Sohlberg and the White Death (11 page)

“What are we going to do?”

“We? . . . This is a security problem of your making.” Ju waited for the impact of that statement to sink in.

“Regardless . . . we have to do something.”

“Let me think about it . . . let’s meet after dinner,” said Ju who immediately launched his intelligent and scheming brain on a desperate search for a brilliant solution to this devastating problem.

But first Ju had to check out his nephew’s cabin to see if it was true that the young man and wife were AWOL.

Was Col. Cha trying to entrap him into criminal behavior?

Ju also wanted to search the cabin and find out if he could save his own life.

Did my treacherous nephew leave behind any evidence that will lead to an ugly torture session followed by my public execution?

Ju doubted if Sik Yoon had stolen any plans, drawings, or documents. Col. Cha and Ju were the only persons who were exempt from searches of their person and belongings when entering or leaving the compound.

~ ~ ~

A bitter wind swept down the mountains. Darkness shrouded the compound except for the dismal yellow lights at the main gate. The two men gathered to smoke Chinese cigarettes a few yards from Ju’s cabin. The
Zhongnanhai
brand had been Chairman Mao’s favorite blend.

“So?”

“Take a car with your most trustworthy man to Chongjin. Pick up a man and woman who look like the two traitors. Tell them that they’re under investigation. Bring them up here. Make sure that you don’t take any shortcuts.”

“What do you mean by
shortcuts
?”

“I mean that you are not to pick anyone up in a village or town. That would attract attention. The city is more anonymous.”

“Then what?”

“Make sure that before you leave you go to the traitors’ cabin. Get a set of men’s and women’s underwear . . . clothes . . . and shoes from their closet. On your way back here stop and pull off the road at the small valley that’s right before ours.”

“Then what?”

“Order the man and woman to take off their clothes and shoes . . . everything. Take their identity papers and burn them here in the compound. Make sure that you bury everything else where no one can find it.”

“Then what?”

“Order the man and woman to change into the traitor’s clothing and shoes. Tell them that they need to be presentable . . . that they’re actually going to meet and be rewarded by the Supreme Leader himself. Make sure that they believe that they will not suffer or be interrogated.”

“Then what?”

“Make sure that they feel calm. Give them food . . . see if they can drink a little alcohol to soften them up. Give them cigarettes. Fatten them up with compliments.”

“Then what?”

“Come back here. Make sure you arrive late and that you have men at the gate who won’t look closely at your passengers or challenge you or ask to search the car.”

“Then what?”

“Take your guests to the traitor’s cabin. Be quiet and quick . . . gently garrote them. Put them on their bed. Then get behind your man and cut his throat. Cut the throats of the two in the bed. Then put the knife in your man’s hand. Drop cigarette butts on the floor. Set a slow burning fire on the two bodies in the bed . . . make sure that their faces are completely torched . . . unrecognizable. Hopefully most of the cabin will burn down.”

“It’s a great plan. But I see a few problems.”

“All plans have some problems. But this is what we have to do before someone else discovers that they’re missing.”

“Then what?” said Col. Cha.

“You will investigate and determine that it was a double murder followed by a suicide. Make sure that you drop some well-worded hints about how your man was obsessed and in love with Sik Yoon’s wife.”

“Then what?”

“You will ask me to identify the bodies. I will do so. You will file your report and we will bury them out there by the river with the others.”

“I hope this works,” said a sullen Col. Cha. “Otherwise. . . .”

“We will suffer the unthinkable.”

~ ~ ~

Ju Kyu Chang could not fall asleep.

Would the colonel have gone along with my plan if he had known about
one
little fact that I didn’t tell him about?

What would happen if someone discovered that I stupidly gave my nephew and his wife the money and permission to travel all the way to Tumangang on the border with Russia?

Who would believe me that I believed their lies . . . that they were going to visit her family?

How did these two rats ever think that they were going to cross the Tumen River into Russia or China?

Crossing the border used to be possible during the regime of Supreme Leader’s father. Guards were easily bribed. But no more. Our Supreme Leader has moved in new troops and clamped down on legal and illegal crossings.

The dragon of terror squeezed Ju’s heart and chewed at his intestines.

He figured it out. Sik Yoon and his wife had been recruited by Russian or Chinese intelligence. Only a spy agency from the neighboring countries had the resources to pull the two traitors out of North Korea.

Ju Kyu Chang wept. He should
never
have hired Sik Yoon or taken him on overseas trips. An ungrateful idiot weakling like Sik Yoon would easily get ensnared by foreign spies.

“Ingrates!” he screamed into his pillow.

The tears dried up. But not his rage. Ju wished that he had caught the two traitors in time. He would have enjoyed torturing and executing Sik Yoon and his pretty wife.

Death did not scare him.

Last month he began to suspect that one of the kidnaped Japanese engineers was engaged in sabotage. He asked Col. Cha to execute four of them as a lesson to everyone who worked in the compound. The mutilated and bullet-riddled bodies were now buried down by the river with so many others.

Ju’s stomach gurgled. Hunger and stress twisted his innards. He had to calm down. After all the Supreme Leader needed him.

Who could be against him when the Supreme Leader was with him?

The dragon of terror retreated as soon as Ju thought about the generous gift of ox bone soup from the Supreme Leader. Ju dreamed that he was savoring the exquisite soup once more. A short while later he saw himself gorging on an endless banquet of delicacies piled up high.

