. The simple act of being questioned raised a flicker of doubt in him. And on second thought, if he really dug down into the depths of his feelings, he didn’t trust him. So maybe that’s why he’d been a little paranoid. Why? Because of a long-ingrained dislike for the man? He pushed the doubts aside. After all, Stillman was bailing him out of a bad problem. Wasn’t he? He shook his head, confused. “Can’t really say for sure.”
44
JON TOOK IN Gayeon’s small living room one last time, wondering what, if anything, to bring. The black gym bag with his few possessions? If he got the passport, rather than return, he’d catch the first available taxi and head straight for the airport. He slipped on his blazer, grabbed his bag, said to Yeonhee. “Please thank Gayeon for me.”
Yeonhee called something to her. A muffled reply came from behind the closed bathroom door. “She says you’re welcome back anytime.”
Then they were out the door and moving down the stairs. Jon glimpsed his watch. Twenty-five minutes until the planned rendezvous. Certainly enough time to scope out the area and check for the presence of police before meeting Stillman’s friend. Before hitting the front door, he said to her, “I want to check this place out before we actually go there. Know anywhere we can do that without being seen?”
She approved of the idea. “Easy, I show you.”
He let her lead him along the narrow street fronting Gayeon’s apartment, up a side street, across a wide, busy avenue, and down a cluttered narrow alley of back entrances and garbage cans reeking of rotted cabbage and spoilt milk. She stopped at the back door to a shop, said, “A Chinese medicine shop. If we stand at the front we’ll be directly across the street from the building. Is good enough?”
“Sounds perfect.”
The door opened noiselessly and he followed her across a shadowy, dingy back room piled high with cardboard boxes giving off the odor of earth and mold. She parted a red curtain, stepped into the store crammed with rickety sagging wooden tables loaded down with wide-mouth jars and ceramic crocks smelling of cinnamon and other spices, giving the shop an exotic and soothing aura. A withered, skeletal man with white hair and a stained white T-shirt nodded at them from behind a glass display counter of powders and dried plants. If he was surprised at their entrance, he didn’t show it.
Yeonhee bowed and said something. The old man turned stiffly, removed a lid from a jar, carefully sprinkled beige powder onto a tarnished brass scale. Satisfied with the weight, he dumped the powder into a square of white paper, folded it into a package, and handed it to her. In return, she paid him a ten thousand won note and bowed. The transaction finished, she led Jon through the front door but stopped in the small entrance under the shadow of the awning.
“What’d you get?” he asked.
She playfully punched his shoulder. “Ginseng. I tell him an older man like you needs good medicine for sexual power.”
Jon felt his face redden and busied himself with scanning the sidewalk directly across the street. Yeonhee, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, did the same. The vantage point would be ideal if not for six lanes of two-way traffic obscuring the view. Only an occasional break in traffic provided a brief glimpse of the front steps and pedestrians.
“What are we looking for?”
“Police, for one thing. Other than that, I just . . . have this uneasy feeling . . . Paranoia maybe, but I can’t ignore it.”
Yeonhee slipped her hand into his and gave a reassuring squeeze. “You have met this person before?”
Holding her hand should’ve felt good; instead, it seemed confining and intensified the butterflies in his stomach. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before pulling free. “No, never have.” He checked his watch again. Twenty minutes to go. Double-checked his cell to make sure it was turned off, scanned the area to either side of them, wiped both hands on his hips.
“Then how do you know who to look for?”
Good question, a point that was making him increasingly nervous. “I don’t. The plan is for him to find me.”
He fidgeted and wiped his hand on his pants.
Another five minutes crept by.
Suddenly, the rhythm of traffic changed, providing a clear view at the sidewalk directly across the street. One man stood out, a Caucasian, buff, crew-cut, confident. Immediately, Jon recognized him as the soldier at Narita Airport, even though now he wasn’t wearing the uniform. Coincidence? No. He suddenly knew it had to be Feist.
