Chapter 19

Fay peered through the jet’s small rectangular window. “Thank goodness they are on time,” she said.

“Calm down, Fayzie,” Pearce said. “Everything will go just fine!”

Not until the sleek red, white and blue jet began its takeoff run did Fay relax. “I don’t know what to think. One moment I feel excited about this trip. The next moment, I feel deep trepidation.”

“You act like you’ve never flown before,” Pearce said. “Everything will be peachy. Want me to see if the flight attendant will fetch y’all a relaxing drug?” 

Fay answered, “It’s not the flying that’s bothering me. It’s everything else that’s happened.” She smiled. “I will be fine. Hope I haven’t forgotten anything. I feel like I have forgotten something.”

“Ma’am, I have a question.”

“Fire away.”

“Excuse me for being noisy. What is the story behind the bump on your forehead?”

Fay laughed. “I ran into a door.”

“I can see there’s no hope for y’all. I just hope I don’t have to listen to this for the next eleven hours and thirty-five minutes.”

“You’ve got it down to the minutes?” Fay asked.

“That’s what Winslow said.”

Fay settled back into the spacious business-class seat.

Pearce turned to Winslow. “She ran into a door,” Pearce reported. Then she turned back to Fay and asked, “Every time I fly, I think of Bart Hay. Y’all remember him?”

“That arrogant and egotistical good ol’ boy Texan Secret Service pilot?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t say I do recall him.”

Pearce snickered. “Kind of liked him, huh?”

“He was handsome; I’ll give him that,” Fay said, pretending to sound disinterested.

“I see. Excuse me. I’m dyin’ to hear how your dinner with Ford went the other night. Did y’all end it?” Pearce asked.

“Yes and no.” Fay sighed. “My plan was to end it, but you know as well as I do Ford is a brilliant man. He must have sensed what I was up to.”

“What happened?”

“He is such a gentleman.” Fay snatched a handkerchief from the pocket of her blouse and dabbed at the corner of her left eye, then softly blew her nose. She chuckled and sighed. “He dumped me before I had a chance to tell him.”

“So, he took ya off the hook, and now it’s over. Are ya feelin’ pretty rotten about it?”

“Yeah. And I feel pretty good about it, too,” Fay replied.

It was well into the evening when Flight 199 touched down at Incheon International Airport, five minutes ahead of schedule. The trio had traveled for fifteen weary hours. Fay watched the runway lights flash past her window. The jetliner slowed to its usual taxi speed and made its way from the runway to the passenger terminal. Fay thought of nothing of consequence as she sat, mesmerized by the evenly spaced, uniform lights parading by the window, one after another, seemingly never-ending.

The jet came to a halt. Passengers rose from their seats and scrambled for their carry-on luggage stowed in the overhead bins. Fay stood and retrieved her carry-on bag and sat again while she waited until the last passenger had trickled through the cabin door. Pearce and Winslow followed suit.

When they reached the exit, a cheerful flight attendant stationed there said, “Good evening! Thank you for flying our airline!” He continued, “It was an honor to have two celebrities aboard today. Your father has always been sort of a hero of mine. Please give your father my regards.”

Fay did not realize she and Pearce had even been recognized. It was not particularly a hard thing to do. They looked much the same now as they did when President Green served in office. “I will do that! We very much enjoyed the service!” Fay replied as she began her exit through the jetway and into the terminal building.

Not wanting to take time to search for her eyeglasses, Fay opted to instead to squint. Looking for a big sign that would direct them to the customs and baggage claim areas, she declared, “I should put my eyeglasses on. Perhaps it would help.”

“I suspect,” Pearce commented, pointing toward what appeared to Fay as a green blur, “the man in the Army camos may know. He’s holdin’ up a little sign that says, ‘Lieutenant Commander Green’ on it.” She then added, “You should get corrective eye surgery.”

“A good indication he may know. Good work.” With that said, Fay picked up her carry-on and marched toward the green blur.

The man dressed in a South Korean Army uniform smiled at the approaching trio and asked, “Lieutenant Commander Green? Petty Officers Pearce and Winslow?”

Fay returned the smile. “It’s us.” Once again, she set her carry-on down.

“Thank you! I thought I had missed you,” he said. “I’m Major Jangho Kim. I represent the Republic of Korea Armed Forces. Welcome!” Kim extended his hand.

Fay firmly shook his hand and then introduced herself, Winslow and Pearce.

“I’m here to escort you to your hotel, Lieutenant Commander. Please, come with me,” Kim stated.

“Thanks,” Fay replied.

“We’ll process you through customs. I have a car waiting.”

“What service, Mr. Kim,” Fay said. “I did not know we would have someone to greet us.”

Kim offered to carry a few pieces of their luggage. “Please, Lieutenant Commander, call me Jangho.”

Shortly after, they arrived at customs. The area was teeming with hundreds of passengers from numerous flights; most of the travelers were pushing, shoving, and maneuvering their travel-weary bodies through the mass of humanity. There were swarms of people, each impatiently waiting for a turn to be processed through South Korean customs.

The trio retrieved their suitcases from the baggage carousel. Major Kim pointed to a door at the right side of the massive customs area. “This way.” Standing near the door was a military policeman, who saluted as the four people approached. Kim returned the salute, and the MP opened the door.

“This is a special customs area set up to process armed forces personnel,” Kim explained. “This will be much quicker than waiting in the other lines.”

Major Kim was correct. Fay saw several customs agents milling around and not one soul in line. The customs agents stopped chatting with one another and crewed their stations as the four approached them.

“Good evening, welcome to the Republic of Korea,” an agent greeted Fay when she arrived at her station. “May I have your ticket and passport, please?” The agent smiled and extended her a hand.

