Liz Carlyle - 07 - The Geneva Trap (27 page)

Not that Park Woo-jin seemed to present any sort of physical threat. The short, rather fragile Korean, whom Liz recognised from the surveillance photographs, seemed to have shrunk. In his nondescript grey office suit, white shirt and unremarkable tie, he looked pathetic rather than menacing.

He nodded politely to Liz and Fielding as he took his seat on the opposite side of the table, putting his hands together neatly on top.

The Special Branch officer said: ‘Mr Park, I am an officer of the Metropolitan Police and these are two government officials who are here to interview you about a matter relating to national security. I have offered you the opportunity to contact someone but you have refused. This interview is being recorded and I should warn you that …’ He continued giving Park Woo-jin the standard warnings. Then he sat back in his chair, duty done, and let Liz take over the questioning.

‘My name is Jane Falconer and this is Mr Fielding.’

‘What is this about?’ asked Park, coming to life suddenly. ‘Your people would not say when they stopped me. I was on my way to work. They will be wondering where I am.’ His flawless English had a slight American inflection, but there was not the slightest hint of the sing-song cadence that characterised so many Far Eastern speakers of English. Park gave a weak smile. ‘I don’t want them to think I am neglecting my duty.’

‘Mr Park, we became aware several weeks ago of a serious security breach affecting work being done under MOD auspices. It involved the department’s computer systems and was without doubt some kind of cyber-attack – highly classified areas were hacked into by someone who did not have any permission to be there.’

‘That is most alarming,’ said Park with a look of concern.

‘It is, Mr Park, but fortunately we think we have discovered the identity of the individual who did this.’

‘I am glad,’ he said.

‘Yes. We believe it was you.’

Park frowned. ‘That is a serious charge.’

‘Yes, it is. That’s why we are giving you an opportunity to tell us what you were doing, and who you were acting for. What you say now could affect what happens to you next.’

‘What exactly are you accusing me of? I am sure this is a misunderstanding.’

Liz could see that he was rapidly trying to gather his thoughts. Fielding spoke for the first time. ‘You intruded into a protected cyber-area where outside entry was strictly forbidden. No one could have got there by mistake.’

‘I don’t understand what you mean. You see, in my job it is often necessary to explore a bit. They say curiosity kills the cat, but not a programmer.’ He smiled, inviting them to smile back. When that didn’t happen he pursed his lips. ‘Possibly I am sometimes a bit too curious. It is an occupational hazard.’

Fielding shook his head. ‘There’s curious, Mr Park, and then there’s intrusive, and then there’s spying. We’re here about spying.’

Park opened his eyes wide. ‘No, no,’ he insisted. ‘I am not a spy.’

Fielding had taken notes out of his jacket pocket. ‘There isn’t much doubt. You entered a codeword-protected network within the last two weeks. It could not have been done accidentally or casually; it required a sustained campaign to find a way in. You found an opening – by chance, I think – and then you hitchhiked past the firewall. We’ve traced the intrusion to you, without any doubt.’

Liz knew the last assertion wasn’t true, but Fielding said it with confidence. She watched Park Woo-jin carefully and could see he was uncertain. ‘It could have been someone else on my computer,’ he said at last.

‘Let’s not waste each other’s time,’ said Fielding, and Liz saw that he was angry. She wondered which bothered him more – the embarrassment of having his ‘secure’ network hacked, or the treachery of Park Woo-jin.

The prisoner didn’t say anything for a moment; he closed his eyes and they all sat in silence. It was important to keep him talking, but paradoxically the best way of doing that seemed to be to let him think. After almost a minute, he opened his eyes and looked at Fielding.

‘Okay, so maybe I went somewhere I shouldn’t. But it wasn’t with bad motives. You could say I have the soul of a hacker while I wear the uniform of the authorities. I have to admit, my curiosity has sometimes got me into trouble. Back in Korea, and once even at Langley – if you don’t believe me, you can consult them there. I’ve always been interested in seeing how secure these “secure” sites are. I like a battle of wits with the gate-keepers. When I see a “no trespassing’’ sign, it is like a red flag to a bull.’

