Thera got to Gimpo about seven a.m., driving over after landing at Osan Air Base, a U.S. Air Force facility not far from Seoul. She’d had her hair cut before leaving the Peleliu and picked up a pair of glasses to help change her appearance.
Once Korea’s largest airport, Gimpo had been overshadowed in recent years by the larger Incheon Airport, but it was still a busy place, with over a hundred passenger flights every day. Park’s 727 had been directed to use a special gate in the domestic terminal; a Customs officer had already been sent to meet them. A guard stood outside the waiting area, but Thera could see in easily enough by standing in the hallway. She leaned against a large round column, sipping a coffee as if she were waiting for a friend.
The first clump of men off the plane looked seriously hung over, shielding their eyes from the overhead fluorescents. The second and then a third group of men came in, looking even worse. The men were all in their forties and fifties, all Korean.
It was just like Ferguson to keep her waiting, she thought. At any second, she expected him to come sauntering out of the boarding tunnel, a big, what-me-worry grin on his face.
But he didn’t.
As Park’s guests were led through a nearby door to their vans waiting below, Thera slipped into the jetway, walking toward the cabin of the 727.
“Nuguseyo?” said a startled steward, turning around as she entered the plane. “Who are you?”
“Hello?” said Thera in Korean. She glanced down the wide aisle of the jet. “No one aboard?”
“What are you doing?” asked one of the pilots, appearing from the nearby cockpit.
“Just looking for a passenger.”
“They’re gone. All gone.”
Thera craned her neck, making sure. The pilot started to grab her wrist. Thera jerked her hand up and grabbed his instead, pressing it hard enough to make him wince.
“Not a good idea,” she told him in English before letting go.