"You haven't a clue what I know, Inspector. Could be I already have the whole story and I'm just using you to check a few facts. Could also be I don't care about the story and I'm just playing a game with you. For someone who isn't holding anything and is sitting at my table, you are one hell of a card player."
"Here's a card I'm holding. Finland. There's where you first got interested in Kang, isn't it? He must have been using it as some sort of base.
Quiet, out-of-the-way place, where people mind their own business. I'll bet you can go for long walks with no one else around. What did he do to catch your attention? Or did the Finns alert you?"
The Irishman stared at me. "You ask questions you don't want to ask, Inspector."
"You mean you don't know?"
"Good, that will do. I don't know. You satisfied?".
"The man's dead. You've got a file ready for the trash. But you're asking me to give you more details for it, and I don't do that unless I know why."
"I'm not going to tell you anything." He turned off the tape recorder.
"And this is nothing. Kang was what we considered our reality check. Fabulous code name."
"He had a code name?"
"fustfor us, internally, a convenience. We called him Goldilocks." He paused. "You with me?" I nodded, so he continued. "There's a lot of garbage circulating about your country, but you know that already. Crazy stories. Dinosaur sightings. Of course, we deserve some of the credit-our people set loose a few rumors that bounce around until they get picked up in slightly different form by the Italians or the Germans. They repackage them and eventually pass them to us. Then there's the stuff put out by your people to keep us chasing shadows, a little of it very good, a little of it hilarious.
Most of the rest is just someone trying to make money on the side, and someone else reporting it in order to get credit for turning in more paper.
Hard to keep track of it all. Eventually, we figured there had to be something to keep us on solid ground. Someone we could trust."
"Kang wouldn't work for you."
Richie shrugged. "You don't work for me, Inspector. But you're here, and I have a tape recorder running." He let that idea float across the room, then he went on. "I never met him, but from what I heard, your Mr. Kang had a good head and a perfect sense of reality. Not too hot, not too cold. fust right."
"So what do you do, now that he's gone?"
"He can't have been the only smart person in your country." i smiled.
The Irishman waited. He closed his eyes and lifted his chin again, like a tourist pretending not to notice the clouds had covered the sun. "Alright," he said finally. "We can let that go for now, Inspector. Let's take your advice and stick to what we know. Pikkusaari, for instance. What would we say, friendly sort? Dour? Someone who knew his way around?"
"I'd love to tell you, Richie, but I can't. I never met the man."
4
On Tuesday morning I was out at the airport as the plane taxied in front of the terminal building. I watched each passenger walk down the stairs and fixed on a short brown-haired man, about sixty, as my Finnish policeman. There was supposed to be an interpreter from the Foreign Ministry, but he hadn't arrived, and I had to hope the Finn and I had enough Russian between us for the greetings, getting the bags past customs, and then some small talk on the drive to the hotel.
The brown-haired man turned out to be a German agro-specialist.
There were no Finns on the plane. As I went in search of a phone, the Foreign Ministry liaison man came running up to me, his face perspiring even though it wasn't warm in the building.
"What happened to our Finn?" The liaison man and I had worked together before. It probably wasn't his fault, but something about him irritated me whenever I saw him. Maybe it was his smile. It sat on his face like a fly on a rotting peach.
His eyes went toward my lapel, searching for the pin that, after years of working with me, he knew wouldn't be there. Some people stare in silence for a moment when they can't find it, then pick up the conversation.
The liaison man wasn't one of them. He would always look away furtively, as if it were the first time he had ever encountered such a thing, then start to stutter slightly before he got hold of himself again.
"The F-F-Finn couldn't make the f-f-flight. Visa problem."
"You mean the consulate in Beijing screwed up? Someone's head is going to roll and it's not going to be mine."
The liaison man wiped his face with a blue silk handkerchief, the sort they sell by the box at the Beijing airport. "The authorization never arrived. We called the c-c-consulate to make sure they would issue the visa. They said it would be no problem, as soon as they got the f-f forms." He paused a few seconds; it seemed to help him calm down.
"The code clerk said there was a transmission at the right time, but nothing came through, so he thought it was just the normal equipment problems. Then he looked again and saw that the send-number was valid. We double-checked it against our records."
"It was blocked?"
The liaison man swallowed hard and lowered his voice. "I d-d-didn't say that."
"No, you didn't say that. So, what about the train? Get him his visa tomorrow, put him on the train at Beijing station. He'll show up here a few days late, cranky and tired, but it won't be anything we haven't faced before with other official visitors, thanks to your ministry." I could see the liaison man was forcing himself not to look at my lapel again. "Don't worry." I leaned over and whispered in his ear. "They don't put it in your file if you stand near me."
"R-r-real funny." He took a step back and, as he always did, started mentally running through excuses for breaking off our conversation.
I decided to help him out. "We done?"
He nodded and looked relieved but then hesitated. "When the Finn found out he'd flown all the way to Beijing and there was no visa waiting at our consulate, he was pretty upset. Han, the guy at the visa desk, told me he asked him to stay an extra day while things were straightened out, but the Finn grabbed his passport, said he had better things to do with his time, and stomped out the door. We called his hotel room to offer the train-sometimes we can come up with ideas on our own, you know. You cops aren't the only ones who can think."
"Swell. You can think. What happened?"
"He had already checked out. There's a Finnair flight from Beijing back to Helsinki at 2:00 p.m. He's probably at the airport right now, waiting to board."
At the edge of the crowd, near the front door to the terminal, I spotted a familiar profile. "We'll be in touch," I said to the liaison man, just as he dropped his hankie. When he knelt to pick it up, the pin fell off his lapel. "Not your day, pal," I said. "Welcome to the club."
Kang gestured for me to follow him outside. As I walked into the parking lot, he was climbing into an old, dusty blue car, the Nissan I'd heard start up outside my hotel in Kanggye. I got in the passenger's side. Kang glanced in the mirror, adjusting it so he could see what was behind us without having to make it obvious. "Airports are exciting places, don't you think, Inspector? You never know who you'll see. Or who will see you."
"You know who played this stupid game on the visa for the Finnish policeman?"
"I can't say for sure, but we do a little of this and a little of that in Beijing. A while ago we rented an apartment overlooking the back of the consulate. We haven't shared either this or that with Kim, incidentally.
From the apartment window we can see everyone who enters and leaves the consulate. A full three-man Military Security team was there the other night, late."
"How late?"
"Two in the morning. The lighting isn't so good around there at that hour, and we don't have enough night scopes, but we could see one of them was carrying a small bag, probably tools. They let themselves in-which they aren't supposed to do-and thirty minutes later they came out again. I figure they jiggled a few wires on the commo equipment."