The black leather miniskirt was a little stiff, but there was no doubt it was effective; the security officer at the gate of Science Industries had trouble getting his eyes back in their sockets before waving Thera and her driver into the complex. The male receptionist was more influenced by cleavage; he stared at her chest as he dialed the managing director to tell him his appointment had arrived.
“But you do not seem to have an appointment,” he told Thera.
“I would think he’d talk to me, wouldn’t you? It has to do with a mutual business acquaintance, a Mr. Manski. The Russian. Would you remember him yourself?”
Thera leaned over the desk. The receptionist, in his early twenties, looked as if he was about to have a coronary.
“No. I wouldn’t remember anything,” said the man. He got back on the phone and persuaded the managing director’s secretary that the boss would definitely want to meet the visitor.
A few minutes later, Thera was escorted into the director’s office. She was playing the role of a jilted business partner, out to find Ferguson because he owed her money. In theory, she was Irish, the redheaded daughter of a one-time IRA member who’d done some business with Ferguson in the past, Deidre Clancy. There was a real Deidre Clancy, but she was presently serving time in an Angola prison after being caught short of bribe money on a deal Ferguson had arranged for her.
Thera told herself to tone down her performance, afraid she was going too far over the top. But it was like trying to stop yourself from skiing downhill in the middle of the slope.
And besides, wasn’t that one of Ferguson’s rules? When in doubt, push it as far as it will go?
The managing director’s secretary said that Dr. Ajaeng was very busy and might not be able to see her before lunch.
“Then perhaps he and I should have lunch,” suggested Thera. She took a seat opposite the secretary, adjusting her skirt.
The managing director’s schedule cleared up within minutes. The secretary personally escorted her, stroking the back of Thera’s fake fur coat.
“How can we help you?” said the managing director.
“I am looking for a friend. Or, rather, a business acquaintance. A special business acquaintance.”
As Thera sat in the seat near his desk, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to the managing director. He shook his head. There had been signs downstairs saying that smoking was not allowed in the building, but the director didn’t object as she lit up.
This was a trick she had learned from Ferguson. Breaking rules always had an effect on a subject. Sometimes it annoyed them and made them want to get rid of you. Other times it created an unspoken intimacy, making them a partner in crime. Either way, it gave you something to use.
The effect on Dr. Ajaeng was somewhere between the two.
“I don’t know what friend we might share,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
“Ivan Manski. Call it a business associate, for I’m not feeling very friendly toward him today. He was here some days ago trying to sell . . . ,” Thera paused. “Scientific instruments.”
“Manski. No I don’t recall him.”
His expression indicated otherwise.
“Mr. Manski and I, we have an interesting arrangement. He happens to owe me a spot of money,” said Thera.
She stopped right there. That was enough.
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that,” said the managing director.
“Of course not.” Thera smiled, then rose to go. “Is Mr. Park in?”
“Mr. Park?”
“I believe our friend went to North Korea with him. Perhaps he might know where he has gone to.”
“Mr. Park never comes here.”
“I thought he had an office. My mistake.” Thera started for the door, then abruptly turned back, catching Dr. Ajaeng staring at her. “I’m at this hotel. Ask for me. Deidre. They’ll know.”
Too much, too much, too much, Thera told herself as she left. Even so, she made a point of saying good-bye to both the secretary and the receptionist, and waved at the guard as her driver took her out of the complex.
Are they working?”
“Loud and clear,” Lauren DiCapri told Thera. “What are you wearing, anyway?”
“Well, now, do you think I’d be telling you that?”
Lauren laughed. “They want to jump your bones.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You dyed your hair orange?”
“Kind of an orange red. Goes with the new haircut.”
“It must be a stunner.”
“Thank you.”
“The managing director called someone named Li and told him about you. Li seems to be an assistant to Park; I have Ciello checking it out.”
“Have they called the hotel?”
“No. There’s been no attempt to check out your room, either.”
During her visit to Science Industries, Thera had left bugs under each chair she had sat in. The units transmitted what they heard to a booster station—it looked like an old-fashioned transistor radio—outside the grounds. The booster uplinked to a satellite, which in turn relayed to The Cube. The tiny bugs would work for roughly four hours.
