Chapter Two
The young man in yellow came up in the elevator with me, opened the door to a room, turned on the lights, and stood next to the bed. “The TV is there,” he said. “The bathroom is there.”
It was a big room, but not so big I couldn’t have figured out either of those on my own. “Sure.” I looked around. “Classy place. Wouldn’t want to confuse those two.”
“You can get music in the bath if you like. There’s a TV screen there, too, if you get lonely. Don’t worry; it only goes one way.”
I nodded.
“Also, the drapes open electronically. Don’t try fooling with them by hand or you’ll break something. I can find you something if you get real lonely, better than the TV.” He rubbed the fingers on one hand together.
“Why don’t you go back downstairs and be slimy with your friends?”
He didn’t seem offended; at least, the grin he gave me looked real enough. “I could do that.” He held out his hand.
“I already shook with you. Is this a new hotel custom, shaking hands on every floor?”
“A tip, you know-a gratuity, service charge, payment in advance for errands to be run, a friendly barrier against unfavorable winds and life’s unexpected turns. See what I mean?”
I walked past him to the door, held it open, and jerked my head in the direction of the hallway. “I’ll give you a tip,” I said. “Don’t play with matches.”
2
I sat on the bed and studied the place. It was square, and no attempt had been made to hide that basic fact. “You are paying to sleep in a box,” each of the walls said. One of them had a window in the center, which might have broken the monotony except that the window was square. If I’d had a suitcase, at this point I would have unpacked. There was a certain satisfaction, I recalled, in unpacking a suitcase in a hotel room. On overseas liaison trips for the Ministry, I stayed mostly in cheap rooms. To open the drawers and put something in, even only a pair of socks, gave an air of permanence, of personality, to a place.
The bureau was pine stained to look like something else. It had three drawers. I opened each of them. Usually there was a piece of paper, emergency instructions, something in them. These were empty, a mini-universe of infinite nothingness. I took the wood chips from my pocket and dumped them on the desk. This place needed something. There was nothing homey about it, not like the Koryo Hotel. Why hadn’t they put me up there? Maybe they were installing the neon lights and laying new carpets. I hated to think what had been done to its lobby.
A soft knock on the door brought me back. “What?” I wasn’t expecting visitors.
“Housekeeping.”
“Go away.”
“Turndown service.”
I walked over to the entryway. “Turndown what?”
“Turndown service.”
I opened the door to find a middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform. “I’m supposed to turn down your bed and leave a candy on your pillow,” she said. “You want it or don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.” I started to close the door, but then a question occurred to me. “Who owns this place?”
“What?”
“Who owns this hotel? It’s foreign, isn’t it? It doesn’t feel right. The fellow in the tight pants even asked for a tip.”
She gave me a big smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Sir? Who taught you to say that? I suppose you curtsey now, too.”
She bobbed her head. “Good evening and pleasant dreams.”
The phone rang, so I closed the door and went over to the desk. The phone was white, new, with lots of buttons on it. I took a chance and punched one of them. “Yes?”
“Inspector, I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Who is this?”
“You don’t recognize my voice?”
“Should I?”
“This is Major Kim. We saw each other briefly this evening, though we weren’t introduced. I thought we might have a drink, talk a little, trade stories. That sort of thing.”
“That sort of thing.”
“If you’re hungry, we can get a bite to eat. I don’t think the hotel restaurant is still open, and the room service menu is not exciting, but there are other places nearby you might enjoy.”
“Noodles.”
“What’s that?”
“I said noodles. I like noodles.”
“Well, then, noodles it is.” A silence. “You there?”
“Sure.” This was the man who made everyone nervous. I didn’t need noodles all that badly. “I was thinking. It’s getting late; maybe I should skip eating tonight.”
“Don’t do that, Inspector. You never know when you’ll get another chance.”
No wonder he makes people nervous, I thought. “OK, where?”
“I’m in the parking lot in front of the hotel right now. Come down in five minutes. You’ll find me; don’t worry.”
“I’ll be wearing what I had on before.”
“I know.”
3
The restaurant was in a building that hadn’t been there the last time I was in Pyongyang. It was in my old patrol sector, and in those days I knew every crummy structure, every crack in every facade, every doorway out of plumb, and every crooked window. This place was modern, only three stories high but very sleek. The front door opened to a small vestibule where a young woman in a low-cut long red dress waited.
“Good evening, Major Kim,” she said. “Your table is ready.” She didn’t look at me, not even a glance, before turning to lead us to a corner in the back, where there was a triangular table surrounded by a lot of plants. We sat, and the lady in red disappeared.
“You look to be in shock, Inspector. Anything I can do for you? Maybe we should start with a couple of drinks.” The major pressed a button on the side of the table, and a man wearing an austere smile and a white coat appeared.
“Your usual, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, Michael, thank you. And one for our guest, as well.”
The white coat vanished behind a fern.
“Michael?” I said. “Have we stopped the pretense of Korean names at last? Do I get to pick my own? Or have you already selected one for me? Let me guess. Paul? No, probably not. Matthew, perhaps?