Fay released her grip on the handle of her suitcase. The suitcase struck the floor with a loud thump. She pulled the strap of her pocketbook off her shoulder, opened it, removed her passport and concealed weapon permit, and then handed the documents to the customs agent. Although the unloaded weapon was packed in her checked suitcase, she knew airport people tended to get twitchy when they spotted a gun on airport property.

Fay pointed at her suitcase. “I have an unloaded weapon in my suitcase.”

The customs agent, giving no indication her declaration concerned her, took Fay’s permit and passport. She might have looked at Fay’s documents, but it did not seem like it to Fay. The agent returned Fay’s documents. The agent did not acknowledge the concealed weapon permit. “Miss Green, are your anthrax inoculations current?”

“I had my last booster three months ago,” Fay said. Anthrax? she thought.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander Green.” The agent glanced at Fay’s suitcase. “Your luggage, please.”

Fay returned her pocketbook to its place on her left shoulder, then wrestled her suitcase onto the low counter that ran between her and the agent.

“No. I meant for you not to forget your luggage, ma’am.” The agent smiled and turned her attention toward a group of Air Force personnel who entered the customs area. “Good evening, welcome to the Republic of Korea,” she said, once again.

Fay retrieved her suitcase and rejoined Jangho near the room’s exit. “That’s it? I’m done?” She truly believed her possessing the derringer would have invited at least a search.

“You come here with high recommendations, Fay. No need for the formalities.”

While Fay cleared customs unscathed, Winslow ran afoul of the process. It was discovered his anthrax boosters were not current. He was led through a side door for a date with the public health officer. Several minutes later, he reemerged through the door with a smile on his face and an up-to-date shot record in his hand. “My anthrax booster lapsed,” he informed Fay.

“Anthrax?” Pierce whispered as she passed by Fay on her way to the waiting car.

During the drive from the airport to the Park Hyatt Seoul, Fay learned Major Kim was a South Korean Army interpreter. This, more than likely, she privately speculated, means he is firmly connected with a South Korean Army intelligence unit. Or with the South Korean equivalent of the CIA, known worldwide as the KCIA. Major Kim, a Korean, possessed a warm and infectious smile. She sensed Kim was a kind and generous man - much like a happy and contented great white shark.

A light rain was falling when the army staff car arrived at the hotel. A valet promptly opened the rear passenger door. All four passengers emerged from the car into the cold night air and scurried into the hotel lobby. At the same time, the bell captain retrieved their luggage.

The Park Hyatt Seoul was grand indeed. “How elegant,” Pearce remarked, her mouth agape. She almost fell over backward as her head lifted to view the top of the lobby’s ornate four-story high ceiling.

Fay went to the front desk to register. The desk clerk retrieved her room key card and a message. She accepted both, thanking the gentleman for his hospitality, and turned to Jangho. “Well, Jangho, we are off to our rooms. Will we see you later on?”

“I’m staying at the hotel for a few days—room nineteen-forty-six. Please call me if you need anything. I am at your disposal.”

“I will, Major. Will you join us for breakfast? Say, nine?”

“That would be enjoyable. Nine is fine.”

The trio’s eighteenth-floor adjoining rooms were spacious and modern. After tipping each of the four bellmen who had comprised their entourage to the room, Fay quickly settled in. First kicking off her shoes and unpacking, she reclined on her bed and opened the envelope she was been given at the front desk. “It’s from Captain Towsley,” she called to Pearce through the open door separating the two rooms. “He wants me to call him ASAP.”

Pearce entered through the door, smiled, and then sat down at a desk near the window. As she perused the various pamphlets adorning the desk, she remarked, “Says here room service is available twenty-four hours a day. Gosh, I’m hungry.” She rubbed her stomach. “Oh! Oh! There are eight restaurants in the hotel. Do ya want to hear about them?” She looked at Fay, then declared, “Of course you do.”

“Of course, I do,” Fay said in unison.

“There’s the ‘Akasaka,’ noted for its sushi,” she wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. And teppanyaki, whatever that is. Freeze-dried monkfish, I bet. Anyway, ‘The Chinese’ for Cantonese, Szechuan, and dim sum. ‘The Paris’ for European dishes. ‘The Terrace’ for international cuisine. I thought European and international was the same thing? And there is the ‘Gut Bomb’ for twenty-four-hour room service. How many nights are we gonna be here, anyway?”

Fay laughed. “There’s one called the ‘Gut Bomb?’ What the hell!?”

Pearce flipped the pamphlet back onto the desk and sprawled back into the chair. “This is going to be great! And I was just kidding about the ‘Gut Bomb’ place. Anyway, all’s I know is we are livin’ in high cotton this week!”

“Before y’all and your cotton start eating your way across the world, let me give Towsley a call. Let’s see.” Fay put her finger to her cheek and frowned. “I’d say it’s about six in the morning in Bremerton.” A smirk crossed her face. She had not forgotten her early morning awakening from Captain Towsley several days prior.

It only took a few moments for the connection to go through to Towsley’s home. “Hello,” the barely audible voice said.

“Captain Towsley? Is that you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good morning, sir. I am in Seoul,” Fay said. “I got your message. You asked me to call you ASAP.”

“No! No! it’s fine, but thanks for calling, Faydra.” He coughed.

“Are you not feeling well, sir?”

“I have the virus hex you put on me.” He sounded like he was clamping his nose shut with his fingers while at the same time lying on a bed of nails. He continued, “Admiral Wallace asked me to tell you how grateful he is you volunteered to fill in for him at the inquiry.” Again, Vern coughed.

“Not a problem, sir. And Amy? How is she?”

“Amy is resting at home and doing fine. You must be exhausted. I’ll let you get to bed. Goodnight, Fay. And stay in touch.”

She wished him the same and then returned the phone receiver to its cradle.