Chapter Thirty-Two.
Twenty minutes later, Finucane turned into Yongsan-Gultaewanno Street in the Itaewon district of Seoul and stopped outside number forty three... a seedy-looking bar. The door was guarded by a monumental Korean who looked as though he ate six-inch nails for breakfast. Finucane approached the door and was stopped by the man who placed a gorilla-sized paw on his chest. Finucane nodded.
'I'm here to see Kim Jonghyun. I carry a gift from the Hong Kong Triad Master Wai Cheung.'
The Korean mountain studied him with black slitted eyes; then nodded and motioned to Finucane to hold out his arms to the side. Finucane grinned, and carefully pulled his SIG automatic out of its holster and handed it butt-first to the man. The man gave a nodding bow and opened the door. A smooth young man with slicked-back black hair and an effeminate aura was waiting. Finucane looked him up and down, and said,
'Kim Jonghyun?'
The young man smiled ingratiatingly and ushered Finucane to a shadowed corner near the bar and into an empty booth. A pretty girl approached and asked in reasonable English what he would like to drink. He ordered stiff whisky and lit a cigarette. The girl returned with his drink, placing the heavy tumbler neatly upon a square, cheap paper napkin. He smiled his thanks, noting her smile, her dark sloe-eyed beauty, and pale golden skin. He relaxed against the fake leather upholstery, took a pull from his whisky... real Scotch whisky, and waited for something to happen.
He did not have to wait long. A door opened on the other side of the bar, and three men approached the booth. The first man wore an elegantly-tailored suit; the material of which was a little too shiny for Finucane's taste. He emanated an aura of power and authority. The other two wore dark suits. They looked like triggermen. The first man smiled, extended his hand; and spoke in perfect English.
'Mr Finucane? I am Kim Jonghyun. I am so very pleased to meet you. Let us talk in my office.'
Kim Jonghyun; possibly the most powerful mob boss in Seoul sat in his enormous leather chair behind an equally enormous camphorwood desk, and offered Finucane a box of fat Sumatra cigars. Finucane declined politely. Kim Jonghyun shrugged, chose one, and lit it. He held up the cigar and blew on the tip until it glowed brightly, took a puff at the cigar, and knocked the ash off into a large jade ashtray. He smiled expansively.
'I understand that you have a gift for me from David Wai Cheung? You have made a considerable journey to get it to me.'
Finucane gave a wry grin.
'It wasn't only the gift. I hauled a cargo of contraband for Yu Leu Yong's organisation, but the mongrel gave me a right rorting.'
Kim Jonghyun looked askance.
'I'm sorry, Mr Finucane, you'll have to translate that. My grasp of Australian slang is very limited.'
Finucane grinned again.
'Yeah, sorry. The bastard double-crossed me and shot through with the payment.'
Kim Jonghyun face became angry.
'Korean businessmen like Choi Jong-Soo and I do not renege on contracts. It is bad business, and insulting to the moral principles and values of our collective.'
He picked up the telephone, dialled a number, and spoke swiftly in Korean. Finucane managed to make out the words " Choi Jong-Soo" and "Sok ee da"... which he knew meant "Cheat;" and "Bool myung ye," which meant "Dishonour" in the Korean language; otherwise Kim Jonghyun might as well have been talking double-dutch.
At length, Kim Jonghyun put down the handset. He gazed at Finucane with a still-angry, yet abashed expression.
'Your payment will be returned in the morning, and the culprits will make atonement for their treachery. This situation has caused Choi Jong-Soo to lose face badly in the matter of my business relationship with him. He now owes you a great Obligation.'
Finucane nodded. That meant that the two mongrels who had slugged him were dead-men-walking.. He reached into his pocket and brought out the little velvet pouch. He looked directly at Kim Jonghyun; bowed slightly, and spoke.
'Thank you revered Sir. Please accept this modest gift from David Wai Cheung.'
