Both sentries posted at the front gate watched closely as I stood in the empty parking space. Neither of them belonged to the Ministry.
The sentries at our compound were assigned from the army, changed at irregular times and always from different units. It was a brilliant idea.
With the constant rotation, we never got to know the guards, and they felt no loyalty to us. Whoever thought of it was obviously a genius.
This was the sort of idea that received a bonus. Like all good ideas rewarded with a bonus, though, it was flawed.
I sauntered over to the guards, smiling, and pulled out one of Pak's hundred-dollar bills. The guards yanked their heads back, suddenly interested in the top branches of the trees across the street. I dropped the bill close behind the guard on the right, the one who looked more alert.
He moved his foot so his canvas shoe covered it, but he kept blocking what I needed, the phone to our duty driver. A moment later the phone rang. The guard reached back without turning his body, took the receiver from the hook, and held it out for me.
"Who is this?" The duty driver was speaking carefully. "I just received an order from the Ministry that no cars are to leave the compound."
"Good,"
I replied, loud enough so the guards could hear me without straining. "That means the duty car, too. Bring it around, so I can secure it."
"Inspector, is that you?"
"Just me."
There was a pause, and I could hear a chair scrape the floor. "Are you all right?" The bonus idea had another flaw. It covered the guards but overlooked duty drivers.
"I'm fine. Bring the car."
The phone clicked. The guard's hand appeared again, and I put the receiver in it. He was still looking at the trees, and said to no one in particular, "My stomach's bad. Must be the rice from overseas, they say it's been poisoned. Makes me have to go. I might need some relief." He gave a low whistle to the other guard, who nodded. Just then the sound of a car's engine came from around the corner. I reached into my back pocket for the pistol Kang had given me. If the car was a black Mercedes, I wasn't going to let them have the pleasure of taking me.
It was a Volvo-an old burgundy Volvo nosing down the street, its bad tires hissing on the pavement. I slipped the pistol back into place.
Pak had insisted we get a Volvo as a second duty car. "I don't want anything that even looks like a Mercedes," he said.
The car pulled up to the gate and waited. The guards stood at attention.
They gave no indication of seeing or hearing anything. You can't forget what you never saw, and there's plenty you might never see if there's a hundred-dollar bill under your left shoe.
I climbed in, and the car started rolling again. We didn't pick up speed until we turned the corner onto the main road. There were more army trucks running in pairs. Every few blocks, one was stopped, hood up, engine smoking, a mechanic leaning against the cab, his cap pushed back, staring up into the sky and thoughtfully puffing on a cigarette.
The driver didn't say a word. I had the feeling he was worrying that with each passing minute, his fate was sealed tighter. I didn't need him and he didn't need me. "Pull over," I said, so suddenly it startled him.
"Get out. Tell them I held a gun to your head." I took the pistol from my pocket. "This one."
The driver swung down a small street to an empty lot overgrown with weeds and stopped. He shoved open his door but didn't move. It flashed through my mind that I had been set up. I turned to look out the back window. The driver shook his head. "Relax, we're by ourselves."
He tapped the gas gauge. "There is only half a tank, but I carry a spare can in the trunk. Pak told me it was against regulations, but he kept it off the books. The left rear tire is almost bald, and the high beams don't work except when it's foggy." I had thought he was scared, but his voice was steady. "I know what you think happened. Forget it.
Kang says to meet him in Hyangsan. If that doesn't work, the fallback is Manpo. Been nice knowing you, Inspector." He climbed out, put his hands in his pockets, and strolled back toward the main road.
For the first kilometer I had to dodge military vehicles, none of them paying attention to traffic laws, mostly using horns instead of brakes, but they thinned out when I got past the last big intersection at the edge of town. All but a few of the trucks were directed off to the right, toward the road that led out of town to a complex of army command bunkers. The traffic ladies were gone, replaced by soldiers wearing shiny helmets and carrying new automatic weapons. I went left onto an old road, over some railroad tracks, and then made a sharp turn up an embankment that formed the shoulder to the main highway. Either the left rear tire would last or it wouldn't. I thought over what the driver had told me. Why was he passing messages to me from Kang?
Who had slipped him into our operation? Maybe Kim and Kang were working together after all, and that's why Kang got away. They killed Pak. What did they want with me? If Kang was waiting at Hyangsan, we'd end the game right there.
At the first checkpoint on the outskirts of the city, a young traffic policeman with a long face stepped onto the road and waved me over.
"Going somewhere? You're almost out of your jurisdiction." He was very tall and moved like a stork in a rice paddy, slowly, with an odd, deliberate majesty. His white uniform was spotless; the white hat fit perfectly on his head. I had no idea where they had found such a specimen, or why he was assigned to a low-level traffic checkpoint. The tall ones usually get better assignments.
"The local security officer in Pyongsong called with an emergency.
He said he had some information on a case." It was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.
"He must have been lucky to get through. The phones are down.
There's a lookout for you, Inspector." He leaned down so his face was even with mine. "You don't know me, but I know you. You're O
Chang-yun's grandson. Military Security doesn't want you to leave city limits."
"So what now?" He was polite, but I had the feeling he was going to be a problem.
"If I told you to turn around, that's what you'd have to do."
I started to turn the wheel, but he put his white-gloved hand on it.
"That's what you'd have to do if I told you. But like I said, the phones are down, and my radio doesn't always work. Mostly it's a miracle when it does." He pulled his head back and stood up. "Road is clear from here to the Sinuiju turnoff. You ever been to Sinuiju? Nice place. From there you can go into China real easy."
"No. I don't like border cities. You're not from one, are you?"
"Drive carefully, Inspector." I started to thank him, but he was already walking back down the road. In the mirror I could see him bend over and retrieve something from behind a tree. It was an old thermos with a black plastic cup. As I pulled away, he was pouring himself some tea.
The Sinuiju turnoff usually had a couple of sentries standing around.
Sometimes they stopped a few cars to break the boredom, but they didn't exert themselves as long as there wasn't an inspection team in the area. They didn't even raise their heads as I went past. I wasn't surprised.
If Kim was tracking my progress-and I didn't know if I could trust a traffic policeman who had a thermos-a black Mercedes would suddenly appear out of nowhere. Sometimes it seemed those cars just sprouted from the earth, spit up from hell.
Past Kaechon, there were convoys of big brown trucks with field workers standing in the rear. Whatever the alert in Pyongyang, it hadn't reached into the countryside yet, or no one wanted to get in the way of bringing in the crop. Gangs of women sat beside the road, resting from the harvest. A few had taken off their floppy hats and put them on the ground, where they fluttered with each passing truck.