PART III
Chapter One
I had been relaxing on the bench only a couple of minutes when a tall, thin man sat down beside me. He wore a felt hat with a feather stuck in the band. It wasn’t a whole feather, or if it was, it was from a very small bird. The hat didn’t do much for him, but he didn’t seem to care. The sun was up and the clouds were clinging to the western horizon, so it looked like it might be a nice day. Even so, the lakefront was practically deserted. Only a few people were out for solitary morning strolls, probably waiting for the cafés near the lake to open. Along the path where I sat there were several other benches, all vacant, but the man in the feathered hat clearly wanted to be on this particular one. This bench, and only this bench, would do.
Maybe it was his usual place to sit early in the morning; maybe he often put on that green felt hat and came here to think about his life. Maybe in taking up his normal spot, I was interfering with a rite that had by now begun to define his existence. It seemed churlish of me to do so, and I almost got up to move. On second thought, I told myself, maybe being overseas, in unfamiliar surroundings, was causing me to philosophize myself into a corner. I’d only been here a day; it was too soon to feel guilty.
The man didn’t say anything at first, just sat looking out at the water with a completely relaxed air. He took off the hat and laid it on the bench so that it sat between us, the feather pointing at me. Then he pulled a croissant from his pocket and tore off a piece, which he chewed slowly. He stood up and threw the rest to the swans, who had assembled in the shallow water near the shore, about ten steps away. The strollers had gone past, and there wasn’t anyone else around except an elderly couple with a child, very subdued and with a serious look on his face. I wondered if the child had been vetted, or maybe the swans. This was a setup. I could feel it in my bones.
The man sat down again; he didn’t even turn his head when he spoke. “Against my advice, you were given permission to enter.” His English was deliberate, like a person might speak to a dog whose intentions are unclear. “I don’t control the border. But here, inside, you are mine. You understand? Your every move will be watched. If you enjoy the scenery, I will receive a report on what you looked at, how long you observed it, whether you took a picture. I’ll even know what exposure you used on the camera. If you stop for a drink at a bar, I’ll get word in a trice what you ordered, how big a tip you left, whether you stared at anyone, or made small talk, or winked at the Indonesian prostitutes hanging around at the entrance. I’m going to be all over you until you get back on an airplane and fly away—far, far away.” An insect landed on his shoulder. He crushed it quickly, examined what was left, and then flicked the pieces onto the grass. “Fine weather for February.” He stood up. “I wish you a pleasant stay in Geneva.” He left the hat on the bench. I don’t like green felt. As he strolled away, I had the feeling neither did he.
2
The entire team—all six of them—sat around a table in a small room that overlooked the entrance and the wide steps that came up from the driveway. The curtains were shut, and the air was stale, a little overheated, I thought, as soon as I walked into the room. Five heads turned and followed my progress to the one empty chair. Only the delegation leader ignored me. He sat hunched over an open binder of papers, occasionally marking a page or underlining a word. A tiny black notebook lay to one side. As I sat down, a young man across the table frowned. “You’re late,” he said.
His face rang a bell, but only faintly. “No one told me we were meeting until a few minutes ago,” I said mildly. “A bit more notice might have been helpful. It certainly would have been polite.” This was an awkward beginning to what already had all the hallmarks of an unpleasant assignment. They didn’t want me around; that much had been made perfectly clear.
“Never mind,” the head of delegation said, still studying his papers.
Nice touch, I thought. Busy man, too busy to look up. He might not know me, but I already had become as familiar with him as I wanted to be. His file had been handed to me before I left Pyongyang, two bulging folders stuffed with irrelevant gossip and a nugget or two of useful information. There had even been a fair character sketch by someone who had watched him closely for years. The photographs, as usual, were old. He had lost weight, and maybe a little bit of hair.
