I stood in shock, unable to say a word, my unblinking eyes staring up into glittering dark pupils in eyes that had never glittered before. He was too tall, and he was vaguely smiling as he held the door half open. People passed on both sides of us, using the other doors opened and closed by the other doorman.

“Not you,” I breathed out, finally able to move my legs enough to enter the door and wait while he closed it behind me.

My mind was whirling. I’d not seen Nguyen on the night of my medical evacuation or ever would have believed that he would have survived the carnage that turned the company into torn and shattered remnants of those who were already barely surviving down under the triple canopy jungle nightmare environment. All those who lived, of whom I had no real accurate idea, were born again, as the Gunny had intimated when terming the valley, the Valley of No Return. And now, just moving from behind me to appear once more, was one of those born again. Born again bigger, which meant he’d been younger than I’d thought when he’d been my vital friend, dark companion, and elusive savior ten years before. Born again smiling when he’d never so much as grinned before. Born again to speak English which I could not believe he’d been able to do in those deeply deadly days and awful terror-filled nights.

I heard the whisper of the door closing but in waiting to turn and face this impossible apparition, I was interrupted by the arrival of two men, both aging but not too old, balding but not too bald, and both wearing suits that probably cost what the CIA had paid for the Mercedes.

I had to turn around, but I couldn’t turn around because the taller slimmer of the two men there to greet me, was holding out a hand and smiling broadly.

“Bill Porter,” the man said, shaking my hand, and then clasping it with his other hand, and not letting go.

I had to get back to Nguyen, but I couldn’t break free without some sort of uncomfortable incident. Meanwhile, the other man, an overweight short man with one of those Mormon kinds of beards that kind of acted like a frame for his cherubic face smiled broadly and waited his turn to introduce himself.
I finally extricated myself from Porter’s grasp but didn’t reach out to take the hand of the other man, although I wondered vaguely why Herbert hadn’t given me the men’s names before I got there.

I turned around to face Nguyen but he was gone. There wasn’t even a doorman there to replace him. My only hope would be to either find him at the hotel or track him through the management.

“Edward Jefferson,” a voice said behind me before I could turn back.

I sighed, inaudibly, and took the man’s extended hand.

“They tell us that you’ve come up with a solution to our problems.”

I almost took a step backward, not to remove my hand from the smaller man’s rather powerful grip but in naked surprise. Aside from the shock of meeting Nguyen under such circumstances and then losing him again, the added shock of being responsible for the mission when I didn’t have any idea of what problems the men with me were encountering that I was supposed to have the solution to. I’d been given to understand clearly that the two experienced and well-credentialed men would be there to help me, not I to help them. Before my hand left contact with Jefferson’s hand, I knew almost for certain that whatever they’d been told about my mission had nothing to do with my mission the way I was instructed, although not ordered. I’d hoped to visit my first foreign country with the Agency to kind of get the ropes of how it worked, except it didn’t work. I was made up and Korea seemed to be made up, even the presence, somehow and in some way, of Nguyen seemed dream-like and not real at all.

Even with the hours of sleep aboard the 747 I was exhausted. The tiny catnaps permitted by the journey in the deuce and a half up to Los Alamos and a very short stop home hadn’t recovered my energy. I just wanted to leave the men and get back to the Sheraton and fall into a bed that wasn’t permeated with cigarette smoke, was properly air-conditioned, and had a do-not-disturb tag for the doorknob.

“Your belongings have been moved to this hotel, so you have plenty of time. You don’t have to take any time at all. We’ll take the hotel limo to the Lotte Seoul where my room is and meet there.”

“Where do I check in?” I asked, relieved not having to go back to anywhere inside a city that seemed like it was constructed of hollow bricks, cardboard boxes, and strange tile roofs all colored dark shining blue.

“You’re in,” we know the management,” Porter replied. “Just get your key from the front desk when you come back.”

Both men turned at once and headed out through the glass doors I’d just come through.

I looked around in disbelief. All my stuff was in my single suitcase. How was I to believe that it would all be there and in a room that I didn’t even know the number to when I got back? I looked at my watch, which I knew was no help. It was light out. I asked Porter what time it was when I caught up with the men before they went into an old Jaguar sedan, I’d never seen the like of before.

“Almost noon,” he laughed at my expression when he said the words. You traveled for about sixteen hours if I’ve got that right and came back in time about sixteen, so it’s about four hours since you left home.”

My shoulders slumped. I had a whole day to get through before I could go down. Matt had spent a bit of time helping me understand the time zones and travel times of international travel and that going one way was easier than going the other. Supposedly, my flying east was easier on mind and body than flying west, although he’d never explained why.

When we got to the room Porter ordered from room service. indicating that I was probably hungry. He was right. I ordered a burger, not considering I was in such a foreign place they might not know what a burger was, but they did.

