Voegler nodded. "I was warned you would be here."
That sounded like Vanderpool, Burke thought. He rumpled his brow. "Warned?"
"I have a difficult enough job as it is, trying to placate the Koreans. I hope you won't make it any worse."
Jerry was upbeat. He smiled. "We're going to make it better for you, Mr. Voegler. We have some great ideas to create new excitement among the Koreans, get them talking and thinking about America in a positive way."
The attaché did not appear impressed. "What were you wanting to know about Kepco?"
"Bartell Engineering is one of our clients," Burke said. "They're building a nuclear power plant. We wondered how politicized Kepco might be. What kind of problems we might run into there."
The attaché toyed with his drink for a moment. "It's owned by the government. But over here, only the top jobs are controlled by patronage. The rest are civil service. I don't know how political he is, but the head of the company is Dr. Nam U-je. He's a nuclear physicist and an engineer, very knowledgable in the field."
Burke nodded. Interesting. Dr. Nam would certainly merit close scrutiny. His credentials made him a definite prospect for involvement in the nuclear conspiracy. And he would be a natural contact for Duane on the Bartell account. It emphasized the need for Jerry to get an office lined up as quickly as possible so they could get the staff in action.
As if reading his mind, Jerry inquired, "What would you recommend regarding an office location, Mr. Voegler?"
He looked thoughtful. "I'd say there were three possible areas. Downtown, of course, would probably be the best location. You might also consider Yoido, the island on the south side of the Han. The Daehan Life Insurance Company Building there is Seoul's tallest. Then there's the area around the Korea World Trade Center in Yongdong, south of the river. That's where the Kepco building is located."
"Know a good real estate agent?" Burke asked.
Voegler took out a business card and wrote a name and phone number on the back. "This fellow will do you a good job."
While Burke and Jerry were chatting with Voegler, not far away, closer to the musicians, Damon Mansfield stood with long arms folded, still clutching his glass in one hand. He was engaged in an animated conversation with a stocky Korean a good foot shorter than he was. A Mr. Ko, he was the representative from the Ministry of Culture and Information. Ko confronted Mansfield at close range, his feet slightly parted. He held his arms loosely at his sides, fingers slightly curled. It was a classic Eastern fighting stance, though Mansfield was not aware of it.
"Your government has been bullying the Korean people far too long," Ko said. He had raised his voice, apparently to be heard above the music but making his words sound more threatening.
Mansfield's forehead was wrinkled like an old man as he listened in disbelief. "What are you talking about… bullying?"
"You wanted to dictate everything we did, militarily, economically, culturally. You threatened us—"
Mansfield cut him off with a sharp, "Hey! We never threatened anybody." Who was this idiot, he wondered? He had never laid eyes on him before tonight. He had invited several people from the Ministry, though he didn't expect any of them to attend. Yet, despite all the inane formalities and unconscionable delays, he still maintained friendly relations with his old contacts there.
With narrowed eyes, Ko blurted, "You are a black bastard, Mansfield!"
The voices had become loud enough to attract the attention of others around them, including Burke, Jerry and Voegler, who turned their heads in that direction just as Mansfield reacted to the insult by unfolding his arms so quickly that some of his drink spilled out.
Ko ducked away from Mansfield's arm, as though the spilled drink had been directed toward him. As he turned, he aimed a sharp elbow jab at Mansfield's stomach.
The old All American reacted instinctively and pushed Ko away with both hands, dropping his glass to the floor in the process. He did not put enough force into the shove to do more than protect himself from any further blows, but Ko let out a yelp like he had been mortally wounded and fell backwards, appearing stunned.
Voegler stood with mouth agape, eyes bulging. Jerry Chan sprang across to put himself between the two combatants, and Burke rushed over to check on the Korean, who lay still on the thick Embassy carpet. Several guests joined him and hovered over the prostrate form.
"Are you all right?" Burke asked, leaning down.
The man's eyes snapped open. He saw the Korean newsmen and began to babble in their language. Burke noticed one man, apparently a reporter, pull out a notebook and begin scribbling. Then he saw Jerry standing beside him.
"What's he saying?"
Jerry frowned. "He says they were arguing and Mansfield insulted their president. When he objected, Mansfield attacked him, knocking him to the floor."
Burke couldn't imagine Damon Mansfield making an insulting remark about the president of the Republic of Korea. He pushed his way out of the crowd, looking for the cultural attaché. He found him standing back away from the confusion, being questioned by two fuming Embassy officials. They probably wouldn't appreciate his interfering, he realized, but this incident could have a dampening effect on Worldwide's PR program. He had to know what provoked the attack.
Burke stepped between the two Embassy men and said, "Damon, did you say anything to insult the Korean president?"
The two officials' jaws sagged, and Mansfield glared at him.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Mansfield asked. "Nobody said anything about the president. That guy called me a 'black bastard.'"
Before Burke could reply, Ambassador Shearing abruptly appeared, eyes blazing. "Mansfield, I want to see you in my office at once!"
Chapter 24
Captain Yun arose early on Tuesday. He had not slept well. No doubt his subconscious had been wrestling all night with the loose ends of his investigation. Who was Mr. Chon's contact? Where was Hwang Sang-sol, the assassin? Who was behind the conspiracy, the man or men who had employed Hwang? And what was their motivation? With answers to those questions, he could march into Prosecutor Park's office with a satisfied look on his face. Not a smile, but a look of satisfaction. Unhappily, a fitful night on the sleeping mat had produced nothing but a dull ache in his head. He hoped it would go away with a cup of coffee and a bowl of udong, noodles, topped by a raw egg.
While he dressed and shaved, his wife placed breakfast on the low table in the living room, along with chopsticks and spoons. Yun ate in silence. The only sound in the room was the slurping of noodles and an occasional "Ah!" According to Korean custom, the loudness of the eating noises signified how well the food was appreciated. When he had finished, his wife knew that this morning's breakfast had been well received.
The cloudless sky appeared as a vast blue ocean as the Captain drove downtown. Since he was early, he found the traffic a bit less of a hassle then usual. Shopkeepers were already getting things in order for the business day. He saw women sweeping sidewalks in front of family shops and brightly-dressed school children on the move. Restaurants, coffee houses and tabangs, tearooms, were gearing up for another busy day. The essence of Seoul was change, clearly evidenced by the cranes and scaffolding seen in nearly every direction, along with the steady bustle of people and vehicles crowding the streets throughout the business and commercial districts.
Arriving at his office across from the Seoul Railroad Station, Yun gave nodding acknowledgement to colleagues he passed in the hallway, some with the tired look of night shift workers headed home. No one bothered to stop him for a casual chat. He was an odd ball in an even world, and everyone knew it. He had a well-deserved reputation as a sharp thinker and a tireless worker but had never learned the art of relaxation. If he had been an actor, they would have said he was always on stage. He never really thought about it, but there was no one he could claim as a truly close friend. The fact that it didn't bother him was an indication of an ingrained standoffishness.