"Now, if no one objects, I'm going to find some tea."

Pak moved to the blackboard and began erasing what he'd written.

"I want a report on my desk in one hour, Inspector. Turn in that camera to Operations, and tell them to check it. And turn in the radio to Supply." He blew the chalk dust off his fingers.

Kang tore a page out of a small notebook with a leather cover.

Nothing like what we were issued. "This is my number. Call me this afternoon. Two o'clock." If I told the supply officer to get me a leather-bound notebook, he would laugh in my face. "Inspector," he would simper, "you're a riot."

I took the paper and put it in my pocket without looking. Kim had put the camera down on the desk, but he was still holding the lens cap.

He bent it double between his fingers, gazed at it thoughtfully, then nodded slightly and handed it to me.

"Do you think Operations has a kettle?" I turned to Pak, who was sitting at his desk again, pretending to study the first page of a longout-of-date Ministry personnel manual.

"I want that report, Inspector." He didn't look up as I walked out of the room and down the hall to Supply. I pulled the radio off my belt. It was switched on. That meant the battery had died, because otherwise it would have been popping and spitting throughout the meeting. I wondered if the third row of hills had disappeared in the haze of the August day.

4

The report didn't take long to write. There wasn't much to say, and I knew Pak wouldn't want much detail. Details invite questions. Questions demand answers. Answers get twisted, or misinterpreted, or used as weapons. When I finished, I made sure Pak was alone. His door was wide open, but this time I knocked.