James Sonjae stepped through the Customs area, joining a surge of people flooding into the reception terminal at Incheon International Airport. He looked around at the waiting limo drivers, unsure whether Ferguson would send someone for him or meet him himself. When he didn’t find his name on a placard, he began walking around the hall, scanning slowly and expecting at any moment to spot Ferguson’s grin and raised eyebrows.
He didn’t, though.
For nearly half an hour he walked from one end of the terminal to the other, unsure exactly where to wait. He felt off balance, his equilibrium disturbed by the cacophony of sounds around him. The chatter sounded both familiar and strange at the same time.
Though born in America, Sonjae had been taught Korean as a child and had used it a great deal at home and with close relatives. Over the past two decades, he’d practiced it less and less; with the exception of some old people he looked in on for his church every few weeks, he rarely used it these days. The Incheon terminal overloaded his ears, overwhelming him with a strange sense of déjà vu and eliciting all sort of memories and associations—grandparents visiting when he was a child, distant relatives tearfully saying good-bye at Dulles. He struggled to keep his mind focused on the present, looking for Ferguson.
Sonjae tried to have Ferguson paged, but found it impossible to correctly decipher the operator’s instructions. Finally he gave up and found a place to sit where he could gather his wits and decide what to do next.
Thirty seconds after he plopped down, Bob Ferguson hopped over the row of seats and sat down beside him.
“Had a good tour of the airport?”
“Ferg.”
“Were you making sure you weren’t followed?” Ferguson asked. “Because you know, you walked back and forth about twenty million times.”
“A dozen. I wasn’t followed,” said Sonjae defensively.
“You’re right. At least I think you are,” said Ferguson. He pointed to the small carry-on bag perched on Sonjae’s knees. “That all you got?”
“I didn’t know what to pack.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all you need.” Ferguson grabbed the handle of the bag. “Come on. I have a limo waiting for us outside.”
Ferguson led him out to the drop-off area, where the driver he’d hired was arguing vehemently with someone. The man raised his hand to pop the trunk with his key fob, not even bothering to interrupt the argument.
“What are they saying?” Ferguson said as they climbed into the car.
“Damned if I know.”
Ferguson laughed. “Some translator you are.”
Sonjae flushed. “I, uh . . . I’m out of practice.”
Ferguson looked at his friend’s face, tired and worn. Just as well that he’d decided to send him back tomorrow.
“You all right?” Ferguson asked.
“I’m OK. What are we doing?”
“Depends on whether you’re going to fall asleep on me or not.”
“I’m awake.”
“Good. Then let’s go barhopping.”