“You’re here. Exactly why or what you’ll be doing on this delegation isn’t clear to me. All we know is that your name was transmitted as a late addition. There aren’t even any instructions on how I’m supposed to introduce you.” He looked up and smiled wryly, just as he apparently had done hundreds of times before in situations he didn’t like. I studied his face. The photographs in the file may have been old, but his eyes were the same—more observant than they first appeared. If you didn’t pay attention, you’d think he had soft eyes. It was a mistake you didn’t want to make.
A few days ago, just before I climbed the stairs to the airplane in Pyongyang, Sohn had emphasized that I was to keep close tabs on this man—our friend the diplomat, Sohn had called him. “Make sure you keep him in your sights,” he said. “Don’t forget, the Center considers the diplomatic mission in Geneva a sensitive place, for reasons that go beyond anything you’d be interested in knowing. In simplest terms, if our friend the diplomat doesn’t return to Pyongyang from there, you’re in shit up to your ears.” I figured if Sohn mentioned ears, it must be serious.
At the moment, the delegation leader didn’t look like he was in danger of going anywhere or doing anything untoward. I took out a couple of pencils and lined them up in front of me. Then I reached into my jacket pocket and found a small notepad, which I put next to the pencils. When I had everything straight and square, I looked up and studied each of the delegation members in turn. Most of them gave me blank stares, or what they hoped were blank. It’s hard for people to keep up the pretense of disinterest when they are holding their breaths.
“Whatever you decide,” I said at last, after I’d wrung the final drop of drama from the moment. The delegation started breathing again. At least they knew where things stood. Showing them I couldn’t be pushed around was something they could understand. It wouldn’t do any good to go beyond that, especially if I was supposed to keep close to their boss. Doing that would be easier if he didn’t bristle every time he saw me.
“Good.” The delegation leader didn’t seem fazed by how long I had taken to answer him. In his universe, if he didn’t react to an insult, it fell to the floor and could be kicked away. “I’ll say you are Mr. Kim, a researcher in the Ministry. Can you remember that? They think everyone is named Kim, so it won’t even register with them.”
“Fine by me.” Nice jab—can you remember that? I ignored it, but it didn’t exactly fall to the floor. Everyone around the table had heard it and was scoring one for their side. I wasn’t crazy with the title “researcher,” either. It sounded like I brought tea in for the heavyweights.
“That’s fine, then,” he said evenly. “Everything’s fine. I’m glad we settled that.” Another smile. “Perhaps something will come in the overnight cable traffic that will tell us a little more about how we’re supposed to deal with you.” He looked around at the others, but none of them had anything to add, so he continued. “Sometimes we break for coffee during the talks. We do that to manage the pace. It has nothing to do with wanting coffee or one of those little cookies we’ve gone out and bought. You should hang back when we break. Don’t mingle.” He slipped the little book into the inside pocket of his coat. “Pretend you’re working on your notes or something. If one of them comes up to you, act like you don’t speak English. You don’t, do you?”
“I know some.” A little cookie now and then would be good.
The man across from me studied the top of the table carefully. Now I remembered. We’d had an entire conversation in English, standing in the hallway of the Foreign Ministry a few years ago. It was in the spring, and the windows of the offices were open to let in the breeze. Neither of us had said anything important, just a few idle minutes trying to come up with a vocabulary word or two the other didn’t know. “At least, I think I can speak a couple of words. I used to.”
“Well, forget whatever you knew. If they sense you understand English, they’ll constantly be trying to draw you out. How about French? You don’t know any French, do you? German?”
“No. Don’t worry, I’m not here to get in your way.”
This time his smile was broader, more encompassing. There was nothing I could do but get in his way, and we both knew it. “See that you don’t, and everything will be fine. You probably have your own reporting channels.” There was a sense that he was trying hard not to sound irritated. “I realize you’ll write what you feel like writing, and it is unlikely you’ll show it to me before sending it out. That’s how these things usually work, isn’t it?” He pursed his lips and took off his glasses. That had been in his file, how he pursed his lips when he was displeased. “An unconscious pout,” one entry read.
