We pushed down the sidewalk, past children in black uniforms carrying heavy book bags over their shoulders. In the street, men in loose pantaloons wheeled carts piled high with giant cabbages.
"They'll be watching the trains," I said.
Ernie nodded. "And the bus station."
Lady Ahn's voice was hoarse but her words were strong and clear. "We must hire a car," she said.
"That'll cost money."
"Not much. I know a place."
We walked rapidly, none of us talking, chewing up the kilometers. Red-striped municipal buses roared past us, spewing out diesel fumes. Korean army convoys honked their horns and rolled haltingly past seas of pedestrians and bell-chiming bicycles. We were nearing the downtown area.
At a big circular intersection, we stopped under the awning of an open-front store.
"People who need gas money for a long trip congregate here," Lady Ahn told us. "You wait. I will search for someone traveling to Seoul."
"I'll come with you."
"No. If they see an American face, the price goes up. And they might not even want to travel with you."
"Okay," I agreed. "But stay out on the sidewalk where I can see you."
For the first time since we'd learned of the Widow Kang's murder, Lady Ahn smiled. "I will."
After she left, Ernie sauntered into the store and bought two packs of ginseng gum and three small tins of guava juice. I thanked him when he handed me one, popped open the top, and drank it down quickly. I was more thirsty than I thought.
"Maybe those dudes are watching this area, too," Ernie said.
"Maybe. But I doubt it. They're foreigners like us. They won't know about this place. An unofficial rendezvous for people seeking transportation."
"I hope not." Ernie glugged down his guava. "I heard you last night."
"Heard what?"
"I heard you and I heard her."
"You know Korean custom. You're supposed to pretend that you didn't hear."
"Hey, I'm still a Miguk. Or almost, anyway."
"American, maybe. But you're getting as bad as Strange."
Strange was one of our information contacts back in Seoul. Although a pervert in his personal life, he was the noncommissioned officer in charge of all the Top Secret documents at Eighth Army Headquarters. Appropriate, when you thought about it.
"I'm just looking out for your welfare, pal," Ernie told me. "There's something weird about this Lady Ahn. She hasn't told us everything."
"Maybe not," I snapped. "But she's told us enough."
"Okay," Ernie said. "Just commenting."
I filled Ernie in on what Lady Ahn told me last night while we lay together in the Westgate yoguan. The first thing I asked about was her reaction to the jade amulet the little nun had given Ernie.
"It frightened me," she explained. "Because it proved that many people are now looking for the jade skull."
"How so?"
"Maitreya is the most important saint for the largest Buddhist sect in Korea. On the amulet, he is fighting Mahakala, the god of the Mongols. The Mongols practice a different kind of Buddhism. Some of them are very good. But some of them like to fight."
"And you think that both Buddhist sects, the ones who control Korea and the ones who control Mongolia, are now after the jade skull?"
"Yes. That is why the little nun was in Itaewon. Her temple must've heard rumors about me. And about Herman. The nun was a spy, trying to learn what she could about the jade skull."
"And someone attacked her because of it?"
"Of course."
"Will the Buddhists who rule Korea send men after us also?"
"No. They are much too powerful for that. They will try to steal the jade skull, but they won't kill us. Not out in the open anyway."
Okay. It made sense. But I had one more question.
"If these two important groups of Buddhists are after the jade skull, why did the monks on Bian-do let us go free?"
"Because the monks of Bian-do have lived alone for many centuries. They belong to neither sect, and they are true Buddhists. Not concerned with money."
"And if you retake the throne of the Sung dynasty…"
"Yes," she said. "I will honor the monks of Bian-do and give them the chance to spread their faith amongst millions of people."
While we stood in the little shop, I explained all this to Ernie.
"These religious guys are just as greedy as all the other bastards," he said.
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe they think they have a right to the jade skull."
Before I could explain further, Lady Ahn trotted back into the store. Ernie polished off his guava juice and handed her a tin.
"I found a car," she told us. "It belongs to a gambler who lost all of his money at the casino at Songni-san. We'll have to buy the gasoline."
"No sweat," Ernie said. "Can do easy."
Before we left, Ernie loaded up with some puffed rice disks and some dried cuttlefish and four bottles of sparkling apple cider. And another pack of gum, just in case.
The gambler pulled his little Hyundai sedan up next to the curb and flashed us a toothy grin. We clambered in, Ernie riding shotgun, Lady Ahn and me in the back.
The gambler told us his name was Mr. Peik. As he wound through the Taejon traffic, he described how bad his luck had been at the roulette table. We stopped and bought gas. When we rolled onto the Seoul-Pusan Expressway heading north, I paid the toll.
Mr. Peik kept up a steady chatter in Korean until Ernie reached into my overnight bag and pulled out the AK-47. Peik's hands tightened on the steering wheel, his head swiveled, and his Adam's apple started to bob while his eyes bulged halfway out of his head.
Ernie pointed straight down the highway and said only one word in English: "Drive "
Mr. Peik, the gambler, stepped on the gas pedal, pressed his nose up against the top of the steering wheel, and kept his bulging eyes glued to the white lines slashing beneath our tires on the pavement below.
We only made one pit stop during the entire trip, this time Ernie bought papaya juice and we drank that down and munched on dried squid tentacles that tasted a lot like beef jerky.
Mr. Peik lived in Seoul, and had no trouble navigating the maze of roads when we crossed the Han River. Ernie told him to take us to Itaewon, so the guy hung a right at the Samgakji Circle, cruised past the Ministry of National Defense, and had to slow for traffic in front of Yongsan Compound, our base camp and the home of the Eighth United States Army Headquarters.
We heard chanting up ahead. I saw picket signs waving. It was then that we realized we'd chosen the wrong route.
"Demo," Mr. Peik said. Demonstration. He was more concerned now with the angry mob up ahead than with Ernie's AK-47.
He kept rolling forward, searching for a spot to make a U-turn, but we were hemmed in by rows of cars on either side. Most of the vehicles were managing to squeeze past the shouting crowd by decelerating and creeping along in the extreme right lane.
The demonstrators were mostly college kids. They wore white headbands slashed with Chinese characters. A few were inspecting each car as it rolled past, peering in the windows, waving each driver forward.
Mr. Peik kept glancing frantically to his left, looking for a chance to turn around, but every other driver was thinking only of rolling past the demonstration safely, before Molotov cocktails started flying. The other cars wouldn't let him turn.
"An dei," he said. "An del" No good. No good.
"What's the problem?" Ernie asked. "We'll creep past 'em like all the other cars."
Lady Ahn was leaning forward now, scanning the situation. "But the students are checking each car."
Ernie swiveled around. "So?"
"So all the other GIs are already back on the compound. We are the only car out here with Americans in it."
I suddenly realized that she was right. That's why the students were searching each car. They were looking for foreigners.