He looked beseechingly at Fielding, as if a fellow boffin would understand this. But the other man shook his head in annoyance. ‘Come off it,’ he said sharply. ‘It wasn’t like that and you know it. For one thing, there weren’t any “entry forbidden” signs; there weren’t any signs at all. This wasn’t forbidden territory, it was unknown territory. You went looking for it, Park. The question is, why?’

‘Curiosity. Like I said.’

‘Rubbish. There wasn’t anything to be curious about. You went to enormous lengths to find an opening to a project you couldn’t even be sure existed. That’s not cyber-travel; that can only be espionage.’

‘Not true.’ Park Woo-jin seemed unperturbed by Fielding’s assertions. ‘I was only browsing.’

‘Then why did you copy code you found in the network when you cracked into it? Your crawler was sticky, Park. We know it picked up code along the way and retreated with it, like a honey bee loaded with pollen.’

Was Fielding guessing this? Liz wondered. Could he be sure Park Woo-jin had downloaded encryption systems he’d found? The evidence pointed that way emphatically, yet could he prove it if Park Woo-jin insisted it wasn’t true?

But Park Woo-jin didn’t deny it. ‘I just took a sample. The bot was told to do that.’

‘Why? What were you going to do with it?’

‘Nothing – when I looked at it, I couldn’t make head nor tail of the code.’ He shrugged. ‘Curiosity again; and I wanted a memento. The bot’s designed to bring back evidence of where it’s been.’

Fielding exhaled in exasperation. Looking at the young Korean, Liz realised that not only had he had kept his composure so far, but that he was actually
enjoying
this questioning; he was treating it like a computer game. This was bad news. Sometimes, overconfidence in a suspect was helpful, since they could grow arrogant and slip up. But not Park Woo-jin: while the conversation remained largely technical, he felt completely at home. He and Charlie Fielding would lock horns for ever, and so far Park Woo-jin had learned more than he had given away.

‘We’ll take a break now,’ she announced, and the Korean looked at her with a curious expression, almost of disappointment. She motioned to Fielding and they both stood up. The Special Branch officer said, ‘Interview suspended at 16.15,’ and switched off the tape recorder.

Fielding followed Liz out into the corridor, looking puzzled, as the armed guard closed the door behind them. ‘I hope you don’t believe a word he’s saying,’ he said.

‘I don’t. You’ve done very well,’ she added. There was no point in sharing her frustration with Fielding; he’d done the best he could. Bringing him along had probably been a mistake, but it was her mistake not his. It was time to go on the attack, and Fielding would only be in the way.

‘I’m going to go back in before he’s had time to think things through and invent more excuses. I’ll do it by myself, Charlie.’

‘You sure?’ Fielding looked surprised and rather hurt.

‘You’ve been a big help, and I’m grateful. You’ve set him up for me; now I’ve got to make him fall over.’ She turned towards the Special Branch officer, who was waiting discreetly along the corridor. ‘Let’s go back in. I’m ready now.’

Chapter 47

Park Woo-jin looked relaxed when Liz and the Special Branch officer came back into the room. Without looking at him, Liz said, ‘Park Woo-jin, you admitted to Mr Fielding in our earlier session that you had made an unauthorised intrusion into a secret programme and stolen some of the contents. You said that you were motivated purely by intellectual curiosity. So perhaps you would tell me, who is Mr Dong?’ As she spoke the name she looked at him and noticed his expression change. There was a brief silence, then he said, ‘I don’t know a Mr Dong. Are you sure you have the right name?’

Not at all sure, thought Liz to herself, but without replying she took out of an envelope a surveillance photograph of the unknown man walking by himself in St James’s Park and pushed it across the table. ‘Who is this?’

‘I don’t know him,’ replied Park Woo-jin after studying the picture for a moment.