“Do you need to see our reports as well?” His voice took on a mock-friendly ring. “Even if you read them, of course, you have no authority to make changes. I’ve already checked. The rules for outgoing telegrams from a permanent diplomatic mission are the same as those that apply to the embassies—the ambassador at post gets to comment on whatever goes through our channels if he wants to, but his is the last word. Especially”—he let that word burrow in nice and deep, and then repeated it to make sure there was no mistake—“especially here.”
“Unless, of course, there are overriding orders.” I threw that in the pot to see if it would unsettle him. It didn’t.
“There are no such orders. If any do come in, let’s deal with them then, shall we?”
It must have been something they taught in the Foreign Ministry. Never let a point go unchallenged. There were times we worked that way, too. But I wasn’t in the mood, and this didn’t seem like one of those times. Something about that episode on the bench earlier in the morning had set my teeth on edge. I wasn’t ready to battle with one of my own diplomats over millimeters. “Actually, I don’t need to see your reports; I’m not interested in reading fiction.”
There was an intake of breath from the delegation, which stared at me in unison like a set of oversharpened penknives. Then they each turned away and began going through their script for the meeting. One or two sneaked a glance at me. The young man smiled to himself. He looked like he might know a thing or two. I made a mental note to talk to him later, when I could get him alone.
3
On the day I left Pyongyang, almost at the last minute while we waited in a special room that kept me out of sight of the rest of the passengers and anyone else in the terminal building, Sohn finally told me why he was sending me to Geneva.
“You’ll be on the delegation to the talks.”
“What talks?”
“The missile talks.” He watched me closely. “Something the matter?”
“Nothing.” Missiles. Hwadae county. Pakistan. The dead woman. A lot of tabs were fitting into a lot of slots.
The first round of negotiations, Sohn said, had been in Berlin. They had produced nothing, other than the estimate that the second round wouldn’t produce anything, either. Just having another session was considered good enough. After some internal discussions in the Center, it had been decided that, off to the side during the next round of talks, there would be a chance to pass the following message: Beware, you never know when starving people might do crazy, irrational, dangerous things. They’d told Sohn to find someone who could do that, and after rummaging through the files, he’d selected me. I had been overseas, I didn’t freeze up around foreigners, and I had a good revolutionary pedigree. They also wanted someone to keep an eye on the delegation leader, but most of all, my assignment was to deliver that message. The messenger was important, and I checked all the boxes, that’s what Sohn said. I didn’t believe him. It was all smoke.
“How do I deliver this message? Over drinks? Crudely handwritten on a piece of paper?”
“Up to you,” Sohn said. “You’re smart. You assess the situation. But however you do it, slip it in like an assassin’s blade. Make sure they feel it. Make sure they don’t forget.”
Why not let the diplomats do it? I asked. It was their job, wasn’t it? It’s what they’re trained to do, to circle around the bush, dropping hints here and there, shards and splinters to be reassembled in faraway buildings. Sohn snorted. “I don’t trust them to do it right. Most of a message isn’t content anyway, but context, tone, the play of light and dark across the mind. These striped pants have no sense of menace. They smile too much, they laugh.” He laughed. “You see? It sets you at ease.” Then he barked and cleared his throat. “I don’t want the Americans at ease. I want them tossing at night, waking at odd hours in a sweat.” He laughed again, as if he finally found something that pleased him. “What sort of message is that?”
“Why the drama, hiding me away in this little room?”
“You’ll board a few minutes after everyone else. The plane will wait around with the door open until our sedan pulls up. The crew will know there was a last-minute passenger put aboard; they’ll tell their friends. The story will seep in here and there. That’s good. I’ll get out of the car just long enough to wave good-bye. I want some people to wonder what I’m doing.”
4
The delegation leader looked at his watch and stood up. “Time to get moving,” he said. He turned to me. “We got off to a bad start. I apologize.” He extended a hand. “Nothing is easy these days. It’s hard enough to do my job under normal circumstances. We’ll stay out of each other’s way.”
