Satisfied there was no apparent threat to their delegation, the Korean National Police officers adopted a low-key posture and resolved to enjoy the change of scenery, such as it was. Captain Yun began to inquire around as to how he might locate some aging survivors of the anti-Japanese campaign in Manchuria during World War II. He was referred to the party Central Committee, specifically to an official by the name of So Song-ku. As he quickly learned, So was one of those involved in the discussions with the ROK negotiators. He found the short, stocky man in a small bare room that was part of the North's delegation headquarters, located in a dull, gray building near the center of Pyongyang where the joint meetings were being held. He soon noticed something vaguely different about So, perhaps a more relaxed manner than he had noticed in other North Koreans.
Yun introduced himself and explained that he had been asked by a friend to look up some old soldiers from the partisan warfare days in Manchuria.
"I think you'll find there are less than a handful still living," said So, scratching his graying head.
Yun handed him a sheet with six names on it. "Here are the people I was told might still be around."
So took a pen and checked off four of them. "These two are the only survivors on your list," he said, handing it back. "Both live here in Pyongyang. I could have someone take you to visit them, if you'd like."
Without any contacts in the North Korean capital, Yun could think of no alternative at the moment. "I appreciate the offer," he said. "When would be a convenient time?"
"How about this afternoon?"
The Captain agreed, and he was met at his hotel at two o'clock by a dapper young man who greeted him like a long lost cousin. The precisely knotted tie and mirror-like shoes gave him the look of a military cadet. He gave his name as Kim. He was overly polite with Yun, but the domineering way he treated his fellow travelers from the North convinced the detective that he was a member of the secret police. He drove a drab-looking car that Yun decided was probably Russian.
As they drove through the wide boulevards of Pyongyang, Yun was overwhelmed by the contrast with what he was accustomed to. Traffic was sparse. No honking, no impatient drivers dogging their rear bumper. People on the sidewalks appeared plainly dressed, no splash of color, no variety of Western styles. Instead of billboards and signs advertising the newest model cars, the pleasures of flying KAL, or the tantalizing taste of a popular soft drink, banners hung from buildings and at intersections exhorting the populace with such slogans as one glorifying labor—"Work Is Its Own Reward" — and another proclaiming "Long Live the Fatherland." They drove through the outskirts of the city to a run-down section of modest, aging traditional houses on unpaved roads. Evidently old soldiers in retirement didn't fare particularly well in this communist paradise.
They walked to the door of a small home, where Yun's escort introduced himself to the graying crone who greeted them.
"I am Comrade Kim Chi-yon of the Korean Workers Party," he announced in an authoritative voice. "This is Captain Yun from Seoul. We would like to speak with Comrade Yoon Kwang-su."
She stared wide-eyed at Yun, obviously impressed that he had come from Seoul. She invited them inside, where they found a man with the thin gray beard and typical white jacket and pantaloons of the older generations. Illuminated by the muted glow from a window, he sat half-bowed on the floor, the hunched remnant of a once-stalwart fighter. His skin was wrinkled from age and bore the pallor of a man who passed his declining years away from the merciless rays of the sun and the chilling lash of a malicious north wind.
The woman disappeared as Kim introduced Captain Yun to Yoon Kwang-su.
"I'm a friend of Dr. Lee Yo-ku of Seoul National University," Yun explained to the old man. "One of the Anti-Japanese United Army veterans provided him some material recently, and I was wondering if it might have come from you?"
"No, Captain." Comrade Yoon's voice was labored. "I have sent nothing to anyone. These old eyes are much too weak for reading or writing. Perhaps it was Comrade Chung Woo-keun. I understand he is still around, and in somewhat better shape. Chung was in the group our Great Leader took to Vladivostok. I was injured and left behind."
The "Great Leader," of course, was Kim Il-sung. The late Kim Il-sung. Comrade Chung was the last name on Yun's list. He had to be the old guerilla who had provided Dr. Lee with the crucial information on the Young Tiger and the Poksu group. Chung's home should be his next stop, Yun thought, but he wasn't particularly interested in having a North Korean watchdog along for the interview. It was time to get back to the hotel now anyway.
As they drove back into Pyongyang, Kim inquired, "What kind of material did your friend Dr. Lee receive from here?"
"I don't know. He just told me it had been lost and asked me to see if it could be replaced." Let him report that back to his boss, Yun thought. That should be confusing enough. He saw no reason why anyone up here would have any knowledge or interest in his conspiracy case, but he presumed they still suffered from the same old paranoia that the dictator Kim had fostered for so many years.
"I can take you to find Comrade Chung Woo-keun in the morning," Kim offered.
"I may be tied up at the meetings," Yun alibied. "I'll call Mr. So's office if I get free." He had no intention of calling So, however. He would have to find another way of locating what he took to be the last of the partisans.
As it happened, help was not far away. When he arrived back at the hotel, he encountered a jovial Superintendent Pak, the officer in charge of the police contingent. Normally a steely-eyed taskmaster, Pak had mellowed since the assignment became relatively free of pressure. He knew Yun by reputation and had been told that the Captain was pursuing a criminal investigation and would not be actively participating in the security activities.
"I hope you found what you came after, Captain," he said.
Yun shrugged his shoulders. "I found who I needed to look for. I only wish I had someone who could take me to see him. I think my escort today was a member of the secret police."
"I just might be able to help you," Pak said. "I had time to do a little looking myself. I found an uncle I'd never seen. My father went south just before the Civil War, but his brother got trapped by the fighting. He was able to make the best of a bad situation. I'm having dinner tonight at his son's house. I'll ask my cousin if he would take you to see your man."
At around the same time, a message was being decoded in Seoul. It was rushed to the office of the DRAGON's handler. It said:
"Captain Yun visiting World War II communist guerrillas. Looking for missing material sent to a Dr. Lee in Seoul."
The message meant nothing to the intelligence officer, except that the DRAGON had carried out his assignment with his usual efficiency. He passed the information on to the superior who had requested surveillance of the policeman. The superior officer promptly placed a call to the treasurer of an import/export firm in the Kowloon section of Hong Kong. When the soft-spoken Chinese identified himself, the intelligence man advised that he had a message for "Typhoon." It was three words: "Emergency contact Hermit."
From the import/export firm, a similar call went out to the manager of a Hong Kong-side bar. He left the message on the answering machine of a "family girl" (local jargon for call-girls) in the Wanchai district.
Not long afterward, the illusive man code-named "Typhoon" placed a call from a safe phone to his employer in Seoul known as "Hermit." He received a new assignment, along with appropriate instructions for locating and identifying the target. Returning home, he opened a safe hidden beneath the floor and removed the necessary passports and documents, plus a supply of cash in various currencies, then headed for Kai Tak Airport.