"Captain, I hope your investigative abilities far exceed your powers of recall."
"I was just asking about you the other day."
"So I heard."
Yun motioned to a chair. "Please have a seat. How is life in Chungmu?"
"It was great until they built the tourist complex a few years ago. Now too many tourists."
"Somebody always comes up with an idea to ruin the quiet places," Yun said. "It certainly hasn't been quiet around here."
"I understand you've had some troublesome cases."
"That's true." He wondered how much Ha had been told about his failure to solve the Yang and Yi murders. The Superintendent General's old friends higher up in the National Police had probably expressed their displeasure. "Two rather prominent homicides, I'm afraid. Now I also have the murder of my favorite informer to fret over."
"Who's that?"
"Mr. Chon, from Namdaemun Market."
Ha shook his head sadly. "I hadn't heard. Too bad. I always liked the old cuss. I've known him since I was a young man, back in the occupation days."
"That reminds me," Yun said, opening a drawer and digging into a file. It was the reason he had inquired about Ha's whereabouts. He brought out the poksu symbol. "Does this bring back any memories? Mr. Chon told me it was used by a guerrilla band that harrassed the Japanese."
Ha took the piece of paper and studied it. He nodded. "That does take me back. I remember reading about them in Chosun Ilbo. Of course, the Japanese authorities tried to paint them as common criminals, but we could read between the lines. I think they started up in the north, probably with the Northeast Anti-Japanese United Army, then came across from Manchuria. They caused so much damage the Japanese Regent-General claimed at times there were several squads using the poksu banner. But I remember right at the end of the war, when they claimed to have killed two of the guerrillas, they said only two were still at large. Where did you come up with this?"
Should he tell Superintendent General Ha of his conspiracy theory, Yun wondered? Perhaps Ha might offer some significant insights, spot some crucial angles that Yun had overlooked. On the other hand, he might find the whole idea ludicrous, suggest that Yun quit looking for obscure motives and get back to sound, basic police work. If he were so certain of the identity of the murderer in these three cases, he should present his evidence to Prosecutor Park and ask for an arrest warrant. Then he could go through the proper channels to the NSP and demand any information that might aid in making the arrest. He had great respect for his old commander. To lose face with him would be insufferable. He couldn't take the chance.
"I found it while investigating a case recently," he said with a shrug. "Must have been in some old papers from a long time ago. I got curious about it."
Ha pulled the paper between his thumb and forefinger and handed it back. He smiled. "Makes one wonder what ever happened to the two who got away, doesn't it?"
"It does. Also makes you wonder if there are still people around with enough hate for the Japanese to strike out against their interests."
The Superintendent General leaned forward, hands on his knees, and stared across the room with wearied eyes that seemed to be looking inward rather than outward. In that fleeting moment, Yun got the feeling that Ha had suddenly aged beyond his years. "I have no doubt there are such people, Captain." Then he looked up with his old smile and the burden of the years appeared to melt away. "I really must be going. A few old colleagues have invited me out to dinner. It was good to see you again."
Yun jumped to his feet and bowed. "My pleasure, sir. Please come by again next time you're in Seoul."
"I'll try. Take care, Captain Yun."
After Ha had left, Yun sat back at his desk and stared at the square of paper. He had already reviewed the files of his missing, accidentally killed and murdered list, only to find nothing that would tie them in with anything remotely related to the Japanese. For a moment, he had an almost overpowering desire to rip the piece of paper into shreds and put a match to it. That was when he decided it was high time he locked his desk and headed home. Maybe Sun-ok would be in a mood to massage his back. When the spirit moved her, she could make her fingers work magic. It would drain all that excess yum energy out of his system. Then he remembered it was Sunday night. Se-jin would probably be there to bring them up to date on his love life. That thought did nothing to improve Yun's darkened mood.
Chapter 21
The flight from San Francisco arrived at Kimpo International Airport right on time. Burke and Jerry made their way through customs, stopped at a currency exchange window and then took a taxi downtown. The evening traffic moved at a restless pace through the brightly-lit streets. At first glance, it seemed the only thing that distinguished it from any big American city was the strange-looking characters on the signs, which might as well have been hieroglyphics as far as Burke was concerned. Of course, there were several striking and many more subtle differences that would become more apparent in the daylight and over the next several days and weeks.
It was nearly eight by the time they arrived at the Chosun Hotel, Seoul's first luxury international hostelry. Lori had recommended it as a less frantic location than its larger and more plush neighbor, the Lotte. The Chosun's Ninth Gate bar and restaurant were favorite meeting spots for Korean and foreign businessmen. After checking into their rooms, they met back at the ground level lounge for a nightcap.
The bar's plate-glass windows provided a ringside view of a centuries-old gate and a Yi dynasty (rulers from 1392) national treasure, the octagonal, triple-roofed Temple of Heaven. It was a revealing introduction to a city whose ancient past existed comfortably side-by-side with its ultra-modern present.
"Did you call Lori?" Jerry asked after they had ordered.
"Not yet. It's just six-thirty at home. She'd kill me if I woke her up that early on a Sunday morning." Burke clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back to stretch. The long flight had left him tired and stiff, though he was making a valiant effort to suppress it.
"I'll be rolling out by six-thirty in the morning," Jerry said. "Got to get my running in. Maybe that'll put my system back in sync." He slumped in his chair and crossed his legs.
"Didn't know you were a runner."
"I try to get in three-to-five miles a day, four days a week."
"I walk. Our good doctor friends advised me to walk thirty minutes a day. Good for my cholesterol and that sort of thing."
Jerry nodded. "I never thought much about aerobics, or any other kind of exercise, until about ten years ago. That's when my Dad suffered a massive coronary. He was just fifty."
"Sorry to hear that."
"He wasn't the athletic type. Didn't do any kind of sports. He'd sometimes take us up into the Smokies on weekends, so we'd learn to appreciate nature. That was important to him. But we never went on hikes, or anything like that. Most of the time, he was either working or reading or writing scientific papers."
"So you were determined not to become a heart victim like him," Burke said.
"Right. Physical conditioning was important to my job with DEA anyway. I decided to take up running. It builds your stamina, keeps the old blood moving, strengthens the heart muscle. I must be starting to get old, though. Seems it takes a little more effort now than it used to."
"Don't give me that crap, Jerry. When you've pushed past fifty-five, then you can start talking about getting old."
A pretty Korean girl with wide, dark eyes, dressed in a blue and white hanbok, brought their drinks. Burke handed her a fistful of the won notes he had picked up at the airport. She left them with a smile and a bow. Lifting his glass of chablis, he offered a toast, wrapped in his own smile. "Here's to a successful HANGOVER, Jerry. With what's riding on this one, we'd better do it right. And do it fast."