the naked face || bts

seventeen

He sat in the car across from the vacant lot, trying to put it all together. The wrong phone number could have been a mistake. Or the address could have been a mistake. But not both. Hoseok had deliberately lied to him. And if he had lied about who he was and where he lived, what else had he lied about? He forced himself to objectively examine everything he really knew about Hoseok. It came to almost nothing. He had walked into his office unannounced and insisted on becoming a patient. In the four weeks that he had been coming to him, he had carefully managed not to reveal what his problem was, and then had suddenly announced that it was solved and he was going away. After each visit he had paid him in cash so that there would be no way of tracing him. But what reason could he have had for posing as a patient and then vanishing? There was only one answer. And as it hit Yoongi, he became physically sick.

If someone wanted to set him up for murder- wanted to know his routine at the office- wanted to know what the inside of the office looked like- what better way than to gain access as a patient? That was what he was doing there. Don Vinton had sent him. He had learned what he needed to know and then had disappeared without a trace. It had all been pretense, and how eager he had been to be taken in by it. How he must have laughed when he went back to report to Don Vinton about the amorous idiot who called himself an analyst and pretended to be an expert about people. He was head over heels in love with a boy whose sole interest in him was setting him up to be murdered. How was that for a judge of character?

But what if it were not true? Supposing Hoseok had come to him with a legitimate problem, had used a fictitious name because he was afraid of embarrassing someone? In time the problem had solved itself and he had decided that he no longer needed the help of an analyst. But Yoongi knew that it was too easy. There was an 'x' quantity about Hoseok that needed to be discovered. He had a strong feeling that in that unknown quantity could lie the answer to what was happening. It was possible that he was being forced to act against his will. But even as he thought it, he knew he was being foolish. He was trying to cast him as some sort of damsel in distress with himself as a knight in shining armor. Had he set him up for murder? Somehow, he had to find out.

An elderly woman in a housecoat had come out of a house across the street and was staring at him. He turned the car around and headed back to the main road. There was a line of cars behind him. Any one of them could be following him. But why would they have to follow him? His enemies knew where to find him. He couldn't sit and passively wait for them to attack. He had to do the attacking himself, keep them off guard, enrage Don Vinton into making a blunder so that he could be checkmated. And he had to do it before Jungkook caught him and locked him up. The only possible key to all this was Hoseok- and he had disappeared without a trace. The day after tomorrow, he would be out of the country. And Yoongi suddenly realized that he had one chance of finding him.

It was Christmas Eve and the International Airlines office was crowded with travelers and would-be travelers on standby, fighting to get space on planes flying all over the world. Yoongi made his way to the counter through the waiting lines and asked to see the manager. The uniformed girl behind the counter gave him a professionally coded smile and asked him to wait- the manager was on the phone. Yoongi stood there hearing a babel of phrases.

'I want to leave India on the fifth.'

'Will Paris be cold?'

'I want a car to meet me in Lisbon.'

He felt a desperate desire to get on a plane and run away. He suddenly realized how exhausted he was, physically and emotionally. Don Vinton seemed to have an army at his disposal, but Yoongi was alone. What chance did he have against him?

'Can I help you?'

Yoongi turned. A tall, cadaverous-looking man stood behind the counter. 'I'm Friendly,' he said. He waited for Yoongi to appreciate the joke. Yoongi smiled dutifully. 'Charles Friendly. What can I do for you?'

'I'm Dr Min. I'm trying to locate a patient of mine. He's booked on a flight leaving for Europe tomorrow.'

'The name?'

'Jung. Jung Hoseok.'

'What city is he flying to?'

'I- I'm not sure.'

'Are they hooked on one of our morning or afternoon flights?'

'I'm not even certain if it's with your airline,' Yoongi said.

The friendliness dropped out of Mr Friendly's eyes. 'Then I'm afraid I can't help you.'

Yoongi felt a sudden feeling of panic. 'It's really urgent. I must find him before he goes.'

'Doctor, IA has one or more flights leaving every day for Amsterdam, Barcelona, Berlin, Brussels, Copenhagen, Dublin, Dusseldorf, Parkfurt, Hamburg, Lisbon, London, Munich, Paris, Rome, Shannon, Stuttgart, and Vienna. So have most of the other airline companies. You'll have to contact each one individually. And I doubt if they can help you unless you can give them the destination and time of departure.' The expression on Mr. Friendly's face was one of impatience. 'If you'll excuse me...' He turned to walk away.

'Wait!' said Yoongi. How could he explain that this might be his last chance to stay alive? His last link to finding out who was attempting to kill him. Friendly was regarding him with barely concealed annoyance.

'Yes?'

Yoongi forced a smile on his face, hating himself for it, 'Don't you have some kind of central computing system,' he asked, 'where you can get passengers' names by... ?'

'Only if you know the flight number,' Mr Friendly said. He turned and was gone.

Yoongi stood there at the counter, feeling sick. Check and checkmate. He was defeated. There was nowhere else to move. A group of Italian priests bustled in, dressed in long, flapping black robes and wide black hats, looking like something out of the Middle Ages. They were weighed down with cheap cardboard suitcases, boxes and gift baskets of fruit. They were speaking loudly in Italian and obviously teasing the youngest member of their group, a boy who looked nomore than eighteen or nineteen. They were probably returning home to Rome after a vacation, thought Yoongi, as he listened to their babbling. Rome... where Hoseok would be... Hoseok again. The priests were moving towards the counter.

'E molto bene di ritornare a casa.' 'Si. d'accordo.''Signore, per piacere, guardatemi.' 'Tutto va bene?' 'Si, ma-' 'Dio mio, dove sono i mid biglietti?' 'Cretino, hai perduto i biglietti.' 'Ah, eccoli.'

The priests handed their airline tickets to the youngest priest, who moved bashfully towards the girl at the counter. Yoongi looked towards the exit. A large man in a grey overcoat was lounging in the doorway. The young priest was talking to the girl behind the counter. 'Dieci. Dieci.' The girl stared at him blankly. The priest summoned up his knowledge of English and said very carefully, 'Ten. Billetta. Teeket.' He pushed the tickets towards her. The girl smiled happily and began to process the tickets.

The priests burst into delighted cries of approval at their companion's linguistic abilities and clapped him on the back. There was no point in staying here any longer. Sooner or later he would have to face whatever was out there. Yoongi slowly turned and started to move past the group of priests. 'Guarda te che ha fatto il Don Vinton.'

Yoongi stopped, the blood suddenly rushing to his face. He turned to the tubby little priest who had spoken and took his arm. 'Excuse me,' he said. His voice was hoarse and unsteady. 'Did you say "Don Vinton"?'

The priest looked up at him blankly, then patted him on the arm and started to move away. Yoongi tightened his grip. 'Wait!' he said. The priest was looking at him nervously. Yoongi forced himself to speak calmly. 'Don Vinton. Which one is he? Show him to me.'

All the priests were now staring at Yoongi. The little priest looked at his companions. 'E un americano matto.' A babble of excited Italian rose from the group. Out of the corner of his eye, Yoongi saw Friendly watching him from behind the counter. Friendly opened the counter gate and started to move towards him. Yoongi fought to control a rising panic. He let go of the priest's arm, leaned close to him, and said slowly and distinctly, 'Don Vinton'.

The little priest looked into Yoongi's face for a moment and then his own face splintered into merriment. 'Don Vinton?' The manager was approaching rapidly, his manner hostile. Yoongi nodded to the priest encouragingly. The little priest pointed to the boy. 'Don Vinton- big man'. And suddenly the puzzle fell into place.