Burke glanced at his watch. "We've taken up enough of your time, Mr. Mansfield. But we really appreciate the information. It balances out our historical perspective."
Mansfield jumped to his feet and came around the desk to walk them to the door. "Hey, my pleasure. And just call me Damon, but skip the Demon, okay? Reminds me too much of my old ghetto days in Philadelphia."
"You don't sound like a ghetto product," Jerry said.
He grinned. "I got refined at Georgetown. Say, there's someone else you might want to talk to. He can give you a real personal perspective. Dr. Lee Yo-ku. He's a history professor at Seoul National University. It's the Harvard of South Korea. I've come to know him pretty well. Speaks excellent English. Writes books. If you call him, tell him I suggested it. See you guys tonight."
Captain Yun leaned against his car in the deserted parking lot above the river and watched the crane slowly lower the crumpled black Kia to the cobblestones. The gray sky provided a cheerless backdrop to the somber scene. A policeman who was directing the operation signaled the crane operator to move away.
"Ready to take a look, Captain?" the officer called.
Yun walked over to the car, glancing at the front end. It had been crumpled by the impact with the water. Then he looked through the windows. A body lay face down across the front seat. Yun opened the door and leaned across. He saw what appeared to be two bullet holes closely spaced in the back of the man's jacket. From the description supplied by Mrs. Choe, he knew he had found Mr. Chon's grandson.
After giving instructions for disposition of the body and the wrecked vehicle, Yun returned to his car and drove out toward the street. As he turned in the direction of the nearby bridge, the radio crackled to life with his car number.
He identified himself, and the dispatcher's voice came through the speaker. "You have a message from Prosecutor Park. Call him as soon as possible."
He knew what that meant. His thirty days would be up tomorrow. He frowned irritably at the thought of the obese prosecutor. Park's office was here on the south side of the Han, but he decided to hell with him. Let the fat fool wait. He kept on driving.
When he reached the police station, he went straight to his desk. Two reports awaited him. The laboratory had determined the blood from Chang's motorcycle trailer matched that of Mr. Chon. He had been certain it would. Also, the surveillance team in his neighborhood had still observed no one who could possibly have been Hwang Sang-sol. That was both good and bad.
Yun dialed the prosecutor's office.
"Good morning, Captain," Park said in a disarming voice. "I trust you had a pleasant weekend. You haven't forgotten tomorrow?"
"No, Prosecutor Park," Yun said, "I have not forgotten what day tomorrow is."
"Very well. I'll expect you in my office at nine in the morning. Be sure and bring all of your evidence."
"I'll be there," Yun said. "Files and all."
He felt he had enough evidence to request a warrant for Hwang's arrest, but he still had no idea who could be behind the conspiracy. And without a conspiracy, how convincing were the motives for murder? He would have to ask the prosecutor to give him a few more days to see if the neighborhood trap for Hwang might yet snare its prey. Meanwhile, he would look for back files of Chosun Ilbo, files dating back to the forties. It was one of Seoul's major daily newspapers, as it had been back in the days of the Japanese occupation.
Chapter 23
Back at the hotel, Jerry Chan called Dr. Lee's home. He spoke to an ajumma who gave him a number to try at the university. The professor was delighted to learn of their interest. He graciously invited them to drop by his home the following morning at nine. It was his day for no classes until after noon.
The reception had been planned to give the Embassy staff an opportunity to socialize informally with some of the capital's most influential news media people. Key foreign journalists stationed in Seoul were also invited. The hope was that it would promote a better understanding of America's interest in maintaining close and friendly ties with the Republic of Korea. Staffers involved in major areas of contact with Koreans had been instructed to stress ways in which they were working to improve relations. Several American businessmen who understood both American positions and Korean sensitivities had been invited also. Following the function's bilateral theme, buffet tables were set up in two areas, one featuring an array of popular Korean dishes, the other including typical American fare. The decorations involved numerous sets of flags pairing the Stars and Stripes with the Taekukki, South Korea's unique banner, which surrounded the blue and red yang and yum symbol with four trigrams.
A talented quintet of symphony musicians alternated Korean and American songs in one corner of the large room as Burke and Jerry arrived. Burke had warned that cocktail parties ranked just a little above root canals on his hierarchy of favorite things to do. But he promised to fly the flag proudly and make an effort to cultivate some helpful contacts. One of the first persons they met was Ambassador Shearing, who greeted them with a firm handshake. He was a strikingly handsome, white-haired man in his sixties.
"Sorry I missed you this morning, gentlemen," the ambassador said in a precise, cultured voice. "I wish you the greatest of success with your venture. If we can be of any help to you here at the Embassy, be sure to let us know. And I intend that to include me, personally."
"Thank you," Burke said. "That's mighty generous. Damon Mansfield was very helpful this morning."
"I'll be running the office here, Mr. Ambassador," said Jerry Chan. "I'd like to reciprocate that offer. We would be most happy to assist your people in any way we could."
Shearing lowered his voice a few decibels. "The way things are going at this juncture, I'm sure it will take all of our efforts to keep Uncle Sam from looking like the village villain. Do you speak the language?"
"Yes, sir."
"That will certainly be a plus." He turned as a member of his staff approached with an urgent look on his face. "What is it, George?"
The man offered an apologetic smile. "Pardon the interruption, but there's someone over here from the Ministry of Culture and Information you need to meet."
Ambassador Shearing folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow with a look that seemed to say "how interesting." He turned back to Burke and Jerry. "The Ministry has been going out of its way to ignore us lately. Maybe this is a good sign. Circulate around and meet some of the poeple. The editor of Koryo Ilbo is here. He's one you should definitely get to know."
"Daily newspaper," Jerry advised Burke as the ambassador moved away.
They stopped at the Korean buffet, which included a display of colorful dishes presided over by smiling, white-jacketed chefs. Spread out beside the napkins were forks, spoons and chopsticks. Burke picked up a plate and looked into a large metal bowl containing strips of meat. The chef standing behind it said, "Pulgogi.'
Burke held out his plate. "I don't know what it is, but it looks good."
The short, bespectacled man in front of him turned and gave him an inquisitive look. He spoke slowly, his words carefully enunciated. "It is one of our most popular dishes. Could be pork but usually consists of marinated beef slices, cooked over coals. You must be new in our country."
"I'm new all right," Burke said. "Just arrived last night." He held out his hand. "Burke Hill with Worldwide Communications Consultants."
A man in his late forties with thick black hair and dark, searching eyes, the Korean bowed. "I am Kang Han-kyo, editor of Koryo Ilbo, a national newspaper."