“Is that so?” Seo Tae-joon murmured, letting his head fall back against the headrest.
Ji-woo turned back to the window. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Any sense of control she had over him felt like a leash slipping through her fingers, and the constant uncertainty made her anxious. In the dark glass, she saw the reflection of her own worried face. Ten minutes later, the van slowed to a stop.
“Ji-woo, stay in the car,” Seo Tae-joon said.
“What?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“But…!”
“I brought a bento box. You can eat while you wait.” Without another word, Seo Tae-joon got out of the van.
He opened the rear doors, letting out two of the gang members they had captured. He was posing as their prisoner, and he motioned for them to drag him onto the wharf. The two men, weak and shaking from wounds they’d suffered in the earlier fight, exchanged a baffled look, unsure what to make of the man before them.
“You think this is a joke?” Seo Tae-joon asked. “Your first mistake was not shooting me on sight. Didn’t your manager teach you that?”
The two men stood frozen in a mixture of confusion and fear.
“Pull yourselves together,” Seo Tae-joon scolded. “Stop shaking. I’m the one supposedly being led to my death. The way you’re acting, anyone would think you were the hostages.”
One of the younger men clenched his jaw, squinting at the black cloth that obscured Seo Tae-joon’s features. “Are you… the manager?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Are you here to check on us?”
Seo Tae-joon found the question absurd. A smile spread across his lips, hidden beneath the veil.
The ship pulled away from the shore. When the chugging of its old motor finally faded into the distance, Ji-woo got out of the van and walked to the water’s edge. The dark sea had swallowed Seo Tae-joon without a trace. Only the fishing boat’s lights remained, a solitary beacon on the vast water. A chilly sea breeze whipped around her as she paced the length of the dark dock.
They cultivate the poppies in the mountains and process them at sea, Seo Tae-joon had told her. His interrogation of the gang members had revealed their base of operations: a ship. To make an example of one, he had broken all ten of the man’s fingers in front of the others. After that, the rest had been quick to talk. At least he’d had the decency to send her out of the shipping container first.
While he’d worked, Ji-woo had gone back to the greenhouse to gather more photographic evidence. She still couldn’t tell if her hands had been shaking from the sight of the endless red poppies, or from the desperate screams echoing from the container across the hillside.
Now Seo Tae-joon had disappeared onto that boat.
It was Seo Tae-joon, she reminded herself. Worrying was pointless. But he was out on the water, and he’d never been to sea before. What if they threw him overboard? Could he even swim? And the place they were taking him… was it outside of Cheongdo?
Is he outside of Cheongdo? The thought struck her, and an icy dread ran down her spine. Her face went pale, a stark white mask against the backdrop of the black ocean. She pressed a hand to her chest, her legs threatening to give out beneath her.
A sudden glare of a flashlight blinded her. Ji-woo threw a hand up to shield her eyes. The beam dropped, illuminating the ground at her feet. As her vision cleared, she made out the figure holding the light: a police officer in a fluorescent vest.
“Who are you?” the officer asked. “Can I see some ID?”
“Why?” Ji-woo countered.
“We’ve had some trouble with attempted stowaways,” he replied, taking a step closer.
Ji-woo’s past experiences with the police had taught her never to trust them. She didn’t ask for help. She ran.
How can I trust the police in Cheongdo? she thought as she fled. In this place, she’d learned to suspect everyone.
The gang members’ words came back to her—mutterings about city hall employees and police officers. She’d pieced it together: city officials funded the drug trade, and law enforcement protected it. There was no one left to trust.
A sharp whistle cut through the air as the officer gave chase. Ji-woo’s legs screamed in protest, but she forced them onward. She scrambled back to the van parked up the road, fumbled with the lock, and slammed the door shut, cranking the engine to life.
The officer caught up, pounding on the driver’s side window as she lurched forward. Ji-woo wrenched the steering wheel, and the van swerved, sending him tumbling into the ditch beside the narrow lane. She stomped on the accelerator, leaving him behind. Gasping for breath, she sped into the darkness.
The phone she had tossed onto the passenger seat began to ring. She glanced in the rearview mirror—no flashing lights—then reached over and answered the call.