High

by Andrew Osmond

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jake Carver was both shocked and appalled by the contents of the DVD he was currently watching. He was also amazed that Pak Min should have failed to warn him to what degree he featured personally in the would-be documentary, assuming that she had watched the thing itself before posting it to him.

  It had not been a good day: news had come in that a tall building project planned for construction in Manila, with work due to start in 2011, and which Carver had thought that he had succeeded in halting, on the strength of an objection based on environmental grounds that he had previously lodged at the Philippines Department of Building and Planning and which, at the time, had looked like it might take many months to overturn, had actually been dismissed as ‘irrelevant’ to quote the letter he had received that morning. More extreme counter-measures were obviously going to be necessary: it would appear to be a suitable case for re-employing the services of the Green Brigade. The Green Brigade comprised of four erstwhile eco-warriors who had cut their reactionary teeth during the anti-globalisation disputes at the turn of the Millennium, bobbing up in Seattle and in Genoa to campaign against the WTO* and the G8* summit, and who had since gone on to be veterans of such anti-capitalism debacles as occurred in Berlin in 2004 and Copenhagen in 2005. It was at about this time, though, that they were recruited by a conglomeration of the very multinational companies that they had previously sought to knock down: still maintaining their anarchist credentials, and unknown to their fellow anti-globalisation colleagues, the Green Brigade had actually sold out to big business, who now employed them to merge and infiltrate potentially reactionary groups, and report back to them in advance of any plans for attacks against any of their world-wide holdings. The Green Brigade’s cover remained intact, and they were indeed instrumental in preventing the planned arson attack on the head offices of Macdonalds in Oak Brook, Illinois in 2007, and the plan to introduce a powerful laxative into Starbucks’ milk supply in the following year. Carver had been introduced to the group a short time ago, but had already found that their particular brand of direct activism could prove useful in stirring up local opposition to major building projects: he wondered if they would be free to travel to Manila the next week. It would require a phone call to find out.

  Before Carver had had any opportunity to put this plan into operation, though, he had been informed by his secretary that a parcel had just arrived for him, marked urgent. The slim package had turned out to be a DVD of the demo film that Pak Min had phoned him about two days before: his office laptop had a DVD player installed, and so he wasted no time in inserting the disc, and sitting back to watch the unfolding investigation.

  The initial footage was purely scene-setting: the screen filled by the earnest, young, slightly pock-marked face of a Korean man, detailing in nervy, faltering English, the background history of well documented facts surrounding the death fall of Garnet G. Wendelson, and also about the later discovery of the two bodies of Kim Dong-Moon and Pak Jin-Siek. There was nothing that Carver did not know there. The Korean man went on to explain that as a result of the ‘tireless’ investigation of his team of ‘professional and dedicated’ journalists, and the recent discovery of both a diary and papers once the property of one of the dead men, Pak Jin-Siek, a new motive to account for the three deaths had come to light, and one that the Pyongyang Police Department was being forced to consider. The camera gradually moved away from the young man’s face to reveal the Wendelson Building behind him, as the reporter’s voiceover continued, “This is the evidence we have unearthed.”

  A female voice took up the tale: The story all begins, two years earlier, on the very day that Garnet G. Wendelson first arrived in Pyongyang. A note in the airline lost property register at Sunan Airport records that Mr. Wendelson had the misfortune to lose one of his suitcases during his international passage from Beijing. During the course of our investigation we have since discovered the whereabouts of that missing baggage, and unravelled the cataclysmic cycle of events its loss was to set in motion.

  The background images to accompany this commentary were of general shots of the major monuments in the New Korean capital city, and more specific pictures of the airport terminal building on the outskirts of Pyongyang. Carver found himself engrossed in the unfolding tale: there was no denying the South Korean TV team had put together a professional-looking package.

  The journey of the missing bag itself was fairly straightforward: as with so much luggage these days, the item was intercepted on the baggage carousel at Sunan International Airport by a member of the radical religious cult - the Terminal Baggers.

  Carver had never heard of the term, but was prepared to believe the statement.

  The Terminal Bagger, in turn, was apprehended before he could dispose of his bounty, by a member of airport security, a man operating for a private firm of security guards - all ex-military personnel - run from the offices of a larger holding company, registered in the name of Pak Jin-Siek. Two bodies, both found dead in very different circumstances, but now a gossamer link possibly binding them both together.