I went on high alert. I’d been with smooth characters before, but this one was going to be a champion, I could tell. I shook his hand.
“Once we go into the meeting room, please sit at the end, next to Mr. Roh.” The young man, the one who had smiled to himself, nodded slightly. “If we decide to break for a delegation meeting, come out of the room with us. It’s their turn to invite us to dinner, which they’ll probably do just as we adjourn for lunch. I’ll accept, but we’ll make excuses for your inability to attend.”
This was the first real sign of the game he was going to play, keeping me in a box. “I’m afraid I have to tag along,” I said. “Where you go, I go, too.” That card was on the table. I wanted to see what he would do with it.
He shook his head. “The instructions I received this morning said only that you were to attend the talks; there was nothing about the dinners.” The man was a curious mix. One minute he was pliable, the next he was unbending. His tone of voice stayed calm throughout; even the look on his face didn’t change that much. Somehow, though, he conveyed what he wanted you to know. On my being at his dinner table, he was adamantly opposed.
“Maybe not, but I’m afraid you have no choice.”
His reply was cut off when the door opened and a woman looked in. “Their cars are on the way up the drive.”
“Very well. We’ll greet them in the entry hall. Everyone put on a pleasant face.” The delegation leader turned to me. “It’s how we conduct our business. We are pleasant. You don’t object?”
I smiled at him. “Will this do?”
“It would be best if you came in at the last minute. If they see a new face during the initial pleasantries, it may put them off.” He looked at my jacket and swallowed hard. “Your pin seems to have gone missing.”
“It does seem to have done that.” I hadn’t even brought the pin bearing the leader’s small portrait with me to Geneva. I was indifferent to wearing it, but I didn’t like sticking my finger every time I put it on. Pak never commented on its absence anymore, and Sohn—though I was sure he had noticed right away—never said anything. I straightened my tie. “How do I look?”
The delegation filed into the front hall. I went over to the window and pulled back the drapes. A sedan pulled up, followed by a van. The press had been allowed in the compound, and the photographers were taking a lot of pictures of nothing. When I heard people moving into the meeting room, I slipped in the side door. No one gave me a second look.
Once we were seated, the introductions began. People nodded solemnly when their names were mentioned. “And finally, at the far end to my left is Mr. Kim.” The faces across the table turned to look. “He is a researcher in the Ministry, assigned temporarily to our mission here.” It sounded ridiculous, though the other side didn’t seem to notice. A couple of them made notes; the rest stared at me for a moment, thoroughly uninterested or uncomprehending. Or both.
I didn’t plan on picking up my pen during the session. No sense looking like a minor scribe; it was bad enough to be introduced as a researcher. When the time came to pass the message Sohn had given me, it was important that they thought I had credibility. I couldn’t give off those vibrations if they considered me a table sponge. One member of our delegation had already closed his eyes. That wasn’t something I could do. Sohn had told me I was supposed to keep my eyes open. I decided to sit back and frown, with an occasional glance at the ceiling. From across the table, maybe it would appear I was following the discussions with disdain. It only took a few minutes for me to realize that was impossible. I was bored to tears. My eyes shut, and it was pleasant until I heard Mr. Roh whisper in my ear, “We try not to snore in these sessions.” He closed his notebook. “But we can petition for an exception in your case.”
5
“You spend a lot of time looking at the lake.” The next morning, the tall man sat down beside me. It was the same bench, but this time he wore a dark blue beret. He seemed more comfortable in that than in the green felt hat. “It seems it might snow. Nothing to write home about,” he said, looking straight ahead, almost as if he didn’t know I was there. “But then, you don’t write home, do you? You don’t write, you don’t phone. You’re almost always out by yourself. Why is that, I wonder? It’s very odd. You’re not thinking about defecting, I hope.”
“Only if it gives you sleepless nights.”
“Why did they introduce you at the talks yesterday as a ministry researcher?”
