Anne didn’t say anything. She just shivered occasionally.
Tony couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound ridiculously out of place. So they stood together, behind the shutters, watching silently as the South Korean riot police broke the demonstration into fragments.
It was over in minutes. Moving with steady precision, the line of police and armored cars advanced past up the block. Like water spraying from a hose, the crowd scattered onto other cross-streets, and as the fighting moved on, the noise outside fell away — leaving an almost eerie quiet in its place.
They waited a few moments more, unwilling to believe that the brutal street battle they’d witnessed had ended so quickly. But it had, and finally Tony looked over at Anne with a questioning look. Anne nodded, seeming almost afraid somehow to break the silence.
Tony looked out through the shutters again, craning to catch a glimpse of the streets down which the riot had flowed. It seemed all clear.
“Hold up for a second,” he said, and walked back to thank the bookstore owner for sheltering them. He also wanted to pay the man for the pamphlet he’d been holding crumpled in his hand for almost an hour. The man smiled, came with him to the door, and unlocked it.
He ushered Tony and Anne out onto the street — bowing politely as they both wished him good luck. “Please, do not pay attention to this, this incident.” He gestured at the debris-strewn pavement. “Do not judge Korea by these hooligans. They are fools. They do not know what they do.”
As they stepped out onto the empty street, Tony half-expected to feel as if he were walking across a deserted battlefield. But the wind had blown the tear gas away and it felt strangely like an early morning, like those quiet, still hours just before people wake up and the stores open for business.
And Tony knew that the stores along the Insa-Dong would soon reopen. There had been a riot, but the police had restored order. At least that’s what they would say on the evening news.
Yeah, right. As far as Tony was concerned that was like calling a plane crash “an undesirable ground/air interface.”
He looked at his watch. Plenty of time to spare before his train left for Kunsan. Well, to hell with the shopping trip.
He wasn’t going to hang around waiting to get tear-gassed again. He glanced at Anne. She seemed uncertain, hesitant somehow.
“Look, can I get you a cab or help you find someplace? I’m not real familiar with Seoul, but I’ve got a pretty good map.”
Anne looked even less certain than she had before, if that was possible. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think so.” She paused. “I took the subway to get out here.”
Tony smiled. “No problem. I’m heading back that way myself. I’d be glad to see you to the station.” He was pretty sure he could find it again.
Anne kept her eyes fixed about the level of his shoes. Tony felt frustrated. Hell, he didn’t bite — at least not that often. And he couldn’t stand around here in the street forever, waiting for this woman to make up her mind about whether or not she wanted to keep shopping in a riot district.
Finally she glanced up at him, but only for a split second.
“Well …” Then in a rush, “Thank you, Mr. Christopher, I’d appreciate it.” She looked down the street. “I’d feel better with some company… to the station, I mean.”
He grinned. “Please. Call me Tony. The only time I’m called Mr. Christopher is when I’ve screwed up. It has negative connotations for me.”
That got her. Anne laughed lightly. “Okay, Tony, lead on.” He decided he liked the way she said his name. She gave it a musical quality somehow, or maybe it was just the faint hint of a Southern drawl.
Anne considered the man beside her as they walked. She didn’t particularly mind his putting the moves on her. He was a pilot, after all. She did mind his assuming that she’d automatically be charmed by his looks and his line.
Still, he had gotten her out of a bad spot, and he was being polite, almost courtly. As they talked, his manner changed her initial feelings. His freshness and honesty made it hard for her to hold anything against him.
They headed south down the Insa-Dong, walking past the still-shuttered shop windows at a rapid clip. Tony didn’t want to spend any more time in the area than he absolutely had to.
Anne didn’t have any trouble keeping up with him, and Tony found himself admiring her graceful stride out of the corner of his eye.
The streets were still quiet, but after a few blocks they began seeing a few other cautious pedestrians going about their business. Finally they came to a block where the shops were unshuttered, and Tony felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Without realizing it he slowed down.
He nodded at the store windows filled with beautifully painted screens and elegant furniture. “Hardly seems like we’re in the same country, does it?”
Anne followed his glance. “No. I don’t know how they can do it. How can they just pretend nothing’s happened?”
Tony shrugged. He liked the Koreans he’d met so far during his tour. They were tough, hardworking, and friendly. But there was no getting around the fact that they belonged to a completely different culture. Things that struck Americans as wildly out of kilter often seemed normal to Koreans and vice versa. Take the time that Korean pilot had tried to persuade him to order marinated dog for example. Tony’s stomach, already unsettled by the tear gas, rebelled at the thought. Whoops.
Don’t lose it, son, he warned himself. He had a hunch he wouldn’t impress Anne very much by being sick all over the pavement in front of her.
And he suddenly realized, he did want to impress her. Well, why should that surprise him? After all, here he was ten thousand miles away from home, strolling along beside a pretty American woman. Hell, his wingman, Hooter, would probably have already gotten her address, phone number, and room key by now.
But then Hooter was a daredevil son of a bitch all the time — whether he was in the air or on the ground. Tony liked to think he was a bit more tactically minded.
They stopped at a cross-street, waiting for a break in the heavy traffic. That was reassuring. Where there were cars, there weren’t likely to be any demonstrations. Korean drivers didn’t like seeing their windshields smashed, and they seemed to have a sixth sense for staying out of trouble spots.
He heard a relieved sigh from Anne and smiled. “Yeah. I think we’re out of the danger zone now.” He paused, trying for just the right emphasis on the key words. “You know, I sure never expected a visit to Seoul to be more nerve-racking than a low-altitude dogfight.”
It was the second time that he had hinted about flying. She decided to rise to the bait. “Dogfight? Are you a pilot?”
They started across the street. Tony kept his voice casual. “Oh, yeah. I fly F-16s for the Air Force.” He waited, expectantly.
“Oh. That’s nice.” Anne looked both ways down the road, keeping an eye out for oncoming traffic.
That’s nice? That’s nice? Tony could hardly believe it. She sounded as if he’d just told her he was a plumber or something. But he had to laugh, mostly at himself. What did he expect her to do — faint dead away at being so near a real, live fighter pilot? Get a grip on yourself, guy.
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.