Buddha's Money (29 page)
Ernie sighed. "They surrounded us, Top. If it hadn't been for that little nun, George and I'd be dog food by now."
The First Sergeant thought that over. "Maybe better for the organization."
"Yeah," Ernie said. "A hell of a lot less trouble for you. You wouldn't have to deal with the truth so often."
"I said that'll be
enough
out of you, Bascom."
Ernie stood at attention and snapped a mock salute. I stepped in front of him.
"If the nun burns," I told the First Sergeant, "the whole country's going to erupt. It could even lead to armed insurrection."
The words "armed insurrection" forced the First Sergeant's attention off of Ernie and onto me.
"You really think they'd go that far?"
"There are more Buddhists in this country than any other religion. The Christians control the government and the military, but the rank-and-file troops are mostly Buddhist."
The First Sergeant slowly shook his head. "Maybe you're right, Sueño. All I know is that ever since we passed the word up the chain of command that the Buddhist nun was planning on torching herself, they've been on our backs wanting to know more. And what could I tell them? I had every MP patrol out, but we still couldn't find you."
"We were investigating, Top. You know that."
His eyes narrowed. "Maybe. So what does she want?"
"The nun?"
"Yeah."
"She wants Eighth Army to turn Hatcher over to Korean jurisdiction."
"That takes time. There are legal procedures. Treaty restrictions. We have to get clearance from the embassy."
"Tough shit," Ernie said.
I pushed him back. "Short-circuit the procedures," I told the First Sergeant. "The Eighth Army Commander can get on the horn to Washington, D.C., if he has to. Turn over Hatcher to the ROKs. Do it now. Today. Once we have the guarantee, Ernie and I will inform the nun."
The First Sergeant's freckled brow furrowed. He jabbed a finger at Riley. "You hold these two troopers
here,
Riley. You understand that, Staff Sergeant? Don't let them move!"
"Right, Top."
The First Sergeant swiveled and stormed off down the hallway.
Staff Sergeant Riley rose from behind his desk and tugged on the belt of his khaki trousers. "Well, I guess you both heard what the First Sergeant said. You know who's in charge, and you know who's going to enforce the order."
Ernie flopped down in a chair. "Bite me, Riley," he said.
Ten minutes later the First Sergeant came back. Eighth Army had approved it. Private First Class Ignatius Q. Hatcher would be turned over to the Korean National Police tomorrow at close of business. Four P.M. sharp.
"That's as fast as they'd move," the First Sergeant said.
"Assholes are stalling," Ernie groused. "Trying to save face."
The First Sergeant didn't answer. I motioned to Ernie. He stood up and we walked to the door.
The First Sergeant hollered. "Where in the
hell
do you think you two are going?"
I wheeled on him. "Somebody has to inform the nun about the turnover of Hatcher."
"We'll just broadcast it on radio and TV."
"No," I said. "She has to be told by somebody she trusts."
The First Sergeant thought about it. "You know where to find her?"
"Yes. We know where to find her."
"Good. Make sure she doesn't roast herself. Eighth Army's counting on you."
"Fuck Eighth Army," Ernie said.
ERNIE TOOK THE LONG WAY TO TOBONG MOUNTAIN, OUT THE Han River road toward Walker Hill. It made sense, because we fought our way out of the Seoul rush-hour traffic about a half hour sooner than we would have if we'd cut straight across town. Once we were in the countryside, Ernie made a beeline for Tobong-san. It was already dark by the time we reached the Temple of the Celestial Void.
An elderly nun emerged into the courtyard, hands clasped in front of her, and bowed.
"We have good news," I told her. "Concerning the nun, Choi So-lan. Eighth Army will comply with all her wishes. There is no need now for her to burn herself."
The old nun's shoulders seemed to sag. "You are too late."
Ernie understood the Korean phrase. He stepped forward. I held him back.
"She's already burned herself?" I asked softly.
"No. She has been taken away. For purification."
