“Two North Korean defectors and former spies say Cold War-type missions are ongoing. One claims that hundreds of the communist nation’s agents are in the U.S. at any given time.” —
Fulghum drove into the parking area of the Dunkin’ Donuts in Needham, and Ken Mander pulled into the space right beside his. Mander got out of his vehicle and climbed into the passenger side of Fulghum’s car. Fulghum pulled into traffic and headed for the highway.
“Let’s drive for a while, John. It’s a beautiful, balmy night. Do you know the University Avenue stop on the AMTRAK route?”
Fulghum nodded.
“Well, head for that. I don’t know about you, but I need a smoke.”
Fulghum reached for his box of Marlboro Reds and gave a cigarette to Mander. The detective treated himself to another. They lit up and simultaneously rolled down their windows an inch.
Mander was silent for a while. Then he said, “John, I’m glad you survived to fight another day.”
“I thought you had my back.” He looked askance at his friend.
“Actually we were working against the same team, but it wasn’t only the three who broke through your door. Another team of three from the same source was planning to spoil Pounce’s party at the estate in Pittsfield.”
“I hope they didn’t make as much mess as the men who came for me.”
“Fortunately not. My people used a tranquilizer gun on one and killed the other two. The stunned man is now singing under implemented interrogation. The man you know as Rex Mason has a team working on the recordings of what he said.”
“So yours were Korean?”
“Yes. DPRK. They were unacknowledged agents on US soil. These agents are highly compartmentalized, so they execute on very limited orders and have no perspective beyond their individual tasks.”
“Have you learned anything useful from your interrogation?”
“The six clandestine operatives were sent into Massachusetts one week ago. They were supported by two sleeper agents already in place. The operators worked independently of the spotters for their targets, so we don’t know who the spotters are. My men are picking up the two sleepers as I speak. We’ll know more after they’ve been interrogated if all goes well.”
“Do the six operatives relate to what happened at the estate in Pittsfield?”
“Oddly, I don’t think so. In fact, I believe they’re a mop-up team sent in anticipation of actions by another sleeper group under separate leadership.”
“The complexity of this espionage design is intriguing, but not very helpful for my purposes.”
“We know for certain you and Pounce were targeted by name.”
“That’s something. Why did we rate top billing?”
“Someone is worried the two of you, working together, will discover something big. Perhaps you already have done so but don’t realize it.”
“Was Kim Su Baek specifically targeted?”
“Not according to the man we interrogated. He didn’t seem to know the name.”
“Of course, he may have known her by some other name.”
“Now you’re thinking like one of us. I’m going by knowledge we actually can verify. I must assume if two teams were sent to kill you both at the same time, others will follow to finish the botched jobs. Again, I urge you go to Pittsfield at your earliest opportunity so we can focus a defense on you and Pounce without becoming too stretched by geography.”
“Relax. I’m driving Sue out to Pittsfield tomorrow after a quick and necessary visit.”
“Will you tell me about the visit?”
Fulghum chain lit a cigarette and handed Mander another so he could do the same.
“I can do that, but I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell your people about it until I’ve completed the visit and driven to the Mass Pike. Also, I’ll need coverage for another person portal to portal.”
“Silvia?”
“Yes. Tell Figlear I need protection for Silvia from now until I return to the Greater Boston area. She’s in a red sector for reasons that will become clear.”
“I can do that.”
Fulghum nodded and took a long draft on his cigarette.
“I’ve seen a file that no longer exists because I burned it. It was comprised of notes by two reporters who interviewed Anderson and others but had their story spiked from on high. Some details in the surviving notes are red hot.”
“You have me intrigued. I thought the notebooks were the key to the mystery.”
“They’re important for the assassinations. They give nothing about why Anderson assumed the role he did. With the notebooks, we have the what. With the notes I read, we potentially have the why. After tomorrow morning I should be able to confirm that.”
“So we have two artifacts which may have triggered the hits.”
“I think the hits were to be accomplished simultaneously because we hadn’t yet put together what Pounce and I had independently discovered. Does that make sense?”
“I need more data before I can decide. Back up a few paces and put me in the picture.”