Thera told Lauren she was going to change, then run some errands. “Let me know if anything comes up.”
“What kind of errands?”
“I want to check out the trucks at the university where Ferguson planted the gamma tabs.”
“Be careful, Thera. Really careful.”
“That would take all of the fun out of it.”
Thera had dismissed her driver after the visit to Science Industries, so she had to navigate the clogged and confusing local roads herself in a rented Daewoo. The traffic wasn’t that bad, she decided after a few minutes, as long as you followed the golden rule of international driving: Once moving, don’t stop for anything.
Thera spotted both trucks near a loading dock at the university. She pulled in next to them, ignoring the sign that indicated she wasn’t allowed to park there.
Thera had no idea where Ferguson would have put the gamma tags, and it took quite a while before she finally discovered one in the space near the door of the first truck. Thera rolled up the door and dug it out with her fingernails; it had not been exposed to any radiation.
She was just opening the back of the second truck when a gruff voice asked her in Korean what the hell she thought she was doing.
Two men in overalls with university emblems stared at her from the asphalt.
“What are you doing in the truck?”
“Are these your trucks?” she answered, using English. “The trucks. Oh, do you understand English?”
Her brain spun for a second, trying to translate. The Korean word for truck, teureok, was easy, but she had to gather it into a sentence to show, no, to ask, about possession. By the time she did, the shorter of the two men had told her, in English, that these were the school’s trucks, and by the way, Miss, you’re not allowed to park here.
“I need to have some things moved,” Thera told him, jumping on the pretense as it flew into her head. “And I was wondering if these were big enough.”
“These are school’s trucks, Miss. Teachers can’t use them.”
“Well, yes, of course.” Thera pushed open the door. The tab was on the right side, in the crack at the bottom.
Was the top red?
No.
“Can they be hired?” said Thera.
“What do you mean?”
Thera climbed up into the back. “I have to move some furniture. I’ve been staying in the city, but I’m going to have to fly back to Ireland and I need to ship things. I don’t know what to do.”
The taller man told her in Korean that she was crazy and that she must come out of the vehicle instantly.
“I’m not crazy,” she said. “But I have only a few days.”
“You can rent a truck,” said the shorter man. “There are many places.”
“I was told there weren’t. If you want to ship in an airplane, you have to make special arrangements.”
“Well, that is not always true. They have containers for shipments. We brought one to the airport just the other day.”
He raised his hand to help her down. Thera pretended not to see it, squatting down.
“Yesterday?”
“Two, three days ago.”
The day Ferguson had gone to the airport?
“Which day?” asked Thera.
The man shrugged. “Three days.”
“So you can carry heavy things,” she said quickly.
“Of course.”
“Really heavy?”
“The container was very heavy,” said the man. “So heavy we almost were in trouble.”
Keep the conversation moving, Ferguson had told her. Don’t give them time to realize how truly odd your questions are.
Did he say that, or did she imagine he said that?
“I do have a lot of things that need to be moved,” Thera told him.
“Don’t say anything to her,” said the other man, again in Korean. “She’s a lunatic.”
“But pretty,” said the other man.
“You have air in your head,” his companion told him. “You’re thinking with your privates.”
The other man walked toward the other truck. Thera sat on the edge of the truck, swinging her blue-jean-clad legs.
“Maybe you could rent a truck for me?” she asked. “I love Korea, but sometimes it can be difficult to understand what needs to be done.”
The man seemed willing to help, though he wanted a lot more than just a few thousand won out of it. Thera quizzed him on where he had been under the guise of asking about his truck-driving abilities. Again he mentioned the delivery to the Gimpo airport, where he and his friend had taken a relatively small but very heavy cargo container. He was an extremely careful driver, he said, and had even taken his vehicle to explosive plants.
“To carry explosives?” Thera asked.
“Just went there?”
“I go where I’m told.”
Special licenses were needed to transport explosives, and it was not clear whether he was avoiding the question to make himself seem more competent or to stay out of trouble.
His companion blared the horn in the other truck.
“You must move your car. The police will have it towed,” said the man.
“You’re very sweet,” Thera said, touching his shoulder. “Give me your phone number so I can call you.”