Buddha's Money (7 page)
Ernie crawled over to me, clutching his side. Perspiration streamed off his forehead.
"Was that her? Was that Mi-ja?" he asked me.
I watched drops of blood squeeze past the splinter in my hand. "That was her."
Ernie spat into the night. "Next time, I'll blow me some asshole's brain out. Right through that pile of rags he calls a turban."
BLOOD FROM THE FIRST SERGEANT'S NECK RAN UP THE VEINS behind his jaw, reached his gray sidewalls, and began to pulse.
"Kidnapping?
And you didn't
report
it?"
Ernie shrugged. "Herman the German didn't want us to."
"Herman the
who?"
"Herman the German. An old retired lifer."
The First Sergeant of the Criminal Investigation Division paced around his desk, reached the coffee counter, and fumbled with a thick porcelain mug. He was a thick-shouldered man and always wore his dress green uniform to work, unlike Ernie and me, who were required to wear civilian coats and ties during regular duty hours. We both sat in straight-backed army-issue chairs. The ones we always sat in when we received our ass-chewings.
The First Sergeant returned to his desk, placed the half- full coffee mug in the center of the immaculately white blotter, and leaned toward us.
"A Korean National Policeman was injured! Hospitalized with a severe concussion. His M-one rifle was stolen." The First Sergeant shook his head, not sure whether the injured man or the lost weapon was more important.
After Ragyapa and his thugs escaped from the Temple of the Dream Buddha last night, Ernie and I caught holy hell from Captain Kim, the Commander of the Itaewon Police Station. When Kim was given the report about the shenanigans at the Virtuous Dragon Dumpling House, he figured it was me and Ernie. And when he discovered that an abduction was underway in his precinct, he was incensed that he hadn't been informed. Later, he followed the wide swath we had left up Hooker Hill and, with a few of his men, surrounded the Temple of the Dream Buddha. Somehow, before the foreign thugs escaped, they managed to surprise one of Kim's men in an alley, beat him, and steal his M-l rifle.
The Korean National Police were on the case now— with a vengeance—crawling all over Herman the German and Slicky Girl Nam. With one of their own hurt, the KNPs had a particularly strong reason to bring the foreign kidnappers to justice.
"Eighth Army is catching hell from the ROK Government." The First Sergeant stared into our eyes, searching for something, not finding it. "And you aren't authorized to keep the kidnapping of a military dependent secret, no matter what the reason."
"Mi-ja is not a military dependent," Ernie said. "The adoption wasn't legal. Slicky Girl Nam just bought the kid from some poor farm family who couldn't afford to feed her anymore. Herman never got her a military ID card."
The First Sergeant slammed the desktop. Murky fluid erupted from the mug.
"I don't
give
a damn! When something as important as a kidnapping happens and you become involved, you report it, Sergeant Bascom. You understand me? You report it!"
Ernie didn't seem in any way fazed by the First Sergeant's hollering. He sat back in his chair, legs crossed, coat open, as calm as a deacon in a private pew.
"Look, Top," Ernie said, picking lint from his pants leg, "have you been to the one-two-one Evac lately?"
"What the hell are you talking about, Bascom?"
"About your blood pressure. You really ought to have it checked."
The First Sergeant's knuckles whitened around the coffee mug. "Listen, Bascom. You, too, Suefio. Don't you two worry about my goddamn blood pressure. You just do your jobs. And when there's a kidnapping, you
report
it. You understand me?"
Ernie looked over at me. "Did you jot that down, George?"
I had a small notebook out, notes I'd taken on the case. I ignored Ernie's remark and gazed into the First Sergeant's gray eyes.
"We had reason to believe," I said, "that they'd murder the little girl if the Korean National Police were notified." I held up my hand before the First Sergeant could interrupt. After returning to the barracks last night, I had carved out the splinter in my palm and patched and medicated the wound as best I could, but it still ached with a dull throb. "You're right. I realize now that with KNP help we might've been able to rescue the girl last night. But we'll never know for sure. Too many cops, and the kidnappers might not've shown themselves. Anyway, that's over now. Herman's filed a formal complaint at the Itaewon Police Station."