"Where?"
"I don't know. Secrecy is part of the rite. No one but the monks who will assist her are with her now."
"But we must talk to her."
"No one can. Especially not a foreigner."
"Not a foreigner? Why not?"
The nun tilted back her head, her eyes widened, and for the first time she stared directly at me. A red glow-seemed to radiate from her pupils.
"Because you foreigners bring defilement. Everywhere you go. You defiled Choi So-lan. You defile everything."
Ernie looked at me with a questioning look, wondering what she had said. I didn't translate.
"You will never stop her," the old nun hissed.
She turned and disappeared into the shadows.
As WE CUT THROUGH THE SWIRLING NEON OF THE CITY, GAGgles of young men, and a few chicks, were hanging out at corners. They weren't your orderly demonstrators we'd seen earlier. More like street toughs. They waved photographs of the little nun over their heads and shouted anti-American slogans.
Ernie shouted back a couple of times, and I told him to cool it.
"If they don't like us
Miguks,"
Ernie said, "they can go screw themselves."
"It's only because of what Hatcher did to the nun. That's what made them angry."
"It pissed me off more than it did them."
When we parked the jeep in front of the CID building, a bulb still shone in the Admin Office. Sergeant Riley sat behind his desk, his head lolling atop the ink-scribbled blotter. When he heard our footsteps, he jerked upright and rubbed his eyes.
"Been waiting for you guys," he said.
"More shit from the First Sergeant?" Ernie asked.
"No. Phone call. From your asshole buddy. Guy with a weird accent. Calls himself Rag Yapping. Or something like that."
"Ragyapa," I said.
Ernie and I both leaned forward. Riley smirked, delighted to be in the position of knowing something that we didn't.
"Spill, Riley," I said. "What'd Ragyapa tell you?"
"He said he's ready to meet and exchange the woman for the jade skull."
"Lady Ahn's still alive?"
"Heard her in the background."
"What'd she say?"
"She didn't
say
anything. She just screamed occasionally."
I didn't need any more detail. "When's the meeting?"
"Tomorrow afternoon. Four P.M. sharp."
"Four P.M.? That's the same time the nun torches herself."
"And the same time the Eighth Army honchos decided to release Hatcher," Ernie added.
"Yeah," Riley said. "It's almost as if this guy knew."
Ernie was impatient. "So where's this meet supposed to take place?"
"You'll love this," Riley said. "I don't know how he expects you guys to survive."
"Survive? What are you talking about?"
"The place you're supposed to meet. He made me write it down and spell it back to him so there wouldn't be any mistake."
Ernie grabbed for Riley's khaki collar. "Where, goddamn it?"
Riley brushed back Ernie's hand. "Take it easy, Bascom. I was going to tell you." He glanced down at his notes. "Guanghua-mun. The Gate of the Transformation of Light. Right in the heart of tomorrow's demonstration."
Riley smiled up at us.
"In the middle of a demonstration?" Ernie said. "We'll be killed!"
Riley smiled more broadly. "That's what I was trying to tell you:"
Ernie turned to me. "It doesn't make any sense."
I waited, thinking it over. Then I spoke. "Sure it does, Ernie."
"How?"
"We're American law enforcement. In downtown Seoul tomorrow, in the middle of an anti-American demonstration, there's no way we can deploy any backup."
"That's for sure. They'd be stoned to death."
"And even the Korean National Police will be totally overwhelmed."
"When there's thousands of demonstrators out after their blood, of course they'll be overwhelmed."
"So setting the exchange up in the middle of a demonstration is a brilliant move. Tomorrow afternoon, Guanghua-mun in downtown Seoul will be the most lawless piece of real estate in Korea."
Ernie let a long breath out between dry lips. "Strictly survival of the fittest," he said.
Riley barked a laugh. "For once, Bascom, you got it exactly right."
WE KEPT HERMAN THE GERMAN HANDCUFFED TO THE ROLL BAR
of the jeep all night.