My cup and my bowl shall run over when I am rewarded for my work with nuclear weapons.

Ju’s heart and mind felt at peace with the sure knowledge that it was better for many to die and be sacrificed so that one could live.

It was better this way. This is the way of man and the world.

BOOK TWO: THE TRAP

There is no trap so deadly as the trap you set for yourself.

  — Raymond Chandler,
The Long Goodbye

Chapter 7/Syv

MOSCOW, RUSSIA: MORNING OF TUESDAY

JULY 12, OR THREE MONTHS AFTER THE DAY

Ivan Navalny’s boss was known as “The Cloud”. Cigarette smoke always shrouded his head with a nicotine halo.

“Report to a meeting with Colonel Timur Samirovich Valiulin. He expects you at his office promptly at noon.”

Moscow Police Lt. Col. Ivan Navalny reread the order. His morning cup of coffee acquired the flavor of day-old bile. He thought about the strange wording of the last sentence.

Does The Cloud expect me to be late to a meeting?

Why does he expect me to be a no-show?

Who decided that I have to meet with scum like Valiulin?

Lt. Col. Navalny took another sip of the bitter gall and headed straight to his boss’s office. “What business do we have with Valiulin? . . . Why do I have to go meet him?”

His boss struck a match. The flame kissed a cigarette in his mouth. Thin strips of smoke rose from two other lit Sobranies on the ashtray. “That’s what you’re going to find out.”

~ ~ ~

Navalny left his office at 38 Petrovka. Criminals know the police headquarters building as
The Old Lady
. The edifice had started out as the elegant mansion of Prince Shcherbatov more than 200 years ago. But like many a portly and aging matron she had aged into a depressing and imposing structure that was at odds with the attractive, sleek, and modern buildings in the affluent Tverskoy District in central Moscow. Older Russians still looked at the building with fear and loathing because it had once served—along with Lubyanka—as the nerve center of Stalin’s reign of communist terror.

“Here we go,” said Navalny as he squeezed his lanky 6-foot frame inside the tiny and hideous Zaporozhet.

The car from the Soviet era was an embarrassment if not an insult. But at least it got him around town when it worked or when he was given a gasoline allowance. Navalny found it outrageous that a senior policeman like himself had to drive such a heap around Moscow—the city with the most billionaires in the world. And yet the grotesque and outdated vehicle was the only transportation that he could muster from the Moscow Police, which is better known as GUVD or Main Department of Internal Affairs of Moscow.

Navalny had plenty of time to think in the infernal traffic jam about Col. Timur Samirovich Valiulin.

He’s a snake . . . a hatchet man who does the dirty work for the powers that be. . . .

The colonel had made his reputation early on when he became the deputy chief of the 16th Division of the Moscow GUVD’s Directorate for Combating Economic Crime (UBEP). Valiulin caught the eye of President Putin who then promoted Valiulin from fighting organized crime to fighting terrorists and extremists as the head of the Moscow Police’s “E-Center” or Center for Combating Extremism.

Valiulin is dangerous. I must be careful.

The colonel had amassed incredible power because Russia’s President and his henchmen define all political opposition as extremists and terrorists. Valiulin’s expertise in organized crime was soon employed to destroy so-called “enemies of the state” by examining, auditing, and criminalizing the legitimate bank accounts and business activities of anyone who dissented or criticized the people at the very top of government and business.

Valiulin is not just dangerous . . . he’s beyond dangerous. He’s a threat now that the President appointed him to a new office in the Russian federation government.

Navalny parked his car in front of 16 Zhitnaya Street by driving up on a broad sidewalk that was already packed with government workers’ cars. He was curious about Col. Valiulin’s new job at the Ministry of Internal Affairs. He walked towards the modern white building which vaguely reminded him of a small version of CIA headquarters at Langley.

Valiulin must be licking lots of boots if his office is on the top floor.

~ ~ ~

A discrete sign in the hallway announced:

CENTER FOR COMBATING EXTREMISM.

A chigger of jealousy dug into Navalny. He resented Col. Valiulin’s presidential appointment as the head of the E-Center for the entire country. Navalny simply could not accept that someone as dangerous as Valiulin was now in charge of all anti-terrorism and anti-extremism activities in Russia.

A beautiful but pretentious blond secretary looked down her nose at Navalny. “Yes?”

“Here to see Timur.”

A hint of a frown marred the woman’s exquisite features. She obviously did not approve of Navalny’s disrespectful use of her boss’s first name. “And you are? . . .”

“Ivan . . . Ivan Navalny.”

“Please wait to be called inside.”

Navalny examined the expensive but bland artwork on the wall. He did not look forward to dealing with a ruthless back-stabbing power-grabber.

“This way please,” said a slightly less pretentious male assistant.

Navalny followed the armed and smartly uniformed aide. Vague feelings of inadequacy washed over Navalny. His cheap civilian suit felt grossly inadequate. He wondered if he should start wearing his uniform and carrying his official gun.

~ ~ ~

Col. Timur Samirovich Valiulin sat behind a massive burl ash desk in an imposing corner office. The man was a sharp well-dressed werewolf. He had a thick and trimmed black beard that hid all facial expressions. Valiulin wore a solid helmet of black hair on his head and a sleek wardrobe that reeked of Ermenegildo Zegna. The hirsute colonel pointed at a chair and said:

“Have a seat. . . . So we meet again.”

“It was bound to happen. What’s this meeting about?”

“I need to know something.”