When he saw the fireplace setting, it looked identical to Nate's description of his earlier meeting in the Oval Office. The President had a thing for fireplaces, Burke recalled from an article he had read. As a young boy, before his father had made it big in the oil business, the President had lived in a modest bungalow in a middle class neighborhood of Dallas. The house was heated by a coal furnace in the basement. The President had relished the rare occasions when his dad built a merrily blazing fire in the small livingroom fireplace. He would sit facing the warmth of the flames awhile, then turn his back, rotating slowly like a chicken on a barbecue spit.
Burke quickly became the center of attention as he described his close relationship with Captain Yun and the revelations it had brought him. He discussed the alarming extent of the nuclear weapons program, and his suspicions regarding the former Korean-American students. Finally he explained what Yun was presently seeking in the North Korean capital.
When he had finished, the President looked at him with a troubled frown. "What do you make of this Japanese language thing?"
"I just heard about it the morning I left. Since President Kwak alerted the Defense Security Command, it sounds like he was expecting trouble. I'm sure you've heard the rumors going around. The question about Kwak's whereabouts during World War II, whether he had secretly worked for the Japanese."
"Yes," said the President, "and that is most troubling. This week we received an official request from the Japanese Prime Minister for talks in Tokyo on ending our joint security arrangement with Japan. They want the freedom to run their military without us looking over their shoulders. Just like South Korea."
Marshall cocked his head to one side. "I read a report before coming up here that the Japanese newspapers are lauding the new climate of friendship in Seoul. It's beginning to sound like an orchestrated affair."
"Well, I don't like the sound of the damned music," General Thatcher said.
Judge Marshall nodded. "Frankly, if I were President Kwak, I would be a bit concerned about my welfare around Colonel Han Sun-shin."
Burke looked around. "The NSP director?"
"Yes. I remember reading in his bio, when he was appointed last May, that his father was executed by the Japanese during the occupation. I shouldn't think he'd have too much love for the people in Tokyo. If Kwak gets too cozy, he might wind up in the morgue."
General Thatcher gave him a surly look. "Surely the Colonel wouldn't—"
"One of Han's predecessors, the head of the old KCIA back in 1979, assassinated President Park Chung-hee and his chief bodyguard at a kisaeng house. Colonel Han has precedent going for him."
"You seem to have a pretty good feel for this, Mr. Highsmith," said the President. "How do you read it?"
Nate shook his head. "I hate to say what I'm thinking. The Japanese could have been behind this South Korean nuclear effort from the start. If Kwak is really their man, it's a perfect setup. They merge with Korea economically, pick up a nuclear arsenal, then they go after China. The Russians wouldn't lift a finger if they could. They're too busy selling oil to Japan and Korea and holding out their tin cup for favors."
"I hope to hell we're both wrong," said the President, stretching his long legs in front of him to soak up the warmth from the fire, "but I'm afraid that's the way I see it, too. If that's the way it is, we may have to play some real hardball to get things stopped before it's too late."
Burke stared at the flirting, playful flicker of the flames. He had a feeling this Poksu business would turn out to be the key to everything. But just how would that key fit? Was its leader the man who had planned the series of assassinations that thwarted close ties with the U.S.? He must have ordered the murder of the respected academic who had learned his identity. Did he feel particularly vulnerable? Was he the brain behind the nuclear program? How did it all tie in with Dr. Kim Vickers and the Korean-American Education Foundation in California? He looked back at the President.
"If we're lucky, Mr. President, Captain Yun should bring back the answers to most, if not all, our questions."
"You saved my neck a couple of years ago in Toronto, Burke," said the President. "I hope you didn't use up all of your luck with Jabberwock."
Chapter 50
When Yun Yu-sop went down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, he stopped in the lobby to buy a newspaper and received the confirmation he had expected. Following close behind came Hwang Sang-sol, dressed for the weather in insulated brown boots, a heavy coat slung over his arm. The way Yun had analyzed it, the man probably had no more than a physical description to go on. And, further, Hwang likely was unaware that Yun could identify him. The Captain had not gone to his room last night until after dinner and did not come out again until morning. He reasoned that Hwang would watch for him to leave and follow him for a closer look. The fact that he did so openly indicated either that he discounted being recognized or he was purposely flaunting his presence. Since Yun could think of no reason for him to do the latter, he accepted the likelihood that Hwang felt secure in his disguise. That was the only positive note he could detect.
He was aware that Hwang had taken a table to one side of him, but he studiously avoided looking in that direction. Several members of the Special Security Group came into the restaurant and were seated together nearby, only nodding in acknowledgement of Yun, making it obvious he did not belong in their chummy group.
Yun tried to divert his thoughts away from the man whose stare he could feel as though it were a laser beam burning his cheeks. He concentrated on the restaurant and how he might rate it. On a four-star system, he decided it would only deserve a circle, which he defined as a single star without any points. The food was lacking in distinction, the service poor to non-existent, and the decor could best be described as commonplace dull. But as he ate, his mind kept wandering back to the questions that had troubled him most of the previous evening. After all this time, how had Hwang managed to track him down here unless someone higher up in the justice system was culpable? Was he on another assassination mission, with Captain Yun Yu-sop as the target? Yun could do no more than speculate, but he had taken the precaution of placing the photograph Chung had given him in a sturdy envelope, which he addressed to Burke Hill at Worldwide Communications Consultants in Seoul. He included a note identifying two of the people in the picture as "Young Tiger Lee and his friend Ahn Wi-jong." The mail from Pyongyang to Seoul was supposedly transferred uncensored. Yun didn't trust that to be true but thought the note innocent enough as to not set off any alarm bells.
He had also written a brief note to his son. It suggested that if anything happened to him on this trip, Se-jin should contact Burke Hill in his search for the culprit. Hill would recognize the hand of Hwang Sang-sol. If nothing happened, he would call Se-jin and tell him to disregard the letter, that it was just a case of being overly cautious.
When he had finished breakfast, Yun crossed the lobby to the front desk, where he bought stamps. He placed the large envelope in a mail drop at the end of the counter. After placing a stamp on the letter to his son, he looked around and got a glimpse of Hwang across the way, watching. Instead of mailing the letter, he stuck it inside the folded newspaper, pulled his coat on and headed for the entrance. It would be interesting to see if Hwang followed him. He felt the reassuring bulge beneath his jacket, where the small automatic rested in its shoulder holster. Under the agreement between the two governments setting ground rules for the meetings, the Korean National Police were not to carry weapons unless actually engaged in escorting or otherwise providing protection for the delegates. Since spotting Hwang, however, Yun had decided not to go anywhere without his pistol, even if it meant stretching or ignoring the rules. For the moment, he would head for the conference building and find out if the talks were still slated to wind up today as scheduled.