Fires of War (46 page)

“Manski. No I don’t recall him.”

His expression indicated otherwise.

“Mr. Manski and I, we have an interesting arrangement. He happens to owe me a spot of money,” said Thera.

She stopped right there. That was enough.

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that,” said the managing director.

“Of course not.” Thera smiled, then rose to go. “Is Mr. Park in?”

“Mr. Park?”

“I believe our friend went to North Korea with him. Perhaps he might know where he has gone to.”

“Mr. Park never comes here.”

“I thought he had an office. My mistake.” Thera started for the door, then abruptly turned back, catching Dr. Ajaeng staring at her. “I’m at this hotel. Ask for me. Deidre. They’ll know.”

Too much, too much, too much, Thera told herself as she left. Even so, she made a point of saying good-bye to both the secretary and the receptionist, and waved at the guard as her driver took her out of the complex.

~ * ~

re they working?”

“Loud and clear,” Lauren DiCapri told Thera. “What are you wearing, anyway?”

“Well, now, do you think I’d be telling you that?”

Lauren laughed. “They want to jump your bones.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You dyed your hair orange?”

“Kind of an orange red. Goes with the new haircut.”

“It must be a stunner.”

“Thank you.”

“The managing director called someone named Li and told him about you. Li seems to be an assistant to Park; I have Ciello checking it out.”

“Have they called the hotel?”

“No. There’s been no attempt to check out your room, either.”

During her visit to Science Industries, Thera had left bugs under each chair she had sat in. The units transmitted what they heard to a booster station—it looked like an old-fashioned transistor radio—outside the grounds. The booster uplinked to a satellite, which in turn relayed to The Cube. The tiny bugs would work for roughly four hours.

Thera told Lauren she was going to change, then run some errands. “Let me know if anything comes up.”

“What kind of errands?”

“I want to check out the trucks at the university where Ferguson planted the gamma tabs.”

“Be careful, Thera. Really careful.”

“That would take all of the fun out of it.”

~ * ~

hera had dismissed her driver after the visit to Science Industries, so she had to navigate the clogged and confusing local roads herself in a rented Daewoo. The traffic wasn’t that bad, she decided after a few minutes, as long as you followed the golden rule of international driving: Once moving, don’t stop for anything.

Thera spotted both trucks near a loading dock at the university. She pulled in next to them, ignoring the sign that indicated she wasn’t allowed to park there.

Thera had no idea where Ferguson would have put the gamma tags, and it took quite a while before she finally discovered one in the space near the door of the first truck. Thera rolled up the door and dug it out with her fingernails; it had not been exposed to any radiation.

She was just opening the back of the second truck when a gruff voice asked her in Korean what the hell she thought she was doing.

Two men in overalls with university emblems stared at her from the asphalt.

“What are you doing in the truck?”

“Are these your trucks?” she answered, using English. “The trucks. Oh, do you understand English?”

Her brain spun for a second, trying to translate. The Korean word for truck,
teureok,
was easy, but she had to gather it into a sentence to show, no, to
ask,
about possession. By the time she did, the shorter of the two men had told her, in English, that these were the school’s trucks, and by the way, Miss, you’re not allowed to park here.

“I need to have some things moved,” Thera told him, jumping on the pretense as it flew into her head. “And I was wondering if these were big enough.”

“These are school’s trucks, Miss. Teachers can’t use them.”

“Well, yes, of course.” Thera pushed open the door. The tab was on the right side, in the crack at the bottom.

Was the top red?

No.

“Can they be hired?” said Thera.

“What do you mean?”

Thera climbed up into the back. “I have to move some furniture. I’ve been staying in the city, but Fm going to have to fly back to Ireland and I need to ship things. I don’t know what to do.”

The taller man told her in Korean that she was crazy and that she must come out of the vehicle instantly.

“I’m not crazy,” she said. “But I have only a few days.”

“You can rent a truck,” said the shorter man. “There are many places.”

“I was told there weren’t. If you want to ship in an airplane, you have to make special arrangements.”

“Well, that is not always true. They have containers for shipments. We brought one to the airport just the other day.”

