"If the truth be known, it certainly would have," Burke said. "I believe the driver was hired to kill him."
"Kill him? Why?"
Burke quickly sketched out Captain Yun's conspiracy theory, which included the death of Kang's predecessor as editor of Koryo Ilbo. He told how Yun was called off the Hwang Sang-sol investigation and the strange disappearance of the Captain's files on the case.
The editor leaned forward on his desk, looking stunned by the enormity of what he had heard. "You mentioned a proposition, Mr. Hill. What did you have in mind?"
Burke opened his briefcase, took out the materials he had brought and explained his plan.
When he had finished, Kang's face was a mask of concern. "You realize what you're asking? You know what could happen if your calculations prove to be incorrect?"
Burke nodded in sympathy. "It's a risk. No question about it. But with less than two weeks to go, it looks like our only chance. Unless you have a better idea?"
Kang's phone rang. He had told his secretary to hold his calls except in an emergency. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.
After listening a few moments, he glanced at his watch and said, "I'll be right there." He looked across at Burke. "The Editorial Board has been awaiting my appearance for thirty minutes. I must go. Can you leave this with me?" He indicated the material that lay on his desk.
"Of course."
"I'll let you know this afternoon," Kang said.
Burke looked at the small man with the dark, troubled eyes. He projected a sense of deep distress, a distress born of concern for what might come of his newspaper as well as what fate lay ahead for his country. Others had categorized him as a man of unquestioned integrity. Burke could only hope they were right. He knew he had bet the farm on this one. If Kang wasn't all he appeared to be, the game was over.
When Burke walked out of the Koryo Ilbo building, he was shocked at what he saw. Snow covered the streets and sidewalks, and the damp, white stuff continued to flutter down in profusion. A stiff wind blew it like soft polka dots onto the shoulders of people who scurried along toward the shops and tabangs. It had been cloudy when he entered the newspaper building, but this was not in the forecast that Brittany Pickerel had given him earlier. The slippery streets had begun to snarl traffic. It was only the second snowfall of the season for Seoul, and the city's manic drivers had not yet accepted the need for caution.
With less than a handful of shopping days until Christmas, Burke found himself virtually surrounded by women with one hand bearing packages, the other tugging smiling cherubs branded with wind-reddened faces. He knew he would be cutting it close to get home by Christmas Eve as he had promised Lori. He could only hope Evelyn had found everything on his shopping list.
When he stopped at an intersection, he glanced around casually to see if he could spot Duane, but couldn't, mainly, he thought, because of all the confusion generated by the foul weather. He had stayed longer at the newspaper than he had intended. No doubt Duane had been fuming over the delay. Hopefully the guys from Washington would have made it in from Tokyo by the time he got back to the office.
When he started to cross the street, he heard the frantic sound of a policeman's whistle nearby. He jerked his head around in time to see a truck that had obviously been moving too fast skid toward him in the wrong lane, its brakes apparently locked. He sprinted out of its path just before the truck crashed into a lamp post, toppling the metal shaft. He had not been touched, but the near-miss left him shaken as he recalled what had happened to Captain Yun in Pyongyang. He didn't tarry to check on the driver or his condition. He'd leave that to Duane.
Burke had to negotiate a pedestrian underpass before reaching the building on Taepyong — ro, and this time he took pains to survey the crowd behind him, searching for a face or a figure that might resemble Hwang Sang-sol. He found none.
He could have sworn it had snowed another inch just during his walk back from the newspaper. The huge flakes fell heavily, cascading down like petals from some celestial rose bush. When he arrived at the office, he pulled off his coat and scarf and asked Song Ji-young if she had heard from Rudy vanRoden.
"Yes, sir. He called before they left Tokyo, said they should get here around noon." She glanced at her watch. "It's almost noon now."
Burke walked to the window and looked down toward the street, where the snow appeared to fall at an angle, driven by the snarling winter wind. "I had planned to go visit Jerry at the hospital," he said. "But the way that traffic looks at the moment, I don't know if a taxi could get me there anytime soon."
Miss Song smiled. "Jerry called while you were gone. The doctor said he could probably go home tomorrow. He was quite excited. I told him he should be more calm."
As Burke reached for the phone, Duane burst in. He closed the office door.
"Did that damned truck nearly get you?" Duane asked, frowning.
"It was pretty close. I had to scramble out of the way. Did you get a look at the driver?"
"A little short character," Duane said, nodding. "Looked like he was scared shitless. I don't think it was intentional. He appeared completely out of control."
"Spot anything else out of the ordinary?" Burke asked.
"Nothing. I'm inclined to believe they aren't as aware of what we're doing as we think. We've had pretty good discipline around the office. I doubt if An Kye-sun could have told them much."
"Maybe you're right," Burke said. "But I'm not ready to let down our guard."
It was about an hour later when Rudy vanRoden called.
"Are you at Kimpo?" Burke asked.
"Hell, no," he said in disgust. "We're at Pusan. When we got to Seoul, the pilot said they had closed the airport. More snow and ice than they could cope with. I thought we'd left that damned stuff in Tokyo. How does the snow look now? Brad's insisting we take a train up."
"It's still coming down like crazy."
"They say we can get a train out of here in about an hour. It's a five-hour trip, but that may be our best shot. I'd be willing to wait, but there's no telling how long we'd be stranded here. Looks like it'll be at least eight before we get there."
"Just grab a cab and go on over to the Chosun. Call my room when you get in."
"We'll be ready for the bar," vanRoden said. "Brad says these damned airplanes and terminals are beginning to give him the willies."
No sooner had Burke hung up than he had another call. This one was from Kang Han-kyo.
The editor's message was terse. "I'll do it," he said.
"Thanks." Burke felt like an Alaskan huskie just unhitched from a loaded dogsled. A heavy burden had been lifted.
"I talked with the owners," Kang said. "I asked if they trusted me to do something I thought more important from a moral and philosophical standpoint than most anything we'd ever done. I warned that it could mean getting closed down should things go wrong. They said to use my best judgment."
"I wish there was an easier way out, but I haven't found it."
"I know. I'll send you a copy of everything in the morning. My production manager will handle it personally, so there won't be any leaks."
Burke checked his watch. It would be nearly midnight in Washington, but he knew Nate Highsmith was awaiting his call. He had contacted Nate as soon as he arrived at the office that morning, giving him the full details of the plan. Nate was to discuss it with the White House and give him the President's reply when Burke called to confirm Editor Kang's participation.
"How did it go at the newspaper?" Nate asked.
"Kang was a bit hesitant, as I expected. But he cleared it with his owners, without giving any detail on what he planned to do. He's in."