Besides, the warnings had been for the Myong-dong district, around the Catholic cathedral, where there had been protests all week. That was bad luck, of course, because the best department stores were all clustered in the Myong-dong area. And he was getting tired of the cheap, touristy stuff they tried to push on you in the Itaewon bargain shops, near the main U.S. Army base just south of Seoul.
Fortunately the squadron’s intelligence officer had put him on to a good thing. He’d suggested taking a look along Insa-Dong, Mary’s Alley. Michaels might not know much about his main job — keeping track of enemy aircraft deployments, tactics, and antiaircraft sites — but he did have a nose for bargains on things like handcrafted fans, fine jewelry, and ceramics. Exactly the kind of stuff most women liked. Exactly the kind of stuff that might help Tony smooth things out with his current girlfriend, Maria.
She was a real looker, short, but with jet-black hair falling straight down to below her waist. They’d gone out three times, most recently last night. She was fun, with a good sense of humor, and an appreciation of Tony’s flying stories. She also, however, had a tremendous temper — a temper that had been triggered when, lost in thought, Tony had called her Carol.
So at Michael’s recommendation, Tony had come up on the first train from Kunsan to Seoul and then hopped the Seoul subway to the Chongno 3-ga station near Pagoda Park. That had been the easy part. Since then, he’d spent a long, hot morning browsing his way up Insa-Dong, combing through the antique shops, art galleries, furniture stores, and jewelry stores that lined the narrow, winding street.
The trouble was, he doubted that he could tell a piece of good Korean craftsmanship from the worst piece of junk ever made. And even a “bargain” from one of the Insa-Dong shops was going to take a pretty hefty bite out of his paycheck from Uncle Sam.
Damn. Tony hated dithering around like this. He’d hoped to make a quick sortie into Seoul for Maria’s gift and still have enough time left for a swing through the casino at the Sheraton Walker Hill. He felt lucky and you always had to hit the blackjack tables feeling lucky. But it looked as if he was going to need all that luck just to make the evening train back to Kunsan.
Tony zipped up his jacket. He wanted to get out of the chill wind for a while, but he knew the minute he stepped into a shop he’d be mobbed by a bunch of Korean salesclerks. They were all so godawful helpful and polite that you almost felt compelled to buy something from them. And Tony knew that was the fastest way to wind up stuck with something you didn’t want, couldn’t afford, and couldn’t get rid of.
As he stepped off the curb to cross a side street, a sign in a storefront window caught his eye — LEE’S KOREAN-ENGLISH BOOKSTORE. That was the ticket. Just the place for a breather. He wheeled and started for it.
The bookstore was a godsend all right. It was warm, quiet, and blinds across the store’s two front windows cut out most of the sun’s glare. Tony closed the door firmly behind him, shutting out the roar as a convoy of trucks loaded with riot police rumbled down the street.
A short, middle-aged Korean standing behind a counter with a cash register smiled and bowed slightly to him. Tony nodded back politely and moved deeper into the shop, glancing idly at the bookracks around him. There weren’t any other customers. And there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of books by American authors either. Most were by people he assumed were modern Korean writers.
Books with titles like
A sudden increase in the noise coming from outside on the street broke Tony’s concentration. He looked up from the propaganda pamphlet to see the little Korean shopkeeper peering intently out through the blinds.
Then he heard the chanting and the muffled, coughing explosions of tear gas canisters. Tony went up to the front and looked out down the Insa-Dong to see a crowd that filled the street from one end to the other.
He had to look hard to see individual people. The first impression he got was one of waving arms and legs, white masks, and streaming vapor. They were just coming into view, but he felt he was close — way too close. Personal safety aside, the ops officer would ream him good if he got tangled up in this mess.
He nodded to the shopkeeper and headed for the door, only to feel the man’s hand on his arm. “Please, you should wait here. I think it’s not good to go out. You help me put up shutters and we wait here. You not like my books?”
Tony smiled and tried to decide, torn between the desire to get the hell out of there ahead of the crowd and the idea of lying low and riding it out. He looked down the street again. He should have time.
“Okay, brother. But let’s snap it up. Just where the hell are these shutters?”
The Korean pointed to a pile of heavy sheet metal panels stacked by the counter. Working quickly, they managed to hoist the shutters onto hooks set over the windows. The shopkeeper left one pair unfastened so he could see out.
Tony tapped him on the shoulder. “Is this going to be enough? I mean, shouldn’t you just lock up so we can both get out of here?” He could see other figures locking their doors and scurrying away ahead of the oncoming mob.
“No. I see this before. There are other crowds, more people other places. We run down street, might find another group. This over in two-three hours.”
Tony had to admit that the Korean made sense. Maybe sticking it out here was the best idea. He stood next to the man and watched through the shutters as the mob approached. As a pilot, Tony felt totally outside his element. He could feel his pulse speeding up. This was the kind of situation the groundpounders, the infantry, were trained for — not him.
The rioters were individuals now, and he could see green-uniformed Combat Police behind and mixed in with them. They were pushing the demonstrators up the street, clubbing anyone who stopped to fight. They were thorough. Anyone who tried to hide in angles or doorways was cornered and beaten senseless.
It was clear, too, that some of the “rioters” were actually people who had just been caught in the protest, swept up as the police moved in.
Jesus, it was getting really vicious out there. He could see rioters trying to throw tear gas canisters back at the police, and there were other things flying through the air — rocks, bricks, and bottles filled with flaming gasoline.
Several masked demonstrators converged on a policeman who’d gotten too far out in front of his fellows. They ripped his gas mask off, and one of them landed a punch on the man’s throat. Tony saw his mouth open in agony for a second before he went down under a flurry of kicking legs.
A patch of color caught his eye, and he saw a Caucasian woman running down the street just in front of the oncoming melee. She was wearing high heels that looked uncomfortable and were slowing her down. Tony had a quick impression of copper-colored hair and a green summer dress.
But the woman was coughing, and unless she ditched the shoes, she wasn’t going to get clear.
He didn’t stop to think. He just reached out and unlocked the front door. “Hold the fort, Mac. I’ll be right back.”
The shopkeeper put a hand out, startled, but Tony brushed past him and ducked out onto the street.
The noise and smell hit him first — and he stayed back against the building to make sure nothing else hit him. Christ, the smell. He could feel his eyes tearing up and his throat drying out. He had been caught by tear gas before, back in West Germany during an antinuclear protest outside the base where he’d been stationed. This wasn’t as bad, but that was a relative term.
The first groups of rioters were past him, and he could see rocks and bottles flying through the air in both directions. Nothing was aimed directly at him, and as far as he could tell, he hadn’t been noticed. He sprinted the hundred yards to the woman flat out. She had stopped, winded, on the sidewalk.
Tony skidded to a stop on the sidewalk in front of her — his eyes half on her and half on the brawl swirling up the street toward them. “Ma’am, come with me! I’ve got a place back there where we can hole up.” He jerked a thumb back toward the bookstore.
She looked at him without much expression at all. “Hole up?” She was breathing heavily and rubbing her feet.
“I mean where we can get out of this mess.” Christ, this wasn’t any time for an English lesson. He looked
