'They needn't know,' said Hwan.
'I'm sorry.' He put his hand to the door. 'I wanted you to have this information, but I don't wish to become involved. Please— I hope this was helpful to you, but I must go.'
With that, the man pushed open the door and ran into the darkness. Hwan and the Desk Sergeant looked at each other.
'Seems to have had a few beers too many before stopping by, sir.'
'Or not enough,' Hwan said. 'Would you type that up and give it to me unsigned? There was some useful information there.'
At least, it corroborated some of the facts he had come up with in the alley. He toyed briefly with the idea of having the curious little man followed, but decided the manpower was best utilized where it was, interviewing other attendees, checking video footage and photographs, and searching the area and abandoned hotel for other clues.
Climbing the stairs— he refused to take elevators when he had the time and energy to walk— Hwan returned to his office to consider his next move.
When the Director returned, he would be unhappy with the state of the investigation: their skimpy evidence pointing to North Korea, but no leads to who perpetrated the deeds.
After using his radio to check with the field forces, and learning that they were coming up empty, Hwan decided that to get that evidence quickly he would have to move in a way he'd been loath to, a way that might cost them as much as they would gain.
Reluctantly he picked up the phone
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Traveling at an average speed of 120 miles an hour, the sleek, modern Lake LA-4-200 Buccaneer four-seater flew low over the sea as it headed toward the coast of North Korea, its top-mounted Lycoming 0-360-A1A engine humming as the pilot kept the plane steady. The air was turbulent this close to the surface— just under one thousand feet and descending quickly— and the pilot didn't want to have to ditch her. Not with these two onboard. He dragged a handkerchief across his sweaty forehead, not daring to contemplate what they might do if he had to land fifty miles from shore.
The twenty-five-foot-long plane bucked as he dropped below five hundred feet— faster than he should have, given the down draft, but not as fast as he would have liked. The dark outline of the shore was visible now, and the pilot knew he wasn't going to have time to make a second pass: his passengers needed to be ashore by eight- thirty, and he wasn't going to disappoint them. Not by so much as a second.
He also wasn't going to let his dear friend Han Song get him any more off-the-book flights. Sons wanting to sneak in and visit fathers or even spies from the South were one thing. The gambler had said that these two were businessmen, but he didn't say their business was murder.
He set the boat-shaped belly of the aircraft down with a gentle thud, water kicking up on both sides as he braked quickly; he wanted to get the men off and the plane turned around before any curious fishermen or constables decided to check him out.
He unlatched the hatch and flipped it open. The entire cockpit was exposed. Snatching the raft from the copilot's seat, he lowered it over the side while the men in the back seats stood. The pilot extended his hand to help the first man into the raft. The killer grabbed the pilot's wrist and looked at his phosphorescent aviator's watch.
'We— we made it!' the pilot said.
'You've done well,' the killer replied as his companion edged around him and climbed into the raft. He reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and handed the pilot a bundle of money. 'As your agent and I agreed.'
'Yes, thank you.'
Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew the bloody stiletto, held it in front of him. The pilot's heart drummed so hard he was sure it and not the engine was causing the plane to shake. The killer laughed, cocked his arm suddenly to the side, and threw the blade out to sea; the pilot deflated so quickly he lost his balance and fell against the seat.
'Good night to you,' said the killer as he turned and joined his friend in the raft.
It was several minutes before the pilot felt calm enough to taxi back to sea. By that time his passengers had been swallowed by the darkness.
The men were guided to shore by the flashing light of a soldier on the beach. The tide was low and they arrived in minutes, one of them deflating the raft while the other took the suitcases and walked toward two jeeps parked in the shadows beneath a sea cliff.
'Colonel Oko?' said the new arrival.
'Colonel Sun,' the other bowed. 'You're early.'
'Our pilot was anxious to be rid of us.' Sun glanced at the armed soldier standing beside the jeeps. 'You have the uniforms, documents, and— package?'
'They're in the jeep. Would you care to check?'
Sun smiled and set the cases in the sand. 'Major Lee trusts you.' The smile broadened. 'And we have a common goal, after all. To remain enemies.'
'I need no war for that.'
'You are not a politician, Colonel. We do not need to be reminded of what is in our blood. Would you care to check the money?'
Oko shook his head and motioned for his aide to take the case. 'To be frank, Colonel, even if we were not recompensed for the bribes we've paid, the cost would have been worth it.'
Bowing again to Colonel Sun, Oko climbed into the jeep, and did not look back as they drove up the steep dirt road into the hills.
Colonel Sun's aide, Corporal Kong Sang Chul, approached as he watched them go. 'And they say the North and South can never agree on anything.'
Ten minutes later, dressed in the uniforms of a North Korean Colonel and his orderly, and having checked the package to make sure everything was there, the South Koreans followed the same road, headed toward a spot marked in red on the map among the folder of documents.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
'This can't happen, this can't happen, this can't happen!'
'But it did, techboy. It did.'
Stoll and Herbert were sitting at the conference table in the Tank with Hood and the rest of Op-Center's prime team, save for Rodgers who would be briefed. Ann Farris sat to Hood's right, Stoll and Herbert beside her, and Lowell Coffey II to his left; on the opposite side of the table were Martha Mackall, Liz Gordon, and Environmental Officer Phil Katzen. Darrell McCaskey sat down between Gordon and Katzen, having just presented Hood with a one-page summary of the activities of the Red Sky League and other terrorist organizations. It appeared that none of them was involved with the blast in Seoul.
Resting on the table in front of Hood were McCaskey's paper and the photo the NRO had sent over showing extensive troop movements around Pyongyang; beside it was the just-wire-photoed snapshot taken by Judy Margolin from the Mirage. They showed no tanks moving out, no artillery ringing the city, and no other preparations indicating that the DPRK was preparing to go to war. 'What do you make of the discrepancy, Matty? Other than that
