Fires of War (30 page)

“Is there anything you can tell us about our friend?” he asked in Korean.

The young woman shook her head and pushed against the door. Ferguson let it close.

“Suicide is a great embarrassment in Korea,” said Sonjae.

“It’s not big in the U.S., either,” said Ferguson, going to the next door.

There was no answer; after four or five knocks, they moved to the last one on the floor.

Four knocks later, Ferguson and Sonjae were just about to give up when the door creaked open. A lady about the age of Sonjae’s aunt peeked through the crack and asked what they wanted.

“Hello,” said Sonjae. “We were looking for information about our friend, Kang Hwan, who used to live here.”

The old woman frowned at him, starting to close the door.

“It’s an important matter,” said Sonjae. “This man is from the United States. He wants to make sure that Dr. Kang Hwan’s memory is honored properly. Because of the circumstance of his death.”

“What about it?” said the old woman.

“It was . . . The circumstances were not the best.”

“Suspicious,” said the woman.

“Yes,” said Sonjae. “Could we talk about it?”

“I was going out.”

“It won’t take long,” said Sonjae.

“We’ll buy her some breakfast,” said Ferguson, who was following maybe a tenth of the conversation.

Sonjae translated the offer.

“Just come in,” said the woman instead.

~ * ~

ang Hwan had kept to himself mostly, working late and rising early. His neighbor had spoken to him on average once a week, but most of these conversations were about simple things.

“He had great respect for his parents,” said the woman. They were both dead, but he brought them up in conversation often.

“Was he sick?”

The woman shrugged. His suicide had baffled her as well.

“Who claimed the body?” asked Sonjae.

“People from work.” She shook her head. “Terrible.”

~ * ~

ne thing that seemed odd about it,” Sonjae told Ferguson as they descended in the elevator. “He really loved his parents.”

“That’s odd?”

“He was an only child, right?”

“Right.”

“Who will honor their memory if he dies? No one to make offerings—”

“You’re assuming he’s religious.”

“Maybe. But your ancestors . . .” Sonjae explained how there would be a shrine in the home where offerings were made to make sure the deceased passed to heaven.

“If he killed himself, there would be no one to perform those duties,” said Sonjae.

“Yeah, but he’s a scientist. He probably doesn’t believe in that,” said Ferguson.

“I don’t know. It’s a very powerful pull.”

“Not against depression.”

“You’re assuming he’s depressed. His neighbor was surprised. He was relatively young, in good health. He had no reason to commit suicide.”

“Maybe.” Ferguson could think of plenty of reasons. And as far as being in good health, someone who spoke to him once a week wouldn’t know.

Someone who spoke to him many times a week might not know either.

“The only circumstance I can think of that would make it all right,” said Sonjae, “would be if he wanted to avoid bringing shame to his ancestors, but there was no note.”

“She said that?”

“Yes.”

“That seems odd.”

“Who would he leave it to?” said Sonjae.

“People at work.”

“Maybe he wasn’t that close to them. Besides, what’s he going to say?”

“Good-bye?”

The doors opened. Ferguson thought about who he would say goodbye to.

Maybe Sonjae was right. What would be the point?

“Breakfast?” Ferguson asked as they walked toward the car.

“Coffee, and lots of it.”

“Let’s see what we can find.”

~ * ~

ortified by several cups of strong coffee, Ferguson and Sonjae drove to the train station and took a train to Seoul and then the airport. Once the ticket was squared away, they found a phone booth near the entrance to the departure gates.

“She’s a secretary,” said Ferguson, handing Sonjae the number of the woman whose card he had stolen.

“She’ll know I’m not a native Korean speaker.”

“Yeah, be straight with her. Tell her you’re an American colleague trying to figure out what happened to him. Then we can go from there.”

That wasn’t exactly being straight with her, Sonjae thought as he began punching the numbers written on the small card.

“Annyeonghaseyo
,” he said to the operator at Science Industries when she picked up the line. “Good morning. Can I have Bae Eun please?”

The line buzzed and clicked as he was put through. Sonjae’s brain was still have trouble translating the words.

“Who is this?” demanded an angry male voice.

Taken off guard, Sonjae gave the name he’d made up and repeated that he was looking for Bae Eun.

“Why are you calling Miss Bae?” said the man, not mollified in the least.