“Pounce found the Korean notebooks under the marble of the back entrance to the estate. I am linked to the rest of the notebooks and to the papers. They may give us insight into the motives. The more I dwell on the details I know, the more I’m convinced the answer to the mystery lies in how those materials integrate into a single picture. Now does that make sense?”
“I get it, but I don’t have a clue what the integration of those pieces means.”
Fulghum shrugged. “Neither do I. Do you care to brainstorm with me?” Fulghum pulled off the 128 to approach the University Avenue station. He entered the parking area and positioned the car so he could exit quickly in case of emergencies. He left the motor running while they talked.
“I’ve learned something since we last talked. The Roman script names scattered in the Hangul of the notebooks are the names of DPRK sleeper operatives targeted for assassination by the KCIA.”
“That’s significant intelligence.”
“There’s more. Interspersed in the notebooks are the Korean names for those operatives and other operatives who were targeted as well. I’m going to work all this out with my special source, who is the only one alive to help us crack the code. I, therefore, need to have copies of the notebooks Pounce discovered and turned over to your people.”
“Do you know what you’re asking?”
“I think so. Ken, you work miracles every day. Will you get me those copies?”
“I’ll get you those copies if you give me copies of the other notebooks.”
“Well, we have a problem. I can possibly give you a copy of one of the other notebooks. The remainder will take some doing.”
“I deduce your special source brought you one notebook from her collection but hid the others in a safe place only she can access.”
“Anyone would have done the same thing, Ken. She’s not only smart. She’s got special help.”
“Okay, the trade will be your one for my many. Done. What about the roughs from the newspaper reporters you discovered?”
“I can’t give you those, but I can give you the gist of their content. If I do that, I must insist you keep the details entirely secret from the Agency.”
“That’s a turnabout.”
“That’s the deal.”
“All right. Give me the gist. I won’t hear it except as deep background.”
“Have another cigarette, Ken. Do you have us under surveillance now or are we now off the grid?”
“My people are watching the exit from 128. They’re also inside the station watching for the opposition. It’s as close as you’re going to get to off the grid as we know it.”
“Anderson won the Congressional Medal of Honor for successfully destroying a black biological warfare center in North Korea.”
“The target had to be black and well protected since the Chinese were all over it.”
“They weren’t the only ones. The head honcho for the biowar program was a Soviet agent whom Anderson, with the help of the KCIA, kidnapped and delivered alive to the UN forces.”
“Wow! You don’t mean it?”
“I shit you not. It gets better.”
“You have my full attention, John. I’m now worried for both of us and for anyone else who has this information.”
“It seems the politicos went bats about the kidnapping. Thought was given to liquidating Anderson and all others who were involved in the extraction of the Soviet agent. Too many people knew, including two reporters who stumbled upon the information when they interviewed Anderson in the hospital where he was convalescing.”
“What the hell happened next?”
“A grand deal was struck. Anderson was to get the Congressional Medal of Honor for heroism above and beyond the call of duty. The capture of the Soviet was to be held close pending negotiations for exchanging him for American prisoners of war held by the Chinese and North Koreans. The Korean CIA went ballistic. Anderson went ballistic too. Among the invisible, deniable deals that were struck was a diabolical bargain which you aren’t going to believe. It seems so much like bad pulp fiction.”
“You dog. You’ve got me on the edge of my seat with anticipation. What was the deal?”
“Anderson became the lynchpin for countermeasures against DPRK agents operating as assassins and saboteurs within the continental US.”
“Hell, you say! Does it mean he was working for us or for the South Koreans?”
“Now you’re getting close to something difficult to parse precisely.”
“But that’s at the heart of what we’ve got to know.”
“Do you recall what Sir Winston Churchill said about Russia?”
“’Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.’”
“For that, you get an A+. Go to the head of the class.”
“Keep going, please.”
“From my source, I understand it’s almost impossible to sort out the North Korean agents from the South Korean agents outside the actual territories of North and South Korea. Further, the North evidently had a program of breeding spies whereby they could produce deep agents who could blend right into their target countries as sleepers. Anderson and the family associated with him for four generations became the connecting link in a strategy designed to ferret out the DPRK agents infiltrating the USA and to bring them to swift justice outside normal channels.”
