The kid watching the warehouse who’d lost his nerve would be an important witness, but Thera wasn’t sure what to do with him. Turning him over to the South Korean security forces didn’t make sense for many reasons. For one thing, it was very possible Park was working with the government in some way; handing him to the intelligence agency might be the same as giving him to the billionaire’s lackey, Li.
And for another, his two dead comrades would have to be explained, probably ad infinitum.
The only thing Thera could think of to do with him was to take him to Seoul, where she could leave him with the CIA people at the embassy. He sat meekly in the passenger seat, hands cuffed, oblivious as she attempted to pry a little more information out of him.
“I’ll put on music if you want,” she told him, trying to get him out of his fugue.
The kid continued to stare straight ahead.
Maybe there’s something about me that makes men go catatonic, she thought to herself.
She was about an hour out of Seoul when the sat phone rang. It was Corrine Alston.
“Can you talk?” asked Corrine.
“It depends,” said Thera. “What’s up?”
“We want you to get Park,” said Corrine. “Arrest him, offer him protection . . . whatever it takes.”
“Protection? He’s behind the whole thing.”
“Tell him whatever you want, just get him. We don’t want the South Koreans dealing with him on their own; they may have been in on it, and will simply use him as a scapegoat. You have to get him before they do.”
“It’s not a matter for debate.”
Right, thought Thera. Dumb ideas never are.
“Do you know where he is?” Thera asked.
“That’s your department. Colonel Van Buren is detailing you a Special Forces team.”
“I don’t think it’ll work.”
“You have to make it work. It’s what the president wants.”
Thera glanced at her passenger, still catatonic.
“You don’t really know what you’re asking,” she told Corrine. “It’s not going to work.”
“Well, try, damn it.”