"You got what you needed, I assume."
"Yes, I have what I came for."
"That's good." I pushed the envelope across my desk. "Don't forget this."
"And what is that?" He wasn't curious, he was angry. He pointed at my desk as if there were something insulting on it.
I had no idea what was in the envelope, and if Kim even imagined that for an instant, I was dead. He would kill me right here, on the spot.
I put my hand on the paper, touched it as if it were completely familiar to me. I couldn't let a muscle be out of place; Kim would sense it. Every movement had to tell Kim that he was in the one in danger, not me, that I was the one in charge, not him-and that this paper held his fate.
"We both know that important things are happening, Colonel. If they break your way, you can deal with me later. But if the situation breaks my way, and something has happened to me in the meantime, something with your fingerprints on it, you're finished. And they'll make sure it hurts." I didn't expect him to look worried or even thoughtful. I just wanted to keep talking, to keep touching the envelope, getting the connection established in his eyes and his ears. That envelope was his fate. Not mine, his. I put the envelope down again and moved my hand from it, as if I'd done that before, as if it weren't the first time I'd had it on my desk.
"Curious-looking paper. I didn't know your Ministry had anything like that. Special issue?"
"That's not for you to know. All you have to do is keep it safe.
Surely you can do that, Colonel. I don't much care about the rest of the files, but this you deliver, safe and sound. It's sealed. That's how it stays.
That's how you deliver it."
"I could just take it and you'd never know what happened. I could take it back and have my people open it, then seal it up again."
"You could also shoot yourself between the eyes. It would be quicker."
"I could kill you right now, you know, say you tried to run." He didn't sound troubled.
"Not now, Colonel. Later, if you like."
He took a polished gold case from his breast pocket, a remarkably thin case that fit perfectly in his hand. He removed a cigarette, looked at it thoughtfully, then struck a match on the side of my desk. The match flared; the sound seemed to grow beyond the flame, then stopped abruptly as he dropped it on the desktop, near the envelope. We both watched as the match consumed itself.
I could see that Kim was not sure of his next move. The envelope was not something he'd planned for. He looked around the room, then up at the ceiling. "Too bad."
"What?" I thought he meant that the envelope hadn't burned.
He struck another match and lit the cigarette, inhaling slowly so the tobacco at the tip glowed for a long time. "Too bad you'll never know what that molding was meant to be." He coughed, dropped the cigarette to the floor, and ground it under the heel of his boot.
I picked up the envelope and lazily fanned the cigarette smoke away from the desk. "Take it, Kim. Deliver it to one person and one person only."
"Are you giving me orders, Inspector? I think not." But there was no edge to his tone.
"A simple chain of custody. From me to you. From you"-I paused and then heard what I knew I'd say all along-"to my brother."
Kim's lips pulled back in a half snarl. "I don't work for you. And I don't work for your brother."
I dropped the envelope onto the desk. Kim stood there, rigid, his mind tumbling as he tried to regain his balance. He picked up the envelope with a quick motion. "What's in it?"
"Names, dates."
"Meaning you don't know."
"If I were you, Kim, I wouldn't start to gamble so late in my career."
Kim was waiting. He was waiting for me to swallow too hard, breathe too deep, blink my eyes too fast-anything that would tell him that I was nervous, that I was lying, that I was a dead man.
I remembered my grandfather. I remembered the trees lining the road in front of our village. I remembered how, the first time the old man had taken me with him to Pyongyang, I'd watched the setting sun run alongside the train. It had turned red as it touched the horizon, then flared against the paddies so they sparkled like a jeweled necklace reaching to the hills. That calmed me. I could afford to blink my eyes.
Kim turned toward the window, maybe to give himself a moment to think. It was the wrong move, and he knew it right away. In the half second it took him to turn back to me, it was too late. The rhythm had changed. I wasn't about to let it shift back again. The only thing to do was to press him, change the subject slightly, make him respond to me.
"You made a mistake, Colonel. You thought you could scare me on that hillside."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You shot one of Kang's men, machine-gunned a wounded man.
First you blew up the Reunification Highway."
"Inspector, I'm surprised at you. I'm operating under orders. The blue car was illegal. It was coming from the south. It might have been an enemy agent for all I knew. Maybe even an assassin. We protected the leadership. You were a witness to that."
"No, I saw something else."
"Is that right? You and who else?"
"You know who. The local security man, Li."
"Yes, Li. Must have been a shock to him. He died not long after. It looks like it was a heart attack. You knew him? My condolences. And you, Inspector, you worked for a man who was killed in a firefight with an operations team performing its duty to arrest an enemy of the state.
Two enemies, actually."
"So, you finally made your move against Kang." I paused. It was time to double the bluff-and it better be convincing. "It may not be soon enough. A report on your car-smuggling operation is waiting to be passed up the line, along with evidence that it was carried out with the help of South Korean intelligence. Kang will gladly corroborate it.
When I hear from my brother that you have delivered this envelope to him, I tell someone to pull it back. If I don't give the word, the report is released twelve hours from now. And if that report is released, it doesn't matter which way events break. You'll be dead either way. Any questions?"
Kim turned abruptly, his boots thudded down the stairs, the door slammed, and then it was quiet. From my window, I saw him leaning against his car, catching his breath, putting the anger back where it wouldn't get in his way. He climbed in and shut the car door carefully, and when the car finally started, it moved down the street so slowly it barely got out of first gear. The big engine throbbed, a low, menacing sound. Kim wanted me to hear it-the restraint.
I sat still for another minute, then walked into Pak's office. The cabinet was open, all of the drawers pulled out onto the floor; the desk was a mess. On top were the folders about the Koreans from Japan, with the papers scattered everywhere. The blue bag was ripped open, and the money was gone. The notebook on the Finn hadn't been touched. Kim was furious. I didn't have any evidence that he was taking money from the south, but he didn't know that. I had bought myself twelve hours to find Kang and make him pay for Pak's death. After that, I didn't care if Military Security found me.
In late summer the rose blooms; The perfumed morning floats above the hills, And along the road where 1 wait, Again to hear the song of a voice that is gone.
– – Yang Hvong Jin (171 S-j 7. S6) I decided to take Pak's car. There was enough confusion on the streets that I knew I could get out of the city. Once on the highway, I'd be vulnerable to any traffic policeman or sentry who spotted my plates and logged them in, but that was later. It was a shock to find Pak's parking space empty. It was a bigger shock to realize I'd forgotten that Pak had driven his car to meet Kang. It was probably still on the hill near the Chinese war monument. There was no time to get over there. Even if there had been, Kim's people would have set up a cordon to see if anyone approached the car. Or Kang might have taken it, leaving his ancient Nissan behind.