admiral.”
The strong lines of Goh’s face started to melt before my eyes.
“And after she died, her mother became sick. She died only a month ago, willing death to come to her, refusing medication.”
The officers stood frozen, hushed and embarrassed. Ernie shifted his hips, fondling the handcuffs at the small of his back, snapping his gum. The only person in the crowd who wasn’t impressed with Commander Goh’s story.
“So I am like you now, Inspector Sueno,” Commander Goh said, looking straight at me. “I too am an orphan.”
“And the rest, Commander Goh,” I said. “Tell us the rest. Tell us about the kisaeng in Seoul. Tell us about Miss Ku.”
He continued to stare at me, his face unchanging. He said nothing.
“The ROK Navy investigation had failed,” I said. “Shipton had completely disappeared. But then, you heard about the murder of a British soldier in Namdaemun. You recognized it right away as the handiwork of Shipton. Who else would’ve wanted to kill-or been capable of killing-a foreigner in such a brutal manner? When you found out that Agent Bascom and I were assigned to the case, you had us followed. We led you to the Tiger Lady’s kisaeng house.”
He took a step backward.
“You killed her,” I said. “You killed Miss Ku. Didn’t you?” When he didn’t answer, I continued. “She had known Shipton. She had slept with him. When she told you that she didn’t know how to find him, you didn’t believe her.”
I longed to smash the side of his big square head with my metal brace. I was enraged by it all. By all the killing.
“You sliced sharp knives into her fingernails. And then you ripped them off. When she still didn’t talk, you kept torturing her. And when you finally realized she knew nothing, you murdered her. Dumped her in the alley. Murdered her in a way that would make us believe that Shipton had done it.”
The admiral had had enough. He barked an order. Two of the younger officers stepped between me and Commander Goh. Another laid his hand on Ernie’s elbow. Ernie flinched as if he’d been buzzed by high voltage wire, hopped back, and punched the Korean officer with a right cross to the nose.
All hell broke loose. Goh backed away, out of my line of sight. Officers shouted, grabbing me and Ernie, and we shoved back, trying to break free.
Down below, someone fired a gun.
The oars of the turtle boat churned into the choppy waters, and the long-necked prow of the antique ship headed past the breakers toward the Japanese junk, the grimacing head of the turtle glaring at its doomed prey.
A deep voice boomed through the melee.
“Shikkuro!” Shut up! It was the admiral.
Everyone stopped and looked at him and then followed his eyes.
Commander Goh had slipped away from the crowd and was backing down the pier toward the sea. He stopped, reached inside his coat, and pulled out a German Luger.
Ernie shook himself free and ran to the far side of the wooden pier, taking cover behind a post. He pulled out a. 45.
I pulled my. 38. Holding it in my good hand, I ran to the other side of the pier.
Commander Goh backed away from us, waving the Luger from side to side.
Ernie’s gum clicked rapidly. “There’s nowhere for you to go,” he said. “You’re trapped.”
“I will go to the sea,” Commander Goh said in English. “Where a sailor always goes in time of trouble.”
The three of us strode down the pier. Commander Goh walking backward, Ernie and me following. All with pistols drawn.
A horn, like the bellow of a dragon, sounded below. The turtle boat was picking up speed, moving alongside the pier, heading toward its victim, the Japanese junk.
There were no sailors visible; they were all inside, hidden beneath the iron shell. Protected.
Commander Goh glanced down at the metal plating floating low in the water. Oars peeked out of portholes just above the waterline. Huge metal spikes stuck straight up into the air. Sharpened, to discourage boarders.
Commander Goh kept backing up. Only a few yards of wooden pier were left.
I started to sweat, trying to control the shaking of my hand. It wasn’t working.
On the other side of the pier, Ernie seemed relaxed. He’d killed a man last night. He was ready to kill another today.
Behind us, the admiral’s voice barked. I glanced back. Where the pier met the shore, a row of Korean MP’s had taken firing positions.
“Put the gun down,” I told Commander Goh. “You’ve hurt enough people.”
He shook his head.
“My daughter is dead, my wife is dead. What else do I have to live for?”
I had no answer for him.
He reached the end of the pier.
Wisps of sulphur drifted out of the mouth of the turtle’s head on the bow of the spike-backed boat. Medieval chemical warfare. The turtle boat glided quickly through the water, along the length of the pier, the pointed end of its prow aimed straight at the Japanese junk beyond the breakers.
When the turtle boat pulled even with us, Commander Goh stopped at the wooden railing and glanced back along the pier. He pointed the Luger at me. Ernie knelt, bracing his pistol with both hands.
“Drop it!” he shouted.
Commander Goh kept his eyes on me. “Admiral Yi Sun Shin died at sea,” he said. “Aboard his command ship. Shot through the heart by a Japanese arrow. I too am a sailor. I will not rot in prison. I will die at sea.”
Sulphur gas billowed into the air. The turtle boat crashed through the waves below us.
I’m not sure, but it seemed as if Commander Goh flashed me a half-smile. He turned, tossed his gun into the sea, and, spreading his arms, leapt gracefully off the edge of the pier.
Ernie and I sprinted forward. Footsteps pounded behind us.
I reached the edge first. Down below, spread-eagled on the iron shell of the turtle boat, sprawled Commander Goh. A metal spike stuck wickedly out of his back. Blood streamed down his black coat and pants.
His arms and legs still kicked. A beetle pinned by a tack. He coughed, blood flooded out of his mouth, he stiffened his body one last time, and lay still.
The turtle boat continued its headlong charge through history and the waves. Sulphur still exploded out of its mouth in a great yellow cloud.
When it rammed the Japanese junk, the sound of ripping lumber tore through the sea air. On the shore, civilians and sailors cheered.
The turtle boat plunged ever deeper into the junk, seawater rushing into the open gash. As one, the line of oars started churning backward and the boat strained to withdraw. As it did so it rocked from side to side. Commander Goh’s bloodied body slid off the metal spike.
The corpse tore free and slithered down the hull into the choppy gray waters of the Yellow Sea.
42
A cold wind swept across the broad expanse of the Han River.
We stood in the National Graveyard of the Republic of Korea; the sky above was placid and clear, as if even the spirits of the ancients were hovering in solemn observance. A military honor guard in crisply pressed white slacks and green tunics fired a volley into the air.
Slowly, the corpse of Ma Jin-ryul, the career slicky boy, was lowered into the frozen earth.
I had pitched a bitch back at CID Headquarters and forced the ROK Liaison to listen to me. Finally, because
