think they were watching her."
"Then what were they doing?"
"They were old men. Sages. Disciples of Confucius. I think they were worshiping her."
WHEN WE ARRIVED BACK AT THE JEEP, ERNIE WAS CURSING.
"Goddamn Happy Hour is over already," he told us. "By the time we get back, there won't even be one deviled egg left."
Herman checked his wristwatch. "Shit! I'm late."
"Late for what?" I asked.
"To change the charcoal. Nam will kill me if I let it go out."
The pressed charcoal briquettes of the ondol heating system have to be changed every few hours or the fire sputters and dies. It's an involved process to start it up again.
"You're pussy-whipped," Ernie said.
Herman didn't answer.
"We'll drop you off," I told Herman.
The rain kept up a determined drizzle and Ernie kept up his bitching, all the way back to Itaewon. Lady Ahn had escaped. She was our only connection to the jade skull and the jade skull was our only connection to Mi-ja. We had to keep searching. Taejon, where Lady Ahn's onni lived, was our best bet.
Ernie didn't know it yet, but he was going to miss out on a lot more than just a few chicken drumettes.
After grabbing some chow at the Eighth Army Snack Bar, we went straight back to the barracks, packed our overnight bags, and headed to the H-101 Helipad on Yongsan Compound South Post.
Now the rain was being whipped back and forth by wind gusts of up to eighty miles an hour. All flights other than emergency aircraft were canceled until further notice. I argued with the NCO in charge and flashed my badge and even threatened to call the Provost Marshal, but it did no good. No choppers were lifting off unless it was a life-or-death situation.
"There is some good news," the sergeant told us. "The weather's expected to break sometime tonight."
"And you'll put us on the first thing smoking?" I asked.
"You got it," he promised.
Resigned to our fate, Ernie and I grabbed a couple of cups of coffee and tried to make ourselves comfortable on the wooden benches in the tiny waiting room.
I leafed through a magazine. Ernie bitched about missing Happy Hour. We waited.
IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT, AND I HAD STARTED TO DOZE OFF, when the Flight Control Sergeant shook me awake.
"Call for you."
Rubbing my eyes, I stumbled to the counter and grabbed the telephone. It was Herman. In the background I heard a woman shrieking. Slicky Girl Nam.
"We received another package," Herman said.
"From the kidnappers?"
'Yeah."
"What's it say?"
"It doesn't say nothing. It's a clipping from a newspaper or something. A picture of the full moon."
Nam was crying and gnashing her teeth so loudly in the background that I could barely hear Herman.
"They're reminding us of the deadline," I said. "That's it? There was nothing else in the package?"
"Something was wrapped in the paper."
My stomach started to churn. Herman's voice seemed eerily calm.
"What was it, Herman?"
"A part of a finger. Mi-ja's. Two knuckles' worth."
I heard something plop on wood. The phone line crackled. Slicky Girl Nam's wailing increased in volume. Herman came back on the line.
"Sorry," he said. "I dropped it."
I swallowed through a dry throat but managed to speak. "Have the KNPs come up with anything?"
"Nada. Not a goddamn thing."
"Keep a grip, Herman," I said. "Ernie and I are on our way to Taejon."
I hung up the phone.
Ernie was still stretched out on the wooden bench, his head propped up on his overnight bag, his hands laced across his stomach, snoring calmly. He slept with the clear conscience of a Catholic saint.
Three hours later the rain slowed and the wind stopped. I shook Ernie awake and the two of us clambered aboard a roaring Huey helicopter.
As we lifted into the sky, the stars emerged from behind drifting monsoon clouds. They sparkled brightly, as if each one had been polished by the hand of God.
11
STEEL NEEDLES OF AGONY SHOT UP FROM MI-JA'S SEVERED FINger. The pain from her missing ear had long since settled into a pounding ache.
"Then what were they doing?"
"They were old men. Sages. Disciples of Confucius. I think they were worshiping her."
WHEN WE ARRIVED BACK AT THE JEEP, ERNIE WAS CURSING.
"Goddamn Happy Hour is over already," he told us. "By the time we get back, there won't even be one deviled egg left."
Herman checked his wristwatch. "Shit! I'm late."
"Late for what?" I asked.
"To change the charcoal. Nam will kill me if I let it go out."
The pressed charcoal briquettes of the ondol heating system have to be changed every few hours or the fire sputters and dies. It's an involved process to start it up again.
"You're pussy-whipped," Ernie said.
Herman didn't answer.
"We'll drop you off," I told Herman.
The rain kept up a determined drizzle and Ernie kept up his bitching, all the way back to Itaewon. Lady Ahn had escaped. She was our only connection to the jade skull and the jade skull was our only connection to Mi-ja. We had to keep searching. Taejon, where Lady Ahn's onni lived, was our best bet.
Ernie didn't know it yet, but he was going to miss out on a lot more than just a few chicken drumettes.
After grabbing some chow at the Eighth Army Snack Bar, we went straight back to the barracks, packed our overnight bags, and headed to the H-101 Helipad on Yongsan Compound South Post.
Now the rain was being whipped back and forth by wind gusts of up to eighty miles an hour. All flights other than emergency aircraft were canceled until further notice. I argued with the NCO in charge and flashed my badge and even threatened to call the Provost Marshal, but it did no good. No choppers were lifting off unless it was a life-or-death situation.
"There is some good news," the sergeant told us. "The weather's expected to break sometime tonight."
"And you'll put us on the first thing smoking?" I asked.
"You got it," he promised.
Resigned to our fate, Ernie and I grabbed a couple of cups of coffee and tried to make ourselves comfortable on the wooden benches in the tiny waiting room.
I leafed through a magazine. Ernie bitched about missing Happy Hour. We waited.
IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT, AND I HAD STARTED TO DOZE OFF, when the Flight Control Sergeant shook me awake.
"Call for you."
Rubbing my eyes, I stumbled to the counter and grabbed the telephone. It was Herman. In the background I heard a woman shrieking. Slicky Girl Nam.
"We received another package," Herman said.
"From the kidnappers?"
'Yeah."
"What's it say?"
"It doesn't say nothing. It's a clipping from a newspaper or something. A picture of the full moon."
Nam was crying and gnashing her teeth so loudly in the background that I could barely hear Herman.
"They're reminding us of the deadline," I said. "That's it? There was nothing else in the package?"
"Something was wrapped in the paper."
My stomach started to churn. Herman's voice seemed eerily calm.
"What was it, Herman?"
"A part of a finger. Mi-ja's. Two knuckles' worth."
I heard something plop on wood. The phone line crackled. Slicky Girl Nam's wailing increased in volume. Herman came back on the line.
"Sorry," he said. "I dropped it."
I swallowed through a dry throat but managed to speak. "Have the KNPs come up with anything?"
"Nada. Not a goddamn thing."
"Keep a grip, Herman," I said. "Ernie and I are on our way to Taejon."
I hung up the phone.
Ernie was still stretched out on the wooden bench, his head propped up on his overnight bag, his hands laced across his stomach, snoring calmly. He slept with the clear conscience of a Catholic saint.
Three hours later the rain slowed and the wind stopped. I shook Ernie awake and the two of us clambered aboard a roaring Huey helicopter.
As we lifted into the sky, the stars emerged from behind drifting monsoon clouds. They sparkled brightly, as if each one had been polished by the hand of God.
11
STEEL NEEDLES OF AGONY SHOT UP FROM MI-JA'S SEVERED FINger. The pain from her missing ear had long since settled into a pounding ache.
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