As if drawn by mental telepathy Feist turned his eyes and immediately spotted Jon. A fresh onslaught of cars swallowed the momentary gap, hiding him. Then Feist appeared again, running, heading straight for him, ignoring screeching tires and honking horns as he barreled across the six lanes of traffic.
Jon grabbed Yeonhee’s hand. “Run!” He turned to run down the sidewalk but she jerked him back into the shop. “No. This way!”
They burst into the shop, dodging tables, weaving toward the red curtain, Yeonhee spewing sharp words to the shocked proprietor. They charged through the back room and out the door into the narrow alley. She cut right, tugging him, hit a dead run for twenty yards, cut left, threw open another door to a building and pulled him inside.
“Up here,” she shoved him toward stairs, then shot past, running up the dimly lit flight. Stopped at the first landing, she fumbled keys from her purse, sorted one out, unlocked a door, pulled Jon inside, and slammed and locked the deadbolt.
Jon stood in a commercial-grade kitchen gasping for air. “Where are we?” Hands on his hips, he dropped into a crouch.
Panting, Yeonhee leaned against the door jamb, still clutching the key ring as if it were her life. Between gasps she whispered, “Shhhhh,” and pushed off the door, came over, put her lips next to his ear. “A restaurant. An auntie owns it. They not open yet. Too early.”
She coughed softly into a fist, patted her chest, silently returned to the door to peek through a fisheye security lens. “That man, who is he?”
Less winded now, Jon began to look around. “Don’t know for sure, but I bet he’s Nigel Feist. The one who killed Gabe.” The only light in the windowless kitchen came through a half-open door to a hall.
Yeonhee backed away from the door and motioned him closer to the hall, put a finger to her lips and waited.
A moment later he heard footsteps growing louder from the stairs they’d run up a minute ago. He leaned toward Yeonhee, whispered, “You lock the door?” Meaning the one to this room.
“I think so.” But she didn’t sound convinced. They both looked at the door but didn’t move. She asked, “Maybe we should go out the front now?”
Jon thought of the second man in the garage the night of the attack and wondered if Feist had a partner here too. “No. He might have someone watching it.” He glanced around for a weapon.
Yeonhee put her hand on his arm to not move just as the footsteps stopped on the other side of the door. The glint of metal caught his attention. He cran
ed his neck for a closer look. A heavy meat cleaver was embedded tip first in a chopping block. Without a sound, he levered it out, appreciating the substantial heft. Probably not the best weapon if Feist had a gun, but definitely better than nothing.
The doorknob rattled but the door didn’t open. Next came heavy pounding from the door with a muffled, “Open up.”
Jon heard the soft padding of bare feet approach from behind them and turned to look. Yeonhee quickly kicked off her shoes before noiselessly running a few steps down the hall to intercept and whisper in an older woman’s ear. The woman’s eyes widened. For a moment she stared at Jon, then nodded to Yeonhee, turned, and vanished.
More pounding from the door, followed by several seconds of silence. Finally, heavy footsteps descended the stairs.
Yeonhee whispered, “Auntie is watching from her office. She has a video security system and can see if he really leaves the building or is only trying to trick us.”
45
YEONHEE ENTERED GAYEON’S apartment after Jon, closed and locked the door. They both slumped against the wall, Jon catching his breath again while trying to calm his raw nerves.
Yeonhee asked, “This Stillman . . . why would he do this to you?”
Jon dropped down onto a floor cushion and hugged his knees. “I don’t know. Nothing makes sense. Unless, maybe the Avengers tapped his phone.” His instinctive distrust of Stillman was back now, stronger than ever, his mind running through several questions, coming up with serious doubts . . .
Gayeon padded from the bathroom in a terry cloth robe and a white towel turban, eyes darting from Yeonhee to Jon and back again. She said something to Yeonhee. Yeonhee chattered something in return before saying to Jon. “She wants to know what’s wrong. I tell her nothing.”
Suddenly someone started pounding on the front door.