He glanced up at the calendar on the wall. Another weekend had rolled around. Ever since the project had gone on a seven-days-a-week schedule, he'd had difficulty keeping up with what day it was.
Before going to bed, Burke called Nate and inquired if he had anything to report on Hwang Sang-sol.
"I'm having dinner at the Federal Club this evening," Highsmith said. "General Palmer is to get the information to me. I'll go by the office and fax it to you before I head home. It should be around noon your time."
"I hope it's good news for the Captain. He's really being helpful. What about the book manuscript?"
"I'm afraid I only have bad news there. Dr. Lowing has gone to Europe to attend a conference and then make a series of talks. He'll be visiting several universities on the continent and in England. They don't expect him back for nearly three weeks."
Burke frowned. "Couldn't a secretary, or someone around the foundation, locate the manuscript for us?"
"I'll check, but I doubt it. These professors guard their manuscripts like Fort Knox takes care of its gold. Those things can mean big money. Especially if they get a book approved for use in schools. Chances are he has it at home. He's a bachelor, lives alone."
Three weeks. A guy gets himself murdered over a manuscript, and it's three weeks before anybody can try to find out why. If he were Yun, he'd be damned frustrated about it. Since it appeared to be linked to the conspiracy against highly pro-American Koreans, there was also the possibility that it could be connected to the Amber Group's investigation. He had no proof, but he couldn't shake the idea. Still, he was too tired to sort it out now. All the lifting and climbing and toting at the office had left him feeling as though he'd been put through a strenuous workout. He realized his walking might be great for the respiratory and circulatory systems, but it did nothing for a lot of muscles he hadn't stretched for a long time. They'd be sure to let him know about it in the morning.
The mystery of Dr. Lee's missing book was still on his mind as he dozed off. He would recall it only vaguely when he awoke, but he dreamed about a predatory animal that killed writers and ate their manuscripts.
Prosecutor Park Sang-muk was due in the Minister of Justice's office later in the morning to discuss a case of particular interest to the government. He was concerned that the Yang and Yi homicides might come up as well. Puffing furiously at a Turtle Ship, he saw Captain Yun walk in and gestured silently with his cigarette at the empty chair.
He glanced at the watch strapped tightly, uncomfortably so, about his beefy wrist, then looked back at Yun. "At least you're on time today."
"Begging your pardon, Prosecutor Park," Yun said calmly, a dispassionate look on his face, "I have always been on time for our conferences. The last time I was not late; I was simply unable to be here at all."
Park shifted his bulky torso in the oversize chair, resembling a large balloon bobbing in a breeze. "Never mind." He did not intend to let the detective put him on the defensive. "Tell me how you plan to go about capturing this murderer."
Noisily clearing his throat, as though the words might have become stuck there, Yun said almost as a confession, "The alternative I mentioned was to make a request of the NSP to provide any information they might have. The man goes by the name of Hwang Sang-sol. He is a merciless killer available for an assortment of despicable activities."
The normally brash, confident prosecutor's puffy jaws sagged and his eyes took on a hollow look. "The NSP?"
"I suspect the NSP knows him quite well. I'll ask the director of our bureau to make the request through the Minister of Home Affairs."
That prospect put Park into a rapid recovery mode. He didn't relish the idea of sticking his rather prominent nose into the treacherous quagmire known as the Agency for National Security Planning, but he had even less desire to face the Justic Minister with word that a rival bureaucracy was probing into national security affairs. If anything of that sort were required, it should be done on his own turf. His minister was a real stickler for keeping a close rein on the National Police.
"That would be better handled through the Minister of Justice," said Park, his face settling into a more normal scowl. He lifted the stub of his Turtle Ship from the dragon's head ashtray and milked it for one final puff. "He should have considerably more clout with the president and the prime minister."
"Then you will let me know when you have the information on Hwang Sang-sol?" Yun asked.
"Yes, of course." Park nodded with a guarded look, put off a bit by the investigator's unexpected agreement.
Since it was Saturday, Jerry had told his staff to rest up from the dual effects of jet lag and the office move-in. He wanted them ready for a shotgun start on Monday morning. Burke enjoyed a leisurely late breakfast, reading through the morning newspaper as a diligent waiter kept pouring the coffee. He saw no need to hurry. It was a beautiful fall day, the sky ablaze with a bright ball of a sun that had diminished the morning chill by the time he walked over to the Worldwide office. He found Jerry putting the finishing touches on some of the sophisticated gadgetry supplied by Kingsley Marshall from the CIA's inventory. Included were an electronic sweeper, a gadget to detect telephone line taps and a device installed beneath the windows that would distort sound waves, rendering them unintelligible by the time they reached the large glass panes. The Amber Group chose to use the branch manager's office for a secure room, and this device would prevent any eavesdropping from the outside. Jerry had also brought over one of the fax/scrambler machines, along with an additional supply of encoded floppies. It sat on the corner of his desk.
Burke had been there only a short time when Nate Highsmith called. He sat at Jerry's desk and activated the scrambler.
"Did General Palmer come through for us?" Burke asked.
Nate laughed. "You would have thought we were a couple of graying operations types meeting on a Moscow street at the height of the Cold War. Just before leaving the club, he told me he had an article he thought I might be interested in reading. Handed me a folded copy of the Army Times. When I got back here, I found it crammed with photographs and a typed report."
"On Hwang Sang-sol?"
"Right. Your policeman's artist did a great job. I'll fax the photos in a few minutes. You can see how close they match. The report gives the full pedigree on Mr. Hwang. The Agency says his real name is Suh."
"Are we cleared to give the info to Captain Yun?"
"Yes, it's been sanitized. We didn't want to put it in writing, but you can tell him unofficially that Hwang's employers have included the Agency for National Security Planning. I wouldn't come right out and tell him this came from the FBI, but you can imply whatever you like."
"I'm sure he'll be so happy to get it he won't give a damn where it came from. Did you have a chance to check on Dr. Lowing's manuscript?"
Nate's voice took on a note of regret. "They didn't know anything about it at the Foundation. They expect to hear from him in the next week, however. I asked them to have him give me a call."
"I guess that's the best we can hope for," Burke said.
After they had finished their conversation, Nate transmitted the report and photos via the facsimile machine. Burke looked them over, then called Yun at the police station.
"Mr. Hill," the investigator said, "I was going to call you. I'm happy to report that your secretarial applicant has no record here."