Upended 

 

 

IN THE SHORT TIME SEYMOUR WAS ON THE CASE for the Koreans, they were beholden: he’d managed to pry open doors in Washington that had been shut tight by their indiscretions, both “export and sexport” as he put it. “You don’t work in D.C. for a score of years without knowing where the bodies are buried,” he told Nick when they met at Zorba’s. “Now let’s step back and see where Harris is going with these photos of yours. First of all, somebody out there doesn’t want Hamilton testifying—probably the man himself.”

Nick interrupted, “And so... ”

“Let me finish.  If you don’t call off the dogs, they’re dropping the dime over the photos. You need to tell them what you know, and what you’re willing to bury if they back off.”

“Well, what do we know that will get them to do that?”

“Not a lot, but remember: like blindfolded chess, they don’t know how the pieces are arranged on your side. We can bluff our way out.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense. What the hell’d you find out?”

“Big man Hamilton makes two or three trips a year to India. According to the export records, Hamilton Helicopters uses Mitchell Exporters out of Brooklyn to ship parts to Calcutta, which through an importer are delivered to Crawford, Singh and Sons. Assumption one, Hamilton sees Crawford when he’s in India.”

“Not enough there,” Nick said.

“No, you’re right, but my contact—none other than Colonel Park—tells me Crawford, Singh and Sons is a PRC front.” A Cheshire cat smile crossed Seymour’s face.

“Un-fucking-believable! Hamilton’s selling to the Reds?!” Nick could hardly contain his excitement. “Who’s Crawford? I mean, who’re the principles?”

 “Only thing we know is the guy that interfaces with the Chinese is out of Hong Kong, Cho Tat Wah.”

“Who?” Nick could not believe he had heard correctly.

Seymour  was ready. “Not who. Wah. Yup, rings a bell, doesn’t it? Cho Tat Wah.”

“Wow.” Nick was flabbergasted. “Shit, Hamilton’s in bed with Cho, commandant of Camp 13.” When he had recovered his composure, he asked, “And after this, there’s a ‘second of all?’ You said, ‘first of all.’”

“Oh yeah, right,” Seymour responded.  “Second of all, don’t think this is just about protecting Trent Hamilton’s political ambitions.”

Nick grimaced, “What’re you saying, Seymour?”

“Think, Nick. Who risks most if it comes to light that Trent Hamilton has been cozy with Cho Tat Wah?”

“You mean since Camp 13?”

“Oh, that may have been the root, but no, I mean when Hamilton and Cho Tat Wah linked up in the late 60s, these despicable bastards needed a confederate right here in the good ole U.S. of A.—someone who knew how to turn the crank to make the wheels go round. Things don’t happen like this unless all the parts are engaged. All at a price, I’m sure.”

“Have anyone in mind?” Nick asked.

“Not a clue...  yet.”  

Nick sat back, the enormity was beginning to sink in.

Freedman lit up a cigarette. His eyebrows moved nervously. “Nick, here’s what I suggest. You call Harris, tell him you want to meet. Only the two of you. Do it off-campus. The coffee shop next to the courthouse. Get close to him. Whisper in his fucking ear. You tell him that you’re about to subpoena records from Mitchell Exporters that will trace parts to Crawford. Since he knows you were in Korea, you tell him that you got a witness at the highest level of the Korean government that will testify or supply an affidavit that Crawford’s a Chinese military front.”

Nick thought he saw the flaw in the strategy. “Yeah, but if I were to try and get into this at trial, he would have objected on relevancy grounds.  It’s collateral...  presuming, of course, Hamilton would deny the connection between HH and Crawford. Harris’d know this.”

Seymour blew smoke in Nick’s face. “Nick, you’re missing the goddamn point. These guys can’t risk it. The downside’s fucking explosive. I know this is BS, but he can’t take that chance. If they went through the trouble of tracking you down in Korea, they know you met with the ROK, they know I was there for Christ’s sake. They know who I am. They’re not going to risk it.”

He took a deep drag. “They know that they better not miscalculate what we can do.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Nick shook his head slowly.

“Even if you couldn’t get it in at trial, they’d be afraid of someone raising the matter before the Commerce Department. The last time I checked, Red China’s still on the “Commerce Control List” as a country that requires a license. And for military use parts?  Well, there’re no such licenses I know of. This ain’t a case of being de-listed at the defense department, it’s jail time, espionage, all that shit.” Freedman scripted it like he was screenwriting for a James Bond movie.

“So, I tell Harris I have this info. He’ll be shit-faced when he figures his own skin’s in the game. He’d have knowledge of possible criminal activity, espionage...  he’s a federal fucking lawyer working for the Justice Department. He’s going to have to deal with that. Second, he’ll figure that if they continue to hold the pictures over me that this thing can blossom into something that might bring Hamilton and his company to their knees.”

Freedman lit another cigarette. “Checkmate, as we say.”