Burke had laid the Smith & Wesson, along with his topcoat, on the chair beside him. He didn't even bother to look at it. It was useless now.
The black-clothed figure moved around in front of him.
"Hwang Sang-sol," Burke said, recognizing the eyes, the forehead, the face behind the familiar mustache. Of course, he should have known. The voice on the tape had been detailing the murders Hwang had committed, right up to that of Captain Yun.
"Very good, Mr. Hill," Hwang said with a faint smile, more a sneer. Continuing to point the gun at Burke, he reached his other hand over to shut off the tape, then slipped it out of the recorder. "I trust you found my descriptions entertaining?"
"You didn't keep your word," Burke said. "You promised information on who hired you, who killed Captain Yun."
"I was coming to that. But just in case you might hold any hopes about using what you have heard…" He dropped the cassette on the concrete floor and proceeded to pulverize it with his heel, then walked over and kicked the chair beside Burke. The topcoat and gun fell to the floor.
The tape certainly would have been nice to hold in reserve, but right now Burke was more concerned about how he might extricate himself from this trap. And at the moment he knew his only hope was Duane Elliston. Depending upon how fast he had moved up the street and across the junk yard, he should be getting here about now. Burke decided to keep Hwang occupied, his attention drawn away from the door.
"Were you driving the army vehicle that struck Captain Yun?" he asked.
"It was quite simple," Hwang said. "I used a phone call to lure him back to the hotel by himself, much as I did to get you here. And you are alone now, Mr. Hill. You may walk over to the door and see for yourself. Slowly, please."
Burke stood and walked toward the door, a new sense of dread crushing down on him. Hwang kept his distance. There was nothing in reach that might serve as a weapon. Besides, the trim, muscular man was at least twenty years his junior, no doubt in excellent physical condition, an expert in the Eastern ways of hand and foot fighting. No matter, the cool assassin would fire that silenced automatic the moment he made the slightest threatening move.
"Look out the window," Hwang said as Burke reached the door.
He leaned close to the dirty pane and saw a crumpled heap in the glow cast by the light behind him. Shifting his head to eliminate its shadow, he stared again and recognized Duane's coat, his sandy-colored hair. His face was buried in the snow.
Though their disagreements had been legion, this was the last thing he would have wished for Duane Elliston. The sight of the lifeless body came as a shock, a high-voltage jolt that momentarily stilled his heart and took his breath. It also ended any hope of a rescue. Brittany would wait an hour before attempting to contact Lieutenant Yun, and by the time he could get out here, it would be too late. Hwang Sang-sol did not impress him as a man of great patience.
"Your watchdog will bark no more," said Hwang. "I have followed your movements the past few days. He was always lagging back, searching for someone like me. I understand you might have had other helpers, but one was sent to the hospital."
That left Travis Tolliver, strictly a blue employee and about as much help in circumstances like this as a pork barbeque caterer at a bar mitzvah. Burke decided it might be worth mentioning, however. Maybe give Hwang second thoughts. He turned to face his tormentor.
"There is one other you didn't take into consideration," he said with a jaunty look that didn't match how he felt.
"Mr. Tolliver," said Hwang, nodding. "Not involved in your protection. I called his apartment shortly before your arrival, just to make certain. He is there with his wife."
Burke frowned. "An Kye-sun was apparently more diligent than I gave him credit for." Too bad they hadn't fired him sooner, before all the damage was done. He must have given the private investigator, Yoo Hak-sil, a complete rundown on everybody in the office.
"I don't know who provided the information," said Hwang with a shrug. "Only that it was available when I needed it."
"No doubt you dealt much higher in the ranks. Perhaps all the way to the top, with Colonel Han?"
Hwang smiled. "Ah, yes, Colonel Han. A very interesting old gentleman. Very knowledgeable. I could have made a nice living just off of the work he provided. But enough chit-chat, Mr. Hill. Return to your chair and place your arms behind it."
Burke looked at the cold eyes and at the pistol aimed at his chest. He had no choice but to obey. The alternative was instant death. He told himself that as long as he took whatever measures were necessary to stay alive, there was always a chance of finding an opening, a disruptive sound like an auto horn, a momentary lapse of attention, an awkward position that might be exploited. But it sounded more like a fairy tale, a child's wish list for Christmas. He crossed slowly to the chair and sat down.
Hwang took a small roll of gray duct tape from a pocket, moved behind Burke, and taped his wrists. Burke glanced around enough to see his captor appeared adept at taping with one hand while the other gripped the pistol.
"You mentioned Ahn Wi-jong on the phone," Burke said as he felt any opportunity for retaliation quickly slipping away. "What happened to him?"
"Mr. Ahn is next on my list. The Colonel realized his mistake in sending amateurs after him earlier. Seoul this time of year is a bit too cold for my tastes. I'm sure Chiangmai will be much more enjoyable."
When Hwang walked back around in front of him, Burke saw the gun had been laid aside. His feet and legs were still free. If the man would only come close enough that he could swing a hefty kick, perhaps aimed at the groin. That should cause him to double over, then he would proceed to kick with all his might at any target, head, stomach, kidneys. He could look for a sharp edge to work at the tape.
As though reading his mind, Hwang moved to one side of the chair, grabbed Burke's leg and taped it to the chair leg. When he moved to the other side, Burke attempted to kick at him with the remaining leg. Hwang dodged with a deft move, then seized his leg and taped it with care.
Burke took a deep breath and tightened his jaw in frustration. He had never felt so helpless. Or hopeless. Remembering Hwang's opening remark, "We have work to do," he knew he was a prisoner on trial. Undoubtedly there would be some questions, and whatever his answers, the sentence would be the same — death.
From somewhere beneath the black garments he wore, Hwang produced a shiny, thin-bladed, razor-sharp knife. He waved it slowly in front of Burke's face.
"I have a few questions, Mr. Hill. If you refuse to answer, or reply untruthfully, I will be forced to rearrange your features. I assure you, it will be very bloody, and very painful."
Burke recalled Captain Yun's description of the corpse of Mr. Chon, the old fruit vendor.
"I heard what you did to Mr. Chon," he said, showing no emotion.
"The old man was a fighter, a master of self-hypnosis. He resisted to the end. I've never seen an American with Mr. Chon's type of toughness. I think you will be wise enough to cooperate. What my employers want to know is who you are working with in this effort to subvert the Korean government?"
Hwang was right, of course. Burke knew there was no way he would be able to withstand all the pain Hwang could inflict. He would have to give some answers. Then he had an idea. If he was going to die, why not send a message that might convince these people that the odds were against them. They faced a formidable, implacable foe. They would never get away with their audacious plan.
"You want to know who I'm working with? I'll tell you. I'm working with the President of the United States. He knows what's going on here and he's determined to stop it. You might kill me, Hwang, but that won't end this country's problems. They're just beginning."