“Just exactly what is it that you need that you think I can help with?” I asked both men, biting into one of the best cheeseburgers I’d ever eaten which had been ordered from room service, of all places.

“They grind prime rib to make those burgers,” Jefferson said with a slight laugh. “How did you know if you’ve never been here before?”

I was running on autopilot and near empty, so I did not attempt to answer his question.

“What is it?” I asked, again, knowing both men would understand what I was talking about, as both came off as jovial, and good-natured but also keenly intelligent.

“I run the oldest foreign school in Asia,” Jefferson began. I need computer help and the only one that might do the trick is an IBM 360. No more accountants or employees mucking everything up. The tuition, the conversion, the books, the teacher’s payroll, and most of them are American and must be paid in dollars, the rest in local Won…” his voice trailed off.

“Okay, and what about you Ambassador Porter?” I asked, thinking about a big sprawling computer I’d just gotten a glimpse of at the Los Alamos tech area. Whatever the machine was it wasn’t going to be cheap.

“I want a job back in the States, preferably in Washington and it’s got to have class and allow me some time for my wife and family too.”

“Is that it?” I asked, finishing the wonderful burger and thinking of ordering another. I kept all expression from my face as I looked at the two men. Neither had bothered to ask me why I was there, other than to satisfy their outrageous needs.

“Well,” Jefferson began, delaying for a few seconds.

If I’d been with Matt or even Herbert I would have whispered, “This ought to be good,” but there was just me.

“Most of our teachers are from the U.S. and they’re used to American medical care and insurance. The medical care in Seoul is good but expensive and foreign nationals can’t get treatment without paying cash up front. I can’t budget for those kinds of unknown and immediate cash payments. I don’t know what your connections are, although they must be significant, or we wouldn’t be meeting here like this. Also, if one of my people is sick or hurt and wants to go home the airlines won’t fly them unless they don’t look sick or hurt. How do they get back to the U.S.?”

“I’ve got to make some calls,” I replied, not speaking to any of the things they’d both brought up.

I had little idea of what power I might have to accomplish much of anything when faced with their list of troubles that seemed mountainous, overwhelmingly complex, and expensive. What I needed was some sleep and recovery to somehow get on my feet again. My wife knew I was in Korea but had no confirmation from me. Herbert would hopefully be standing by to get my initial report but there’d been no discussion about that either. What kind of ‘mission’ was so loosely thrown together with a new agent or operative? I didn’t yet have any identity in the Agency to term myself, much less a title.

“You don’t want to make those calls from here,” Porter said. “They listen in and record everything. This country is fast becoming a technological center so don’t sell the locals short of anything.”

I had no idea who ‘they’ might be. South Korea was an ally not part of the Soviet Union, close to China, or any of that. To be secure I’d have to get to the embassy if Porter was accurate in what he said.

I looked at my watch. There was no way to call Herbert for another eight to ten hours, as the time differential would require that I wait until everyone was awake back home.

“You need a new watch to wear over here,’ Jefferson remarked, looking at my Seiko. “The Koreans have no love lost for the Japanese.”

I liked my Seiko, but I also felt that listening to a man with Jefferson’s cultural experience was vital to my success in the strange country I’d landed in.

One more chore ahead of me. I got up and walked over to the huge window allowing for a view of most of the city below. The building was about thirty stories high, and we were at the very top in a suite. The ambassador was no piker when it came to hotel rooms. Why we were in a hotel room at all, instead of a meeting room, remained an unasked and unanswered question. The ding ding ding of the elevator still reverberated through my exhausted brain. The elevators in Seoul all gave out a musical ding as they passed each floor, on the way up or down. Neither Porter nor Jefferson had an answer as to why that oddness was present, but it was that way in all Seoul buildings. Another mildly discomforting oddness.

“When should we meet back here?” I asked, turning away from the spectacular view. “I’ve got to get to the embassy and make some calls, get back to my hotel room, if I have a room” I was about to say that I was going to take a nap but held that back.

The men in the room with me were both actors not just talkers and I didn’t want to show weakness in front of them. I also was driven to track Nguyen down just as quickly as I could. What could his story possibly be and how is it that even given how wild coincidences can be, how could both of us end up in the lobby of a Seoul hotel ten years after coming out of the valley? I was in Korea, for God’s sake, not Vietnam. Vietnam was a good two thousand miles to the southwest, if I remembered correctly.

I excused myself, promising to show up with something by five in the afternoon. The front entrance was empty of cars, so I asked one of the doormen about a taxi. He asked me if I was staying with the two gentlemen he’d seen me with, and I said yes, even though I wasn’t really. I knew that he meant to ask if I was staying at the hotel but was probably too trained in Korean kindness, which was evident everywhere, to do that.

“The hotel limo is at your disposal,” he said, waving to one of the gray Jaguars parked further away.

