by Larry Bond
He looked over sharply at Anne, but she had her eyes resolutely fixed on the pavement again. Damnit. Was she smiling? He couldn’t tell, and he couldn’t think of any clever way to find out. Damn, damn, and double damn.
He could see the subway station entrance just a block ahead when suddenly Anne’s head snapped up, her eyes wider than he’d ever seen them. She grabbed his elbow. “Did you hear that? That popping noise, just now.”
Popping noise? What the hell was she talking about? Then he heard it. A long, rolling series of muffled explosions — like cooking popcorn or a string of Chinese firecrackers. It was off to the west, toward the city center, but it was getting louder. The riot was moving back this way, nastier than ever.
He took Anne’s hand without even thinking about it. “C’mon.” They ran toward the subway station, jostled their way in with a crowd of Korean commuters, and took the down escalator two steps at a time. The station was noisy, crowded with Korean businessmen and shoppers heading home after a long day, but they could hear wailing police sirens rushing past on the street above them.
Tony kept hold of Anne’s hand until they pushed their way onto a packed subway car, along with most of the others who’d been lining the tracks. As the train pulled out, heading into the darkened subway tunnel, Anne pulled her hand away — gently but firmly.
The other passengers were restless and just as edgy as Tony and Anne. They’d heard the sirens, and many had heard the shooting off in the distance above the station. As they chattered back and forth in worried tones, Tony wished he’d learned more than phrase-book Korean.
Shit, he knew why they were worried. The train they were on was moving west — right toward the direction of the riot. Tony could have kicked himself. This was the right subway line to Seoul Station, but he could have gone around the other way. Now, he’d put both himself and Anne at risk just because he’d rushed onto the first damned train that came along.
He swore under his breath.
Anne heard him and leaned over. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t think either.” She was pale but seemed under control.
Tony felt a little better. He just hoped the train’s engineer knew what was going on aboveground.
The man must have, because he went rocketing through the next station, Chongak, without slowing. Tony could see the huge crowd waiting by the tracks frantically trying to wave the train down. But they were through and into the next dark tunnel in a matter of seconds. Once there, the subway train started slowing to a more normal speed. They must be past whatever was going on.
Tony pulled out his city guide. Chongak Station led out onto Sejong Street, wherever the hell that was. And there would only be one more stop before they got to the railroad station.
He looked over at Anne. “I’m supposed to get off at Seoul Station, but let me get you to your hotel, first.”
She got a strange look on her face. “My hotel?” She shook her head. “I’m not a tourist, I work in the logistics section at Yongsan.”
Yongsan. That was the main U.S. Forces military base in Seoul. Just who was Anne, some other officer’s wife? He risked a quick look at her hands. No, no rings. So what was she doing at Yongsan?
She must have read his mind. “I work there. For the Army.” It shouldn’t have, but that took Tony by surprise and it must have showed on his face. Anne frowned. “You’ve heard that some women are smart enough to make their own way in the world, I suppose.” She looked a little taken aback by what she’d said.
Oops. Where the hell was an ejection seat when you really needed one. How was he going to dig himself out of this hole?
The train stopped at the City Hall station, but no one got off and more people forced their way on board.
“Look, I’m sorry.” He stopped. Saying he was apologizing for not thinking she was smart enough to work for a living was a lot like being asked if you had stopped beating your wife. It was a no-win proposition.
He started over. “I’d like to get to know you better.” The train was starting to brake. His stop must be just ahead. Damn, there wasn’t time to do this with any finesse.
“Could I see you sometime, you know, maybe for dinner? I’m not such a bad guy when I’m not stuck in the middle of a riot, honest.” He tried to smile. Christ, he felt like a high school freshman again. He hadn’t had trouble talking to women for years, so why now?
Anne’s reply was immediate. And uncompromising. “Thanks, but I don’t think so.” She was blushing again. She looked away from his eyes. “I do want to thank you for helping me this afternoon …” The train’s brakes squealed as it shuddered to a stop inside Seoul Station, drowning out her words.
Tony had to go. The car doors opened and he was being half-carried out by the surge of Korean commuters heading for home. He tried Plan B. “Well, how about meeting some afternoon for lunch? Or maybe you could show me the sights.”
He got pushed out of the car before she could reply. The doors slammed shut. Tony tried looking in the windows as the subway train started to pull away, but he couldn’t tell whether she was shaking her head no or yes.
He stood watching the train lights disappear out of sight into the darkness. Shit, he hadn’t even gotten her phone number.
He caught his train back to Kunsan without any further trouble. And that was almost too bad. He would have welcomed the excuse to really blow up. Instead he had to sit quietly in another compartment crowded with Korean commuters and shoppers.
And the trip back to base gave him more than enough time to replay every line of that last disastrous conversation with Anne Larson.
Tony got back the BOQ just before seven and washed up. He had to change all his clothing because of the tear gas smell. It wasn’t strong, but it was noticeable.
He walked across the hall and knocked on Hooter’s door. He heard a muffled, “Come on in, for Christ’s sake. Quit trying to knock my door down.”
