Free The Fourth Watcher by Timothy Hallinan Page B

fascinating.”
    â€œHe said, ‘First we do it for love. Then we do it for a few friends. Then we do it for money.’”
    â€œSounds like prostitution.”
    â€œI left that out,” Prettyman says. “That’s what he was comparing writing to.”
    â€œI can see why you might have skipped it.”
    â€œThe operative word was ‘professional.’ I’m a professional. Twenty thousand baht.”
    â€œTen.”
    â€œFifteen.”
    â€œTwelve-five, and that’s it. You’re not the only spy I know.”
    â€œI’m not a spy,” Prettyman says automatically. “Okay, North Korea. The Norkies have almost no foreign trade. First, they don’t make much of anything, and second, most countries won’t do business with them. And why not, you ask?”
    â€œI do,” Rafferty says. Prettyman reflectively chews his lip as though wondering whether to renegotiate. Rafferty asks, “Was that enough of a response, or would you like me to actually formulate the question?”
    Prettyman does a minimalist head shake, little more than a twitch. “Because they’re nuts, that’s why. Just completely, totally, off-the-wall nuts. If North Korea were a person, it would be wrapped in an old blanket, muttering to itself on the sidewalk. Relief organizations send them boats full of rice, since half the fucking country is starving to death, and the Norkie navy sinks the boats. They buy stuff from other countries and don’t accept the shipment, or they accept it and don’t pay for it. This is not a policy that’s going to produce large streams of foreign revenue.”
    â€œSort of like opening a store and keeping the doors locked.”
    â€œAnd shooting the guy who delivers your merchandise.” Prettyman picks up the tube of paper and holds it to one eye, like a telescope, then lowers it. “But they need money. The Socialist Paradise—that’s what the Norkie government calls it—spends every nickel it can generate on the military, which, as you might guess, leaves a hole in the budget when it comes to luxuries like food. So they raise money by counterfeiting stuff.”
    â€œYou’re telling me that a government is producing funny money.”
    â€œIt’s not a government, it’s the Sopranos. You want a statistic?”
    â€œNot particularly.”
    â€œWell, here comes one.” He holds up the roll of paper and says, “Remind me to ask you about this. So…the statistic: North Koreamakes more foreign revenue from counterfeiting than it does from trade.”
    Some sort of response seems called for. Rafferty says, “Gadzooks.”
    â€œPrescription drugs, cigarettes—your girlfriend smokes, right?”
    â€œLike Pittsburgh.”
    â€œMarlboros?”
    Rafferty nods.
    â€œWell, your girlfriend’s cigarettes come straight from Kim Jong Il. In 1995, agents intercepted a boat on its way from Taiwan to North Korea carrying cigarette papers with the Marlboro logo. Wrap them around some junk tobacco, and there were so many papers they’d have brought one billion dollars on the street. That’s billion with a b. Ninetenths of the Marlboros in Southeast Asia are forgeries, courtesy of Office 39, which reports directly to the little guy with the Eraserhead haircut.”
    â€œAnother reason for her to quit.”
    â€œBut your Mr. Elson doesn’t care about cigarettes, or fake Viagra, or AIDS drugs that don’t actually do anything. He cares about money, American money. The same printing plant in Pyongyang that makes the extra-fancy thousand-baht bills makes American fifties and hundreds that are so good they’re called ‘supernotes.’” Prettyman shakes his head in what might be admiration. His eyes briefly border on expressive. “You have to give them credit. These things are so perfect the Seekies had to blow them up to about twenty feet long