My businesslike tone of voice seemed to calm the First Sergeant somewhat. Ernie slouched in his seat. He knew what I was doing. Ruining his fun. He loved nothing better than to antagonize the First Sergeant. Like poking a dragon in its lair.
"What's your next move on the case?" the First Sergeant asked.
I was a little surprised by the question. Usually, the First Sergeant tries to control every aspect of our investigations. This time, he apparently realized that he would only get in our way. All the principals, other than Herman the German, were Koreans or Third Country Nationals. The First Sergeant couldn't speak Korean, didn't know anything more about the country than what he learned on the military base, and once he was out in the Korean villages, he had no more idea of how to proceed than the Man in the moon. Ernie and I, however, had proven our ability to work off-post. I spoke Korean. Ernie had an almost instant rapport with people of any nationality—when he chose to. We were the best investigative team the First Sergeant had. And he knew it.
And the pressure was on him. The honchos at the Eighth Army head shed were raising hell. Now that the word was out that a military dependent—even an unofficial one—had been kidnapped, the howls for revenge were rising. The secret fear of every American colonel and hotshot diplomat is that some sneaky Korean will some day swipe their child. It had never happened before, but now something close to it
had
happened.
The American community in Korea wanted blood.
And that wasn't the only case Eighth Army was barking about.
The First Sergeant reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a Korean newspaper, unfolded it, and slapped it down on his desk in front of us.
"Anybody here look familiar, Bascom?"
The photo was grainy, but the image was unmistakable. Ernie. Manhandling the business girl who had tried to claw his eyes out last night. Behind him, I emerged from the black and white shadows, carrying the little nun. We looked like pirates preoccupied with rape and pillage. The headline said it all:
GI
ATTACKS BUDDHIST NUN.
Nothing else was on the front page. Only feature stories about the riot that followed and the outraged reaction from the Temple of the Celestial Void, the little nun's home base. And a short bio of Choi So-lan. Who she was. How she came to be a Bride of Buddha.
"It hasn't hit the television yet," the First Sergeant said. In Korea, the government doesn't allow the TV stations to start broadcasting until five P.M., after the end of the working day. "But it will tonight, and then Eighth Army's going to be in a world of waste."
Ernie spread his fingers. "A little bad publicity, Top. We've been through it before."
"Why were you attacking that whore?"
"I wasn't. She was attacking me."
"Sure. And now that she has this photo to back her up, she'll probably file a charge against you and try to settle for big bucks."
"No way, Top."
The First Sergeant raised his gray eyebrows. "Why not?"
"She's an Itaewon business girl. They all love me. That was her method of showing affection."
"My ass. The Community Affairs Officer at Eighth Army's about to shit a brick over this. He and the Commanding General want you both to stay away from cameras. You got that?" The First Sergeant turned to me. "What do you have so far, Sueño, on the mugging of that nun?"
"We spotted the perpetrator, but didn't get a positive ID on him because of the poor lighting. I do suspect, however, that he might be reporting into sick call for a broken rib."
I held up my left fist. Ernie guffawed.
The First Sergeant jotted a note. "I'll have somebody check with the medical command. Anything else?"
"And you might also have them check on a damaged finger," I told him. "The nun claims she chomped down on him pretty hard. Drew blood."
"Will do," the First Sergeant said. This is what he liked. Crisp police work. What I added to my report brought a frown back to his face.
"The perpetrator appeared to be a black GI," I said.
"Shit! That makes it more complicated."
Ernie's eyes shone at the First Sergeant's discomfort. "Why's that, Top?"
The First Sergeant either didn't notice Ernie's enjoyment or didn't care. He lowered his head, still talking but lost in thought.
"Because the CG has been trying to improve race relations in the command. This will just complicate things."