We parked in an unlit area behind the barracks and brought out a blanket for him, and even though he had to hold his arm straight up over his head, he spent a fairly comfortable night.
Why didn't we arrest him and book him and slap him in a holding cell at the MP Station? Because if we did, he'd never tell us where the jade skull was hidden. And without the skull, we'd never free Lady Ahn.
Ernie tried to wheedle it out of him by offering him a nice, comfortable bed in the barracks, but Herman wasn't going for it.
"We ought to just beat the crap out of him," Ernie told me.
I studied the scars on Herman's thick-boned forehead. He stared back at me impassively.
"It wouldn't do any good, Ernie," I said. "Herman will turn the jade skull over to us, but he'll turn it over only when he's ready. Which is just before tomorrow's rendezvous. Right, Herman?"
He stared at me with his moist brown eyes. A bubble of saliva emerged from the comer of his fleshy lips.
As we walked to the barracks, another burst of monsoon rain splattered the pavement. By the time we trotted to the doorway it was coming down in torrents. The little canvas-topped jeep sat huddled beneath a deluge of mist and spray, as if it were at the bottom of a waterfall.
Ernie went to his room. I went to mine. All I could see was the beautiful face of Lady Ahn. Before I fell asleep, I cleaned my .38 three times.
THE NEXT DAY WE STAYED AWAY FROM THE CID OFFICE BY leaving word for the First Sergeant that we were still trying to contact the Buddhist nun to convince her to call off the self-immolation. We kept questioning Herman about the whereabouts of the jade skull but he wouldn't spill.
Two hours before the rendezvous, Ernie went berserk.
He punched Herman and kicked him, so enraged that I couldn't hold him back. Finally, he reached into his shoulder holster, whipped out the .45, and with a metal-on-metal clang, pulled back the charging handle.
He stuck the muzzle up against Herman's temple. "It's time, Herman. I want the jade skull. I want it
now."
Sweat poured off Herman's forehead. For a moment I thought he was going to refuse like he had a hundred times before. But this time he changed his tune.
"Okay. It's in Itaewon. I'll show you where."
Ernie stuck the .45 back into the holster. "That's better. Let's go."
Ernie drove us to Itaewon. When we approached the nightclub district, Herman piped up.
"It's at Mama Lee's," he said.
Mama Lee. The biggest black marketeer in Itaewon. Why in the hell would he leave something so valuable with her? I swiveled in the seat. Herman saw the unspoken question in my eyes and answered it.
"She's the most reliable person I know."
Which maybe wasn't saying too much.
"I hope the fuck for your sake," Ernie said, "that it's still there."
Herman sat quietly in the backseat, head down, occasionally jerking his handcuffs apart, making the chain rattle, like a child fascinated by a toy.
Once inside Mama Lee's courtyard, it took us about thirty seconds to locate the jade skull of Kublai Khan. The most priceless Mongolian antique in Korea was in a leather bag, bound in cheesecloth, stuffed behind brown bags full of American-made PX goods.
"Business looks good, Mama," Ernie said.
"So-so." She tilted her gnarled hand from side to side. Puffs of smoke filtered through her snaggled teeth, like fire from a dragon's mouth.
Ernie lifted the jade skull up to the light and examined it. "Thanks for holding this for us."
'You take go," Mama Lee said. "I no like.
Chinguro."
Creepy.
'Yeah, it's
chinguro
all right."
Ernie replaced the skull in the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and the three of us walked back to the jeep. We debated taking Herman to the MP Station and booking him.
Herman wasn't thrilled with the idea. "Hey! You guys can't do that. We had a deal."
"Fuck some kind of a deal!" Ernie said. "You had a deal with Mi-ja. To be her father and protect her. Instead you cut off her ear."
"That was business."
Ernie stepped toward Herman. I grabbed him and held on, feeling the jade skull pressing against my belly.
