It sounded curious. Dr. Nam U-je was the head of Korea Electric, who received Chi's progress reports on the Taesong reactor. Dr. Nam, like Steele, was an electrical engineer. But where Steele had an additional degree in nuclear engineering, Nam's doctorate was in nuclear physics.
"Next time I see that guy from Kyonki High," Chi said, "I'm going to ask him what the hell business Reijeo has with Korea Electric Power. Old classmates aren't supposed to keep secrets from each other."
Steele glanced across at Moon Dong-sun. He had professed to know nothing about where Chi had gone. Next time he was in Seoul, he'd have to ask around.
Chapter 17
In the central part of Seoul where the glitzy hotels and night spots languished, late evening was a celebration of sights and sounds. An international babel of chattering voices and the constant clink of glasses were juxtaposed with the blare of music and the glare of footlights. But at eleven o'clock among the warehouses and small industrial plants of a drab, dusty outlying section of the capital, it was as hushed and deserted as a graveyard. Mr. Chon maintained a studied silence as the shiny black Kia sedan rolled down the quiet street. He watched for the sign that would indicate they were nearing the entrance to So Chi-ho's fenced-in scrap metal yard. Then he spotted it.
"We turn through the gate in the middle of the block," he told Kim Yong-man, who was driving.
"The high fence on the left?"
"Correct. The gate will be unlocked. We should pull around to the rear entrance of the building."
"Why did he want to meet you this late at night?"
"So has his own agenda," Chon said. "He is not one easily rationalized."
Chon would have preferred being at home at this hour, but he had given his word to Captain Yun. Then there was the matter of a large fee to be earned. Much of it would have to be shared with So, of course. He didn't like So, but he had no other choice. That dislike, oddly, was based largely on moral grounds, though Chon did not delude himself that his was any great moral cause. He acquired information wherever it could be found, and sold it to customers whose aims might be either noble or sinister. But he adhered to his own moralistic code of conduct, which specified that he did not deal with those who chose to deliberately harm innocent people. He would have nothing to do with drug traffickers, for example. He pragmatically accepted the necessity of bribery on occasion. And he made one critical exception to his code of conduct, the NSP. They had the power to put him out of business on no more than a whim. Indeed, they could make him disappear any time they chose. As a consequence, he fed the NSP bits of information on occasion, enough to keep them off his back.
Nevertheless, Chon strongly disapproved of the NSP and its methods. He did not take a much more favorable view of So Chi-ho. Junk dealers, which was how he classified So, possessed an inverted sense of values. They prized trivia much more highly than the important things in life, things that included loyalty, integrity and, indeed, life itself. Chon was quite sure that So would sell his soul to the highest bidder. But he was a clever one and had access to unique sources of information that Chon found indispensable.
Chon and So had both used their entrepreneurial skills to accumulate significant wealth, but there the similarity ended. So lived in an expensive house in the same district as the late hotelman Yang. He owned several cars and enjoyed flaunting his status in the kisaeng houses and on the golf courses. Chon, who was of a different generation, lived in the same modest home where he and his wife had brought up two daughters. His major regret was in not having sired a son. In Korean tradition, adulthood for a man occurred when he became the father of a boy. Fortunately, his daughters had provided him with grandsons. He owned only this late model Kia, and his lone extravagance was to handsomely pay his elder daughter's son, Kim Yong-man, to serve as his chauffeur and man Friday. A stocky young man of twenty-four, deliberate in his actions and content with his karma, Kim revered his grandfather like a postulant in the presence of the Lord Buddha.
Chon experienced a momentary concern as Yong-man opened the gate to the scrap yard. He recalled the nervousness he had detected in So's voice when they had spoken earlier in the day, making arrangements for the meeting. He also recalled how, a couple of days ago, So had been no more happy than he at receiving a request for additional information on the assassin Hwang.
The yard was lighted by only a few anemic bulbs that left much of it shrouded in shadow. They drove slowly around to the rear of the building and parked near the back door, which contained a barred window. A shaft of light fanned out through the window, sliced by the bars into a pattern of yellow and black squares like a giant, warped chess board. Yong-man hopped out nimbly and hurried around to open the door for his grandfather. As the old man stepped out, he detected an indistinct movement several feet to the right of the building entrance. Immediately he heard two quick, muted plops, and Yong-man crumpled beyond the car door.
Chon instantly realized what he had heard. A silenced pistol. A glance down at the prostrate form of his grandson showed two holes in the back of his jacket. Holes that were beginning to turn crimson. A feeling of intense sadness gripped chon as he realized there would be no more leisurely chats, no more efforts to instill of sense of the past into the boy. With agonizing bitterness, he accepted there was nothing he could do for his grandson. But he knew there was no time for reminiscing. By instinct, he shifted his feet and arms into a defensive stance, as if that could provide protection from a bullet.
"Relax, old man," said a mocking voice from the shadows. "I heard you were a t'ai chi master. I think you're getting a bit old for that. Anyway, I don't believe your chi can ward off a 9mm projectile traveling at 425 meters per second."
Chon saw a figure dressed in black emerge from the doorway to a darkened storage room. He realized the initial movement of the door was what he had seen as he stepped out of the car. He could barely make out the features, but he had no doubt of whom he faced. He began to breathe slowly and deeply, forcing the anger, all the emotion out of his system, removing the tension from his muscles, allowing his chest, his lungs to relax. He could feel his chi, the life-giving energy that sustained him in times of crisis, begin to flow throughout his body like a surge of power, working its way through the marrow of his bones.
"You should not have killed my grandson, Hwang Sang-sol," he said in a flat voice, betraying no emotion.
Hwang circled around, holding a pistol with a long silencer attached, until he had Chon silhouetted against the light from the door. "Very good, old man. So now we know each other. I require a few answers from you, then you can take your grandson and leave."
That was lie number one, Chon thought. There was no way Hwang intended to let him go, and at the moment he saw no options that might allow him to thwart the assassin's plans.
"Move toward the door," Hwang commanded. "Open it. Leave it wide open and step inside, very slowly."
"Where is Mr. So?" Chon asked. "Have you disposed of him, also?"
"Don't worry about So. He knows how to survive."
That meant So had told him everything, the old merchant acknowledged. "And what do you want of me?"
The room they were in contained two desks, a few chairs and a counter. Hwang had moved one straight-backed chair into the center of a cleared area. He pointed to it with his pistol. "Sit down. Let your arms hang down at your sides."
Chon smiled. "You cannot question a dead man, Mr. Hwang." He took a fighting stance and started to circle his opponent.