His wingman looked up from the latest men’s magazine he’d managed to snag in the PX. Hooter’s face creased into a smile. “Hey, Saint! Back from Seoul so soon? Man, you gotta read this article.” Hooter tapped the magazine in front of him.
Tony looked down. The article was a natural blonde.
“So how was the big day in the big city? Tell Uncle Hooter all. And spare no details.”
Tony weighed the truth with more comfortable fiction and decided on a compromise. “It was okay. I got caught in a riot and struck out with a pretty girl. No big deal.”
The fiction part was the “no big deal.” It was a big deal, to him. It was more than just the challenge of getting a pretty woman to go out with him. Anne had looks, grace, and lot of class. He definitely wanted to see her again, and he’d blown it.
CHAPTER 13
Double Cross
OCTOBER 15 — OLD EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING, WASHINGTON, D.C.
The dry mumble of the clerk’s calling the roll ended, but it took the sharp bang of the Senate president’s gavel to bring Blake Fowler’s eyes back to the TV picture being broadcast on the C-SPAN cable channel.
He squinted up at the screen: 54–45. The conference version of the Korean sanctions bill had been passed by nine lousy votes. Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise. The margin had been the same two days earlier when the Senate passed the bill for the first time. Damn it. He knew for a fact that they could have switched at least six of those votes if the President had declared his opposition to the bill. Instead there’d been nothing but silence from the East Wing of the White House.
Blake knew the kind of pressure that was being exerted to win the President’s consent to the Korean sanctions. Phone calls to the White House switchboard. Telegrams. Weekly visits by the Speaker of the House and the Senate majority leader. Barnes and his allies were pulling out all the stops. Naturally. The congressman from Michigan was openly angling to become the next senator from Michigan, and it was no secret that he planned to ride the protectionist, anti-Korea bandwagon all the way into the Senate chamber.
<
br /> What Blake couldn’t understand was the glacial pace that Putnam had set in orchestrating the administration’s internal opposition to the sanctions bill. He’d had the Working Group’s report in his hands for over a week now. Why hadn’t he briefed the President? With the congressional elections coming up in less than three weeks, there wasn’t much time left to pull the head of state’s mind back from domestic politics to foreign affairs.
He picked up the phone and dialed Putnam’s office.
Putnam’s secretary was apologetic but unhelpful. “I’m sorry, Dr. Fowler, but he’s tied up in a meeting right now. He’ll have to get back to you. Can I take another message?”
Blake knew there were already at least ten pink message slips with his name and number littering her desk. “No, that’s all right, Liz. I’m just trying to find out when he’s planning to meet with the President on this Korea thing.”
Putnam’s secretary lowered her voice. “Korea? I thought you’d heard. He’s briefing the President and the cabinet tomorrow morning. Didn’t he call you?”
Blake kept his voice level. “No. I guess it slipped his mind.”
“Hold on for just a moment. I’ll see if I can pull him away from his congressional guests long enough to ask him about it for you.”
He heard the line go silent as she put him on hold. That son of a bitch. What kind of games was he playing now?
Putnam’s secretary was back in less than a minute. She sounded embarrassed. “I’m sorry. He said the President has asked that this meeting be kept strictly limited. He’s going to do the briefing himself.”
Blake hung up slowly. He’d been shut out by Putnam before. But never on something so crucial. Just what the hell was going on over in the East Wing?
OCTOBER 16 — THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.
The President looked around the half-empty Cabinet Room while Putnam droned on. It might have been nice for once to have a full complement of his senior advisors present for an important meeting. But the world didn’t want to cooperate. Crises, both domestic and foreign, always seemed to drain people out of Washington at the damnedest times.
So, now that he needed to make a decision on this Korean sanctions bill, half his key people were scattered across the globe. The secretary of commerce was in Japan for high-level trade negotiations. And both the secretary of defense and the CIA director were off flitting around Europe briefing the NATO governments on the latest round of conventional arms talks. Even the vice president was out of town on a swing through Sub-Saharan Africa.
That left a small cadre of foreign and military policy experts to canvass — basically just the secretary of state and Putnam. He’d thought about putting this meeting off, but Putnam had assured him that the views of both Defense and the CIA were included in his Working Group’s report. The man had also managed to deftly remind him that polls showed a growing public impatience with what they saw as his administration’s reluctance to take swift, decisive action on important issues.
The President sighed. He’d campaigned on the promise of “hands-on” leadership and management. Didn’t people realize it took time to assimilate all the detailed knowledge that required? He was beginning to envy his predecessor’s seeming ability to make snap judgments that turned out to be more right than wrong.
“Mr. President? You had a question, sir?” Putnam had stopped in the middle of his briefing, pointer resting on large-scale map of the North Pacific.
“No, George. No questions just yet. Go ahead and finish your presentation.”
Putnam laid the pointer back on the table and stared down at his notes for a couple of moments before continuing. “Let me quickly summarize the Working Group’s findings and recommendations, gentlemen. First, the trade sanctions included in the bill would have a powerful impact on South Korea’s economy. Given that, it seems clear to me that no rational government would risk their full implementation.”
