The Expediter by David Hagberg Page B

behind his back.
    Pak didn’t know if he was expected to continue with his report, leave, or remain where he stood.
    “I am convinced that it is the Americans behind this deed,” Kim Jong Il said. “I want you to personally find the proof and bring it to me. In this investigation you shall have the power of all Chosun behind you.You may use anyone, go anywhere, and commandeer anything and any amount of money you need to accomplish your task.”
    “Yes, Dear Leader.”
    “You must be quick. If our friends launch an attack against us I will unleash the dogs of hell upon their heads. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, sir,” Pak responded evenly. The man was talking about nuclear weapons.
    “Succeed and you live, Colonel Pak. Fail and you die. We all die.” Without glancing back, Kim Jong Il walked to the nearest set of stairs and, head bent low, headed down one of the paths that led to a footbridge to one of the islands.
    Pak walked back through the house to his car. Two South Koreans had done the shooting, but Dear Leader did have a point; the Americans had the most to gain by meddling in North Korea’s strong relationship with China. The only problem was apparently no one over there really understood the depth of Kim Jong Il’s insanity. If China actually attacked, Dear Leader would not hesitate for one second to embroil the entire region in a nuclear war that would not only mean the end for Chosun, but mass murder on a scale in the millions.
    Time was his chief enemy now.

 
     
     
TWELVE

     
    It was well after lunch by the time Pak got back to his office and took the elevator down to the interrogation center. He lit a Chinese-made cigarette, the only kind available in Pyongyang unless you were a foreigner, and leaned against the wall looking through the one-way glassat what was being done to their prisoner, his stomach doing a slow roll. He never liked these sorts of things.
    Mr. Kwan was strapped to a chair in the middle of the small white-tiled interrogation cell, his head lolling forward. Dr. Gi Song had just finished giving him an injection and stepped away, an indifferent look in his deep-set black eyes.
    “This is far as I dare take it,” he told Sergeant Ri who was perched against the edge of the steel table facing the prisoner. “Any more and the drug could kill him, or at the very least scramble his brains badly enough so that he would probably never recover.”
    “Not much use to us like that,” Ri said.
    “No,” the doctor agreed, but it was clear that he didn’t care. The prisoner was an enemy of the state, and Dr. Gi was a true believer. Pak had never cared for him.
    But there were times like these when his skills were a necessary evil.
    “When will he be ready?”
    “The drug works fast,” the doctor said. “A minute or two. What’s he done?”
    “Pissing in public,” Ri replied caustically. He didn’t like the doctor either.
    “Not so bad.”
    “On a photograph of Dear Leader.”
    “The hell you say,” Dr. Gi said. “The bastard.” He tossed the hypo in his bag, gave Kwan a last contemptuous glance, and left the room.
    When he was gone, Pak stubbed out his cigarette and went in. “One of these days the good doctor is going to realize that you’ve been playing with him, and he’ll report you.”
    “You’ll save me,” Ri said. “How did your meeting go?”
    “I’m still in one piece.”
    “That’s something,” Ri said.
    Soon was starting to come around and he looked up, a stupid expression on his face. He’d been drooling and the front of his shirt was spotted.
    “Has he been cooperative?” Pak asked.
    “Says his name is Kwan Sang-hung, he’s an electrical engineer from Seoul, and he came here on a tourist visa because he wanted to see what life was like in the North. He says he never left the hotel.”
    “What do you think?” Pak asked. The prisoner was looking at them.
    “He’s lying, of course,” Ri said. “But there’s something else going on. Like