  Carver was not entirely convinced by the logic of the journalist’s claim, but he suddenly experienced a first uneasy feeling about just where this investigation was leading. The on-screen image was that of a dirty, seemingly-disused warehouse, the windows smashed, the floor dusty and covered in building debris, as the voiceover continued:

  Anything of material value in Garnet Wendelson’s suitcase was presumably disposed of soon after the bag was first stolen, but we have recently discovered important documents, previously hidden and unknown to the Pyongyang Police Department at the time of their initial investigation, in this warehouse belonging to Pak Jin-Siek’s company, and which clearly were once the possessions of Mr. Wendelson. There are detailed architect’s plans of his designs for the then future Wendelson Building; there are various letters relating to business affairs and travel arrangements; and perhaps most importantly, there is a copy of his will.

  Jake Carver felt a shudder run down his spine as the final word was uttered.

  We have also come into possession of a diary written by Pak Jin-Siek which fills in some vital gaps and answers some key questions in our investigation. But first a little background. Pak Jin-Siek was born into a large, farming family in Kaesong in 1966.

  The screen showed a close-up picture of an old sepia photograph of a rural community, standing, in a slightly unrelaxed, staged pose, the men carrying large scythes, the women holding bundles of produce, the children squatting, or sitting cross-legged, smiling. One small boy, to the left of the group, had had his head circled, and it was on this youthful, laughing face that the camera now focussed in upon.

  After serving his compulsory National Service, Pak Jin-Siek decided to remain in the armed forces, acquitting himself well, and being promoted to the rank of Teukmu-sang-sa*. He was remembered as being a brutal task-master by the men who served beneath him, but was well regarded by his superior officers and respected by his comrades. The Great Reawakening came as a terrible blow to Pak: not only did he lose his job, he also lost his sense of identity. The violent aspect of his character which he had previously been able to channel legitimately into his military activities, also no longer had a suitable outlet, in the new world order of peace-loving New Korea. It was inevitable, under such circumstances, that Pak Jin-Siek would turn to crime both as a source of income and as a means to regain lost respect. That Pak was successful in his new career appears undeniable: money was flooding into the resurgent country in a way never previously imagined, and Pak was quickly able to establish - with the assistance of many like-minded ex-army pals - a crime network to rival similar mafioso-style operations in place throughout the former Soviet Union and eastern Europe.

  Carver started as, unexpectedly, the familiar face of Kim Dong-Moon suddenly appeared on the computer screen before him. He recognised the picture. It was actually a photograph that he had taken of Kim himself, an
d showed his friend in happier times, relaxing, sitting back on the sofa in his apartment, smoking a cigarette.

  Kim Dong-Moon first found himself immeshed in Pak Jin-Siek’s criminal net in early 2007. Entries in a ledger found amongst Pak’s possessions reveal that Kim Dong-Moon had been paying Pak regular, small sums of money since that time. Kim Dong-Moon was a construction engineer - he was actually part of the team of men who built the magnificent Wendelson Building - but he was also a gambler, and it was in borrowing money to pay off his gambling debts that his world collided with that of Pak. It is apparent from reading Pak’s diary that Kim Dong-Moon was steadily falling behind with his payments, and that by the summer of 2008 things appear to have come to a head: Kim had no money to pay his debts; Pak was running out of patience with his excuses. It was then, though, that another name enters the picture, and one which is to act as a catalyst for everything that follows.

  Carver silently mouthed the words before the woman had had a chance to speak them.

  Jake Carver.

  ••••••••••

  The commentary continued, for Jake Carver, like a soundtrack to his worst nightmare, but he was powerless to eject the DVD from his computer in the same way that he had been powerless to refuse Garnet Wendelson’s money, or, before that, Kim Dong-Moon’s affection. The images he now found himself watching, in a state of increasingly mesmerised horror, were those of his own face, superimposed by the soaring relief of the Wendelson Building. His computer screen had been transformed into a mirror, akin to when it sat dormant, its screen black, reflecting back at him, mockingly, his idle self, except this time the machine was switched on and the pixelated photo that appeared in front of him did not accurately mirror his current gamut of emotions.

  The name Jake Carver must have rung an instant chord with Pak Jin-Siek when Kim Dong-Moon mentioned him as someone who might be able to help out with his current cash-flow difficulties: for Pak, Carver was not just an honest employer who might be prepared to advance one of his debtors a small cash sum, but, from his knowledge of the details of Garnet Wendelson’s final will in which Jake Carver is named as the principle beneficiary, he was a potential meal-ticket to a share of a considerable fortune.

  There has been considerable speculation since Mr. Wendelson’s death about the precise nature of his relationship with the construction manager on his final project.

  Not as far as Carver himself was aware: he shook his head mystified.

  Is it realistic to think that a man of Mr. Wendelson’s wealth would leave all his worldly goods to a man, who was, essentially, a hired hand?

  Carver’s brow furrowed at the description.

  Would it not seem more plausible that Mr. Wendelson and Jake Carver were actually lovers?

