Martin Limon - Jade Lady burning

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. He’s a smooth character, expensive.”

“How often does he go out there?”

“Very rarely.”

“Does he have any regular hangouts? Places where we might be able to spot him?”

“No way.”

“Well anyway, thanks, Strange. Thanks for the information.”

‘The name’s Harvey.”

“Yeah. Sorry, Harvey. See ya.”

“Have you gotten any lately?”

“Not lately. I’ve been busy.”

“Pity.”

“Yeah.”

Tinkling glassware and the smell of freshly sliced lemon. If we hadn’t been in the Eighth Army Officers Club I would have been enjoying myself. It was your typical luncheon: honeyed ham with a pineapple ring and cherry on top, a baked potato wrapped in tinfoil, and succotash. We didn’t eat. Of course, we hadn’t been invited anyway. We stood off to the side, trying to stay out of the way of the waiters and the red-faced officers sliding over to the bar to belt down quick ones.

Someone clanged a spoon against a water glass. The room got quiet.

“We are here today to honor…”The speaker droned on. Finally, to a round of halfhearted applause, Major General Bohler was introduced. He was lean, like a gnawed sparerib, and the graying hair on the side of his head had been all but shaved away. The top of his pate glistened in the light, as if it had been oiled. He grinned. A wide toothy grin under square-lensed glasses.

His voice was raspy and thin. As if he were trying to soothe you before he cut your heart out.

The luncheon was in honor of the great improvements that had been made at the Korean Procurement Agency. Money had been saved. The taxpayers’ interests protected. And great new edifices had been built to the glory of the Eighth Imperial Army. A series of Korean gentlemen, employees of KPA, received plaques and certificates of appreciation, bowing and shaking General Bohler’s hand as they received their rewards. Bulbs flashed. And then Lindbaugh was on the stage, his chubby neck bulging out over his too-tight collar and tie. His moist-lipped grin revealed little gray teeth. Like a ferret. And then Mr. Kwok was on the stage. He was muscular and swarthy and seemed to take command of the room with his physical power. He didn’t bow to General Bohler but kept his face impassive and shook his hand and accepted the big burnished copper plaque, emblazoned with little metal flags of the United States and Korea. Engraved words recorded forever the great contributions he had made to mankind and the cause of peace in Northeast Asia.

I looked at the barrel-chested officers along the bar. Some of them chuckled quietly to one another. I longed for a belt. Instead I went into the latrine and spit.

We were in the jeep at the base of the hill below General Bohler’s quarters.

It was cold but there was no snow. There hadn’t been any precipitation for over a week, since the night Miss Pak died.

The snow that was left on the ground looked like lumps of stale icing on mass-produced pastry. A thin sprinkling of soot lay atop it.

The frozen snow and the evergreen trees and the naked elms began to disappear as the sun went down. Soon all we could see were a few pale yellow bulbs serving as porch lights.

We waited an hour. Nothing. So we decided to shake things up. We got out of the jeep and walked up the steep winding driveway. I carried my clipboard again. The two gate guards were smoking and joking but got quiet when they spotted us.

“Where’s Mr. Jung?”

“Just a moment.” The radio squawked.

Within about thirty seconds a stout, middle-aged Korean man in neatly pressed khakis appeared. We flashed our IDs.

‘The report of inspection on the day shift is not going to look very good. So far, your men are doing somewhat better.”

“We are particularly alert at night.”

“The day shift is important, too.”

“Yes.”

“Would you please show us around the perimeter?”

“Yes.”

We followed him along the chain-link fence but I kept my eyes on the house. The big Lincoln sedan was gone. The old sarge must have the night off. Inside, no one seemed to be moving.

The perimeter guards snapped to attention as we approached.

“What time do you expect the general to go out tonight?”

“He’s already left.”

“What?”

“Yes. He got off early from work today. Very unusual for him. He changed clothes and was gone before the sun went down.”

“Where was he going? Do you know?”

“No.”

“Was he alone?”

“Yes. And on foot.”

The security chief didn’t seem to be too worried about it. There is no terrorism in Korea. No kidnappings. No Red Brigades. The society is too well controlled. What they are worried about is a direct attack on specific targets by North Korean commandos. Thus, the heavy security at the general’s quarters and the Eighth Army Headquarters itself.

“What time did he leave?”

“Just a few minutes before the sun went down.”

We walked back down the hill to the jeep. I cursed myself for not getting here earlier. But who would have thought that a workaholic would cut out early from work?

Unless he had some more work to do.

We went to Itaewon but it was no dice. Kimiko was gone, she wasn’t in her hooch or at any of the clubs. We just checked the main ones but it would have taken forever to check every little hole in the wall. Mr. Kwok’s office was dark and he wasn’t downstairs in the Sloe-eyed Lady Club.

Major General Bohler had disappeared.

“Why don’t you go back to the compound?” Ernie said. “Get some rest. I’ll hang around here until curfew to see if any of them show up and in the morning you can pick up on Bohler again. It’s better to work in shifts.”

Ernie was right. Trying to get something on Bohler could take a long time. Besides, there was something I wanted to do.

“Okay. You gonna see the Nurse tonight?”

“No. No way.”

“Why not? You guys just had a big fight and then you made up. What is it this time?”

“She doesn’t want to see me. She told me not to come to the hooch tonight.”

There were lines on Ernie’s face that I had never noticed before. I wondered if the Nurse had found a new boyfriend. He was wondering the same thing. I decided to drop it.

I said, “Don’t worry about getting up early. I’ll check out those security guards in the morning and find out what time Bohler got back tonight. Then we’ll compare notes at the office.”

“Okay.”

I left Ernie standing in front of a dark alley with both his hands stuffed into the pockets of his nylon jacket. A girl approached him. He shrugged her off.

I caught a cab and was back at the main gate of the compound in about three minutes.

“You tell anybody I’m doing this and they’ll have my ass.”

“Don’t worry, Jones,” I said. “Nobody’d want it anyway. Been had too often.”

“No, I’m serious. Youknow I’m notsupposed to let anybodyinhere.”

I said, “You’re not supposed to black-market either.”

He said, “You’re an asshole, George.” But he got out his keys.

“An asshole? I didn’t turn you in, did I?”

“Well… hell, George. Everybody does it.”

“But not everybody lets themselves get caught.”

“Who would’ve thought you and Ernie’d be at Mama Lee’s in the middle of the afternoon?”

“Anybody who knows us. Now get out of here.”

The door to the chapel was open. So was the door to Hurchek’s office. I closed it behind me, pulled down the shade to the single window, and sat down at his desk. I pulled out my little flashlight and went through the logbook of the marriage packets that had passed through the Eighth Army chapel for the last few months. Taking my time. Getting it right.