In the manner of Korean custom he held out the little pouch in his cupped hands to Kim Jonghyun, who bowed and accepted, but did not open the pouch... again in keeping with custom. He carefully placed the pouch on the surface of the desk and smiled.
'Now, Mr Finucane, your undertaking is discharged. Please enjoy the hospitality of the club. Your motorcycle will be safe, and your payment will be here for you in the morning.'
He pressed a hidden bell beneath the desk and the door opened. A beautiful girl entered. Her hair, as black as a raven's wing, was cut in a bob, and she rested her pitch black eyes upon Finucane. Her skin held the soft, flawless honey-gold sheen that is common in Korean women; and her figure was slender and lithe. Finucane estimated that she was about twenty-two.
Kim Jonghyun smiled genially.
Her name is Sakura. She will entertain you this evening.'
Finucane stood up. The girl bowed to him with her hands clasped, almost it seemed, in supplication, then took his hand and led him out of the room. Pausing at the bar, she picked up an unopened bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label whisky and two crystal tumblers and led him up a flight of shadowy stairs to a room on the upper floor.
Finucane awoke with Sakura snuggled up beside him in the large bed. She stirred, and smiled sleepily. Finucane leaned over, stroked her hair from her cheek, and kissed her softly. Her beauty was extraordinary, in face and body and the texture of her skin. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft tapping on the door. An old man entered bearing a large porcelain tray, upon which were placed a green baize wrapping and a white linen bundle. The old man placed the tray at the foot of the bed; bowed deeply and backed out of the door, closing it behind him.
Finucane knew what the baize bundle would contain... the Gold ingots; but what was wrapped in the linen? He flicked the cloth aside to reveal a severed hand... a man's hand wearing a large Golden Dragon signet ring on one of its bloodless fingers. There was also a note, written in Korean characters. Quickly, he covered the severed hand with the cloth... Sakura was stirring. He waited until she was fully awake, and then asked her to translate the note. Her pretty face became puzzled as she read the characters. She searched his face with a sweetly bemused expression in her eyes.
'Bazza-sshi, it says "The Obligation is discharged. Please go in peace." It is signed by Choi Jong-Soo.'
A frightened look flitted across her pretty face.
'What does it mean, Bazza-sshi?'
Finucane put his arm around her.
'It is nothing or you to worry about. It simply means that my business with Kim Jonghyun is at an end.'
Three hours later, the Lodestar was droning out over the coast of the Kohung peninsula and the topaz-blue Korean Strait, heading south for the island of Okinawa. Bazza Finucane was happy. Two-thousand Aussie Quids in pocket; an assignation with the gorgeous Sakura to get her out of that shitty little club and take her back to Cairns in the far north of Queensland, where they would spend their time lazing in the sun, teaching her to surf, and making love. The skies were a cloudless, brilliant blue; the engines were running sweetly... yeah, it was a real ripper of a day!
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Peter Campbell waited patiently in the lobby of the Peninsula hotel and glanced at his wristwatch for the twentieth time. The minute hand of the big, ex-Luftwaffe "Laco" observer's watch; a souvenir from his days as a WWII fighter pilot; was marching inexorably around the clear black dial towards the eight o'clock mark. They'd have to get a move on... the flight from Kai Tak that had been arranged with the Yanks was due to leave at eight-twenty.
The arrangements hadn't been easy; the nearest American facility was Clark Air Base on Luzon Island in the Philippines. The phone lines between the office of the newly-appointed U.S. Consulate-General, in Hong Kong and Washington had positively glowed, these last few days. The Clark Air Base Commander did have a flight scheduled back to Hawaii... a 1500th Air Transport Wing C-54 Skymaster was heading back to its home base at Hickam Field, Pearl Harbor for a repaint in the newly-formed Military Air Transport Service. The problem was, that although the Skymaster certainly had the range, the Clark Commander thought that the runway at Kai Tak would be too short. Somewhere down the line, the CIA had become involved, and, as if by magic, all objections coming from Clark Air Base had ceased. Campbell had heard the big Skymaster arriving at about six o'clock that morning. The deep boom of her four powerful engines as she came in low across the city on final approach had rattled more than a few windows and woken up half of Kowloon.
