“Sure.”
“So, did you really commandeer a C-17 over the Pacific to make a bust?”
“Gross exaggeration,” said Fisher. “I won the C-17 in a game of darts.”
Mathers smiled. “You’re an inspiration.”
“Don’t get giggly on me, Mathers.”
She veered from the pothole-strewn highway onto what looked like a dust-swept field. The Torino growled as they took another turn, the engine chuttering while the air filter chewed on some pebbles.
And then, like a scene from a Charlton Heston movie, the dust cleared and a four-lane concrete road appeared. The Bu-car settled down as they approached the building where Amanda Kung worked, K-4 Electronics. A quartet of khaki-clad guards with German shepherds met their car. The two FBI agents were instructed to get out of the vehicle and the car was searched before being allowed to proceed. Inside the gate, they were met by a six- foot-five protosimian who pointed to a parking space and gave them coded tags to wear.
“Computer system figures out if you’re inside and don’t have a tag on,” warned Mathers.
“What’s it do, vaporize you?”
“Very possibly.”
Inside the building, the agents were met by a personal minder, another large athletic type Fisher thought he might recognize from WFW reruns. He led them to a private room where Amanda Kung was waiting.
As a member of the high-tech community, the company had a certain image to maintain and therefore did not call the room a room but rather a “cell.” It looked very much like a room, at least to Fisher, though the decoration was not in keeping with the ultra-high-tech style of the rest of the building. Twenty-feet-by-twenty- feet-square, it had thick red carpet, leather-upholstered furniture, wainscoted walls, and paintings of various dogs. Kung explained that this was because the firm had begun its existence by making special radio collars for an invisible K-9 fence before branching out into the more lucrative defense field.
There were a number of dog jokes attached to the explanation of the company’s history. Fisher made it through the first — We’re the only business that succeeded after going to the dogs — then decided to cut Kung off and ask if she could tell him about the Korean.
“I met Dr. Park two years ago at a conference in China,” said Kung. Short and thin, Kung had the female dweeb look down, with thick glasses beneath uneven bangs. Her purple blouse hurt Fisher’s eyes. “He is an engineer working on electrical generation projects.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s what he told me. I got the idea that he might know more, because of the sessions he was at. And then I got that e-mail.”
“Want to go to Korea?” asked Fisher.
“ Korea?”
“ North Korea. I have some frequent-flier miles to redeem. Supposed to be pretty nice in February. They put out fresh mud.”
“I don’t know.” Kung looked at Mathers.
“You want to help your friend, don’t you?” said Mathers, apparently ignoring the ESP signals Fisher had beamed into her brain.
“He’s not really my friend,” said Kung. “He’s just an engineer I met.”
“Well, he thinks of you as his friend,” said Mathers, stubbornly impervious to mental suggestion.
Kung pursed her lips.
“You’re not married, right?” asked Fisher.
Kung’s lips turned white. “He’s going to Moscow the day after tomorrow,” she said.
“ Moscow?” asked Fisher.
Kung unfolded a piece of paper and slid it across the table to Fisher. “This came this morning.”
HELLO AMANDA
GOING TO MSCW. CAN YOU GET ME OUT? BEST CHANCE THURS. PLEASE I HAVE INFORMATION.
Fisher took the e-mail and looked at the header that showed the path the message had taken:
____________________ Headers ____________________
Return-Path: ‹[email protected]›
Received: from rly-xc04.mx.aol.com (rly-xc04.mail.
aol.com [172.20.105.137]) by air-xc02.mail.aol.com (v93.12) with ESMTP id MAILINXC23-3f873ec520
e528b; Fri, 7 March 2008 13:33:25-0400
Received: from mail.simon.com (mail.simon.com [66.43.82.172]) by rly-xc04.mx.aol.com (v93.12) with ESMTP id MAILRELAYINXC48-e43ec520cf1bf; Fri, 7 March 2008 13:33:03-0400
Received: from mdcms001.simon.com (ss-exchsmtp.
simon.com [172.30.65.47])
by mail.simon.com (AIX4.3/8.9.3p2/8.9.3) with ESMTP id NAA96516
for ‹[email protected]›; Fri, 7 March 2008 13:37:33 -0400
Received: by mdcms001.chuster.com with Internet Mail Service (5.5.2653.19) id ‹K8SXA6FM›; Fri, 16 May 2008 13:33:03 -0400
Message-ID: ‹A27A160FD659C648B8665DCD07B7C90A8488FE@MDC MS002›
MIME-Version: 1.0
X-Mailer: Internet Mail Service (5.5.2653.19)
Content-Type: multipart|alternative;
boundary=“-_=_NextPart_001_01C31BD1.3326
EE10”
There were various ways the actual route an e-mail took could be hidden, and the agent recognized one of the remailers as a kind of semianonymous clearinghouse in Asia that he’d seen in the course of another investigation.
“Can I keep this?” asked Fisher.
“Sure.”
Fisher got up. “Well, think about going,” he said.
“Where?”
“ Korea,” said Fisher.
“Why Korea if he’s going to be in Moscow?” asked Mathers.
Fisher decided the time was right for the ultimate weapon and unleashed the double-dog-drop-dead stare. Mathers’s breath caught in her chest and she swallowed whatever sentence had been lurking in her mouth.
“That’s all you want to know?” asked Kung.
“Pretty much,” said Fisher.
He stopped at the door. “I do have one other question,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Do you have a smoking area?”
“That was your entire interview?” asked Mathers as they walked back to the car.
“Yeah.”
“I have to say, your interrogation style leaves a lot to be desired.”
Fisher went around to the passenger’s side, waiting while Mathers fiddled with the locks. The car was searched once again as they left. The search was thorough enough for Fisher to smoke two whole cigarettes and start on a third before having to get back in the car.
“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t smoke in the car,” said Mathers. Her voice was so sincere that Fisher almost considered putting the cigarette out.
“Could you at least roll down the window?” asked Mathers.
Fisher could do that, and did.
“I shouldn’t have criticized you,” she said as they drove away. “I’m sorry.”