"Why?" Ernie asked. "She was a Korean nun, not a white nun."
"Still, some of the blacks might think we're just pinning it on them."
"Meaning we have to arrest somebody?"
"The Korean government is demanding it."
"Whether it's the right guy or not?"
The First Sergeant looked up. "I didn't say that! Of course, it has to be the right guy."
Ernie grinned. "Sure it does, Top."
The First Sergeant pointed his finger at Ernie. "Don't go twisting my words, Bascom."
Ernie spread his hands. "I didn't. I just repeated them."
I stood up. Action's the only way to stop their bickering. "We have two hot cases. Which one do you want us to start with?"
"Neither," the First Sergeant answered.
"Neither?"
"That's right. The mugger of the Buddhist nun will be a snap to pick up. Ask a few questions in the barracks, check with the medical clinics, somebody will pop."
I wasn't so sure about that. Amongst the black troops of Eighth Army, the distrust of the CID ran deep. Especially with some of the ham-handed methods most of the agents used: Just ask questions of some GI, while all his buddies are watching. Ernie and I went more direct. We gathered evidence of lawbreaking on somebody and then forced them to tell us what we needed. Snitching or the stockade, that's what it came down to. They always chose snitching.
The First Sergeant had no such doubts, however. He tapped a ballpoint pen on the top of his desk.
"It's this kidnapping that has me worried," he said. "But the KNPs are on it now and you can bet they'll do a thorough job. Anyway, it falls under their jurisdiction since the victim is a Korean citizen."
"They won't turn jurisdiction over to us?"
"Not on your life. Not after the anti-GI feeling these newspaper headlines are causing. Still, the head shed wants us to assist in any way we can."
I saw where he was going with this. "They want insurance," I said. "In case the KNPs don't find the kidnappers."
"Exactly. I've already checked it out with the Provost Marshal, who's cleared it with the Commanding General."
Ernie rose halfway out of his seat. "You want to pay the ransom to these clowns?"
"Only as a last resort."
"But the kidnappings will never stop, then."
'Yes, they will. The kidnappers will never leave the country. We'll see to that. And once they're apprehended, Eighth Army will formally request that the Korean government treat the case as an international incident."
"Meaning we'll cut their foreign aid if they don't give them the prison sentence that we want?"
The First Sergeant spread his fingers. "That's up to the ambassador, Suefio."
Ernie slumped back down in his chair. "They'll do it," he said. "The Koreans will do whatever we ask them to do. Including executing these guys, if that's what it takes."
"The punishment will be up to them."
"Sure it will," Ernie said.
The economic and military foreign aid provided to South Korea by the United States Government runs into the hundreds of millions of dollars each year. With a case as serious as the kidnapping of an American dependent— even a dependent of unclear legal status—you can bet that Eighth Army would flex its muscles and tell the Korean government how it wanted the case handled. And what they wanted done would be done quietly—so everyone saved face—but it would be done. That was certain.
I took a deep breath. "So you want us to find the antique jade skull," I said, "in case we have to trade it for Mi-ja."
"That's exactly what I want."
"Piece of cake," Ernie said. "When we find it, do we get a bonus?"
"The only bonus you'll get," the First Sergeant said, "is not getting court-martialed for dereliction of duty."
"Hey," Ernie said, "I finally wheedled something out of the old skinflint."
The First Sergeant glared at him. "That's right. You'd better get busy. And I want to see all your reports—on my desk—before anybody else sees them."
"Of course, Top," Ernie answered. "What do you think? We're going to send them to Dear Abby?"
As we stepped toward the door, the First Sergeant called us back.
"By the way, once you find that skull, if possible, try to use it to bring that little Korean girl back alive. The head shed doesn't want to see her dead. Bad for everyone concerned."
Ernie chomped on his gum. "Especially her."
We strode down the long hallway toward the CID Admin Office. All I could think about was the deadline Ragyapa had given us. Until the full moon. I shook it off and shoved Ernie's shoulder.
