Chaos Theory (28 page)

‘Help you?’ he said, cautiously, as he came nearer.

One of the men came towards him, holding up an unlit cigarette. He was short and spidery-looking, with an unusually small head. He was wearing a light grey suit with wide lapels, and his left arm was supported by a triangular cream-colored sling.

The other man was blond, with a bulky torso, although he had narrow hips and shapely calf muscles, like a professional dancer. There were yellow and purple bruises around his eyes, as if somebody had hit him very hard on the bridge of the nose.

‘Got a light?’ asked the spidery man, with a phlegmy-sounding catch in his throat.

‘Sorry. Don’t smoke.’

‘Well, that’s no problem at all, because I have one.’ The spidery man tucked the cigarette between his lips, took out a cheap pink butane lighter, and lit it. ‘You and us, we have some business to discuss.’

‘What business? I don’t even know you.’

‘That’s no problem, either, because we know you. You are Mr Hong Gildong, who works as a security officer for DOVE. We need to talk to you about the kidnapping of Ms Adeola Davis. Or at least our employer feels the need to talk to you about it.’

‘Who are you? I talked to the police already,
and
the FBI.’

‘Let’s say we’re very interested parties.’

‘I have nothing to say to you. Sorry. You want to get off my vehicle?’

The blond man eased himself away from the hood of Hong Gildong’s SUV and came towards him. He walked with an eerie shimmy, as if he were stepping out on to a dance floor. He stood over Hong Gildong and said, ‘You
will
have something to say to us. But not here. You and us, we’re all going for a ride.’

Hong Gildong hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but it was a fraction of a second too long. His hand plunged into his nylon windbreaker, but the spidery man had already yanked a nickel-plated Beretta out of his pocket, cocked it, and pointed it directly at his head. ‘
Whoa
,’ he said, grinning.

The blond man lifted Hong Gildong’s automatic out of its holster. Then he knelt down on one knee in front of him and patted his ankles, to make sure he wasn’t wearing a back-up.

‘This way,’ said the spidery man. ‘The grey sedan, by the pillar.’

‘So where are we going?’ asked Hong Gildong.

‘What do you want to know that for? We’re going there whatever.’

 

The blond man handcuffed him and tugged a soft black cotton hood over his head. Then the two men manhandled him into the back of their sedan and forced him down on the floor.

‘You try to get up, I have a blackjack here, and I’ll fucking brain you.’

Hong Gildong said nothing. The inside of the hood reeked of dried sweat and he could hardly breathe.

The car doors slammed and they squealed out of the garage. Hong Gildong felt them climb up the ramp and on to the street. They turned right on to Fountain Avenue, but then they turned left, and right, and left again, and he quickly began to lose any sense of direction.

The two men spoke sporadically, but their conversation was made up almost entirely of swearing and non-sequiturs, and it gave Hong Gildong no clue as to who they might be, or where they were taking him.

‘That Hamulack. Guy can’t pitch for shit.’

‘And Tomoro can?’

‘Tomoro? Tomoro’s a goddamned cripple.’

Silence for nearly ten minutes. Then, ‘Tomoro’s
grandmother
can pitch better than Tomoro.’

 

They drove for well over two hours. The run was comparatively straight and smooth, and Hong Gildong could hear traffic on either side of them, so they must have been driving along a freeway. Eventually, they turned off the main highway and began to negotiate a winding road that felt as if it was taking them into the hills – although
which
hills, and in what direction, Hong Gildong couldn’t even begin to guess.

After another forty minutes, they slowed down, turned sharply left, and stopped. Hong Gildong heard a metal gate open, and they drove through it. They turned left, and left again, and stopped again.

The car door was opened, and the spidery man said, ‘OK, Mr Hong Gildong. We’ve arrived.’

He was so stiff that he could hardly move, but the blond man reached into the car and roughly heaved him out. He managed to stand up, coughing. It was past 3 p.m. now, but still very hot. He could hear the clanking of machinery and hoists, and the whining of forklift trucks. Some kind of factory, or maybe a warehouse.

‘OK, let’s go.’

