Pak shook his head. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

Fine.

"Alright, who is Kim Satgat? Is he on file?"

"Probably, at one time. His real name was Kim Pyong Yon. Wandering poet from the old days."

"That's it?"

"Long story, but he accidentally criticized his grandfather. Badly unfilial thing to do. He went into hiding, wore a bamboo hat to cover his face."

"So, if they couldn't see Kim Satgat, why did they honk?" Pak bobbed his head back and forth a little when he already knew the answer to a question he was asking. He waited, until he sensed I knew it, too. "Yes, the radio."

"That car was monitoring frequencies? No one gets equipment like that without piles of paperwork." I thought it over. "Unless it came from the outside. Who are we talking about here?"

Pak shook his head. "I don't know. And don't ask."

"That stone head Kim isn't from any joint headquarters, is he?"

"Inspector, drop it."

"I thought so. His neck is too thick. Not pretty enough for a headquarters billet."

"Drop it." Pak held up his hand. "Stop, drop it, enough."

"I don't like this operation. Kim I don't like. Kang I really don't like. You notice? He never changes expression. It's like watching a trout on your dinner plate, staring up at you." We were both silent for a moment.

"Did you see Kim tap his foot?"

Pak's chair squeaked as he swiveled around to face the window. He slumped and put the tips of the fingers of both hands together, making small diamonds for the sunlight to shine through.

"They're not working together, are they, those two aliens?" Pak pretended to ignore me, which meant I was right. "I don't suppose anyone checked. Was there even a battery in that damned camera?"