(2 of 2)
An agitated TV cameraman from a Japanese network sits on the edge of a couch. "Have you seen him?" I ask. "If I had seen him, I wouldn't be here," he snaps. So we head out again, popping our heads into every club and casino we see. At the Grand Emperor Hotel, its entrance fronted by two gilded carriages, we ride an escalator to the amplified din of jangling coins broadcast through the sound system. I doubt Jong Nam is really here, but on a floor of slot machines, I ask hotel staff to page Mr. Kim. The woman behind the desk stares at me blankly. "I'm sorry, sir," she says. "I can't turn off the music."
The next morning we head for an apartment that the younger Kim keeps for his family, at least, that is, according a report in South Korea's Chosun Ilbo. It's in an exclusive waterfront development, but save for a sunflower image painted on its tile wall, "his" place looks identical to those around it. We ring the doorbell, but no one shows. A security guard gives us a dirty look, so we buzz off. Our options dwindling, we decide to call off our search. Perhaps we should have followed the lead of Nippon Television's Norihisa Kabaya, whom we ran into earlier. He was patrolling a boardwalk near the black sand of Hac Sa beach, video camera rolling while his interpreter waved a blown-up photograph of the smiling Kim Jong Nam. "Have you seen this man?" the interpreter asked us. We have, but only in pictures.