“Fulghum, either you’re a madman bewitched by a Korean witch or a consummate genius with the key to unlock a special relationship. I’ll wager neither head of state has any knowledge of this agreement.”
“I thought we had many unacknowledged black programs. You once told me that. You justified it by telling me about instances of present dangers which could not be challenged by ordinary law or diplomacy. I won’t insult you by recounting cases you and I have collaborated on in that line.”
“So let me tell it back to you so I can understand what you just said.”
“I’m listening.”
“A rogue operation has been going full steam for sixty years without acknowledgments. People have been killed as foreign spies on US soil outside the purview of the Presidential Findings process and the FIAB and God only knows what three and four letter agencies, including the CIA and FBI. One man was at the center of that longstanding operation, and he has been murdered. The fallout from his murder is continuing. The planned murders of you and Pounce were part of this design for retribution and cover-up somehow. Does it sum it up?”
“It will do for the moment, but I think there’s more. I also think we haven’t found the answer to your question about the timing of events. Why was it important to eliminate the lynchpin of this operation now? You asked that early on. I’m convinced the answer to that question will open other doors for us.”
“I hate the fact I agreed not to divulge what you just told me. Can’t I tell the DDO about it in a special room?”
“Not yet, Ken. I don’t think we know enough to take this intelligence up the chain. If it should by any means become public, a firestorm would commence. The whole web of relationships containing the longest continuing war in our time might come apart at once. We have no idea what clandestine operations might be triggered by a front-page story laying out what I’ve just told you. If I were a reporter with a story this hot, I…”
“You’d be killed, John. And I’d probably be ordered to do the killing. You really do know how to make life hurt.”
“Hey, I’m the one whose life is on the line.”
“You, and everyone else who touches you, given what you now know.”
“All the more reason to give protection to those who are with me.”
“In the same fashion as protection was given to Anderson for all these sixty years?”
“Ken, you’re making my point. I’m damn close to knowing the why about Anderson. In my gut, I understand where he stood when he was forced to stand down about his capture of the Soviet agent. I also know what he must have felt when his secret, but legitimate daughter walked into his life. He must have felt rejuvenated. I’ll bet he was looking forward to a chance at the world record age. Then he was suddenly killed, and someone out there is cheering. I’ve got to find him or her. I’ve got to bring the murderer to justice—soon before more deaths accrue.”
“You’ve pulled the whole case inside out for me, John. Congratulations. Now I’m the one who has to ask you, what next? What should I do?”
“Protect my people, Ken, yourself included. Until we solve this case, we’re all at risk.”
Ken dwelled on this request. He shook his head. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
“That’s all I can ask of you, friend. I’ll take you back to the Dunkin’ Donuts. You know where I’ll be heading. I guess the next time we meet, we’ll be in the Berkshires. Do me a favor out there.”
“What’s that?”
“When Pounce and I decide to do some midnight fishing, let us alone. If we’re meant to bring our thoughts together, we’ll have to have a context to do just that.”
“I’ll give you the room, John. Just remember you’ll be assuming a tremendous risk by avoiding our surveillance.”
“The reward will be worth the risk, Ken. I’ve learned that the ‘too big to fail’ adage needs adjustment. My friends and I are ‘too small to fail.’”
“If you say so, pal,” Mander said doubtfully.
“I do say so.” Fulghum released the brake and drove out of the parking area onto the ramp towards the 128. It was a curving ramp which made a vehicle a sitting duck for any sniper properly positioned to take out an unwary driver or his passenger. Fulghum, fortunately, saw the rifle’s flash. Instinctively he turned the wheel and screeched to a halt on the side of the ramp. He and Mander hit the deck outside the car as bullets hit it from three directions. Fulghum had his gun out watching for further gunfire. Mander was prepared to shoot as well as he went over the rail. Fulghum ran along the balustrade and leapt over it, running down the incline among the vegetation towards the place where he had seen the original flash. A figure was running towards him, making a scuffling sound in the brush. Fulghum fired twice at the figure, successfully rendering him inoperative. Mander let off a double tap. A man screamed in agony. Mander fired again, and the screaming stopped.