The blond man half-pushed and half-steered him across a concrete yard. They went through a door into a chilly, fiercely air-conditioned interior. Hong Gildong could hear phones ringing and the soft rattling of computer keyboards. He was pushed along a corridor with a squeaky vinyl floor, and then down two flights of metal stairs.

Another door was pulled open, and from the squelching noise it made, it was well sealed. Inside, there was a musty, cement-like smell, and another smell, too, sweet and pungent, like stale urine. Hong Gildong was guided a few paces into the room and then his hood was pulled off.

He blinked. He was standing in a brightly-lit basement. One side of the basement was stacked with plywood packing cases and wooden pallets. The opposite side was lined with six wire-mesh cages, and although all of them were empty, Hong Gildong could immediately understand where the smell of urine came from. Each cage contained a dog bowl, a water basin, and a black padded dog bed.

The blond man dragged an orange metal chair in to the centre of the room, and unfolded it.

‘Sit,’ said the spidery man.

‘I prefer to stand.’

‘I said
sit
, asshole.’

Hong Gildong sat down. There was no point in inviting them to hit him.

‘You’re still not going to tell me who you are?’ he asked them.

‘You don’t need to know. Besides, it wouldn’t do you any good, even if you did.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘We’re waiting.’

‘Waiting for what?’

The spidery man didn’t answer him. Nearly fifteen minutes went past, and none of them spoke. Now and again the spidery man checked his wristwatch, and cleared his throat, but the blond man simply stood still, with his arms folded.

Hong Gildong heard footsteps on the metal staircase outside, and then the sealed door squelched open. Two men appeared, a dark handsome man in an off-white designer suit and two-tone brown-and-white loafers; and another man in a light grey suit with a shaven head and a grey walrus moustache.

The man in the designer suit nodded to the spidery man and said, ‘Well done. Nobody saw you?’

The spidery man shook his head. The man in the off-white designer suit came up to Hong Gildong and smiled at him. He smelled strongly of D&G aftershave. ‘Well, now. If it isn’t the ingenious Mr Hong Gildong. Do you know who I am?’

A long pause. ‘I’m supposed to recognize you?’

‘You don’t read
Newsweek
? My name is Hubert Tocsin and I am the owner of Tocsin Weapons and Rocketry Systems, which happens to be the third most profitable arms manufacturer on the planet.’

Hong Gildong shrugged, as if to say,
So?

Hubert Tocsin kept on smiling. ‘I’m sorry if you’ve been inconvenienced, Mr Hong Gildong, but it really is very important that I discuss something with you. I need to talk to you about the kidnapping of Adeola Davis.’

‘I told these two guys. I talked to the police already. I talked to the FBI.’

‘I know. But you didn’t tell them the whole truth, did you?’

‘I told them what happened. This guy came running up and snatched Ms Davis, right in front of everybody. He was going to cut her throat. We had to let him take her. What else could anybody do?’

‘Let me correct you, Mr Hong Gildong. You told the police
some
of what happened, but not
all
of it. You didn’t exactly tell an untruth, but you lied by omission.’

‘What do you mean? I told them everything.’

Hubert Tocsin said, ‘No, you didn’t. That demonstration against the development of nuclear weapons by the North Koreans, that was organized by the Korean Cycling Club of Los Angeles. A legitimate demonstration, in itself. Quite understandably, many people feel very threatened by North Korea’s nuclear missile programme, especially those with relatives in
South
Korea.

‘But one of my detective friends in the LAPD discovered yesterday afternoon that the demonstration was mainly organized by one of the cycling club’s coaches, a fellow called Kim Tong Sun, and would you believe it? Kim Tong Sun is married to a young lady who happens to be your younger sister, Cho.

‘My friend in the LAPD had a very fruitful discussion with this Kim Tong Sun. And Kim Tong Sun admitted that he had been asked to organize the demonstration by his brother-in-law. Who is you.’

‘So – what does that prove?’ asked Hong Gildong.

‘I’m not entirely sure,’ said Hubert Tocsin. ‘But it does seem strange that since you were Adeola Davis’ own bodyguard, you should have set up a diversionary tactic which enabled a terrorist splinter group to abduct her in front of hundreds of people – well, what with the TV coverage –
millions
.’

‘I am against nuclear weapons in North Korea,’ said Hong Gildong.

