“What’d you do?” Ernie asked.
Inspector Kill gave Ernie a slightly offended look. “We questioned him.”
“What was the charge?”
Kill shrugged. “Possible involvement in a crime.”
Ernie already knew all this. Under the rules of procedure set up by the Pak Chung-hee government, the Korean National Police didn’t need probable cause to bring someone in. They only had to feel the need to question him. I think Ernie was just smarting from the loss of his jeep.
“How long have you had him in custody?” I asked.
“This is the second day. I was waiting for you two to show up so we could search Nam’s office together. If what he’s telling me is accurate, Eighth Army personnel are deeply involved.”
“Involved in what?” Ernie asked.
“North Korean espionage.”
Mr. Kill slipped on his jacket and led us upstairs. In front of KNP headquarters, Officer Oh was already standing next to the blue government-issue sedan. She held the door open as Mr. Kill climbed in front. Ernie and I squeezed into the back. As we pulled away, two cops saluted and Officer Oh switched on her flashing red light. We made excellent time through Seoul traffic, entire phalanxes of kimchi cabs pulling out of our way. Even up north, at the 2nd Infantry Division checkpoints, we swerved around the waiting line and were waved through with no delay.
“Finally getting the respect we’re due,” Ernie told me.
“I‘m pretty sure it’s not us,” I replied.
“Maybe not,” Ernie said, chomping on his ginseng gum.
It was a nondescript bokdok-bang in a back street of Tongduchon. Bokdok-bang means real estate office, of which there are tons in any Korean city. They’re used not only for purchasing real estate, but often for something as simple as renting a hooch. Their activities are typically highly localized; an agent can easily walk a client to see the properties he has listed because they’re all within a few blocks.
Using the keys she’d confiscated from Nam, Officer Oh popped open the padlock that secured the folding metal awning and rolled it upward until her arms were stretched high above her head. Ernie’s eyes never wavered from her figure. I stepped in front of him, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass us. Or, more accurately, wouldn’t embarrass me. I don’t think Ernie Bascom was capable of being embarrassed.
The front of the bokdok-bang was a sliding wooden door with small glass panels. Mr. Kill slid it open and stepped into the office without taking his shoes off. The floor was cement and therefore considered a public space, not a home where immaculate cleanliness always had to be maintained.
The filing cabinets were made of wood, a type I’d seen so often before that they were presumably mass-produced in Korea. Mr. Kill and Officer Oh took the lead in opening the drawers and riffling through the paper files. We let them handle it because everything was written in hangul. Ernie and I sat on the short couch opposite the small desk. A coffee table held two huge glass ashtrays with the OB logo on them and an octagonal cardboard box containing tightly packed wooden matches. The ashtrays were full, and after a few seconds of smelling the stale odor of burnt tobacco, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I took them outside and emptied them in the gutter.
When I returned, Mr. Kill pulled up a straight-backed chair and placed a thick folder on the coffee table. Officer Oh continued to search the files.
“It’s in code,” he said, thumbing through sheets of loose pulp. “Or more exactly, in abbreviated form.”
“Shorthand,” I said.
“Yes.” He pointed. “Initials. Some of them in English.”
“Those are the Americans involved,” Ernie said.
Kill nodded. “Maybe. And the locations, all of them the names of the nearby Korean villages. Not the names of the American military compounds.” Kill read them off. “Unchon-ni, Tuam-dong, Yonpung.”
“Unchon-ni is Camp Kaiser,” Ernie said, “and Tuam-dong is way the hell up north.”
“Camp Arrow,” Mr. Kill said.
“I’ve never heard of that one,” I told him.
“It was small, very remote. Probably closed before you even arrived in the country.”
“So what does this mean?” Ernie asked.
Kill explained. It was, at its heart, a real estate deal.
When the Vietnam War had really begun to ramp up in the mid-Sixties, the US Army was steadily drawing down in Korea. The First Cav had been pulled out and sent to Southeast Asia, next was the 7th Infantry Division, and now the only remaining US division was the 2nd Infantry. They’d inherited the mission of protecting the two corridors leading to Seoul, and the ROK Army had taken the rest, defending the DMZ from the Yellow Sea in the west to the Eastern Sea on the far side of the peninsula. (What Koreans patriotically call the Eastern Sea is known to the rest of the world as the Sea of Japan.)
Because of their drastically reduced mission and forces, many US Army compounds dotting the countryside were abandoned. Probably the largest was Camp Kaiser in Unchon-ni, which had been closed less than two years ago. But there were others. These camps featured some unbelievable luxuries for rural Korea, like a modern electrical grid, hot and cold running water, fuel storage facilities, central heating, and a communications network that ran all the way back to Seoul. Most of these bases were handed over to the ROK Army. But because of the disposition of forces vis-a-vis the North Korean Army on the opposite side of the DMZ, some of the base camps-or parts of them-were no longer needed. That’s where Nam came in. He was fundamentally a real estate hustler. Once the Korean government had possession of the former American bases, it was theoretically auctioning them off to the highest bidder. But in reality, the fix was in. Money changed hands with government officials. That was Nam’s area of expertise. He had contacts everywhere: in government, the ROK Army, private business, and even the US Army. Somewhere along the line, Nam had run into one of the 501st operatives and was reported up the line. Captain Blood immediately saw Nam’s usefulness to his counterintelligence operations; Blood and Nam became buddies.
Blood provided Nam with introductions to the senior officers who decided what to salvage and what to leave behind at the defunct camps, thus determining their overall value. Nam contacted buyers-Korean businessmen and government officials-and made money as the go-between. Did money change hands under the table? Yes, in some cases hard currency was handed to American officers, most of whom had returned to the States by now. In other cases, favors were traded, like a night with an attractive hostess-maybe even Mr. Nam’s girlfriend, Miss Lee Suk-myong. According to Nam, Blood wasn’t interested in the women, but he did want a share of the money-for 501st operations, he claimed. Building a slush fund to hunt down more North Korean spies.
All of this was interesting, but corruption wasn’t unheard of in either army. And could the fear of exposure really have led to Major Schultz’s death? As for the crimes themselves, these allegations would be difficult to prove, especially if the money had been transferred in small, untraceable bills. And the offerings of sexual favors, of course, left no record at all. So Captain Blood might have been nervous about Major Schultz’s inspection report, but he’d have plausible deniability. Blood was ambitious, and such a report could negatively impact his promotion potential, but it still seemed that murder-for such a clearly intelligent man-would be an extreme miscalculation. Smarter, if he did get busted, just to hire a good attorney.
“Jo join pei kopunei-yo,” Mr. Kill said, slapping his knees. I’m hungry. “Let’s go to a noodle shop.”
That sounded good to Ernie and me. We all stood. Officer Oh begged off. She bowed to Inspector Kill and apologized, but said she wanted to continue searching the files. He told her to come find us if she got hungry, and she said she would.