Cold wind rattled the bushes as Pak Rhee plastered himself against the side of the building, making himself invisible.
The street was empty. It was time for him to make his move.
He hoisted himself up and slid the pry-bar under the window’s edge. Ten seconds later, he was inside the elderly lady’s apartment. Working quickly, padding from room to room in complete silence, he filled his sack.
It was a good haul. Fifteen of ’em. Crazy old woman.
The manager of Korea House handed Rhee a fat envelope. “Dinner?”
Rhee declined politely. He had never cared for Seoul food.