He raised his hand to help her down. Thera pretended not to see it, squatting down.

“Yesterday?”

“Two, three days ago.”

The day Ferguson had gone to the airport?

“Which day?” asked Thera.

The man shrugged. “Three days.”

“So you can carry heavy things,” she said quickly.

“Of course.”

“Really heavy?”

“The container was very heavy,” said the man. “So heavy we almost were in trouble.”

Keep the conversation moving, Ferguson had told her. Don’t give them time to realize how truly odd your questions are.

Did he say that, or did she imagine he said that?

“I do have a lot of things that need to be moved,” Thera told him.

“Don’t say anything to her,” said the other man, again in Korean. “She’s a lunatic.”

“But pretty,” said the other man.

“You have air in your head,” his companion told him. “You’re thinking with your privates.”

The other man walked toward the other truck. Thera sat on the edge of the truck, swinging her blue-jean-clad legs.

“Maybe you could rent a truck for me?” she asked. “I love Korea, but sometimes it can be difficult to understand what needs to be done.”

The man seemed willing to help, though he wanted a lot more than just a few thousand
won
out of it. Thera quizzed him on where he had been under the guise of asking about his truck-driving abilities. Again he mentioned the delivery to the Gimpo airport, where he and his friend had taken a relatively small but very heavy cargo container. He was an extremely careful driver, he said, and had even taken his vehicle to explosive plants.

“To carry explosives?” Thera asked.

“No.”

“Just went there?”

“I go where I’m told.”

Special licenses were needed to transport explosives, and it was not clear whether he was avoiding the question to make himself seem more competent or to stay out of trouble.

His companion blared the horn in the other truck.

“You must move your car. The police will have it towed,” said the man.

“You’re very sweet,” Thera said, touching his shoulder. “Give me your phone number so I can call you.”

~ * ~

14

OUTSIDE CHUNGSAN, NORTH KOREA

Shapes and faces and stabs of knives in his head.

No, I want to think of something pleasant, Ferguson told himself. No more missions.

Swallow the radioactive pill and let it kill the poison.

“Far away for death,” Ferguson whispered. “Just far away.”

He forced his brain to roam into the past... to prep school.

Not always pleasant. The Jesuits were a tough crew, toughening up the boys they taught.

Literature? When was it: the American school in Alexandria, the Jesuit school, the Korean school?

He’d never been to a Korean school.

What if they grabbed him now, stuck him in ice-cold water, threatened to freeze him to death if he didn’t talk.

It was freezing here already. Couldn’t get much colder.

“Hence! Home, you idle creatures, get you home.”

The beginning of
Julius Caesar.
Brother Mark used to say it to end class.

Now that had been a good year. They’d even done that play. He’d been Anthony.

Antony.

Marcus Antonius.

Anthony.

“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Ferguson, not praise him. The evil that men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones.”

No good I’ve done.

“Jesus, it’s cold,” said Ferguson, rolling up from the cot and walking to generate some heat.

“ ‘Oh judgment, though art fled to brutish beasts,’” said Ferguson, the words from Antony’s famous speech springing back from some recess of his brain. “ ‘Men have lost their reason!’”

Good God almighty, it was cold.

~ * ~

15

DAEJEON, SOUTH KOREA

“They went to the airport probably the day Ferguson left,” Thera told Corrigan when she checked in with him after returning from the university. “They delivered some sort of cargo container. It sounded to me like it was the first time they ever did something like that. It was unusual—they were bragging about it—and it was very heavy.”

“A shipping container?” asked Corrigan.

“One of the drivers said it was very heavy, heavy enough that he was worried about having the right license. They’re fined personally if the police stop them and their trucks are overweight.”

“What kind of cargo container?”

“One that goes on an airplane.”

“You’re talking about a unit-load device?” asked Corrigan.

“Like a baggage thing?”

“OK. That’s what it’s called: a unit-load device.” Corrigan typed search terms into one of his computers to get background information. “How could something like that be so heavy he was worried about weight restrictions?”

“You tell me.”

Her room phone began to ring.