Fulghum thought they had taken out two snipers. He knew there had been a third. He saw alongside the highway a vehicle parked on the apron. On a hunch, he kept low and ran through the brush towards the vehicle. He lingered at the rear of the vehicle in the sumac which grew just below the mowing line. He did not have long to wait. A man carrying a rifle came out of the sumac not ten feet ahead of where he was hiding.
“Stop right there,” he said as he aimed his .38 at the center of the man’s back. The man’s hands rose. Then he ducked, turned and fired blindly. Fulghum returned fire, hitting the man in the chest. He walked up quickly and kicked the man’s rifle away. He frisked the man and found a handgun and knife, which he also threw to one side. Keeping the man covered, he asked the man’s name. He heard a gurgling sound from the man’s bleeding chest wound. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking – a sound he had heard before.
“Mander, this one’s just broken a suicide capsule. He’s a goner. Mander, are you out there?”
“I’m right beside you, pal. The two others had no IDs. I’ll wager they used a stolen car. I’ve got a cleaner crew on the way. You drive on out of here and go back to your suite. I’ll stay here and supervise the clean up. Get moving, John. My guys will take me back to the Dunkin’ Donuts.”
‘I’ll see if I can get my car started. I’ve no idea what the sniper shots hit.”
“The sooner you get clear, the better. These bozos likely had a report to make within half an hour or so. Whoever doesn’t get the report may send another team. When they get here, I’ll be ready with a surprise. I don’t want the surprise to include you.”
Fulghum went back to his car. The windshield had been blown away. Glass was everywhere. Bullet holes stippled the car’s exterior. Nevertheless, the wheels were intact, and the car started. Fulghum pulled out on the ramp and continued to the 128. He drove without incident back to the long-term parking lot where he left Sue’s car. Fortunately, she had given him her keys. He swapped his car for hers and drove hers back to the motel.
Outside their room, he dusted his clothing to get rid of most of the shattered glass. He inserted the card key and opened the door praying he would find all well inside. He took out his gun as a precaution. He closed the door and locked as well as latched it. He made his way into the bedroom along the wall.
“John, is that you?” she asked. “Speak now because I’ve got you covered. One false move and you’re a dead man.”
“Yes, Sue, it’s me. I’m all right. Lower your weapon. I’m putting mine away now.”
“Why did you come in locked and loaded?”
“It’s been a long night. Can we go to sleep?”
“I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out there somewhere.”
“I’m here now. Relax. I’m going to grab a shower. I’m a mess. I’ve been hiding and crouching in sumac. If you get near me, you’re likely to be contaminated.”
“Poison sumac?”
“Is there any other kind?”
She turned on the light. He saw her concerned look and her pistol hanging down in her right hand. Fulghum knew he must look awful. He waved her back to bed and went to the bathroom where he stripped off his clothes. He ran the shower until the temperature felt right. Then he stepped into the stall and soaped himself. He was careful not to scrub too hard lest the broken glass cut him. When he had rinsed himself, he stepped out of the shower.
She stood there waiting for him with a large towel. She wrapped it around his shoulders and helped him dry off.
“Come to bed. I can see you need to sleep. If you want to tell me about it when we wake up, that’s fine.”
“Sue, I’m glad you stayed right here. I ran into trouble, but things turned out all right.”
“Was it something like what happened this morning?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, it was. I was lucky again to have a friend along. You won’t believe what happened to my car. The windshield was blown out with glass everywhere inside. Bullet holes make the exterior look like a Buick four-hole model. I picked up your car on the way back and deposited what was left of mine in the long-term parking lot.”
“Mine will get us to Pittsfield. Don’t worry.”
“I won’t stop worrying until we get to the bottom of this mystery and sort out who’s doing this to us. Let’s get some sleep. What time did you set the alarm for our wake up?”
“Seven o’clock.”
“Perfect. I’ll just have a couple of fingers of JD to help me sleep.”
“Mind if I join you? I’ll pour two.” She rose to pour more Jack Daniels whiskey in two glasses.
“Thanks. One thing bothers me.” His brow furrowed and he shook his head.
“What’s that, John?”
“How the hell did the snipers know to set up where they did? I didn’t know where I was going until my friend told me where we were going.”
“Doesn’t that tell you something?” she asked, innocently.