"Not now, Ernie. There's no time. We have to save Lady Ahn. And the nun."
Ernie took three deep breaths. Then he pointed at Herman. "As soon as this shit is over, we're booking your ass and the charge is going to be kidnapping and being an accomplice to murder in the first degree. You got that, you fat old lifer asshole?"
"I got it," Herman whispered.
As we shot through afternoon traffic toward downtown Seoul, Ernie had to swerve around groups of angry citizens, holding photographs of the little nun, throwing rotten persimmons at our jeep. I thought about what Herman had just said. It was the first time I ever remembered him answering a question with such humility in his voice. I looked back. His face was the same, aggrieved and worried, as always. But fat tears poured down his fleshy cheeks.
I didn't tell Ernie. It would've just pissed him off.
WE KNELT ON THE BALCONY OF A RED PAGODA THAT SAT ON A hill overlooking the T-shaped intersection in front of Guanghua-mun, the Gate of the Transformation of Light.
We had left the jeep in a narrow alley in a stone-walled residential district. Ernie made Herman move to the front seat and handcuffed him to the front roll bar.
"You can't leave me here," Herman protested.
"The hell we can't," Ernie answered. "You'll be safe this far from the demonstrators. They never come up here."
"But you promised I'd be able to see Ragyapa."
"Fuck that promise. You don't deserve shit."
Ernie lifted the thick chain that was welded onto the floorboard, wound it tightly through the steering wheel, and padlocked it. With Herman's wrist handcuffed to the roll bar, both vehicle and suspect were now secure.
As we walked away, Herman cursed and shouted at us, spittle erupting from his moist lips. "You can't leave me here, you bastards! Come back and take these damn handcuffs off!"
No matter how loud he shouted, I wasn't worried about anybody interfering. The local residents wouldn't want to become involved with some half-crazed foreigner. And the police would have plenty to do with the largest demonstration of the year—maybe the decade—about to begin right in the heart of their precinct.
From the vantage point of the pagoda, we could see streams of students moving in an orderly fashion toward Guanghua-mun. Armored riot-control vehicles and helmeted riot police had already taken up positions near the periphery. In case anything got out of control.
Russet-robed monks and gray-clad nuns knelt silently on the damp pavement. A lake of tranquility. I couldn't see Choi So-lan.
In the center of all this activity, the ancient stone gate loomed about fifty feet high. Atop it were bright green tiles, upturned at the eaves, and rows of porcelain monkeys, a simian honor guard designed to ward off evil spirits. Behind the gate were the manicured grounds of the old capital building, built by the Japanese after their takeover of Korea in 1911. The domed building was still considered a reminder of colonization, and there was much talk about tearing it down.
Ernie watched the students. "They almost look like they're in military formations," he said.
"Close to it. Each university has their own student leadership council that organizes the students into groups. Boys march with boys. Girls march with girls. And the shock troops, the biggest and toughest boys, go in first."
All the students wore white bandanas across their foreheads, knotted in the back. Korean characters were slashed across the front in black ink, but from this distance I couldn't read what they said.
Around a far turn, more battalions of students emerged, all heading toward the big open intersection in front of Guanghua-mun. Vehicular traffic had long since been blocked off. A wooden platform had been set up in front of the gate; student technicians fiddled with wires and speakers and amplifiers.
The sky was overcast, but no rain. Not yet.
I grabbed the leather bag from Ernie.
"I better take up my position," I said. "Ragyapa wants me right in front of the gate."
"Why don't you let me take it?" Ernie patted the .45 beneath his coat. "I'm better with this than you are."
"That won't help. Not with all these students. But speaking the language might make a difference. I know what to say to them." I stood and hoisted the bag over my shoulder. "Besides, if I act cool enough they just might think I'm a foreign correspondent or something."
"Did you bring a notebook?"
"Forgot."
"Well, then," Ernie said, "look studious."
And so I strode off toward the Gate of the Transformation of Light.