“It’s an honorary title.” I smiled. “I’m flattered that you were listening.”
“It’s not what appears on your visa application. I could have you thrown out for lying to immigration authorities.”
“Why, what did it say on the application?”
“You didn’t fill it out?”
“Of course not. Do I look like I fill out my own visa applications?”
“It says you are a third secretary.”
I turned to him. “Third secretary? They could have done better than that.”
“You are more interesting than I was led to believe. How about a cup of coffee? Let’s get in out of this cold wind.”
“No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, though.” I thought that sounded diplomatic. A little oily, perhaps.
“Don’t worry, you can spend some time with me. None of your people are watching.”
“Someone is covering my back.”
“No. They were, but their car was in a minor accident and they’ve been detained.”
“I see.”
“These things happen in Geneva. On the weekends, with all the traffic, the roads can be difficult to negotiate.”
“Just the same, I think maybe I’ll just walk back to my mission. I saw some chestnut trees along the street I want to look at.”
“Your mission is on the other side of the lake, a long walk, especially in this weather. Perhaps you’d allow me to drive you? I could let you off a few blocks away, near the statue, the one of the woman whose lovely backside faces the road. No one would know.”
“Why this change of heart? Last time we met, you wanted me out of the country.”
“I did. For one thing, you people attract others. It’s as if you are flowers, and the bees of services from other countries cannot resist. They swarm in here and do silly things. That complicates my life, and I prefer life to be uncomplicated, or as uncomplicated as I can make it.”
“Let me know how it turns out.”
“To tell you the truth, I thought you were here to deal in missile parts. I’ve had enough of that for a while. In the last few weeks, I’ve gone through stacks of blurry copies of bills of sale and shipping manifests until I nearly went blind. If you were dealing in missile parts, I’d have booted you out without a second thought.”
“Why would I be dealing in missiles?”
He shrugged. “Why not? There’s money in it. Arms go through airports all the time. We usually don’t stop shipments unless they are labeled “Weapons;” it’s bad for commerce. In fact, yours is the only one we’ve stopped in a long time. We were asked to intercept it, so that’s what we did. The shipping form was unimaginatively filled out. ‘Bulldozer replacement parts,’ it said. I haven’t seen too many bulldozers with stabilizer fins, have you?”
“I don’t know anything about missiles. Or bulldozers, for that matter.”
“That was my conclusion, but it leaves a question. Why are you here?”
“Ah, finally. Why didn’t you ask before? It’s not a secret. I’m here because my mother likes chocolate, and the store near our villa in Pyongyang ran out.”
“Very good.” He laughed and looked around. “That will be a great shot, the chief of the Bundesamt für Polizei, sitting on a bench and laughing with a North Korean agent. Would you like a print? Or would you rather have a video of you with one of the Portuguese girls that hang out in our bars?”
“I don’t know any Portuguese girls. The other day you were pushing Indonesians.” The chief of Swiss counterintelligence was following me around? You’d think the man would have more important things to do.
He stood up. “My name, in case you are interested, is Beret. Please call me Monsieur Beret. I will call you Monsieur O. Or perhaps you’d rather I call you Inspector.” He watched for my reaction. I looked out at the lake and wondered briefly how much more he knew about me. And how he knew it.
“It will start to snow within the hour. Stay warm, Inspector, however you can.”
6
It was Saturday, so there were no talks scheduled. That was fine, because I didn’t want to go over to the mission and make faces at the diplomats. I wandered by the chestnut trees and watched for a while as they danced in the wind. You couldn’t say they were graceful. A couple of big cars drove up to the hotel across the street and parked, but no one got in or out. It was getting too windy to stand around, so I headed across one of the bridges into a shopping district. I started down a covered passageway, and there was the Man with Three Fingers, examining watches in the window of a jewelry store. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised he turned up again. I had been pretty sure that just paying for his drink at the Sosan coffee shop wouldn’t be enough to keep him out of my hair forever. Maybe I should have bought him lunch.