“I don’t want to go there, Sue.” Fulghum thought Agency involvement in the attempted assassination was highly likely, but he was unsure how it worked. Was the Agency trying to assassinate him by proxy using DPRK assets? Was a rogue element within the CIA, sympathetic to the DPRK, trying to keep a black program from becoming visible? If either of those questions could be answered in the affirmative, then Ken Mander was also in the cross hairs. Perhaps it was better not to “over think” the problem. Intelligence matters often remained blurry at best.
“I’m sorry, John, but you are there already. And I am also.” She smiled ruefully and handed him a glass, taking a moment to touch hers to it. “Drink your JD. Maybe things will be clearer in the morning.”
“Gunbae,” he toasted.
“Gunbae, and good night.”
They both downed their whiskeys then Fulghum fell into bed. She covered him and slid in beside him, pressing her body next to his. His arm wrapped over her head on her pillow. She kissed him but got no response. She knew he was fast asleep. This made her smile. She breathed easily now that he was back and safe. Then she fell asleep and did not awaken until the alarm sounded in the morning.
While Sue prepared for their meeting, Fulghum answered Pounce’s call on his cell phone.
“Hi Nigel, what’s up?”
“I thought you’d like to know I’m interviewing a woman named Cecily Portius. She’s the Judge’s vulpine sister’s great granddaughter. She has, she admits, always hated her great grand uncle for what he put her great grandmother through. Her great grandmother’s husband died a horrible death and left nothing to support her. The Judge took his sister into his home and allowed her to raise her great-granddaughter Cecily there. Cecily was a rival to Freddie for the Judge’s largesse, but the Judge was a stingy man. Now Cecily is staying under the Judge’s roof because she’s in an advanced stage of pregnancy but has no husband. She told me she has nowhere else to go.”
“All right, Nigel. Why is she of particular interest in your case?”
“On many occasions, she’s told others she wished the Judge were dead. She understood she was to inherit a large amount of money upon his death. Her Korean maid has just conveyed the news to me that Cecily had gone into premature labor. A physician was summoned quickly, yet the unborn child died, followed shortly afterward by the death of her mother.”
“So you’ve lost another suspect?”
“That’s right. But there’s more - Riley and Shaunessy have been digging. Other inquiries I initiated have begun to bear fruit. Were you aware Anderson’s brothers and sisters have all died recently, together with many of their children?”
“Have you made a list?”
“It’ll be in your inbox in minutes. When are you going to arrive here? It’s high time we went night fishing again.”
“I expect to leave Boston around noon. I can meet you pier side as before at ten thirty unless I call to wave you off first.”
“You can’t come too soon. How have things been on that end?”
“Compared with what you’ve been going through, my problems are minor.”
“I won’t believe that. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the grindstone. No rest for the weary. Later.” Pounce terminated the call.
“Sue, did you overhear that?”
“No. I had my hair blower on full power. What’s happened?” She came out of the bathroom making her hair up into a pile with the two hair sticks artfully planted to keep her coils sitting just right. Fulghum was impressed. She looked stunning, and her eyes sparkled.
“Cecily Portius and her premature newborn have just died of suspected poisoning.”
“The greedy bitch! She deserved worse. I’m glad she’s gone. The loss of the innocent baby is a shame.”
“ Cecily’s death is another in a long line. I’ve just learned about the deaths of all Anderson’s brothers and sisters and most of their children.”
“That’s old news. They’ve been dying like flies. Aging does that, don’t you know?”
“I wonder how many of those deaths were from old age and how many were induced by poison.”
Fulghum’s cell phone rang. Caller ID showed Silvia as the caller. With a finger to his lips, Fulghum signaled Sue to be quiet as he answered the phone.
“Good morning, Silvia.”
“Hello, John. We’ve just received news of a shootout outside the AMTRAK University Avenue stop. That’s near enough our rendezvous to be suspicious. I thought you should know as we converge on Mr. Ives.”
“Thanks, Silvia. It’s probably a drug deal that went horribly wrong. The new heroin traffic will bring that kind of activity.”
“Well, be careful on your way. I’ll see you there. Ciao.”
Sue pursed her lips and squinted at Fulghum. “You were involved in the shootout, weren’t you? It had nothing to do with the drug traffic.”