  Carver swallowed hard: when his name had first been mentioned in the documentary he had anticipated the probability of some unpleasant factual revelations coming to light; he had not bargained for even more unsavoury, and utterly inaccurate, slanders to be invented.

  Even if this were not the case, it would seem probable that this is the assumption that Pak Jin-Siek jumped to, installing the unfortunate Kim Dong-Moon to ingratiate his way into Jake Carver’s favour, most likely with the threat of considerable personal harm to him if he failed to acquiesce. Our investigations reveal that Kim was indeed successful in this befriending of his employer - several city centre casino owners recall having seen the two men socialising together on several, separate occasions. Quite what Pak Jin-Siek’s motive was for introducing the two men is not entirely clear: perhaps it was simply to have a spy close to the confidence of the future heir; but what becomes clear as Jake Carver and Kim Dong Moon’s relationship develops is that an opportunity for blackmail presents itself to the watching Pak, and with it, a motive for murder.

  Jake Carver found that he was beginning to find it difficult to follow the progression of the journalist’s thinking: even when he was - apparently - one of the major players in the bizarre conspiracy that was being revealed on the screen, much of the information he was hearing was actually new to him, and it was taking him considerable effort to assimilate it with the facts as he had previously known them. He took a long draught from a glass of water resting on the desk beside him before returning his undivided attention to the computer screen.

  It would seem common sense, to a criminal mind, that it is pointless to blackmail a pauper, and although Jake Carver could never have been viewed in these terms, neither was he, at this stage, a rich man. But, all that stood between him finding himself in this fortunate position was the completion of the Wendelson Building and the death of its owner, Garnet Wendelson, in that order. We can only imagine Pak’s impatience as he waited and watched, as brick by brick, the magnificent Wendelson Building, which you can now see behind me, slowly, stretched ever higher upwards: its construction must have proceeded painfully slowly for Pak Jin-Siek, but wait he had, since Mr. Wendelson’s will stated that Jake Carver would not inherit a penny unless the tower was completed.

  And so we come to the day of 1st May 2009. As all viewers will be aware, this was the day that Garnet Wendelson plunged to his death from the top of his newly inaugurated skyscraper, a plaque discovered on the roof of the building confirming the eventual police verdict, that Mr. Wendelson’s death was as a result of suicide. Our team of investigators would like to propose a different, and far more sinister, explanation for the events of that day.

  New evidence suggests that Mr. Wendelson was actually killed by Pak Jin-Siek: we believe that Pak lay in wait for Mr. Wendelson at the summit of the Wendelson Building, that he struck down and injured Mr. Wendelson’s male attendant, and that he wheeled Mr. Wendelson’s wheelchair to the edge of the roof beside the Chin Cascade, before eventually toppling him off, where he fell to his death in the river below. The mysterious plaque that appeared on the monument at the roof of the building and which led police to the conclusion that Mr. Wendelson had taken his own life, Pak had arranged to be fixed in place prior to inauguration, most likely by a member of the construction team working on the building, quite probably by the luckless Kim Dong-Moon.

  The image on the computer screen transferred to a close up of the brass plaque, the words hard to read, but visible, in the strong, reflecting sunlight: ‘To commemorate the suicide of Garnet G. Wendelson from the roof of the Wendelson Building this day of 1st May 2009’.

  We are pleased to announce that the Pyongyang Police Department have been persuaded, on the basis of our findings, to reopen the case concerning the death of Mr. Wendelson, although with the subsequent assassination of the two main protagonists, no further arrests are anticipated.

  And as for the fate of Pak Jin-Siek and Kim Dong-Moon, both found dead on wasteland on the outskirts of the city, murdered in execution style by a single gunshot each: what of them? We may never know the true facts. Were they killed by an unknown third accomplice to the murder of Garnet Wendelson, were they somehow caught up in the City Corps’ ruthless ‘zero tolerance’ approach to crime, or were they, in a fashion of ironic justice, perhaps killed by their would-be blackmail victim. Did the worm turn?

  Again Carver found himself wrinkling up his nose in annoyance, as much from his inability to defend himself against the electronic tirade than from the actual insult of the words themselves. Worm, indeed! It was then that the implication of the reporter’s words dawned on him: they were actually accusing him of murder. Where he had hoped to learn more about Kim Dong-Moon’s death and perhaps even discover a lead to the assassin Medea who still held a loaded gun to his own head, he now realised that he was being touted as the prime suspect for the murder. He didn’t know what to do. He supposed that the sensible thing would be to consult a lawyer. Carver had not spoken to Leyton Drisdale for several months, barely at all since returning to New York, but now, as the images on the computer screen faded and the DVD automatically ejected itself with a soft, mechanical purr, he reached for his telephone and began to di
al his number.