A man of medium height with obvious Korean features came into the room. He wore a black, pajama-like outfit with a large black sash at the waist. Dressed as he was, he might have been a Taekwondo master, but he didn't appear particularly menacing. What he did have was a certain presence, an unstated distinction that said this man was "somebody" to be reckoned with. "Gentlemen," he said, "please remove our guest's shackles."
Bigfoot unlocked the cuffs and Burke slowly rubbed his wrists where they had been binding.
"My assistants tend to be a bit over-protective at times, though not without good reason," said the Korean with a smile. "Please overlook their heavy-handedness. You are Mr. Burke Hill, I believe. I am Ahn Pom-yun. Please sit down."
Burke took a chair facing his host. "Your men seemed to think I had something to do with the police, or with some rival narcotics group," he said. "I can assure you I have no connection to any of them."
"I'm not sure what you mean by a rival narcotics group, Mr. Hill. I am in the import-export business."
And I sell words by the pound, Burke said to himself. "Your business is really no concern of mine. I work for an American public relations firm with an office in Seoul. I flew into Chiangmai today hoping to talk with Ahn Wi-jong, your father."
"There have been others from Seoul here in search of my father," said Ahn. "Unfortunately, they did not wish him well. Why do you wish to speak with him?"
"I'm a bit surprised to hear somebody else was looking for him. Would they have been connected with the current South Korean government?"
"Most likely. But you haven't answered my question."
"I learned from an old soldier in Pyongyang that your father was a partisan fighting the Japanese in Manchuria during World War II. He said that during the latter part of the war, your father was part of a guerrilla group inside Korea called Poksu. I want to talk to him about a friend of his who was in that group."
Ahn was frowning. "My father has talked about the war in Manchuria, but I have never heard him mention a Poksu group."
"Why do you think someone is after him now?" Burke asked.
"He has been living in America for the past twenty years. About two months ago, someone shot at him while he was driving down the street in a suburb of Chicago. The police said it was a gangland style shooting. He was lucky they missed. But my father has never been involved in anything to warrant such an attack. He is an accountant who worked in Pusan before emigrating to Canada, and then to the United States."
Burke smiled. "I'm an accountant myself," he said, pulling a business card from his shirt pocket and handing it to Ahn. "And since you brought him to Thailand, someone has pursued him here?"
"About two weeks ago."
"The Coalition for Nuclear Freedom is a client of our firm," Burke told him. "I've been working with them to try and track down a possible conspiracy involving the proliferation of nuclear weapons. We think it involves some faction in the Kwak government. I suspect it's the same people who are looking for your father. I think he could help me track them down. Would you ask him if he'd talk to me?"
Ahn studied him thoughtfully. "You came unarmed. You appear to be alone, and you went about your business quite openly. Perhaps you are what you say you are. I shall make an inquiry. But my father is not here. I can't reach him before morning. I will call and let you know if he is willing to meet with you."
Burke enjoyed a more congenial ride back into the city, although his escorts were sullenly silent. He thought they enjoyed their bullying tactics more than the simple role of chauffeur. It was late when he reached his room at the guest house, and he fell into bed as soon as he undressed. The air had just enough chill for fine sleeping. But his dreams were as troubling as his waking hours. He was riding a giant ferris wheel in an amusement park in Seoul. Ahn Wi-jong sat next to him. Each time they reached the top, Hwang Sang-sol, who occupied the adjacent airplane ride, fired a shot at them. The shots kept coming closer and closer. Despite the cool air in the room, he woke up sweating. It took him awhile to get back to sleep. Like Captain Yun before him, he was now reconciled to the inevitability of a confrontation with the elusive assassin.
Chapter 62
The call came while Burke was shaving. He had just noted the rather haggard look on his face and realized he would have to manage a little more rest somewhere along the way. To start with, he had neglected to take the time difference into account. When he'd gotten to bed at one a.m., it had been three o'clock in Seoul. To make matters worse, he still felt a tad muddled from the lingering jet lag of the long flight across the Pacific. Maybe he could catch a few winks on the flight back to Seoul, he thought.
He gave the troubled reflection in the mirror a wry grin. Hope seemed to be what he was existing on these days. Hope and rice.
"My contacts verify your connection with Worldwide Communications Consultants, Mr. Hill," said the businesslike voice of Ahn Pom-yun.
How had he managed that overnight, Burke wondered? Surely not through anyone in Seoul. Most likely he had a contact in the U.S., where the business day would have been in full swing, making a discreet inquiry relatively simple.
"My father has agreed to meet with you," Ahn added.
That served to buoy Burke's spirits, sending a new surge of hope to fire up his lagging confidence. "Hey, that's great. Can I see him this morning?"
"Are you familiar with Wat Prathat Doi Suthep?"
"Sorry." Burke thought a moment, then his map of the area began to come into focus. "Isn't Doi Suthep the big mountain west of town?"
"Yes. The temple is located near the summit. You should be there at nine-thirty. Stand beside the large bell that hangs between two posts at the right side of the courtyard. I'm sure someone at the guest house can give you directions."
Would someone meet him at the temple and take him to another location for the rendezvous with Ahn Wi-jong? He hoped whoever it was proved a bit more hospitable than last night's welcoming committee. But why meet at a remote temple high on a mountain top? He recalled reading that Bhuping Palace, the king's summer residence, was hidden away somewhere in that area. Evidently it was a scenic locale.
Chiangmai nestled on the edge of the hill country, approximately a thousand feet above sea level, giving the morning air a crisp, fresh feel that helped rejuvenate him. As he ate breakfast, he looked across at the tour counter that flanked the restaurant and noted a gathering of trekkers, probably American, late teens and early twenties, some of the boys sporting beards to lend themselves a more rugged look. Heavily-laden backpacks were lined up nearby, awaiting their chance to turn the youths into beasts of burden, little different from the working elephants that could be seen toting teak logs about the mountains to the north and west. A large map behind the counter showed various trails leading toward the borders with Burma and Laos. He wondered if the youthful trekkers' motivation was the scenery, a curiosity about the hill tribes, or a convenient route to experience drugs straight from the source? If it were the latter, they were playing a dangerous game. Thai law decreed death or life imprisonment for possession, manufacture or transportation of more than 100 grams. Death was by firing squad.
Burke had his own trek to worry about and stopped by the registration area to consult a dazzling young beauty with black, shiny hair. Chiangmai was noted for its wealth of pretty girls. When he asked the best way to reach Wat Prathat Doi Suthep, she told him to locate an area just outside the Changpuak Gate where he could hire one of the red song taow, literally "two benches," for the ride up the mountain. These were pickup trucks with open-sided tops and passenger benches on either side.