“Are you ready to leave yet?”
“I’ll just freshen up my makeup. It won’t take long.”
“You look terrific right now.” He admired her while she did a pirouette. She bowed slightly.
“Thank you, but you men don’t realize how hard it is to look beautiful. The slightest blemish can spoil the whole effect. I like the natural look. That’s harder to create than the usual cosmetics, especially when you have my skin tone. The man we are going to visit is going to have five to ten seconds to form an impression. We want him to respond positively and talk, don’t we? I thought so. I’ll just be one minute more. Did you clean your gun this morning?”
“Yes. I did that before you awakened. Force of habit. Military training. Anyway, it’s cleaned, oiled, fully loaded and safed.”
“So’s mine. I worked on it while I was waiting for you to return last night. There, I’m done now. How do I look?” She walked right up to him and looked him in the eyes. He smiled, held her at arm’s length and asked her to turn around.
“Perfect! I’ll load the baggage into the car. Check one last time to be sure we haven’t forgotten anything. We won’t be coming back. Check out is automatic.”
He put his card key on the table and grabbed the luggage. Sue put on her dark glasses and followed Fulghum out the door. They loaded the luggage into the trunk, and Fulghum drove. In ten minutes, they parked outside the home where Clancy Frew, aka Mr. Ives, resided. As they got out of the car, Silvia pulled up and joined them. Silvia was dressed in a robin’s egg blue dress. She had tied a matching ribbon in her hair. Her outfit was in stark contrast to the black business outfit which Sue wore in her role as Fulghum’s assistant.
Silvia kissed John on the cheek in greeting and turned towards Sue with a proprietary look in her eye.
“Silvia, this is Kim Su Baek, also known as Sue. She’s my executive assistant.”
Silvia raised her eyebrows and scanned the slender Korean wearing the dark glasses. She extended her hand, and Sue shook it firmly.
Silvia turned back to John. “We’re going to be right on time, John. Since I set up the meeting, I’ll take the lead.”
“Lead on, Silvia. Thank you again for arranging this meeting. It’s likely to be critical.”
Silvia signed in for the three at the desk. An orderly who was standing by ushered them back to a private room where Clancy was seated in a wheelchair looking out the floor-to-ceiling glass onto an immaculate garden.
The orderly announced them, and Clancy maneuvered his wheelchair so he could see his guests.
Silvia extended her hand. “Mr. Clancy, my name is Silvia Blackwood.” He shook her hand and looked towards Fulghum. “This is Mr. John Fulghum and his assistant Kim Su Baek.” He shook Fulghum’s extended hand then he moved his hand towards Sue. She took off her shades with her left hand and moved close, extending her right hand. Something in the way she did this brought Clancy fully alert yet mesmerized by the young woman’s eyes.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Clancy.” The man took her hand and held it gently.
“Remarkable,” he said. “Please sit down so we can talk.”
“What’s remarkable?” Fulghum asked him.
“Her eyes are her father’s eyes down to the sparkle.”
“What do you mean by her father’s eyes, Mr. Clancy?” asked Silvia, intrigued.
“This young woman has the same green-flecked brown eyes which Major Anderson had. I’d never seen eyes like those before. I haven’t seen any since then. My dear,” he asked, “are you Anderson’s daughter, or have I just made an old fool out of myself? It wouldn’t be the first time.” By the way, he said this Fulghum knew the man was no fool. His memory was sharp. His ability to integrate data was astounding.
“Yes, Mr. Clancy. Judge Anderson was my father.”
“Please accept my deepest condolences on your loss.”
She took out a handkerchief and dried her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Clancy, her deceased father is the reason we’re here today. The man was murdered. We’re trying to help in the investigation of that murder. We think you can help us.” Silvia then looked at Fulghum.
“Mr. Clancy, you once did investigative work in Korea leading to a major story about Stephen Anderson.”
“Yes. The story might have won my associate and me the Pulitzer Prize, but it was spiked. Our notes were seized and put in some damn archive. We were paid a large bonus and told never to investigate further or publish any of the material. We were also told a bulletin interdicting any such material had been sent to every major news outlet in the country. That effectively ended our journalistic careers. I turned to writing potboilers under a pseudonym. My associate and friend became a ghostwriter for the rich and famous. He died five or so years ago.”
