James Church - A Corpse in the Koryo

After he gave me some answers, I would deal with him.

The guard at the gate to our compound had been changed, but no one stopped me as I walked past. There were no cars parked outside.

The street was deserted except for an old woman and a boy, who bounced a red ball against the compound's wall.

The drawers on Pak's desk were locked, but I knew he kept a key in the top drawer of his file cabinet. There was a pile of folders in the drawer. As I flipped through them, I saw they all concerned Koreans from Japan who had died over the years under suspicious circumstances.

I recognized only one of the cases, a couple killed when their car was hit head on by an army truck that had crossed over the center line on the highway to Hyangsan. Two farmers had witnessed the collision.

They said the truck didn't even apply its brakes. The incident happened just inside our jurisdiction, and Pak had insisted that we start an investigation, even though we weren't equipped to deal with traffic accidents.

The day after I called around for information on the truck's unit, Military Security moved in, took over, and told us to drop the case. They never shared their findings, but Pak found out through his own channels that the truck driver was not disciplined and, six months later, received a promotion.

We closed the case, and I forgot about it. Pak, it was clear, did not.

He had kept the files active, feeding in bits and pieces of information, mostly from sources I'd never heard of. I dumped the folders back and dug around for the key. It was buried in a corner, under a pile of pamphlets from Japanese travel agencies. Folded up with them was the front page of an edition of the party newspaper from a year ago. It carried a government statement on improving relations with Japan. Pak had underlined a few sentences in pencil, and at the bottom of the statement he had written, "Reckoning." There was another article, from a Japanese newspaper. I couldn't read it, but there was a picture of a small boy holding a cat.

For all these years that Pak and I had worked together, sometimes seven days a week for months at a time, I had fooled myself into thinking we knew each other's rhymes and rhythms perfectly. Yet here, in his desk, was evidence I didn't know him very well after all. He never said anything about it, but all these years he had been focused on Japan.

Why? "All hell is about to break loose," that's what he said to me on the phone. He hadn't mentioned Japan, but Kang had. Solving "old problems" in return for overdue blood money. Pak was dead. Japan had something to do with it.

After I unlocked it, the second drawer on the desk rolled open smoothly without a sound. I felt along the bottom and then the underside.

Nothing. I pulled the drawer out, turned it over, and looked for a slight irregularity in the grain. Nothing. There was no compartment.

Then I spotted it, along the back panel-not a compartment, really, just a slit, barely enough for a thin sheet of paper. I looked around for something sharp to slip inside and pull out whatever Pak had kept there. It wasn't a single sheet but an envelope, made of a sort of thin, fine paper I'd never seen.

A jeep braked sharply; doors slammed. There was a loud exchange as our guards blocked the way. Another car pulled up, and I heard the gate clank open. I quickly replaced the drawer and locked it. I opened the file cabinet, threw the key into the back, and picked up the first thing I saw, a small notebook. The first few pages had some rough entries about the Finn at the Koryo, but otherwise it was blank. Worthless.

That's why Pak had put it on top: wouldn't fool anyone but might slow them down. In the very back of the file drawer, there was a soft blue cloth bag. I pulled it open. It contained two bundles of hundred dollar bills. What was Pak doing with so much U.S. currency? All of us kept a little bit, to use in the market or at the diplomatic store, but not like this. I jammed both bundles in my pocket, then put one back in the drawer, closed things up again, and scrambled to my office. Just as I sat down, two men burst through the door. A moment later, Colonel Kim strolled in.

"We seem to be meeting quite often these days, Inspector. Restaurants. The countryside." Kim looked around my office without interest, as if he'd been there before. "Please remain seated. We are going to remove your chief inspector's files. He won't be needing them." He stopped to watch me. I felt the blood go to my face and a crazy urge to kill him, right then, but instead I sat there without speaking, controlling my heartbeat. "By rights, you should come with us for questioning." He smiled at the word. "But for some reason, you have a curious, protected status. It won't last long, I assure you. In the meantime"-I could feel him measuring every detail of how I sat, when I blinked, the way I breathed-"you are free to go to back and forth between your apartment and this office. You understand, I'm sure."

I decided if I didn't answer he would think I was scared, so I said, "You have no control over me, Kim. Until I'm told otherwise by the Minister, I don't take orders from you. And I have work to do. Now, if you don't mind…" I picked up the sandpaper on my desk and began to sand the piece of wood for the bookcase that Pak had said I would never build. Kim turned to go, but before he did, I saw the knives in his eyes sharpen with anger. At least I had to hope that's what it was. Anger would make Kim stumble, and the more he stumbled, the angrier he would get. He would lose his focus; I'd seen it happen before with people like him. It was only when he was cold and restrained that he was deadly.

"Don't forget to lock Pak's cabinet when you're done," I shouted after him. "And don't mess up the notes about that Finn. We only just put things in there." I heard Kim shout some orders; furniture crashed on the floor, there were footsteps, and then the hall door slammed shut so hard it rattled the windows. After the jeep pulled away, there was silence, then soft footsteps in the hall. Kim stopped as he reached my door.

"Very good, Inspector." He stepped into my office. "Just sit. It will make things easier. Most people bolt like rabbits, or die of fear at their desks."

"You got what you needed, I assume."

"Yes, I have what I came for."

"That's good." I pushed the envelope across my desk. "Don't forget this."

"And what is that?" He wasn't curious, he was angry. He pointed at my desk as if there were something insulting on it.

I had no idea what was in the envelope, and if Kim even imagined that for an instant, I was dead. He would kill me right here, on the spot.

I put my hand on the paper, touched it as if it were completely familiar to me. I couldn't let a muscle be out of place; Kim would sense it. Every movement had to tell Kim that he was in the one in danger, not me, that I was the one in charge, not him-and that this paper held his fate.

"We both know that important things are happening, Colonel. If they break your way, you can deal with me later. But if the situation breaks my way, and something has happened to me in the meantime, something with your fingerprints on it, you're finished. And they'll make sure it hurts." I didn't expect him to look worried or even thoughtful. I just wanted to keep talking, to keep touching the envelope, getting the connection established in his eyes and his ears. That envelope was his fate. Not mine, his. I put the envelope down again and moved my hand from it, as if I'd done that before, as if it weren't the first time I'd had it on my desk.

"Curious-looking paper. I didn't know your Ministry had anything like that. Special issue?"

"That's not for you to know. All you have to do is keep it safe.

Surely you can do that, Colonel. I don't much care about the rest of the files, but this you deliver, safe and sound. It's sealed. That's how it stays.