“A chance encounter, I suppose.” I walked up slowly and stopped a step behind him. He looked surprisingly at ease. At first I thought he hadn’t heard me, but he wouldn’t have missed my reflection on the glass. He moved, barely, to acknowledge my presence.
“I leave nothing to chance anymore. Maybe you shouldn’t either.” He pointed at a watch. “Do you see that? It costs twenty thousand euros. Why would anyone spend that amount of money on a watch?”
“Maybe they really, really want to be sure they know what time it is.”
He pointed at another watch. “That one is ten thousand euros. Do we conclude it only tells time half as well? Perhaps it only tells time during the day, and you need another watch, one with diamonds, for night.”
“Are you really supposed to be out all by yourself like this? I thought special police roamed in herds. Where are your pals?”
“You’re my pal, O. Remember?” He finally turned to face me. “Or do you still just discard people when it suits you?”
I let that alone. It wasn’t worth batting back. “The Swiss service is pretty good. They must have a bead on you already.”
“I doubt it. They think I’m Mexican.”
“Mexican? You know Spanish?”
“Don’t worry yourself over what I know.”
“I’m not. It’s just that the locals are keeping tabs on me, and by now I would assume they have taken twenty pictures of us standing here talking. Since I don’t know Spanish, they’ll assume you must know Korean. That will interest them, a Mexican with a mastery of Korean. They aren’t exactly kindred languages.”
“Really? And what would you call a kindred language to Korean?”
I figured he wasn’t really interested, so I kept quiet.
“Still the same, aren’t you? Just like on the operation. When you weren’t worrying, you were fussing. I guess you must have fussed all the way out of the room, with me on the floor. Of course, I wouldn’t know. I was bleeding and unconscious. Practically dead. I guess that must have worried you, huh?”
“Mexicans don’t speak Korean.”
“We could be speaking English, or Chinese. Like I said, don’t start worrying yourself on my account.” He looked back at the watches. “No matter how much they cost, they all mark time the same way. The casing doesn’t make a bit of difference; it doesn’t go any smoother, or faster, or happier. It just goes, isn’t that right? And sooner or later”—he touched my shoulder with his ruined hand—“it always runs out.”
A black car cruised by, the windows open.
“Well,” I said in a loud voice, “adios, amigo.”
7
Sunday it rained, and when it didn’t rain, it snowed. That night I had trouble sleeping. It was ten o’clock in the morning in Pyongyang, no wonder I couldn’t sleep. So what if the Swiss clocks showed 2:00 A.M.? That wasn’t the time in my head, or on my watch. I never changed my watch to local time. Who the hell cared what time it was in Switzerland? The message Sohn had given me kept running through my head. When was I going to deliver it?
I could see Sohn’s face, grim and deliberate, as he had gone over what he wanted me to convey. “They must be made to believe that we are about to collapse, that they will inherit more maggots than they can count, more bodies than they can bury, more disease than they can cure, more chaos than they can stomach. They are convinced that we are weak, on our last legs, about to collapse? Let them; let them worry every night when they go into their warm beds that we are about to hold our breaths until our wasted bodies fall across their doorstep. That’s good. We want them to think that, because it is the last thing they want. Do you imagine for one moment that they look forward to caring for us? Do you think they want the responsibility for twenty million beggars? Of course they don’t. It would interfere with their shopping, their specialty foods, their imported blouses and ties. The last thing our southern brothers want is for us to crawl into their fat lives, and so they will pay to prop us up. Believe me, Inspector, they will pay whatever it takes, and we will not let them get off on the cheap.”
“So,” I said, “we show the Americans we are weak.”
Sitting in that little room in the airport, I noticed that Sohn had rheumy eyes. That and his small ears did not make him look like a man on the way up. But appearance wasn’t everything. These days it wasn’t anything. Pak was right on this. The essential question wasn’t how pretty Sohn was, but how much power was behind him. I couldn’t be sure, but the more I thought about it, the more I had to guess it was plenty. Our ministry wasn’t easy to kick around; snatching personnel to send on funny assignments took clout.
