Climbing the stairs-- he refused to take elevators when he had the time and energy to walk-- Hwan returned to his office to consider his next move.

When the Director returned, he would be unhappy with the state of the investigation: their skimpy evidence pointing to North Korea, but no leads to who perpetrated the deeds.

After using his radio to check with the field forces, and learning that they were coming up empty, Hwan decided that to get that evidence quickly he would have to move in a way he'd been loath to, a way that might cost them as much as they would gain.

Reluctantly he picked up the phone

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Tuesday, 10:20 P.M., Kosong,

North Korea

Traveling at an average speed of 120 miles an hour, the sleek, modern Lake LA-4-200 Buccaneer four-seater flew low over the sea as it headed toward the coast of North Korea, its top-mounted Lycoming 0-360-A1A engine humming as the pilot kept the plane steady. The air was turbulent this close to the surface-- just under one thousand feet and descending quickly-- and the pilot didn't want to have to ditch her. Not with these two onboard. He dragged a handkerchief across his sweaty forehead, not daring to contemplate what they might do if he had to land fifty miles from shore.

The twenty-five-foot-long plane bucked as he dropped below five hundred feet-- faster than he should have, given the down draft, but not as fast as he would have liked. The dark outline of the shore was visible now, and the pilot knew he wasn't going to have time to make a second pass: his passengers needed to be ashore by eight-thirty, and he wasn't going to disappoint them. Not by so much as a second.

He also wasn't going to let his dear friend Han Song get him any more off-the-book flights. Sons wanting to sneak in and visit fathers or even spies from the South were one thing. The gambler had said that these two were businessmen, but he didn't say their business was murder.

He set the boat-shaped belly of the aircraft down with a gentle thud, water kicking up on both sides as he braked quickly; he wanted to get the men off and the plane turned around before any curious fishermen or constables decided to check him out.

He unlatched the hatch and flipped it open. The entire cockpit was exposed. Snatching the raft from the copilot's seat, he lowered it over the side while the men in the back seats stood. The pilot extended his hand to help the first man into the raft. The killer grabbed the pilot's wrist and looked at his phosphorescent aviator's watch.

"We-- we made it!" the pilot said.

"You've done well," the killer replied as his companion edged around him and climbed into the raft. He reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and handed the pilot a bundle of money. "As your agent and I agreed."

"Yes, thank you."