Herman the German around here lately?'
One guy with a bristly crew cut glanced over at me. 'He was in here this morning. Didn't make his flight.'
'So how is the old buzzard?'
'Seems okay. You know Herman. He don't talk much.'
'I owe him a drink. Do you know where he's staying?'
'Out in the ville somewhere. That's all I know. He left right after the Space-A call. If I see him, I'll tell him you're looking for him.'
'Don't bother,' I said. 'He already knows.'
We gulped down our chow and left.
When you walk out of the main gate of Osan Air Base, you walk into GI heaven. The village of Songtan-up is a maze of narrow alleys lined with hotels and tailor shops and leather goods emporiums and bars and chophouses and nightclubs and brothels.
Just about anything a young man would ever want to buy is available here. The best part is that none of it is touted by Madison Avenue.
The monsoon rain had slowed to a drizzle. Just outside the gate, an enterprising Korean vendor huddled beneath an army-issue poncho, hawking flimsy umbrellas made of bamboo and plastic. I handed him a buck for two.
Ernie popped his open. 'The good thing about these little pieces of shit,' Ernie said, 'is that they're disposable. Don't have to worry about forgetting them in some barroom.'
We wandered down the narrow lane, checking out the shops. Most of the nightclubs were still shuttered and locked.
'Should we canvass the hotels?' Ernie asked.
'I guess we don't have much choice. But we're going to have to describe him to everyone. He won't be registering under his own name.'
'At least Herman's easy to picture,' Ernie said. 'A bowling ball with blubbery lips.'
'That's him. I'll try to figure out how to say that in Korean.'
'You mean you don't know?'
'The word for 'blubbery' escapes me.'
'You need to study harder, pal.'
Ernie stopped in an open-front market and bought a couple of packs of the usual: ginseng gum. When we stepped outside, an old mama-san picked us up on her radar and started yanking on my sleeve, telling me she could introduce us to some 'nice girls.'
'We don't like nice girls,' Ernie told her. 'Only bad ones.'
That didn't faze the old crone; she kept haranguing us. I was just about to push her out of the way when an explosion reverberated through the narrow alleys of Songtan-up.
'What was that?'
'A rifle shot,' Ernie said. 'Not far either.'
Ernie shoved aside the persistent madam, and we ran toward the sound of the pop. Two more shots rang out.
'It's a fucking battle,' Ernie said.
He fumbled for the. 45 in his shoulder holster, pulled it out, and clanged back the charging handle.
The Songtan city market is composed of nothing more than a jumble of wooden stands covered with canvas. The stands occupy a spider's web of alleys in the heart of the city, and in their center is a circular intersection, the only open space in the market.
Huffing and puffing, we reached it in about two minutes. Ernie swiveled around, 45 at the ready, searching for a target.
A Korean National Policeman stood nearby, blowing shrilly on his whistle.
'Would you knock that shit off?' Ernie yelled.
The policeman ignored him.
An old woman wearing a white bandana huddled behind a pile of cabbages. I leaned toward her.
'Pardon me, Aunt. I am a policeman. Who was firing the gun?'
She pointed down one of the darker alleys. 'I saw an American like you. Running.'
'He went that way?'
'Yes.'
'Why was he running?'
She clutched her elbows and shuddered. 'Men were chasing him.'
'American men or Koreans?'
'Neither. Some sort of foreigners.'
I swirled my forefinger around my head. 'Did one wear a turban?'
The wrinkles on the woman's face rose toward her forehead. 'How did you know?'
I motioned to Ernie. We trotted into the alley.
30
Ernie said the shot we heard was from a rifle, he'd spent two tours in Vietnam and I wasn't going to argue with him.
But a rifle in Korea? There was total gun control in this country. Only the military and the police were allowed weapons, and the KNPs never used anything more than a sidearm. I thought of the M-l rifle that had been stolen from the Korean policeman in the alleys near the Temple of the Dream Buddha.
Ragyapa. It had to be. But could he know about this lead Ernie and I had received little more than an hour ago?
We crept through the market, Ernie on one side, me on the other. Both of us with our pistols drawn.
Gloom filtered through canvas awnings. The vendors had faded back into the damp shadows. Carts piled with giant turnips and crates of mackerel on ice stood unguarded.
We were close. Very close.
Ernie motioned for me to halt and take cover. I obeyed. He scurried forward to a position where he had a good view of an ancient wooden apartment building with a walkway around its second and third story. Laundry fluttered from lines strung out the windows. The smell of boiling kimchi and charcoal gas wafted through the air.
Ernie crouched and watched, lost in thought. The barrel of his. 45 caressed his lips.
Perhaps Ragyapa's showing up wasn't as miraculous as it seemed. There were only a few major points of embarkation from the Republic of Korea. The civilian ones included the international airport at Kimpo near Seoul and the ferry way down south in Pusan. Kimpo would be easy enough to watch. The major U.S. military point of embarkation was where we were now. Osan Air Force Base. There were a couple more bases farther south but Osan would be the quickest and the cheapest for Herman to leave the country.
Ragyapa must've stationed a man here, near the main gate. If that's what happened, Ragyapa and his boys would've been waiting for Herman when he was bumped from the Stateside flight and emerged from the main gate of the base.
Was Herman already dead? Did Ragyapa have the jade skull?
If so, he'd have no reason to turn Lady Ahn over to us alive. She was a witness. He'd eliminate the danger. He'd kill her.
Suddenly, from inside the building, another shot rang out. Ernie'd had enough of waiting. So had I. We charged forward, Ernie motioning for me to circle around the building and cover the back exit.
He kicked in the front door.
