"That's the ambassador's. I saw him use it. You took the ambassador's pen."
"Don't worry, I left him his pencils, most of them, anyway. What you need to worry about is the new instructions."
"What happened to 'crazy'?" I asked. "The last time you and I spoke, that was to be my message. It was delivered, incidentally." I didn't mention to whom.
"Scratch 'crazy.' According to the new, improved thinking, it will only scare people off. 'Quietly desperate'-that's where things are now. If you already told people we're crazy, you'll have to go back and undo it." He unscrewed the pen and looked at the parts. 'They'll eat us up," he said absently. "This is exactly what the wild dogs at our door have been waiting for. It's suicide, admitting we're weak."
"I'm going to ask you a question."
"Let me ask you one first. Your brother-do you know what a menace he is, Inspector? People like him think their time has come. The Center is distracted. Every day there is more to worry about. I think we may actually be coming out of the worst of it, but there is still plenty that can go wrong. Your brother and his friends were busy last year when the sky was darkest. They used the time well, and I'm a year behind. It might as well be a lifetime."
"Do you want me to nod knowingly, Sohn? Or will you tell me what you are talking about first?"
"Imagine this. They've been digging, and planning, and putting together the pieces. A piece here. A piece there." He moved the parts of the pen around on the table. "In a month or two, if they are left alone, they'll be ready to walk into the Center and present what they've done. Then it will be too late. They'll lay out plans, sketch out scenarios. And at that point, when I am asked what I think, it's too late. Should I say: 'No! Don't do everything possible to protect the Fatherland.' Or how about: 'No! It is dangerous to go down that path, it risks everything we've accomplished, it might explode in our face.'"
I frowned. Sohn was careful with his imagery; he didn't make mistakes.
"At that point, the only answer I can offer is, 'Good for them. Hooray for them. All honor to them.' Your brother will be rewarded. He'll swagger, he'll go to the parties, he'll put his filthy fat hands-" Sohn stopped. "Forgive me."
"No, go ahead, say whatever you want. He isn't my brother anymore."
I thought Sohn would bark, but he didn't. He hadn't barked once the whole time.
"You have friends here who are anxious to meet," I said.
"If you don't mind, I'll drink while you talk."
"There isn't much else to say. I assume that with your arrival, I've become extraneous. You'll take over, and I can go home."
"Nothing of the sort. There is still a lot to be done." Sohn put his glass down and leaned toward me. Surely now, a bark. "There are things you can do that I can't."
"Such as?"
"Such as keeping a lid on the negotiations; such as watching over our diplomats and making sure none of them decide to stay out too late or forget to come home." He picked up the glass again and drained it. He wasn't going to bark, I finally realized. Overseas, he didn't do that. Overseas, he didn't walk like a bear, or clear his throat. Overseas, he was a different man.
"You don't want to meet your friends?"
"I'm too busy. It's too dangerous." He put the pen back together, the way a soldier assembles a rifle during a drill.
"But it's alright with you if I put my head in that lion's mouth."
He smiled. "Have you discovered yet what happened to the woman in Pakistan?"
"I figured you had some connection to all of that." A thought crept up on me. "Was she yours?"
"Good guess. But mine? I don't own people, Inspector. I don't like to see them murdered, either. And I don't believe for a moment that she was killed by locals. Do you?"
"Don't tell me, her murder has something to do with why I'm here." I stopped. "Next you're going to tell me my brother is tied into this as well."
He handed me the pen. "I trained her."
"You what? She was an embassy wife. What did you train her to do? Cook? Apparently, she wasn't very good at it."
"How much do you already know about her, Inspector?"
"Nothing. I think I prefer it that way. When I went to look at her personnel file, it had disappeared. All I was supposed to do was to gather a few odd facts about her and sail them on their way. I should have done that. Maybe if I had, I wouldn't be sitting here right now."
"You were destined to be here." Sohn smiled. His ears looked bigger, though maybe it was just the light. "If it's odd facts you're after, this is as odd a place as any to gather them. I thought you'd like it in Geneva."
"Here? Why would I like it here? The trees are butchered. I'm sick to death of looking at watches in store windows. And I resent like hell being tossed in front of my brother."
That rolled off Sohn's back.
"Odd, my brother's taking a sudden interest in fresh-baked bread."
Sohn perked up. "He told you that?"
"No, I heard him talking about it on the phone."
"I don't suppose you know who he was talking to?"
"I have no idea."
"Your brother hates bread."
"I know."
Sohn looked thoughtful, and I knew I wasn't part of the conversation going on inside his head.
"I'd guess your friends are going to contact you fairly soon," I said. "They seem impatient. It wouldn't surprise me if they have reserved a room for you, probably at the usual place. Maybe I'll see you around." I got up and left quickly, before he could say anything more. Halfway out the door, I realized I hadn't thanked him for the pen.
3
When I got back to the hotel, there was a bench across the street. A green felt hat sat on it, in case I had any doubt who to thank. The hotel lobby, as usual, was deserted. I walked past the desk clerk and was partway up the stairs when she called to me. "You have a message." She held up an envelope. "You want it?"
"Of course I want it if it's for me."
"It might be bad news."
I walked back down and held out my hand. "Do you mind?"
The note was from Sohn, though it wasn't signed. All it said, in Korean, was "Same place, tonight at nine." Today was the fourth, an even-numbered day. That meant I was supposed to subtract two hours from the time in the message. Or was it three? Which would mean we were supposed to meet at 6:00 P.M., assuming I remembered the code right. Sohn thought codes were indispensable. To me, they were confusing and easy to forget. Maybe a code with bread in it had advantages.
I arrived at the Sunflower at six, right on time. The bartender looked at his watch, then pointed to the same table Sohn and I had occupied a few hours earlier. I waited. People came into the bar, and left. The tables near me filled up with groups of three or four. I hadn't paid much attention to the neighborhood, but it didn't seem to be a very bourgeois crowd. A couple of women with lots of makeup and long lashes came in and surveyed the scene. One of them caught my eye. If she was Portuguese, I couldn't tell and didn't want to find out. I shook my head.
Three hours later, it dawned on me that Sohn wasn't going to show up.
4
"Tell me the truth, Inspector, do you prefer New York to Geneva? You have been to New York, haven't you?" M. Beret and I were standing in a tiny park. I didn't like being there. It was a small piece of land sandwiched between the lake and the street, the sort of thing city architects like because it meets their quota for green space. There were lots of trees-a circle of maples around a fountain, lindens along the path, a couple of big beeches off by themselves. The beeches looked like they felt crowded and wished they were somewhere else.