At last! Charlotte and Max appeared. Their luggage had already been put into one of the Government House black Daimler limousines drawn up on the sweeping arc of the elegant forecourt between the Hotel entrance and the ornamental fountain. Campbell escorted them to the car, settled them into the rear seat, and then climbed in beside the driver. He nodded, and said curtly,
'OK, let's go.'
The Daimler whispered out of the forecourt and turned onto Salisbury Road. It was immediately picked up by two Hong Kong Police motorcycle combination escorts who roared away through the scattering traffic with the Daimler in close pursuit.
The three, and three-quarter miles journey took a little over ten minutes through the busy, early Monday morning traffic. At the main gate, the two police escorts stopped and saluted as the Daimler swept onto the airfield. There were no checks, and the car proceeded along the flying boat quay and stopped outside the control tower. Campbell opened the rear door for Charlotte. As she alighted onto the already-hot concrete, two officials were taking the luggage out of the car's boot. The big C-54 Skymaster was completing its refuelling on the apron, a couple of hundred yards away.
Campbell escorted them up to the control tower where their weapons were held in bond in the Duty Officer's secure gun cabinet. A Customs Officer took their passports and stamped them with the Hong Kong exit stamp, then took the two holstered Colt Model M ·32s and the unopened box of a hundred rounds from the cabinet, placed them on the table and held out a Customs chit for their signatures.
Having signed; they were handed the weapons and ammunition, and the Customs Officer smiled and wished them a safe journey. Campbell escorted them out of the control building and accompanied them across the apron to the Skymaster. The big silver aeroplane brought back memories as Charlotte gazed at it... the flight out of Germany... the journey to America. She smiled gently. Where would Josie Pullen and the other WASP girls be, these days? But no time to linger on happy memories. They needed to get aboard. The pilot was already starting the engines.
Campbell stood at the bottom of the loading steps and wished them a safe journey. They entered the cabin and the door was closed behind them, shutting out the curiously-enigmatic aroma of Hong Kong. The cabin was empty. They were the only passengers. A young airman in army fatigues invited them to choose a seat and said he was acting as steward, but the supplies were limited. He could do coffee and sandwiches, but that was as far as it went. Charlotte smiled and said that would be fine. The flight, according to Campbell, would take something like five hours. They should be landing in Seoul just after lunchtime.
The Skymaster taxied down to the end of Runway thirteen and turned with the familiar squeal of brakes. The "No Smoking" and "Seat Belt" signs flashed on and the fuselage began to tremble as the pilot ran up his engines. The thin whine of the actuators pushing out the huge under-wing flaps penetrated the cabin, and then, with a jolt, the pilot released the brakes and began his take- off down the main Runway 13/31. Above the vibration of the roaring engines, with the mountains and the Royal Hong Kong Auxiliary Air Force installations flashing past to the left; they felt the strange floating sensation as the nose wheel lifted clear just opposite the control tower. The rumble of the main wheels faded and the blinding white concrete fell away. The main undercarriage retracted with a hissing whine and a slight thud; the big flaps came up under the trailing edges of the wings, and the placid blue expanse of Kowloon bay broadened beneath them as the Skymaster banked gently to starboard to avoid the rearing mountains out to port.
Charlotte and Max gazed down at their last view of the beautiful Victoria harbour as the Skymaster climbed out above the Lei Yue Mun channel and skirted the eastern edge of Hong Kong Island, before turning east off Cape Collinson and heading out for another tiny strip of concrete a thousand miles away across the South China Sea.
Kim Jonghyun sat in his plush office slouched in his enormous leather chair behind his equally enormous camphorwood desk, and carefully turned the beautiful Garnet gemstone to and fro between his fingers so that its perfectly-cut facets caught the light , twinkling and shimmering seductively. It was a magnificent gem. He stared at it, fascinated by the tiny blood-red spark deep in its heart that seemed to flare and sparkle almost in time with his heartbeat.
