The man whose photo appeared on the passport bearing the name Tao Kuang, grabbed his black topcoat with the red scarf folded inside, paid his breakfast bill and left the restaurant just in time to see Captain Yun Yu-sop, whose identity was now firmly established, drop something in the mail slot at the desk. He had not seen the detective carrying anything but a newspaper. Apparently whatever was mailed had been covered by the coat over his arm. He wanted badly to know what had been dropped in the mail box but saw the policeman headed for the hotel entrance. Tao Kuang, who had taken a fancy to that name borrowed from a Chinese emperor of nearly two hundred years ago, donned his scarf and coat and followed at a discreet distance. So far he had seen nothing on Yun's part to indicate any awareness of the surveillance. Nevertheless, he proceeded with his usual caution.
The sidewalks had been cleared of most of the snow. Walking was now less of a chore. Neither the streets nor sidewalks were as crowded as in Seoul. He assumed the hurried pace of the somber-faced pedestrians was occasioned more by the temperature than by any rush to get some place in particular. He hadn't noticed anything worth rushing to around here. But, then, his tastes ran more to the bright lights of Seoul and Hong Kong and Tokyo. Pyongyang was hardly noted as a swinging town. With unification of North and South now a definite possibility, though, things could be headed for a change.
Thoughts about unification brought the sudden realization that Captain Yun was most likely on his way to the government building where the talks were being held. He had eavesdropped on a party of South Korean delegates last night. Mostly they had gossiped about representatives from the other side, a nervous Nellie who chain-smoked constantly, one with a bulbous, alcoholic nose, and a militaristic hard-liner they dubbed the "Shit General." But he also picked up comments on the changed climate over previous attempts at joint discussions, and the fact that things had gone so well there would be no need to delay the ending beyond today's final session. It would be home to Seoul tomorrow.
That prospect quickened his pulse and switched his thought processes into fast forward. As soon as he confirmed Yun's destination, he would obtain a necessary piece of information and put his plan into action.
Conflicted by the uncertainty of what he might face, Captain Yun read the newspaper with little interest, then sat quietly at the edge of the group of police officers in the sparely appointed anteroom. They perched on institutional gray folding chairs with hard metal seats and chatted about more intriguing assignments they had worked, such as providing security for heads of state like Mikhail Gorbachev.
Only half-listening, Yun reflected that his safest move would be to stick with these officers who had been trained to handle people like Hwang Sang-sol. It would soon be lunchtime. He could go out with them to eat. On further reflection, he realized that would be only a temporary fix at best. He couldn't hang around a group like this for long. If the deadly assassin was after him, his only defense would be to stay on the alert, to remain prepared to counter any threat. It would not be simple, by any means, but he did not consider it outside his range of competence. He had spotted Hwang following him to the building. Hwang had spoken to someone at the reception desk in the lobby, then left. Yun doubted that he would have any problems on the streets of Pyongyang in broad daylight. Actually, he saw his hotel room as the biggest threat. He had left a few "telltales," as they were called in the intelligence business, items placed in precise arrangement whose disturbance would signal an intruder.
"Is there a Captain Yun in here?" a prim-looking woman dressed in black inquired from the doorway.
He stood up. "I'm Yun."
"You have a telephone call," she said.
She led him into the office that handled details of the conference. It was the busiest place he had seen, with several women typing up transcripts and reports and summaries. She handed him the telephone from a cluttered desk.
The frown could be detected in his uncertain tone. "Captain Yun."
"This is Mr. Han from your hotel," said a friendly voice. "There's a man here who says he needs to talk to you, if you can come over. He's here in the lobby. Shall I tell him you're coming?"
Yun's brows were knitted. Was this a ruse, the voice of Hwang Sang-sol attempting to lure him back to the hotel? He had never heard the man's voice. It did sound a bit like the desk clerk who had sold hm the stamps. Maybe the old partisan, Chung Woo-keun, had thought of something he neglected to mention yesterday. "Can you describe the man for me?" Yun asked.
"He's an old man. White hair. Said he had some information for you."
It had to be Chung, Yun thought. Hwang wouldn't know about him. "Tell him I'll be right over."
He returned to the anteroom in a rush and grabbed his coat off the back of a chair.
"The commie cops want help with a homicide, Captain?" one of the officers asked with a grin.
He shook his head without smiling and replied with a curt, "Got to get back to the hotel. Somebody to see me."
Outside the building, his eyes swept the area carefully for the assassin in the black coat and red scarf. He saw no sign of either his pursuer or a taxicab. They were not nearly so plentiful as in Seoul. The Special Security Group had its own police van, but he had opted to come and go on his own schedule. The hotel was only a few blocks. He started walking at a hurried pace and soon came to a wide, multi-lane intersection with no traffic signal. Looking in both directions, he saw nothing approaching but a military vehicle, apparently a staff car, which was to his right. He moved quickly to the middle of the street and paused to check on the car. It had slowed as if to allow him time to cross the far lanes.
A cautious man, Yun would normally have waited and waved the car through, but he was anxious to learn what the old soldier had for him and started across. He made a quick glance in the other direction and was startled to hear the car's engine rev up. He looked around to see the vehicle hurtling toward him. He made a herculean effort to throw himself back in the other direction, but it was a futile gesture. The staff car swerved toward him at the last moment. It struck with a bone-crunching blow that snapped his neck, killing him instantly, tossing his body high into the air. The last thing he saw before the murderous bulk of the fender slammed into him was a familiar face with a mustache beneath the military cap of the driver.
Hwang, alias Tao, held the turn a few moments after swerving into the fleeing figure, then recovered, straightening out on the cross-street. A quick glance around showed a few people along the sidewalks who had stopped to gawk at the crumpled body in the middle of the boulevard. He noted two cars and a truck in the vicinity, none closer than a block away. He turned again at the next intersection. Seeing no one in pursuit, he slowed to a more conventional speed and headed in the direction of the large, nondescript building where the army car had been parked. Following his customary procedure, he had the auto back in its place before it had ever been missed. He tossed the cap onto the seat where he had found it and walked rapidly away from the building.
After making certain no one was following him, he set a steady course for the hotel. Catching the young desk clerk alone, he explained in his most persuasive manner how he had left something important out of a letter he dropped in the mailbox. While pushing a large bill across the counter, he asked if he could look through the box for his letter.