“No!” Sohn shouted. I had jumped. People with rheumy eyes usually didn’t shout like that. “Haven’t you been listening? Not weak. Crazy. We show the Americans we are crazy, crazy enough to pull the trigger. Still strong enough for that, and plenty crazy. If they think we’re weak and rational, we’re finished. They have to think we have weapons that can destroy them, because in fact, we do. For that, these foolish missile talks cannot succeed. If we end up making a deal with the Americans, they’ll never deliver. And the people who actually can deliver will be dealt out of the game. And then, then we will be weak. Then they will walk over us, at which point you and I, Inspector, will be dead. So we will survive by looking like we can’t survive. We will survive by looking like we can’t be defeated.” Then he had relaxed, the way a tiger relaxes when it’s near a tethered goat. “You have your passport? Cash? Well, now you have your instructions, too. I have only one more thing to say: Don’t screw up, it might be our last chance.”
I remembered very clearly that final injunction. I turned it over in my mind. One of the roof timbers creaked in the cold, recalling something, and that’s when I knew it for sure. It wasn’t chance that Jen? had been assigned to our care. At two in the morning, there is a certain clarity that creeps around your brain. Tab A, slot B.
8
“I didn’t know you were allowed to travel these days.” My brother was never happy to see me, and certainly not by accident. I wasn’t happy to see him, either. When I woke up in the morning after a few hours of sleep, my stomach was bad. The talks had gone on all day, and my stomach hadn’t let up once. I wrote a cable for Sohn, but the code clerk wouldn’t take it for a couple of hours and I couldn’t leave it, so I sat around until almost 8:00 P.M., which was already 4:00 A.M. in Pyongyang. No one would read a message at 4:00 A.M., unless they couldn’t sleep. If I were in Pyongyang, I wouldn’t read a message at that time of the morning. If I had been in Pyongyang, I never would have run across my brother, who was standing in front of me in Geneva. I didn’t follow his travels, but I usually heard something whenever he left the country. This time I hadn’t heard a thing. Strange coincidence, us being here at the same time. I didn’t like it from any angle. I didn’t like being here with him, and I didn’t like the coincidence.
My brother and I agreed on nothing other than that we wanted our few meetings to be carefully planned ahead of time. In some ways, he and the Man with Three Fingers were alike, nothing left to chance, though my brother was smarter and more devious.
It had not always been this way between us. Our relations had never been good, but when we were younger, there had been less poison. When it was that things changed, I could not say and had stopped trying to understand. He traveled overseas frequently, ate at restaurants with crystal wineglasses, or so he liked to say. I didn’t know about the glasses that touched his lips, but I could see with my own eyes that he wore shoes with leather soles. He wouldn’t say what he did on those trips, and I never tried to find out. I could have flipped a file or made a call, but I didn’t want to know. My trips were simpler, easy liaison missions, cheap seats on trains, cheap meals, cheap liquor. No wonder my stomach was bad.
“Once in a while, there’s something to do,” I said. He looked like a prosperous Asian businessman, well-cut suit, perfectly fitted, pale blue shirt. “I do whatever there is to do, then go home. How was I to know you’d be here? If I’d known, I would have told them to get someone else.” His eyes were not as dangerous as they had once been. When he was younger, he could flay a person with his eyes.
“You never make things that simple. Who sent you here? Don’t bother being so secretive. All I have to do is make some phone calls.”
There was never a moment to breathe; as soon as we stepped into each other’s line of fire, the guns started booming. “What do you care? My orders are valid.”
“They can also be canceled.”
There was no sense standing in the damp evening continuing a struggle that would only end when both of us were dead. “Then get them canceled, it doesn’t matter to me. It wasn’t my idea to come out here in the first place.”