Silvia said, “We’d like to revisit the last interview you had with Anderson. We aren’t looking to publish what you tell us. We only want to know the substance. Mr. Fulghum does have a few particular questions to ask, but we’d like you to sit back and tell us what you remember.”
Clancy looked at Sue and shook his head. “I suppose a daughter has a right to know a few things about her father that don’t appear in print. Of course, it was a long time ago. I don’t remember everything. Have you seen the notes in the archive?”
Silvia looked at Fulghum. “Mr. Clancy, we’d like to hear your story straight from you. Your memories will be pure gold. All the rest is dross.”
“Call the orderly and get us lemonades with a bowl of sliced limes. Talking makes me thirsty.”
Sue rose and arranged for the drinks. Meanwhile, Clancy meditated on the particulars of his story. When the drinks arrived, Clancy proposed a toast to Anderson’s memory.
“Gunbae,” he said and drained his glass dry. The others followed suit. Sue poured another round of lemonade. With his eyes fixed on Sue, Clancy began his tale. It was clear to John and Silvia his entire focus was to make the event vivid for the surviving daughter and not for them. For her part, Sue leaned forward wide-eyed to catch every word.
Clancy gave the background for the interview with the heroic major, who then lay convalescing in a special military hospital in Seoul. Two Korean women, a mother and her daughter, were watching over him. The major was lucid in his thinking and deeply appreciative of his caretakers. He had been through hell, but he had more on his mind than his successful mission.
“That’s where we knew we had a story. Everything that had been put out about his mission was so much malarkey spun out as whole cloth to cover up the truth. But we wanted the true story, and we got it.”
Clancy continued to recount the story as Anderson had told it - the details of the mission, the shoot down and the rendezvous with South Korean intelligence agents behind enemy lines. How they learned of the Soviet advisor and his location, the self-appointed mission to apprehend him, the fighting return to the American front lines, then the transport to the UN intelligence people. Finally, the struggle, that resulted in the Congressional Medal of Honor on the one hand and a pledge of eternal silence on the other.
“That’s, of course, when the trouble began. Perhaps we need more lemonade. I need a rest break. Maybe you do too.”
While Sue arranged for more lemonade and cookies, everyone took a moment to stretch their legs. When the food arrived, Sue excused herself to freshen up. Clancy resumed his story only when she returned.
“You mentioned trouble when we left off,” Fulghum said. Clancy’s eyes went back to Sue and stayed there while he continued.
“Yes. The Soviet agent’s kidnapping caught everyone off balance. No one wanted to admit the depth of the Russian involvement in the Korean War. We had the smoking gun of their sponsorship of biological weapons in the theater. The high command wanted the issue to just go away, but they couldn’t kill the man. Instead, they negotiated a trade behind the scenes. This caused consternation in the agents who had risked their lives to capture the Soviet clandestine operator and in Anderson, who was livid about the way American support for Korea was being managed. He railed about the lies and subterfuge. He said all the negotiations about peace would end without a treaty. Fancy that, my dear. Your father was right.”
Fulghum pulled a small folded paper from his pocket. “I wonder whether you remember the names O Sun Ma, Ri Bo An and Mu Un Li.”
“I remember them vividly. They were the three men who were sitting in the room where we held the interview. I thought they must be Korean intelligence agents. They had the look. The two Korean nurses were there too. They stood behind Major Anderson the whole time, silently watching for their moment to do service. No one else was in that room. The Americans let us alone. I suppose that’s why they confiscated our notes when we were done.”
“So the military confiscated your notes?”
“No. Nothing of the kind. Our press representative in country came to demand the notes. He said he was in a jam. He said our notes had to be censored before publication. That was a lie. There would be no publication. I later discovered when I tried to get the notes back that they were in the possession of our employer, the Boston Globe. Of course, the Globe denied it. A little bird told me those notes were in the archives, but I could never find a way to get them. They’re probably still in the archives today. I don’t know, and I don’t care anymore.”
The four mused on what Clancy had said.
“Mr. Clancy, did you have the impression at the time of your interview that Major Anderson had a special relationship with the South Korean cause?”
