Ferguson sat in the lounge area across from the phone Sonjae had used for a half hour, hoping someone might show up looking for them. But either he had missed them while he was getting Sonjae to the gate and aboard the plane, or they hadn’t sent anyone.
Assuming it was the latter, the people Sonjae had called at Science Industries probably weren’t connected with the government. The South Korean security forces were nothing if not efficient; they would have had the phone staked out by now.
Ferguson got up from his chair and stretched his arms, looking around nonchalantly, checking for a tail. No one seemed to be watching him, but he took a wide turn around the terminal anyway, moving back and forth, thoroughly checking his back.
Outside, he took a taxi to the city. As they were nearing downtown, he asked the driver in halting Korean if he could be dropped off at a park.
The driver obliged by leaving him at Tapgol Park, a tourist landmark. Ferguson got out and wandered near a tour guide, who was explaining the significance of the bronze relief on the outer wall.
“The historical protest movement known as March 1 began on these streets,” said the guide, immediately catching Ferguson’s attention. “The Korean people protested the Japanese occupation. Though Korean protest was nonviolent, the Japanese reaction was not. By early spring 1919, seven thousand five hundred Koreans were killed. At least fifty thousand were arrested. A great tragedy for my country.”
Enlightened as to the significance of the name of Park’s political party, Ferguson edged away from the tourists. He found a spot where he couldn’t be overheard, took out his sat phone and called Corrine. By now it was after lunchtime here and close to midnight back in D.C.
She picked up her office phone on the first ring.
“Hey, Wicked Stepmother. Can you talk?”
“I’m in my office.”
“That’s a yes?”
“Yes.”
“You sure you’re a government employee? It’s gotta be going on midnight, right?”
“Ferguson, what’s going on?”
“I need you to meet a flight at Dulles tomorrow around five p.m. You’ll see someone you know who’ll have something for you.”
“Someone I know?”
“Vaguely. Make sure you get to the airport on time.”
“What’s he bringing back?”
“You’ll see when he gets there.”
“What do you want me to do with it?”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Ferg, why don’t you trust Slott?”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Ferg—”
He killed the transmission.