He carefully placed the gemstone on the green tooled leather writing insert of the desk and reached for one of his Sumatra cigars. Again, he went through his ritual of lighting it, blowing on the tip until it glowed brightly, taking an initial puff at the cigar, and knocking the ash off into the large jade ashtray. He turned his attention back to the Garnet. He didn't really subscribe to the superstitions so widely held in the East that such a gem bestowed immunity to injury upon its wearer and was also believed to attract the energy and influence of the Sun. He had his own private army. What did he need with more power and immunity? He ruled the Seoul Gangs.
He came to a decision... a decision that would have wide-spread, and unforeseen consequences. His homeland was divided. There were two separate Korean governments... the North, armed by the Russians, and the South, armed by the Americans, with each claiming authority over the territory ruled by the other. The Russians had developed and tested a nuclear bomb two months ago, and the American President Truman had done nothing to stop them. Kim Il Sung; Chairman of the People's Assembly of North Korea had long been intent on invading the South. Sooner or later, it would happen, and Kim Jonghyun had no intention of becoming a casualty, or for that matter, losing his position of authority.
Through his labyrinthine network of organised criminals, he had many contacts in the North. If he made gift of the Garnet to Kim Il Sung; there would be an inferred Obligation, which he could cash in, as, and when the South fell. He nodded to himself, picked up the telephone receiver, and dialled a Pyongyang number.
Bazza Finucane was cruising across the East China Sea at twelve thousand feet whistling "I'd like to get you on a slow boat to China," thinking about how he would convert the gold ingots into cash, and when he would return to Seoul to collect Sakura and start a whole new life in the sun with her. He glanced at the dog-eared pilotage chart. He must be getting close to the turning point at Le-shima Island soon. Half-way down the roof of the fuselage, a little present from Kim Jonghyun was teetering in its hiding place ready to fall to the floor of the Lodestar. It had been placed in a suitably obscure position in the Lodestar's fuselage by one of the Korean mob-boss's triggermen whilst Finucane had been engaged in enjoying the delights of Sakura, the previous night.
Finucane hadn't noticed it as he had boarded the aeroplane and walked forward along the fuselage to the cockpit. Kim Jonghyun's little present was an ex-Imperial Japanese Army, contact detonation bomb. It was an elegant, oblong six-inches-by-three, black plastic casing about the size of a small, Ever-Ready pocket-lamp battery. The detonating mechanism was simply a brass solenoid post semi-flush-cut into either side of the plastic case. When the plastic case hit the floor, and either of the posts was pushed into the body of the case by the impact, the circuit was completed and the bomb detonated. It was small and deadly, with enough explosive power to demolish a three-storey building. Kim Jonghyun abhorred loose ends, and Finucane was a loose end to his plans. When his little present exploded out over the sea, there would be nothing left of Finucane or his aeroplane for anyone to find... and corpses could not point accusing fingers.
Finucane consulted the chart again. Time to make the turn onto the final leg down to the deactivated former Japanese airfield at Bolo Point on the Zampa-misaki promontory of Okinawa. He began to bank around gently to the south. The plastic case came free and fell to the floor... Bazza Finucane was half-way through whistling the line... "Leave all your lovers weepin' on a far away shore..." when there was a blinding flash...searing heat... and oblivion.
Two old fishermen casting their nets off the coral reef in Maeda-saki Bay heard what seemed like a loud, but distant clap of thunder, and looked out across the waters towards Le-shima Island to see what they could only imagine to be a small meteorite scything a brightly burning trajectory out of the sky. As they watched fearfully, the bright light disappeared into the sea leaving only a dark, slanting smudge in the clear blue sky that, for all the world, resembled the Katakana brush script syllable denoting the character…"no".
And now, Kim Jonghyun's loose end was efficiently tidied up. Bazza Finucane never would finish whistling his song, or lie in the sun on a golden beach in the far north of Queensland with his beautiful Sakura.