“Definitely. He was the only American soldier I met who was fluent in Hangul. Those three Korean intelligence agents were the same men who kept him safe and helped him capture the Soviet operator.”
Silvia asked, “While you were in Korea, were you warned against publication by the Koreans themselves?”
“It’s funny you should mention it. The US government made me sign papers attesting I wouldn’t publish anything relating to Anderson for fifty years. The Korean government was even more demanding. They made me sign papers extending that time frame to life. So technically, I still can’t publish by Korean rules of the game. Our government visited me once every ten years for a checkup. The Koreans never visited after that first time.”
“Did you or your associate ever attempt to visit Anderson after you saw him in Korea?”
“No. We went on to do other things. Not publishing our piece on Anderson stuck in my craw. I’ve never gotten over it.”
“This is a long shot, Mr. Clancy, but do you have any idea who might have murdered Anderson? The man was just over one hundred years old.” Fulghum sat forward watching Clancy closely for his reaction to the question.
“If I were writing one of my pulp novels, I’d make it a government operation, tying up loose ends of ancient history to protect current operations with legacy roots.”
“Humor me with how the plot might work.”
“All right. This is impromptu, but it might work. Let’s say Anderson worked on black projects for the South Korean government after the Armistice was signed. After all, the Korean War has never ended. His involvement would have been embarrassing to our government, but what could they do about it? Hell, he was a bona fide war hero. If he was sharp until the end, he could have continued his work. He might even have operations running now though he is dead. Anyway, at some point he and all his history have to be erased. A government would take time to set up such an operation. In execution, it would have to be immediate and comprehensive.”
“So when Anderson was eliminated, everyone touching him or any documentation pointing to what he did would have to be eliminated too.”
“That’s right, but you know, governments can’t be all seeing and all knowing though they’d like to be. What do you think?”
“Mr. Clancy, I think we’ve taken up far too much of your time. Out of curiosity, are you now working on a new book?”
“I’ve always got a new book going. I also have a couple of ideas for others. Maybe today I’ve been given an idea. Who knows? Anyway, thanks for stopping by to see me especially you, my dear. Again, I’m very sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man before and after I met him. It was a great privilege to know him. Goodbye.”
When they left the private room, Clancy wheeled himself around to look out the glass window at the garden. Out front in the parking lot, the three gathered for a moment to recap what had just happened.
“Thank you again, Silvia, for arranging the meeting. I’ve confirmed what I learned from the papers from the archive. I’ve also gotten a couple of new ideas.”
“Let’s hope Mr. Clancy lives to a ripe old age and dies of natural causes.”
“Does anyone die of natural causes anymore?” Sue asked.
John and Silvia looked at Sue with astonishment. “So young and so cynical?” Silvia asked.
“The Roman satirist Juvenal posed the same question two thousand years ago. Well, Silvia, we’re going to drive out to Pittsfield. I’ll be available on my cell.”
She moved in quickly and kissed him on the lips. “Be careful, John.” She looked daggers at Sue. “You take care of him, or you’ll answer to me.”
“Yes, ma’am. Are you ready, John?”
“We’re outta here.”
While John and Sue buckled up, Silvia drove out of the facility, headed back to her Globe office. Sue reached behind Fulghum’s seat, pulled out a CD and popped it in the player under the radio. Recordings of wind chimes began.
“These tones are comforting. Relax and don’t worry; I got everything Clancy said on tape so we can review it whenever you’re ready. It’s going to be a long day’s drive.”
“Fortunately, I transferred my fishing gear from my car to yours at the long term lot.”
“Fishing gear?”
“I thought I’d do some late night fishing when we get to Pittsfield. Did you know that long ago someone took a four-foot pike out of Onota Lake?”
“I hate fishing.”
“Maybe you don’t have the right approach.”
“It’s the slime and scales I don’t like.”
“Catch and release is my motto.”
“I don’t want that to apply to my father’s murderer, John. The release part, I mean. When Mr. Clancy hinted that a government might have been behind my father’s murder, did you believe him?”
“Stranger things have happened, Sue. Say, I like this recording of wind chimes. Let’s enjoy our ride. The exit for the Mass Pike is coming right up. There’s not a cloud in the sky.”