“So I hear.”
I glanced down at my watch. The big hand was between 12:04 and 12:05. The telephones in Itaewon were scheduled to be shut down at 12:05 on the dot. Buzz’s friend Kim had arranged it. For thirty minutes, the entire Itaewon telephone grid was going to be disconnected. Like I said earlier, the KCIA could do things the CIA only dreams about.
I looked up and said, “You know the odd thing?”
He smiled. “What’s the odd thing?”
“Well, it’s having all these crimes occur in Itaewon. I mean, there’s Lee’s murder, then the attempted murder of Keith Merritt, then the slaughter outside the gate. And who’s in charge of all those investigations? Choi from the Korean side, and you from the American side.”
“Yeah, well, when you’re the best, you get the tough ones.”
“I guess you do.”
“Comes with the territory,” he said, brushing back his hair, like he really meant it.
“Must keep you pretty busy.”
“I stay up with it.”
“So it seems, Chief. You know, I even went back and reviewed the record of those cases you and Choi handled together. That’s the beauty of computerized records. Just enter a couple of names and the computer does all your work for you. Hell, before this, it would’ve taken three paralegals a month to collect all that data. Isn’t the modern age just wonderful?”
He placed his elbows on his desk, suddenly much more interested in what I had to say.
I continued. “How’s it work? Does Choi call you every time something intriguing happens over there? Christ, for five years, you’ve led the station in case closure rates.”
“I get my assignments from the brass, just like every other CID agent here. I can’t help it if my closure rate’s higher than the other guys. Maybe it’s luck of the draw. Maybe I just work it harder.”
I shook my head. “Come on, Chief, there has to be more to it. Your closure rate’s over eighty percent. Four out of five. I doubt there’s another CID agent in the world who comes anywhere near that. Hell, a CID agent’s considered a golden cow if he gets fifty percent. You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”
He smiled impatiently. “What’s the matter, Major? Do you actually have a problem with a detective who solves his cases?”
“Well, that’s the other thing. Nearly eighty percent of your investigations were in Itaewon.”
“What’s so mysterious? I’ve been here five years. I’ve developed good sources, an army of snitches, and I know my way around. I’ve got a great rapport with the Itaewon precinct. The command knows it, so they throw a lot of that stuff my way.”
“What gives you such great rapport with the Itaewon precinct? Is it because you’re married to Choi’s sister?”
“It helps,” he said, still smiling.
“Well, that’s the other odd thing I wanted to ask you about. I ran a background check on Chief Inspector Choi Lee Min also. Born in Chicago in 1954, emigrated back to Korea in 1971, attended Seoul National University, where he graduated at the top of his class. A very impressive guy.”
“Yes, he is.”
“A guy like him had the world at his feet. He could be sitting in one of those gleaming towers downtown making millions. He could be trading on the bourse. But he chose police work, of all things.”
“Choi’s not motivated by money. Like you said, he’s quite a guy.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said offhandedly. “Only problem is, he didn’t have a sister.”
Bales’s elbows flew off the desk and he fell back in his chair, like this was the most comical thing he’d ever heard.
He actually chuckled. “I don’t know who ran the check, but you better go back and start over. My wife was born in Chicago in 1962. She and her brother lived together until 1970, when their parents were killed.”
I scratched my head and looked baffled. “Your wife’s maiden name is Lee Jin May, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Born in Chicago?”
“That’s right.”
“There’s no record of any Lee Jin May born in any hospital in Chicago between the years 1957 and 1970. For that matter, there’s no record of a Choi Lee Min born in any Chicago hospital, either.”
This was true. Mercer had asked the FBI to run a quick background check, and they had so far been unable to find any trace of Choi or his sister.
Bales came back forward and looked angry. “Maybe they were born at home. Maybe they used a midwife. Did you think of that? Their parents were poor immigrants struggling to survive. I’ve never asked Jin May, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Ah, I hadn’t thought of that,” I said, like, Oops, gee, stupid me.
“Well, you had no fucking business going through my background anyway. Or my wife’s. What the hell’s going on? Do I need to file a complaint against you?”
“No, no need to do that,” I assured.
He instantly became conciliatory. “Look, I know we’ve got this little problem between us. I don’t blame you for being sore. Don’t take it personally, though.”
I gave him a full grin, so he had a bird’s-eye view of the gap where I used to have a tooth. “Me? Take it personally?”
“Look, I’m sorry if things got a little rough back at the station. We thought you’d murdered an innocent cop. You know how us cops are when one of our own gets it. I’m not making an excuse, but I’m sorry, all right?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said with a full dose of insincerity, although frankly the intonation was wasted because we both knew there wasn’t any chance in hell I’d forgive him.
Then I abruptly got up to leave. I got to the door, then turned around like I’d just been struck with an afterthought.
I slapped my forehead. “Hey, one more thing.”
The overconfident prick actually gave me his Dudley Do-Right grin. “Sure, how can I help you, Major?”
“That thing about your wife. I’m sorry if I overreacted, but when I got curious about not finding her birth records, or her brother’s, I called the CIA station here and asked them to look into it. They’ve got smart guys, though. I’m sure they’ll figure out she and her brother were born at home.”
I wished I’d thought to bring a camera. You had to see his face.
I left the MP station, then walked two blocks to a gray government sedan that was waiting next to the curb. Mercer was seated in the front. I climbed in the back, next to one of his guys.
A radio was on the dashboard and a speaker was connected to it so we could hear what was happening inside Bales’s office. Early that morning, one of Mercer’s guys had gained entry and wired the office for sound, so Mercer had overheard every word of our conversation. He absently held up a thumb. His attention, though, was focused on the sounds coming from the speaker. My role in this affair was to give Bales an intimation of trouble to come, just enough of a whiff to put him in motion.
We listened for a while as Bales talked to somebody, probably an MP, about some details of a case they were working. He sounded impatient and curt, and was transparently struggling to hurry the MP along. Then we heard the sound of a door closing, then Bales dialing a number. One of the bugs was planted in the earpiece of Bales’s phone. We could hear every sound coming through his receiver. What we heard at that moment was that scratchy, hissy noise phones make when the lines are out of service. He tried the number again, then slammed down the receiver, hard.
Half a minute of silence passed. We could hear him breathing. Full, huffy breaths. We heard him pick up the phone and dial again. We heard the hissy sound again. We heard him dial another number.
It rang about three times, then the voice of an answering machine said, “Hello, this is the Bales residence. We are out right now, but please-”
We heard Bales punch in two numbers to code his home answering machine, then we heard Choi’s voice say, “Michael, take every precaution. Escape right away. American intelligence has us in their net. Change your identification and escape.”