Sonjae wanted to say it was a personal matter, but the words wouldn’t come. He stuttered, then started to apologize, hoping the words would somehow work themselves into his mouth. “
Sagwa deuryyeoyo
... I really apologize . . . I—”

“Where are you calling from?” demanded the man.

Sonjae hung up the phone.

“What’s up?” asked Ferguson.

Sonjae explained what had happened.

Ferguson glanced at the card where he had written the phone number. “Try changing the last two digits. See if we can get another extension and have them transfer us.”

Sonjae got a message that he had dialed a nonworking number. Then he tried an old Bureau trick, dialing in and asking for Mr. Kim, essentially asking for Mr. Smith.

“One minute,” said the operator.

Sonjae found himself talking to a jocular young man who laughed when he heard that there had been a mistake and that Sonjae really wanted Miss Bae Eun.

“Everyone wants Eun,” said the man. “She’s very pretty.”

“I think so, too,” said Sonjae.

“Are you her boyfriend?”

“A relative,” he said quickly. “But how do I get her?”

“Wait, I’ll connect you.”

“What is the extension in case I lose you?”

The man laughed as if this were the funniest joke he’d heard all week. “I won’t lose you. But it is . . . Let me see . . . secretary section two, four-four-seven-eight. Wait. I will forward the call.”

A second later, Sonjae found himself talking to the same gruff man he’d been speaking to earlier.

“You had better turn yourself in and cooperate,” he told Sonjae.

Sonjae glanced up at Ferguson. “Same guy,” he said, holding his hand over the phone. “Wants me to turn myself in.”

“Why?” prompted Ferguson.

Sonjae put the phone back to his ear. “Turn myself in, why?”

“Where are you?” said the man, softening his tone ever so slightly.

“I’m in Daejeon,” Sonjae lied. “What sort of trouble is she in?”

“You’re lying to me!” The man exploded. Obviously he had a caller-ID device or some other way of seeing the phone number Sonjae was calling from.

Caught in a stupid lie. He should have said Seoul from the start.

“What trouble is Eun in?” said Sonjae. “I am her ... a cousin.”

“Where are you?”

Sonjae hung up.

“Call the first guy back and tell him that you missed your cousin,” said Ferguson. “See if you can get the extension of someone who knows her.”

“Not Kang Hwan?”

“If you ask for the scientist, they’ll automatically be suspicious. It’s more natural to be looking for her.”

Sonjae nodded. This sort of thing used to be second nature to him. Was it the jet lag, his language difficulties, or was he just getting old?

“It’s me again,” he told Mr. Kim a few minutes later. He claimed that there had been no answer at Bae Eun’s extension. This was a real problem, Sonjae said, because his cousin was supposed to pick him up at the airport; he was just in from America.

“America. Oh, you live in L.A.?”

“No.”

“New York?”

“Yes, New York,” said Sonjae.

Kim gave him some instructions on how to deal with taxi drivers and how to get a train to Daejeon, then put him through to a woman whose office was next to Bae Eun’s so Sonjae could leave a message.

“I’m looking for Bae Eun,” said Sonjae, his Korean growing smoother as his cover story became more polished. “I’m her cousin from America and—”

The woman who’d answered the phone burst into tears.

Sonjae asked her what was wrong. The woman told him she couldn’t talk.

“But my cousin—”

“They’re watching,” said the woman, and then she hung up.

Ferguson had already guessed what had happened: The security people had realized that her card had been used to gain access to the building. The card readers hadn’t seemed that sophisticated, but it wouldn’t take all that much to simply record reads.

He didn’t explain to Sonjae. Instead, he had him make one more call to Science Industries.

“Ask for Mr. Park’s office. See what happens. If you get a secretary, ask when he’s usually there. Then let’s get out of here. They probably have someone on their way here right now.”

~ * ~

6

THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

Corrine’s secretary, Teri Gatins, segregated her phone messages into three main piles: important, really important, and obscenely important. Messages in those categories were placed on the top of her computer monitor, an old-style CRT.

Messages in two other categories were placed on the ledge between the monitor and the keyboard: personal, and no idea.

Josh Franklin fell into the latter category, primarily because he wouldn’t tell Teri what he was calling about, a fact the secretary noted on the pink slip with several exclamation marks.