over to get that baton, three more protesters right behind me got their heads blown open like splattering melons. If I hadn’t bent over, the bullets would’ve hit me.
Harry said, “Wow! Man, look at that.”
So the cameraman replayed the scene in slow motion twice more, until I was tired of watching people die from bullets meant for me.
“Move on,” I barked.
The next sequence showed me sprinting toward the shooter. I looked damned good, too, if I do say. Allie even reached over and squeezed my arm, I guess to make me feel better.
Harry had focused his lens on me, so the figures around me were blurry and unfocused. I saw myself swing the baton and knock the cop on his noggin, then bend over and steal his pistol. I thought I saw something else, too, though it didn’t register.
I was running up the hill at the shooter, and I relived that moment where he yanked that magazine out of his vest. Then I noticed something else. He glanced over to his right. Then he looked back at me and dropped his weapon.
I made them replay that moment of decision five or six more times. The more I studied it, the more apparent it got. There wasn’t anything aimless in that sideways glance. The shooter was looking at somebody off to his right. He was searching for instructions. He was looking at his boss, or his lookout.
Then I remembered that I’d noticed something earlier in the film. I said, “Take it back to the point where I’d just emerged from the crowd. Slow motion again.”
So they did. Probably they thought I was reveling in my moment of glory. Truth be known, I’m not above such things.
This time, though, I stopped looking at myself and saw it more clearly. The figure was foggy and blurry, but there was something about him, something odd.
“Take it back and freeze it when I say freeze.”
It was impossible to be sure. The film was too out of focus. The figure was twenty, maybe thirty yards from me. What made him appear out of place was this: He was standing perfectly upright. He wasn’t diving for the ground, or running, or anything. He was standing with his hands on his hips, a pose of command. He was located at almost exactly the spot the shooter had looked for his signal.
I turned to Harry. “Can I have a copy of the film?”
He said, “Sure, man.”
So Allie and I collected the film, and then I took her hand and we left.
When we got outside Allie said, “What did you see?”
I felt bad about it, since reviewing the film was her idea, but I had no choice. “Nothing.”
She looked at me in disbelief. “Nothing? Why’d you ask for the film?”
“Hell, who knows? I guess so I’ll always remember how Maria saved my life.”
Constructing that particular alibi made me a real louse, but I knew it would end any further curiosity on Allie’s part, because really, how could she argue with that?
She smiled grimly and nodded, and we returned to base, me wondering about that figure in the film, her reliving the nightmarish sight of the woman she loved getting struck in the head by that bullet.
Back at the office, I furtively stepped outside and used a cell phone to call Spears’s office. I told my favorite colonel I needed to see Mercer and I needed to see him right away. I gave him my number, and he said okay and hung up.
I stood under a shady tree for three minutes before my cell phone rang.
He said, “Drummond, Mercer here.”
I said, “I need to see you. It’s important.”
“I’m busy. How important?”
“Damned important.”
“All right. We’re gonna have to be tricky about this. You’re being watched.”
“By who?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you later. Go down to the Post Exchange. Loiter around by the jewelry counter and we’ll take it from there.”
I grabbed my cane and told Imelda I’d be back in an hour. Then I hobbled over to the Post Exchange. The PX just happened to be the one support facility located on the other half of Yongsan, and I worked up a good sweat, cursing at Mercer as I hobbled around on that cane. The blast of air-conditioning as I entered the building nearly made me kiss the floor. I went to the jewelry counter and looked at watches. When I finally glanced up, the ruthlessly coldhearted Miss Kim was perusing some earrings on the other side of the glass counters.
She held up a pair, shook her head, and then moved off toward the stereo section. I slowly followed her. She stood studying a gargantuan-size pair of Infinity tower speakers until a guy walked by her, she glanced at him, and he nodded. Then she hooked a finger in my direction for me to follow her.
I have to tell you I thought all this cloak-and-dagger stuff was simply hilarious. These people probably run Geiger counters over toilet seats before they take a squat. She led me through some doors and into the warehouse in the back.
We walked around stacks of boxes and cabinets, until we turned a corner and ran right into Buzz Mercer.
I said, “You moonlighting as a warehouseman on government time?”
“Heh-heh,” he said, although I had the impression he didn’t really think it was funny. Maybe it wasn’t. “You got two trailers on you, Drummond. They didn’t come inside, although if you’re in here too long, they might get suspicious. And make sure you buy something before you leave – you know, for authenticity.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
“We’re not sure. We took their photos this morning. We’re checking them with our friends over at the Korean CIA at this moment. In fact, the reason we diverted you all the way over here was so we could make them pass through the post gate. We had a man there checking their IDs as they came through. Maybe we’ll have a better idea soon.”
As he spoke I could see his eyes inspecting my damage. Some of the bruises I was sporting had started to yellow around the edges, so I was sort of a walking kaleidoscope of colors. He didn’t seem too distressed by my condition.
I reached inside my trouser pocket and withdrew the videocassette tape Harry had given me. I handed it to him. “This is an uncut ABC tape of the massacre. You got people who can enhance it? Maybe clear up some of the blurring where the camera’s not focused properly?”
“Depends how many color pixels the camera caught.”
“Okay, here’s the thing. There’s a point in the film where I’m running out of the crowd, going after one of the two shooters. Then there’s a point where the shooter pauses to draw a new magazine.”
He wearily said, “We all know about that, Drummond. It’s been on all the TV news shows.”
“Right. Here’s the thing, though. Study the shooter just before he makes the decision to drop his weapon and hightail it. He looks over to his right.”
His interest perked up. “Okay, so there’s a spotter, or somebody else who was there.”
“Right. I think I passed right by him. I think he’s in the film. He’s standing perfectly upright, as calm as can be. Everybody else is either hitting the concrete or moving in confusion. Not this guy. He’s watching. He’s composed. That’s what I want you to check.”
Mercer took the videocassette tape. “Who do you think he is?”
“I haven’t got a clue.”
“Okay, we’ll give it a try.”
“How long?”
“Hard to say. Won’t take us long to compress and code this and send it back to Langley by satellite. It’s two in the morning there, though. They’ll have to roust some techies out of bed and get ’em to work.”
“It’s worth it,” I told him. “Trust me.”
“Yeah? Tell me more, Drummond.”
“Not yet. Get a clear picture of this guy.”
At that instant, Mercer’s cell phone rang. He pulled it up to his ear and turned away from me, so he could murmur and whisper with whatever spook buddy was on the other end. It was a brief conversation.