“And,” Putnam continued, “they would have little substantive impact on our own economy in the unlikely event that we have to put them in place. Korean products are a convenience — not a necessity.”
His eyes strayed over to the Defense secretary’s empty chair. “Finally, although the Department of Defense and the intelligence agencies are not especially happy about the bill’s troop withdrawal provisions, it’s clear that South Korea’s armed forces no longer need rely on our protection to deter aggression from the North.
“Plus, there’s a side strategic benefit to pulling our troops out of South Korea and basing them in Texas. By reassigning them to the Central Command, we can strengthen our rapid deployment forces and enhance our ability to respond to military crises anywhere in the world.”
Putnam turned his gaze on the President, a tall, slender man with thinning hair, an open, friendly countenance, and steel-blue eyes.
“All in all, sir, I think a consensus view would be that the bill is worth signing. A few agencies have expressed some minor concerns” — he flicked the bulky document in front of him — ”but I don’t believe that any of them are important enough to warrant a presidential veto — and all of the accompanying political heat.” He walked back to the table and sat down.
The President sat quietly for several seconds and then looked over at his secretary of state. “Well, what’s your view, Paul? Should I sign this thing or not?”
Like the President, the secretary was a big man. Unlike him, however, the secretary fought a constant, losing battle against gaining weight and still had a full head of curly, graying hair. He steepled his massive hands and glanced quickly over at Putnam before answering. “Well, Mr. President, I haven’t heard anything from my own experts that would contradict this version of the Working Group’s report.”
He paused. “I’d sign it, Mr. President. Our back-channel communications with the South Korean government haven’t achieved much of anything, and frankly, I don’t think this is the right time to anger the congressional leadership by vetoing a bill they’ve backed so solidly.”
“Damn it, Paul. I didn’t get myself elected to run scared from the boys back up on the Hill.”
“I’m not suggesting that, Mr. President. I’m simply saying that the situation in South Korea is intolerable and growing worse. I don’t believe this administration should have to wear that kind of albatross around its neck with an election coming up. Let’s pull the security blanket away from Seoul and see how they react.”
The secretary held up a single finger. “I’d be willing to bet that they’ll come running to us with the kinds of political reforms the bill demands. And in less than a month.”
The President looked back at the map of the North Pacific. “I wasn’t aware that you supported this legislation so strongly, Paul.”
“I don’t, Mr. President. I don’t like Congress trying to push its nose into our foreign policy any more than I suspect you do. But I also know that there’s a time and a place to fight that kind of interference.”
The secretary pushed his half-frame reading glasses back up his nose. “This isn’t either the time or the place.”
He started counting off items on his fingers. “South Korea’s in a shambles. The government is increasingly brutal and desperate. The students seem determined to stay out in the streets. There’s no denying that the Koreans haven’t been trading fairly with us. And two-thirds of the American people want us out of South Korea. Maybe it is time that we tried sterner measures. Certainly we haven’t gotten very far using ordinary diplomacy.”
“Hell, I can’t disagree with you there, Paul. But I don’t like this idea of pulling our troops out of South Korea. It could send the wrong message to our other allies. Not to mention Moscow.”
“Mr. President,” Putnam broke in, “it’s unlikely to ever come to that. It takes time to arrange a large-scale military movement. The South Korean government will almost certainly take the actions we’re seeking long before our first soldier steps onto a plane heading back to the States.”
; The President raised an eyebrow and looked around the table at the rest of his cabinet. “Well, gentlemen. Anyone else have anything to add?”
A chorus of shaking heads greeted his question. That was about what he had expected. The secretaries of departments like Energy, Housing and Urban Development, Labor, or Education weren’t eager to step into the middle of the foreign affairs turf jealously guarded by State, Defense, and the CIA.
The President sat back slightly from the table and let his eyes slide back to the map. Decision time. He wasn’t particularly happy with the answers he’d gotten, but at least his key people were fairly well united for once. He could feel Putnam and the secretary of state staring at him. The President ran over the variables one more time. The bill’s economic impact on the U.S.: negligible. Military impact: minor and controllable, at least according to Putnam’s Working Group and the State Department. Political impact: positive. The polls showed that. And hell, maybe it would convince the South Koreans to get their act together. Okay, so be it.
He turned away from the map and brought his gaze back to the waiting cabinet. “Very well, gentlemen. I’ll sign this damned thing.”
Putnam smiled. “Yes, sir. We can arrange a Rose Garden signing with the congressional leadership for either today or tomorrow, Mr. President.”
The President frowned. “You’ll do nothing of the kind, George. I may be willing to accept this bill, but I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to give people like Barnes or the Speaker free publicity for having shoved it down our throats. Clear?”
Putnam turned red and nodded.
“Good. I’ll sign it tonight. In the Oval Office. You can have Jack put out a press release tomorrow morning.”
The President flipped to the next page on his agenda. “Okay, let’s move on to this housing bill coming up in the Senate.”
He fought down the urge to reconsider his decision. It was done and that was that. Wasn’t it?
OCTOBER 17 — OLD EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING, WASHINGTON, D.C.