Page 16 of K-Pop Double Life

“Yeah,” I said. I walked over to Sang-hoon. “How is Jin doing?”

“He’s tired, but he slept well last night. And he can sleep on the plane.” He flattened his lips for a moment. “You think there is a real danger? Not just a crazy fan?”

“Crazy fans are real,” I said. “But they don’t usually use fireworks. Crazy fans go for one-on-one assaults.”

“On Jin. He’s the center.”

We stood there a moment, baggage handlers moving cars, men and women in orange vests waving cones at the planes. “We’re experienced at this kind of thing,” I said. “Watching out for threats, taking care of clients. But we can always use an extra pair of eyes. Stick close to your guy.”

“I always do,” Sang-hoon said.

There was nothing cocky in it. Just fact.

After years with Liam, I understood how you could love someone enough to jump into an explosion for them.

While we waited to board, Liam and I talked to each of the performers and the traveling staff, and none of them had any idea why someone would want to sabotage the Cannes performance, except Haneul, who seemed to be the group’s de facto leader based on his age. He wondered if someone connected to North Korea had arranged the explosion because of controversy surrounding the movie.

“It is about love between a South Korean woman and a North Korean soldier,” he said. “When it came out there were some problems, though nothing lately. And nothing against us.”

“We saw some material online about that,” I said. “We’ll keep it in mind.”

A vibration against my thigh pulled my attention away from the boarding stairs.

Richard.

I opened the message while the ground crew guided a fuel truck away from the BBJ, the engines beginning to whine with that rising mechanical pitch that always made conversation feel slightly unreal.

Did a first pass on your passenger list and some public chatter around the group. One name worth a closer look: Park Min-woo. Former Starhouse manager, terminated three months ago. Managed a group called AURORA until he was let go. Since then he’s been posting steadily against the company, mostly vague accusations about exploitation and corruption, but Jin’s name comes up more than once.

I scrolled down.

One deleted post from last week said, “Centers burn fastest.” Thought you’d want to know. Still digging.

For a moment I just stared at the screen while baggage handlers loaded the last cases into the cargo hold.

“Problem?” Liam asked.

I handed him the phone as a black airport van arrived to drive us across the apron to the waiting BBJ. He read the message as we drove, then jumped out of the van to survey the area before he’d let anyone else out.

The performers and the crew moved to the aircraft stairs, Jin in the lead with Sang-hoon close behind him, one hand hovering at the small of his back in a gesture so automatic he probably didn’t realize he was doing it.

“That echoes the language from the text message Eun-ji got back in Cannes, about the center burning,” Liam said, handing the phone back to me. “That’s either a hell of a coincidence or a lot of people in the K-Pop world have a flair for dramatic messaging.”

The engine noise climbed another notch, hot exhaust washing across the tarmac.

I typed back: Good work. Please keep him in your headlights. Full background, finances, travel, associates. And look for any animus against the movie, My Lover from the North.

Richard’s reply came almost immediately.

Now you’re asking nicely.

I looked at Jin disappearing into the cabin, then back at Richard’s message.

If Min-woo was angry enough to threaten the company, angry enough to target Jin by name, maybe we’d found our first real suspect.

7

THIRTY THOUSAND FEET