‘Think again,’ said Liz, and produced a photograph of Park Woo-jin and the same man sitting together on the bench on Acton Green.

There was an even longer pause. Then Park Woo-jin said, ‘Oh, yes. I was confused for a moment. That is a cousin of my mother’s. He came to visit me.’

‘Where does he live?’

A longer pause. Then: ‘In Seoul. He was on business in Europe and he came to visit me.’

‘I assume from what you say that he is South Korean?’ A nod. ‘When did you last see him before that visit?’

‘Several years ago.’

‘Park Woo-jin, none of this is true, as you know. This man comes regularly into this country and I don’t think he comes from Seoul. What was it that you left in the waste bin in St James’s Park a week or so ago, for him to collect?’

On the table in front of him, Park Woo-jin’s hands had clenched. Liz pushed a series of photographs across. They showed him walking towards the bin and dropping in the newspaper, the approach of Mr Dong, Mr Dong putting his hand in the bin and then withdrawing it clutching the newspaper. The pictures had time-codes on them from which it was clear that the actions were in sequence. ‘Well?’ said Liz.

Park Woo-jin said nothing. ‘I should tell you,’ she continued, ‘that since you were picked up this morning, I have been in touch with your Embassy and have shown them these pictures. They do not know who Mr Dong is either and they very much doubt that he is one of their citizens. It is certain that he does not use a South Korean passport when he comes into this country. Having seen these photographs your Embassy people agree with me that you have some serious explaining to do.’

There was a silence. After a moment Liz resumed, ‘The penalties in this country for espionage are serious and I have no doubt that in your own country they are just as serious – possibly more so. And then there is the United States to consider,’ she added. ‘They have a close interest in your activities, given your previous employment at Langley.’

Park Woo-jin was no longer replying. All the self-assurance he had shown when he was talking to Charlie Fielding had disappeared. His hands on the table in front of him were constantly moving, clutching at each other. But frightened though he undoubtedly was, he still showed no sign of caving in.

Liz had not finished. ‘I don’t know which judicial system would be the least unpleasant,’ she mused. ‘In this country we no longer hang or shoot spies but we do give long prison sentences for espionage. Our prisons are probably more humane than some of those in the United States,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘where I believe they do have the death penalty for spies. But I don’t know how they are treated in your country. Perhaps you could tell me.’

She leaned forward, both hands on the table, and looked straight into his eyes. ‘Five years in prison here or in the USA or even in Korea might be bearable; ten years just about. But we’re talking about twenty minimum, and more likely close to thirty. Tell me, Mr Park, have you ever thought about what you’ll look like in the year 2040? You’ll emerge from prison, if you emerge at all, without parents, without a wife, and without children. And without a country happy to take you. Whoever you are working for has abandoned you, and now you haven’t a friend in the world. Unless … you tell me the truth, all the truth, right now.’

She looked at her watch to show that she had other things to do, and that if he didn’t make his move soon, she’d be on her way to do them.

Park Woo-jin still said nothing. He was obviously considering his options. Liz didn’t know if he’d get even six months with the evidence she had, much less thirty years, but she could see she’d scared him, and so she left the next move to him.

She could hear Park’s breathing as they sat in silence; he was inhaling deeply, as if trying to suck an answer out of the dead air of the underground room. When she looked at him she found his eyes staring at her questioningly, all certainty gone.

‘What would happen if we had an honest conversation?’ he asked. She was taken by surprise. What was he up to? He suddenly looked and sounded like a frightened student rather than a trained spy.

She said cautiously, ‘I would of course share whatever information you gave me with our colleagues in the United States and in your Embassy. Then it would be checked. If it were truly honest, and we will know if it is not, it would certainly be taken into account when we were considering what to do with you.’

‘How do I know that’s true?’

‘You don’t. But you’ve been in England for a while now. You know what kind of people we are, and how we work. That should help you make your mind up.’ She couldn’t think of any other reason why he should trust her.

But Park nodded. ‘One thing,’ he said. ‘You must promise that no harm will come to my parents.’