My brother stepped around a puddle. He looked carefully at his shoes. “I have a dinner. It will probably last until midnight. We can finish this conversation later. There’s a bar near a hotel on the main street that runs through Coppet, about ten kilometers up the lake.” He reached down and picked a wet leaf off the tip of one shoe. When he stood upright again, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers. This was his way of annoying me. It always worked. “Can you find it on your own? You’ll have to take a taxi or hire a car. Meet me there at 1:00 A.M. Everything else in town will be closed but that bar; it will be hard to miss.” He folded the handkerchief carefully, so that all the edges were in line, then put it back into his pocket.
“There may be a parade of people tagging along behind me. They think I’m selling missile parts.”
My brother froze. It was only for a heartbeat, but I saw it. “Surely you’re not peddling missile parts these days,” I said. “Isn’t that beneath you?
“And surely you’re not digging into other people’s business these days. Oh, wait, I forgot, that’s your job, isn’t it?”
I turned and walked away, up the hill to the drab hotel where I was staying. The mission said it didn’t have space for me, and anyway, my instructions from Sohn were to keep clear of the mission as much as possible when we weren’t in talks. If I seemed to be operating outside the normal bubble, that would attract attention, he said, which is what he wanted me to do. Attract attention. From the two cars parked at either end of the street, it appeared I was succeeding. I decided not to go back to my room yet. I’d seen some beech trees that had been cut down a few streets away; maybe there would be a few chips I could pick up to bring home.
It was hard to find beechwood in Pyongyang. One year my grandfather went to great lengths to have some shipped from Bulgaria. I had imagined a whole trainload would pull up to our door, but there were only a few boards. He treasured them. The day they arrived, we celebrated as if there had been an addition to our family. For months they sat in the house, carefully leaning against the wall in the room where my grandfather sat and wrote letters. I asked if I could help saw them. The old man shook his head. It was much too soon to talk about such things, he said. The boards needed to get accustomed to the place; they weren’t used to the climate, to the way we talked, to our dreams. The wood had to feel rested and comfortable, then it would be ready. Finally, on a spring afternoon nearly four months after our “guests” arrived, he said it was time. When I asked what he was going to make out of the boards, he looked surprised. “How would I know? The wood and I have to decide together, don’t we? Don’t think you can just impose your will on things. Don’t listen to this talk you’re hearing these days about man being at the center of creation. Wood doesn’t know about politics. And thank goodness for that.” It turned out that the beech wanted to be part of a chair. I only sat in it once, before my grandfather gave it away, a present to a friend in the army, a man with a long title and a nice office. When I went to visit him a few years after my grandfather died, he had disappeared, as had the chair.
The two beech trees had been cleared away. From the pale light of the single streetlight, I could see a little sawdust on the road, but nothing else. I walked down the hill again to town, figuring I’d sit in a quiet bar until it was time to go meet my brother. If anyone was following me, they would just have to wander around a bit or find a place to relax until I set off for Coppet. I wasn’t sure where Coppet was, but I wasn’t going to let my brother know that. It would give him too much satisfaction, dictating directions to me. It was bad enough he just assumed that I would accept a summons to meet him someplace out of town at 1:00 A.M. The only thing worse was that he was right.
I had been given a pocket map of Geneva before I left Pyongyang; I’d check it as soon as I found a place to sit down. It was an old map made in Hungary. Sohn had handed it to me with an odd look on his face. “What makes them think you’ll find this of any use,” he said, “I’ll never understand. It’s probably what Geneva looked like during the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Let’s hope it’s better than nothing.”
A woman in high heels, spikes that could go through your heart, passed me when I turned onto a main street in search of a café. She was blond, Russian, a face like a fox, though I don’t imagine a fox, even in a leather skirt, looks that way from the back. When she walked up to a man standing on the corner, it was clear they knew each other already. He put his arm around her waist. She drew away, just a tiny gesture, then settled against him. She doesn’t like him, I thought. Maybe she’ll murder him tonight, with those stiletto heels.