‘And that’s all? You’re just a ban-the-bomber? A peacenik? The timing of your little demonstration had nothing whatever to do with Adeola Davis’ abduction?’

‘Coincidence.’

Hubert Tocsin circled around Hong Gildong’s chair. ‘You know, Mr Hong Gildong, I have
never
believed in coincidence. Or the occult, for that matter. I believe that you were deeply involved in the abduction of Adeola Davis – although what your involvement with the Armed Front for the Freedom of Palestine could possibly be, I have no idea.

‘However, I need to find out. And the reason I need to find out is because the man who abducted Adeola Davis, and who subsequently murdered her – this man has approached an organization in which I have a very substantial financial commitment, and has asked whether he can join it.’

Tocsin took a small, leather-bound notebook out of his pocket, opened it, and peered at it. ‘Abdel Al-Hadi. That name mean anything to you?’

Hong Gildong gave an involuntary jerk. He was beginning to realize that he was never going to walk out of this basement alive.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Why should it?’

‘You know which organization I’m talking about?’ asked Hubert Tocsin.

‘No idea. How could I?’

‘Don’t try to kid a kidder, Mr Hong Gildong. There’s a link between you and Abdel Al-Hadi and I want to know what it is. You arranged that kidnapping, fella, didn’t you? You arranged that kidnapping and I want to know why.’

Hong Gildong said nothing. But Hubert Tocsin bent over his chair and said, in a very soft voice, ‘Tell me, Mr Hong Gildong – what
is
your connection to Abdel Al-Hadi?’

‘I don’t have any connection! OK, yes, I saw him on TV. That was all.’

‘You’re not telling me the truth, are you?’

‘You want me to make up some story of cocks and bulls?’

‘I don’t have limitless patience. In fact, my patience has almost run out already. If you don’t tell me voluntarily, I shall be obliged to
make
you tell me.’

Hubert Tocsin snapped his fingers. Immediately, the man with the walrus moustache left the basement, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

‘Where did you first meet Abdel Al-Hadi?’ asked Hubert Tocsin. ‘Did he offer you money, to organize that demonstration?’

‘I told you. I am against nuclear proliferation.’

‘Crap – not to put too fine a point on it. How much did he pay you, Mr Hong Gildong? Presumably Ms Davis’ other bodyguards couldn’t be bribed, or else you could have spirited her away much less publicly. Or did you have another agenda?’

Still Hong Gildong said nothing. But now he heard lurching footsteps coming back down the metal staircase, and the frantic scrabbling of claws. A brindled pit bull terrier came barging through the half-open door, its eyes bulging, its claws skidding sideways on the concrete floor. It was almost strangling on its studded leash, and it was whining in the back of its throat like an asthmatic.

The man with the walrus moustache had twisted the other end of the leash three or four times around his forearm, but it still took all of his strength to keep the dog from dragging him across the basement.

Hubert Tocsin stood back. ‘If
I
can’t persuade you to be cooperative, Mr Hong Gildong, maybe Bill can.’

‘I
told
you,’ insisted Hong Gildong. ‘The timing of that demonstration, that was just coincidence. All I said to Kim Tong Sun was that the closing of the Peace Convention would be the best time for him to make maximum impact.’

‘Sorry. Your brother-in-law told my friend in the LAPD that the whole set-up was your idea. And I don’t believe that your brother-in-law was lying. After their little chat together, my friend in the LAPD is concerned that your brother-in-law might not walk again. Not straight, anyways.’

The man with the walrus moustache pulled the pit bull into one of the wire-mesh cages, released its leash, and closed the door behind it. The dog barked and barked and crashed itself repeatedly against the wire. At one point, it managed to climb almost halfway up the mesh, clinging on by its pointed yellow teeth. Its eyes bulged out at them, and it snarled as if it were possessed by demons.

‘Why don’t you get acquainted?’ said Hubert Tocsin. ‘Bill’s a very sociable dog, once you get to know him.’

The blond man and the man with the walrus moustache came around to the sides of Hong Gildong’s chair and between them they lifted him out of it. The spidery man pulled the chair across the basement until it was right up against the wire-mesh cage. The blond man unlocked Hong Gildong’s handcuffs, but kept a clamp-like grip on his upper arm.