Red Phoenix

CHAPTER 12 Low Profiles

Captain Tony Christopher did not regret coming into Seoul that day. He had planned on a little shopping. But he hadn’t planned on spending almost all of his time in the same store.

Back at the base that morning there had been the standard warning about “the possibility of civil disturbances.” Fine, he was no fool. But Seoul was huge — more than ten million people lived within its limits. The South Koreans could have a riot at one end of town and still leave enough peaceful city for one Air Force pilot to do some gift-shopping. Anyway, the chance was too good to miss. He only got one day off during the week.

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 The Heartless or The Grass Roof didn’t have much appeal for Tony — his tastes ran more to murder mysteries and thrillers. He moved to the next rack and started thumbing through a translated Korean government publication called ‘An International Terrorist Clique — North Korea.” It seemed like pretty heavy-handed stuff, but then he didn’t have to live full-time in a country that had enemy commandos landing on its beaches.

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 nervously over her shoulder as the mob closed on them. “Ma’am, I’d get rid of those heels if I were you. They’re nice, but they aren’t Nikes!”

She looked at him and then at the chaos behind her. Muttering “There goes one pair of stockings,” she kicked out of her heels, scooped them off the pavement, and ran down the street, shoes in one hand and a package in another.

Tony ran to catch up, shouting, “The bookstore on the left!”

This lady was fast. Even with the noise behind pushing him along, he caught up to her only when she slowed to find the shop front.

Tony banged on the door and it opened just long enough for them to duck inside. The Korean slammed it shut as if it were spring-loaded. He looked up at Tony. “This is good. You find your lady friend. Both now safe.”

The woman flushed red.

Tony glanced over at her, embarrassed, and then back to the shopkeeper. “I don’t know her. I just didn’t think we should leave her out on the street.

“I’m glad you didn’t. Thank you both.” She started to put on her shoes, and Tony reached out a gentlemanly hand to steady her. She stood gracefully on one leg and slipped on one shoe, then switched legs and repeated the process. Tony pulled his hand back before she noticed it.

Hell, she wasn’t just pretty — she was damned pretty. She had a nice figure, but what really caught his eye was a mop of curly copper-colored hair. She wore it shoulder-length, and combined with the pale, freckled complexion only redheads can have, she was a knockout. She was tall, only half a head shorter than Tony, and that much taller than the shopkeeper.

And that was an American accent if he’d ever hear one. He straightened his shoulders. “Ma’am, I’m just glad I could help.” He reached out again, turning the charm meter up to level three. “My name’s Tony Christopher.”

She took his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Christopher. I hadn’t counted on running into something like this.” She suddenly smiled. “I’m sorry, I should introduce myself. I’m Anne Larson.”

Tony was worried. Level three wasn’t a killer, but “Mr. Christopher”? Sheesh. He tried level five. “Call me Tony, please.”

Before she could reply, something or someone slammed off the bookstore’s shutters, making them all jump. Anne whitened. “They’re going crazy out there. What’s going on around here all of a sudden?”

Tony shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. This is out of my field. Ask me about MiGs or flying, but not this stuff.”

They could hear windows breaking across the street. He turned to the Korean shopkeeper. “Say, have you ever seen anything this violent before?”

“No, not before. But all riots bad. Criminals and communists and ungrateful children. They make too much trouble, and everyone suffers. My shop will smell of the gas for weeks.”

Anne said, “But the police, they’re clubbing people.”

The Korean’s face tightened. “They bring this on themselves. Protesting the government! They should see how I lived thirty, forty years ago. They go to school and instead of classes they march in the street and throw rocks! They should obey parents and use chance to go to school. I wish I could go to university. They could have better life, build country.” He shook his head slowly and gestured outside. “Instead, they tear things up.”

Tony peered through a crack between the window shutters. Groups of students and police were struggling — sometimes attacking, sometimes fleeing. He felt as if he were watching it on television, but the sounds were too real, and you couldn’t catch the gut-wrenching stench of the tear gas on television.

He could see several hundred people, mostly white-masked students with some other civilians mixed in, trying to make a stand in the street outside. But a solid line of green-uniformed Combat Policemen were working their way slowly up the street breaking heads.

Squads in phalanx formation charged knots of protestors as they tried to form, firing rubber bullets and closing with clubs. Behind the advancing police line, troopers handcuffed individual rioters, none too gently, and dragged them over to waiting security vans. At the same time, trucks with water cannon and grenade launchers fired at larger groups, driving the mass of people farther up the street. It was a well-organized operation, pulverizing a mass of organized demonstrators into dazed individuals, safely under control.

He and Anne both watched as the police line moved toward the bookstore. As the fighting got closer, details popped out. Two policemen handcuffed a glassy-eyed student, threw him to the ground, and kicked him savagely. Just a few feet away, another demonstrator picked up a tear gas grenade from the pavement and lobbed it back toward the police. He went down with blood streaming from his forehead, knocked senseless by a rubber bullet fired at near point-blank range.

Another had a spray can. As a riot trooper ran at him, the kid pressed the spray button, then held a lighter in front of it. Tony saw a flash and saw the student try to aim his improvised flamethrower at the oncoming policeman. But the helmeted trooper knocked the spray can away with a long billy club, then whipped the weapon down onto the student’s unprotected head — smashing the boy to the pavement with a series of short, vicious blows. The man ran on, leaving the kid huddled in agony on the ground.

Tony looked back at the Korean shopkeeper. He was sitting at his desk in the back, quietly working. He wasn’t accomplishing much though, since he glanced up every five or ten seconds. When he saw Tony looking, he quickly fixed his gaze on the papers in front of him and did not look up again.

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.

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.