Kim was writing a note. “There you mingle; here you don’t.”
“How is it that the Great Han knows what you’re going to do before you do it? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out, Inspector, as soon as you leave.”
“You going to cancel the trip? I don’t even have a suitcase.” I also didn’t plan to go. There was nothing I wanted to see in Macau. Driving to the border with the captain had been different. While I was in the windowless room reading that file, I’d felt a switch flip on somewhere inside me. It had been years since I’d looked at a file, traced connections, put together stray bits of information to see if they fit. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it. But the image of the hole in the captain’s head was enough to convince me that nostalgia for operations wasn’t healthy.
“Cancel? Why should I? It’s not as if we’ve lost the element of surprise. Pang-that’s the Great Han’s name-would know as soon as you passed through Macau immigration anyway. He’s a colonel, and therefore impressed with himself. If it pleases him to think he has inside information on my plans, so much the better. It will give him more time to trip over his own big feet. We’re not going to cancel anything. We just need to be careful, that’s all. You, especially, need to take precautions.”
“No, I don’t, because I’m not going.”
“In Macau, the Chinese will pitch you; almost certainly they’ll make you an offer to work for them, as if they don’t already have enough of your people on their payroll. They’ll use anything and everything-a woman, money, a long-lost family member, maybe even an appeal to your sense of culture and history. Tell them to get lost. Can you do that for me?”
“Macau,” I said. “It’s a den of vice. People disappear.”
“Are you worried? After all of these years in the police, putting your life on the line for the citizens of Pyongyang, do I detect concern about personal safety? Come on, Inspector; you’re too old to fear the future. What have you got to lose anymore? Besides, I’m your friend, remember? Why would I send you on a trip if it was going to end badly?”
“The Chinese say, ‘If we have one more friend, we have one more door.’ I don’t need any new doors at this point in my life, especially if I don’t know where they lead.”
“So, you want to back out. Fine, we can deal with that.” He reached for the phone. “If you’re concerned about your safety…” He dialed a number. “I’ll get someone else.”
This was not a matter of pride. Anyone could see he thought he could shame me into going. It would have to be shame, because there was nothing else pushing me, nothing but a speck of curiosity about what this was about. I wasn’t working for him; I wasn’t working for anyone. Besides, the trees would still be on the mountain when I got back. They weren’t going anywhere. “I didn’t say you should get someone else. I said people disappear in Macau. I take it that’s what I’m supposed to do, find someone who disappeared there.”
Major Kim put down the phone. The face tiptoed around appearing cagey. “Not exactly.”
“What, exactly?”
“On the one hand you might say that a woman disappeared.”
Faint alarm bells rang. This wasn’t a road I wanted to go down. “Been there, done that. I like women I can see. If they disappear, I can’t see them.”
“Only, she didn’t actually disappear. It’s more like she disintegrated. Or maybe you could say disarticulated. Since most people can’t do something like that to themselves, by themselves, we’re interested.”
“Someone hacked her up, and you want me to put the pieces back together again.”
“Not exactly.” I felt that flutter in my stomach, the one that means my head hasn’t caught up with what the rest of me already realizes is a reason to turn around and go the other way. “The Macau police think they can identify who did it.” Kim said this slowly.
“Then, you must want them to think otherwise.” I paused. “Is this the ‘little problem’ you mentioned the first night we talked?”
Kim raised his chin a millimeter.
“You’re not thinking of setting me up, are you? Having me met at planeside by a team of Macau detectives who will take me to a dark room and beat me for a week until I confess?”
“This woman showed up in pieces, Inspector, over two weeks ago. You have nothing to confess. The whole time you’ve been either on your mountaintop or under my control. How could you have strangled her, chopped her up in the bathtub of a suite in the Grand Lisboa Hotel, carried a matched set of luggage through the lobby at seven A.M. after eating a breakfast of tea and rice congee, and dumped the larger suitcase, the red four-wheeler, in the harbor where it floated for a full day before being picked up by the police who had been tipped off by a Japanese reporter waiting at the scene with a camera crew?”
“I never liked congee.”
“Unassailable proof of innocence. Find something equally airtight for the person whom the Macau police are unjustly accusing.”
“You want me to make it clear to the police that they are barking up the wrong tree, still assuming you are not setting me up. Still assuming that I’ll actually go.”
“Go to Macau, Inspector. Put the police on the proper scent. Get them off the wrong tree, as you put it. Above all, stop worrying. What enjoyment is there in life if every angle has to be covered? You might even have fun in Macau.”
No, I would not. There was nothing about this picture that pointed to fun. “Your friend Pang advised me not to go. He sounded serious. Not to dwell on the point, but he killed the captain with one shot in bad light.”
“Go; find what needs to be found. Clarify what needs clarification. Wipe clean whatever window seems befogged to you. My only advice: Stay away from willowy Chinese girls, from full-bodied Portuguese tarts, and from whatever else they throw in your path. Then, mission complete, we’ll drive you in style back to your mountain, where you can saw boards until the end of time. What could be simpler?”
“One thing.”
“What?”
“You haven’t told me who didn’t do it.” It was the sort of thing I never wanted to say but did anyway.
“That’s not your concern.”
“Maybe not, but I’d like to know. Call it professional curiosity.”
“Go downstairs to the second floor to pick up your tickets and passport. The ticket should be for the day after tomorrow. They’ll have some travel money for you, too. Don’t waste it; we’ll need an accounting. It will probably take you an hour to get everything done. When you’re finished down there, come back up here.”
The passport had a ten-year-old photograph of me, but the clerk said it was close enough. It was a South Korean passport, which got under my skin. The travel money was practically nothing; the clerk said I was lucky to get as much as I did and if I played my cards right in Macau maybe I could turn it into a neat little pile. When I went back upstairs, there was a small man with an expensive haircut in a black shirt and black tie sitting in the green chair across from Kim. They stopped talking when I walked in.