He took Anne’s hand without even thinking about it. “C’mon.” They ran toward the subway station, jostled their way in with a crowd of Korean commuters, and took the down escalator two steps at a time. The station was noisy, crowded with Korean businessmen and shoppers heading home after a long day, but they could hear wailing police sirens rushing past on the street above them.
Tony kept hold of Anne’s hand until they pushed their way onto a packed subway car, along with most of the others who’d been lining the tracks. As the train pulled out, heading into the darkened subway tunnel, Anne pulled her hand away — gently but firmly.
The other passengers were restless and just as edgy as Tony and Anne. They’d heard the sirens, and many had heard the shooting off in the distance above the station. As they chattered back and forth in worried tones, Tony wished he’d learned more than phrase-book Korean.
Shit, he knew why they were worried. The train they were on was moving west — right toward the direction of the riot. Tony could have kicked himself. This was the right subway line to Seoul Station, but he could have gone around the other way. Now, he’d put both himself and Anne at risk just because he’d rushed onto the first damned train that came along.
He swore under his breath.
Anne heard him and leaned over. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t think either.” She was pale but seemed under control.
Tony felt a little better. He just hoped the train’s engineer knew what was going on aboveground.
The man must have, because he went rocketing through the next station, Chongak, without slowing. Tony could see the huge crowd waiting by the tracks frantically trying to wave the train down. But they were through and into the next dark tunnel in a matter of seconds. Once there, the subway train started slowing to a more normal speed. They must be past whatever was going on.
Tony pulled out his city guide. Chongak Station led out onto Sejong Street, wherever the hell that was. And there would only be one more stop before they got to the railroad station.
He looked over at Anne. “I’m supposed to get off at Seoul Station, but let me get you to your hotel, first.”
She got a strange look on her face. “My hotel?” She shook her head. “I’m not a tourist, I work in the logistics section at Yongsan.”
Yongsan. That was the main U.S. Forces military base in Seoul. Just who was Anne, some other officer’s wife? He risked a quick look at her hands. No, no rings. So what was she doing at Yongsan?
She must have read his mind. “I work there. For the Army.” It shouldn’t have, but that took Tony by surprise and it must have showed on his face. Anne frowned. “You’ve heard that some women are smart enough to make their own way in the world, I suppose.” She looked a little taken aback by what she’d said.
Oops. Where the hell was an ejection seat when you really needed one. How was he going to dig himself out of this hole?
The train stopped at the City Hall station, but no one got off and more people forced their way on board.
“Look, I’m sorry.” He stopped. Saying he was apologizing for not thinking she was smart enough to work for a living was a lot like being asked if you had stopped beating your wife. It was a no-win proposition.
He started over. “I’d like to get to know you better.” The train was starting to brake. His stop must be just ahead. Damn, there wasn’t time to do this with any finesse.
“Could I see you sometime, you know, maybe for dinner? I’m not such a bad guy when I’m not stuck in the middle of a riot, honest.” He tried to smile. Christ, he felt like a high school freshman again. He hadn’t had trouble talking to women for years, so why now?
Anne’s reply was immediate. And uncompromising. “Thanks, but I don’t think so.” She was blushing again. She looked away from his eyes. “I do want to thank you for helping me this afternoon …” The train’s brakes squealed as it shuddered to a stop inside Seoul Station, drowning out her words.
Tony had to go. The car doors opened and he was being half-carried out by the surge of Korean commuters heading for home. He tried Plan B. “Well, how about meeting some afternoon for lunch? Or maybe you could show me the sights.”
He got pushed out of the car before she could reply. The doors slammed shut. Tony tried looking in the windows as the subway train started to pull away, but he couldn’t tell whether she was shaking her head no or yes.
He stood watching the train lights disappear out of sight into the darkness. Shit, he hadn’t even gotten her phone number.
He caught his train back to Kunsan without any further trouble. And that was almost too bad. He would have welcomed the excuse to really blow up. Instead he had to sit quietly in another compartment crowded with Korean commuters and shoppers.
And the trip back to base gave him more than enough time to replay every line of that last disastrous conversation with Anne Larson.
Tony got back the BOQ just before seven and washed up. He had to change all his clothing because of the tear gas smell. It wasn’t strong, but it was noticeable.
He walked across the hall and knocked on Hooter’s door. He heard a muffled, “Come on in, for Christ’s sake. Quit trying to knock my door down.”
His wingman looked up from the latest men’s magazine he’d managed to snag in the PX. Hooter’s face creased into a smile. “Hey, Saint! Back from Seoul so soon? Man, you gotta read this article.” Hooter tapped the magazine in front of him.
Tony looked down. The article was a natural blonde.
“So how was the big day in the big city? Tell Uncle Hooter all. And spare no details.”
Tony weighed the truth with more comfortable fiction and decided on a compromise. “It was okay. I got caught in a riot and struck out with a pretty girl. No big deal.”
The fiction part was the “no big deal.” It was a big deal, to him. It was more than just the challenge of getting a pretty woman to go out with him. Anne had looks, grace, and lot of class. He definitely wanted to see her again, and he’d blown it.
CHAPTER 13
Double Cross
The dry mumble of the clerk’s calling the roll ended, but it took the sharp bang of the Senate president’s gavel to bring Blake Fowler’s eyes back to the TV picture being broadcast on the C-SPAN cable channel.
He squinted up at the screen: 54–45. The conference version of the Korean sanctions bill had been passed by nine lousy votes. Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise. The margin had been the same two days earlier when the Senate passed the bill for the first time. Damn it. He knew for a fact that they could have switched at least six of those votes if the President had declared his opposition to the bill. Instead there’d been nothing but silence from the East Wing of the White House.
Blake knew the kind of pressure that was being exerted to win the President’s consent to the Korean sanctions. Phone calls to the White House switchboard. Telegrams. Weekly visits by the Speaker of the House and the Senate majority leader. Barnes and his allies were pulling out all the stops. Naturally. The congressman from Michigan was openly angling to become the next senator from Michigan, and it was no secret that he planned to ride the protectionist, anti-Korea bandwagon all the way into the Senate chamber.
What Blake couldn’t understand was the glacial pace that Putnam had set in orchestrating the administration’s internal opposition to the sanctions bill. He’d had the Working Group’s report in his hands for over a week now. Why hadn’t he briefed the President? With the congressional elections coming up in less than three weeks, there wasn’t much time left to pull the head of state’s mind back from domestic politics to foreign affairs.