On the day he met with former governor and presidential candidate Mike Princippi, Dan Bergdorf was still recovering from the night he had spent stumbling through earthquake-ravaged Los Angeles with Charlton Heston and Ava Gardner.
"Governor Princippi," Dan said, trying to force images of tumbledown buildings and devastated streets from his mind. "It's a genuine pleasure to meet you."
After the men shook hands, Dan took a seat on his office couch, indicating that Princippi should sit in a comfortable overstuffed chair.
"I must say, I'm a bit surprised to see you here," Dan admitted. He pitched his voice low. "We don't generally get people of your caliber at Channel 8." His voice dropped even lower, as if imparting a shameful secret. He was. "I voted for you, by the way," Dan added.
Clearly, the ex-presidential candidate was not interested in discussing his disastrous campaign. "Do you know what this is about?" Princippi asked officiously.
Dan clapped his hands on his knees. He shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I'm in the dark. Something about cutting an infotainment spot, I imagine. What did you have in mind?"
"It isn't my idea," Princippi stated firmly.
Dan raised his hands. "No explanations necessary. I'm just a producer here. Probably something your people cooked up, right? Well, I can guarantee you a spot classier than those Ross Perot cheese-ball segments. Laying the groundwork for 2000, eh? I tell you, I'll vote for you again."
"It is nonpolitical," Princippi interrupted. He was beginning to fidget in his chair.
Dan seemed disappointed. "Really?" he asked.
"It's more along the lines of-" Princippi cut himself off. His pasty face had flushed red. "They really didn't tell you anything?"
Dan shook his head. "General manager told me I was meeting with you, that's all. Top guy himself wanted me to. I guess ole king Loonie has seen some of my work. Probably 'Thirty Days to Thinner Thighs.' That gets a lot of airplay in Washington. He's still near Washington, right?"
Princippi glanced at the closed door. "Actually..." he began uncomfortably.
TEN MINUTES LATER, Dan found himself pacing back and forth on one of the Channel 8 stages, trying to force images of a sweating, screaming George Kennedy from his mind.
The Loonies had descended.
Men in pink saris draped over flowing white robes stood crammed like vapid, gaily colored sardines all around the perimeter of the small stage. The focus of their attention was the lone man standing in the wings, waiting to go on.
Man Hyung Sun. The leader of the Sunnie cult himself was waiting patiently for a cue from the stage manager.
It had been bad for Dan Bergdorf before, but never this bad. Sun might have owned Channel 8 but he had only visited the station once seven years ago. Since the Korean cultist was not involved in the day-to-day operations of the station, Dan could pretend that he was working for someone else.
The station manager.
The program director.
Anyone but Sun.
"Look at them," Dan mumbled as he glanced at the sea of blank, beaming Sunnie faces. "They're frigging drones."
On the set, Mike Princippi was pretending to be involved in a high-level meeting of political strategists. Reading from cue cards, he and the three other men were wondering how they could possibly hope to outthink their crafty opponent.
To the right of the action, the stage manager dropped a hand rapidly, pointing a finger at Sun. The cult leader took his cue without missing a beat. He strode magnificently into the shot, much to the feigned amazement of the men already being videotaped.
"Oh, hello," Mike Princippi said. "Aren't you Reverend Man Hyung Sun?"
Offstage, Dan groaned quietly.
The set was beyond obscenely cheap. Ratty, space-filling nylon drapes hung in sheets across the gaps in the artificial wall backdrops. The color of everything was washed-out green and drab blue. The furniture was strictly cable access. No question about it.
This was going to be the blackest smear on Dan's resume to date. He'd never recover from this one. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he watched for the cult leader's reply along with the anxious, awestruck Sunnies.
"I am he," Sun intoned to the overly eager men. "I am the future. I am your future. I know your destiny." Sun turned dramatically to the camera. He pointed directly at the lens. "And yours."
Hold...and...
"Cut!" the director shouted.
The gathered Loonies immediately burst into wildly enthusiastic applause.
Sun took the ovation as his due. He did not even look at his followers as he stepped back, allowing the stage hands space to do their jobs.
On the set next to Sun, Mike Princippi looked as if someone had just told him his wife had been picked up again for drinking liquid ant repellent in the ladies' room of the local Stop 'n' Shop.
Stage hands swept in to set up for the next scene. And beyond the row of furiously clapping Loonies, Dan Bergdorf was in a pathetic, mute fog.
Dan was picturing himself in a field with Michael Caine. Both he and the actor were being descended on by a swarm of South American killer bees. With each slap of applause from the Sunnies, Dan literally felt another single bee sting.
Sting after sting after sting.
Until his pathetic career in television at last fell over and died.
Chapter 8
Rim Kun Soe was displeased.
He had been posted to Berlin to assist Ambassador Sok after an embarrassing incident involving a representative of North Korea's Culture and Art Ministry.
More than a month before, the Culture and Art Ministry agent had been implicated in a scandal involving smuggling, accepting bribes, abetting an enemy of North Korea and a host of other infractions. More grave than any of his crimes against the Democratic People's Republic was his crime against the Master of Sinanju. Keijo Suk-the Culture and Art Ministry representative to Germany-had sneaked into the Master's home while he was abroad and had stolen an ancient artifact. For his theft, Suk had paid in blood.
The upshot of the whole sordid affair was a shake-up at the Berlin mission. Many of the older staff were recalled to North Korea. Anyone who was a friend or even an innocent associate of Suk was sent back home only to learn that he or she had been dismissed from the foreign service.
One of the few people to stay after the debacle was over was Ambassador Pak Sok. This did not mean that Sok was above suspicion, by any means. Rim Kun Soe had been specifically assigned by the Public Security Minister's office to keep an eye on the Ambassador. After all, Keijo Suk's indiscretion had taken place on Pak Sok's watch. It was possible that the ambassador had been compromised, as well.
Rim Kun Soe had not been settled into his quarters at the Berlin mission for more than three days when evidence of the betrayal of Ambassador Sok became apparent.
There was a knock on the door. Impossible, given the fences and guards around the embassy building.
Soe had answered the door only to find an ancient Korean standing on the broad steps. He was in the company of a much younger man who was obviously not Korean.
"I would speak with the ambassador," the old one had intoned.
"Who are you, ancient one?" Soe had demanded. "How do you come to stand here without alerting our guards?"