"My company represents an organization back in the U.S. called the Coalition for Nuclear Freedom," Jerry said. "We were told that Dr. Shin might have some information regarding the status of nuclear affairs in the Republic of Korea. He was fired not long ago as a scientist at Reijeo's Chuwangsan Plant. There was a report that he had come to Pulguksa, but obviously that was incorrect."
"This organization, this Coalition, what does it do?" Moon Chwa asked.
"They're concerned with the misuse of nuclear science and technology. Things like nuclear weapons proliferation. Of course, as far as we know, your country has no nuclear weapons capability."
"Perhaps this Dr. Shin went to another temple," Moon Chwa speculated. "I will see if I can find out something for you before you leave. Is this your first visit to Pulguksa?"
"Yes."
"Then you must see the Sokkuram Grotto. You have come a long way, Mr. Chan. It would be a shame to return without visiting one of the really classic examples of Oriental art. It is located at the top of Mt. Tohamsan. I will have one of our monks accompany you. There should be a mini-bus leaving shortly."
Jerry had read about the grotto but wasn't sure how interested he would be in it at this juncture. He was too concerned about the fate of his search for Dr. Shin. Fortunately, Moon Chwa's promise to try and locate the missing scientist sounded a hopeful note. As it turned out, he found the trip to Sokkuram, about eight kilometers up from Pulguksa, more than worthy of the two hours he devoted to it. The small bus let him and his eager Buddhist guide out at the summit parking lot. From there they took a wooded path that twisted along the mountainside for several hundred meters. Then they climbed a final set of steps to the cave grotto.
"This was built in 751 by the Silla minister Kim Tae-song," said the young monk as though speaking of yesterday. "You should note the geometrical proportion and precision. The architects did a masterful job."
Because of deterioration from the elements, particularly the ocean wind, a glass wall and humidity controls were installed some twenty years back. A towering white granite Sakyamuni Buddha sat on a stone dias on the floor of the circular hall, legs folded in the lotus position.
"Though it was more than a thousand years ago," said his guide, "the designers were quite advanced in their thinking. They placed the statue slightly off center, so when you look at it standing here in the foreroom, it appears to be centered. They knew all about optical illusions even back in those days."
To Jerry, it seemed to embody the ancient religion's tenets of peace, tranquility, and compassion for life. But it would take more than an optical illusion to square that with what he suspected was taking place some seventy-five kilometers to the north in a grotto known as the Reijeo Chuwangsan Plant.
Chapter 40
As soon as Jerry left for Sokkuram, Moon Chwa drove down the road to the Kolon Hotel, a modern tourist facility offering everything from a dinner theatre to a casino. More important, from his standpoint, it offered telephone lines that had not likely been tapped by any eavesdropping government agency. As a former army intelligence officer, he was well acquainted with the wily ways of the Defense Security Command, which had agents snooping throughout the military to guard against the emergence of coup leaders. He was also aware that the arms of the Agency for National Security Planning had an even longer reach and a more powerful grip.
A veteran of Korea's participation in the Vietnamese War, Moon Chwa had come out of that struggle a broken man. All the fighting and killing and dying had left him a mental cripple. He was drowning himself in alcohol when a pair of merciless robbers cleaned out his pockets and drove him into the countryside, dumping him at the side of the road with the belief that he would freeze to death. They were unaware they had left him virtually on the doorstep of a small, obscure Buddhist temple, whose monks found him and took him into their compound. When he awoke and realized where he was and what had happened, he decided to devote the rest of his life to the Lord of the temple. He had a particular aversion to weapons of mass destruction.
He placed the first of his calls to the American Embassy in Seoul. He was referred to the Commercial Attaché, who assured him that Worldwide Communications Consultants was a well-established firm in the U.S. capital. Mr. Kurt Voegler had no information on the Coalition for Nuclear Freedom but advised that Worldwide planned a campaign to promote better relations between Americans and Koreans.
The second call went to the Worldwide Communications office in Seoul, where he spoke to a Mr. Burke Hill. It was confirmed that Jerry Chan was attempting to contact Dr. Shin on behalf of the Coalition for Nuclear Freedom. His final call was directed to a home in the mountains northeast of Andong, the nearest contact point with the Hongsansa Temple. The South Koreans had done a marvelous job of spreading the benefits of electricity and telephone service to remote areas of the country, but they had yet to reach the isolated temple hidden in the upper wilds of a four-thousand-foot peak some thirty-five kilometers inland from the east coast. After an hour of sipping tea in the coffee shop, sped along through meditation on an item in the American section of the menu called "Sandwich BLT," he received a call back from his party at Hongsansa. It was shortly before Jerry Chan's return from the grotto.
Moon Chwa was waiting near the large gilt Buddha in the main prayer hall when Jerry walked in. "Please join me in a stroll along the courtyard, Mr. Chan," he said with his owlish smile.
Jerry followed him out onto one of the roofed walkways that separated the courtyard into different areas. There was enough wind to sweep the misty rainfall against their faces despite the peaked tile enclosure overhead. In the cold it felt like tiny needle pricks.
"Dr. Shin would like to meet you," Moon Chwa said matter-of-factly when they were away from the small cluster of tourists.
Jerry frowned at his diminutive companion. "You talked to him?"
"Yes. I must confess that although I answered your question truthfully, you probably did not comprehend the subtlety of my reply."
That's a new twist on the old I know you believe you understand what you think I said, but I am not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant, thought Jerry, somewhat chagrined. He glared. "Meaning?"
"I said there was no such person here. You didn't ask if Dr. Shin had been here in the past."
"Why are you playing games with me, Moon Chwa?"
"No games, Mr. Chan," he said. "There have been others here before you looking for Dr. Shin. People no doubt sent, by certain government agencies. It was necessary to establish your bona fides."
Jerry almost smiled at his choice of words, but what he said made cold-blooded sense. If Dr. Shin possessed information about the nuclear program, he could certainly be on the NSP's wanted list. He must have realized this and gone into hiding. No wonder the little monk had been so circumspect in their earlier discussion. "So how do I find Dr. Shin?"
Moon Chwa gave him directions for locating Hongsansa, literally Temple of the Red Mountain. It nestled above the 3,000-foot level in the mountains northeast of Andong. The name came from the surrounding oak forest that turned the mountainside a flaming red in the fall.
It was early afternoon by the time Jerry had eaten lunch and steered his Hyundai back onto the highway, heading north toward the port city of Pohang, where heavy industries belched stains of yellow and gray into the cloudy sky. From there he continued up the coastal highway to Yongdok, then turned northwest, where the road began its steady climb into the hill country. At mid-afternoon, he located the obscure cut-off Moon Chwa had cautioned him would be easy to miss. It was a dirt road, little more than a narrow trail, that took him on a bumpy, tortuous trek higher into the mountains. After the first quarter of a mile, he saw no further signs of human habitation. The clouds had begun to break up, affording an occasional glimpse of a bare, craggy peak in the distance. He had about decided he was on the wrong road, that this one led absolutely nowhere, when he rounded a sharp curve and there, high up one side of a narrow glen just ahead, hoary from a slight dusting of snow, sat a small cluster of wood and stone buildings, each with its peaked tile roof flared out in Buddhist temple style. A seemingly endless flight of steps led up from the roadside, its zig-zag pattern chiseled into the stone face of the mountain.