I stepped through the door he opened and understood instantly why the strange older vehicles were the hotel limos. The inside was a wonder of leather, velvet, crystal, and cleanliness. I relaxed back into the seat, ready to fall asleep except that I knew my hotel was only minutes away. I noticed all the much smaller regular vehicles gave the big Jag plenty of space and I liked that too. The driver moved the sliding glass separating the front seats from the rear and I told him where we were headed. That was it. The glass slid back, and I was in almost complete silence. I had to check in and be sure I had my suitcase and a room, then get to the embassy before I could return and try to track Nguyen down. As we pulled up to the lobby portico of my hotel, I knocked on the glass. The driver turned and waved as the Jag rolled to a stop but didn’t slide open the glass. I got out as one of the doormen at my hotel opened the door. Once I was out, the door slammed, and the car eased away. I realized that Korea was different in so many ways. There would be no payment for the trip. Somehow and in some way, that was all covered.

“Did you need to contact your driver?” the new doorman asked, noting my surprise at the seemingly sudden departure of the Jag.

“I’ve got to get to the Embassy after I check in,” I said, a bit irritated by the smaller things that seemed to be getting in my way, although I knew that some of my angst was due to the wear and tear of the time zone change, little or no sleep, and being handed more problems I had no understanding of or answers for.

“The hotel vehicle is available to you for such a purpose, as you are staying in a suite,” the man said, with a look on his face that told me I should have known that.

I thanked him and then wondered, walking through the opened doorway in front of me, how he knew me or what room I might be staying in. There was also the fact that suites in international hotels were notoriously expensive. I had my American Express card but had little idea as to what the limits on it were or what accountability later on might come into play.

There was no check-in at the front desk. I was informed when handed my key that it wouldn’t be necessary for them to hold my passport for my stay, which I had no idea many hotels did with foreign guests. Mr. Kim, the general manager of the hotel was ‘comping’ the room, which I presumed meant I was staying for free, which I didn’t understand until the clerk informed me that he was a graduate of Seoul Foreign School. Things were much more tightly knitted together than I would have believed. The learning curve I was on was so steep that it was boggling my mind and the pressure that went with the learning just kept increasing.

As I approached the corner room two Koreans dressed in black suits stood outside my door.

“Yes?” I murmured, before trying to put the key in the lock.

“Security,” one of them said, not smiling and holding out his hand.

I had to think for a second about what he might want, and then it came to me. I pulled out my passport and handed it over. The second man peered at my passport held by the first man, took out a small notebook, and made notes. My passport snapped closed, and the first man handed it back before both men bowed and walked away.

I might be an operative of the CIA but I sure as hell was proving that I was no secret agent.

The room was a space of splendor, like the inside of the Jaguar. There were six queen or king beds in three bedrooms and a grand area at the very center that faced giant picture windows. I went to the house phone and called the front desk. I informed them that security had been outside my room to vet me and wanted to know if that was standard procedure, the formal composed but oh-so-professional behavior of both black suits bothering me a bit. They just did not seem like hotel security guys.

“Sir,” the woman said, after a short delay, “our security does not patrol and only come to guest rooms if invited. No security came to you from the hotel.”

“Transfer me to room service,” I requested to immediately change the subject and give myself time to think.

I ordered a cheeseburger and there was no argument or question. After I hung up the phone, I sat in one of the large leather chairs nearby to think. Korean hotels of the five-star variety, and there seemed to be more of those than I would ever have guessed, sent what you ordered without much question, and I also thought about the security thing. The ‘security’ had to be from the government. My first appearance in a foreign country was noticed, not for maybe what I was, but noticed all the same. The Agency should have understood that the men I was meeting were too important for some stranger to come in and meet with them and go unnoticed. That also meant I had to assume that almost everything I did was going to be watched and recorded. I just hoped the communications in and out of the embassy were secure. There wasn’t supposed to be any danger at all in what I was doing in Korea, but I sensed that there was and that was truly unsettling. Danger was no stranger to me but most of it occurred in a rather short period ten years back, not in my present life. Working for the Western White House had been interesting, boring, and sometimes antagonizing but never had true physical danger as a part of it. Part of the problem, that feeling running up and down my very center, had to have something to do with the fact that I was many thousands of miles from home and in the company of people I knew nothing about.

I took out the small card I’d made describing how to contact AT&T to make a call home and to Herbert. It was a rather ornate process, depending upon whether the call was made from a pay phone, hotel phone, or even from a place like the embassy. The expense was approximated at twelve dollars a minute which mostly let out pay phones unless only a connection to AT&T was made to the local company. The time zones were one problem, but the phone connection problem was another, and possibly more significant.

Stripping my clothes off and climbing into the hot shower was such a relief that I wanted to slink down to the bottom of the beautifully tiled area but knew that wasn’t in the cards. I got out, turned off the water, and slipped into a beautiful and lush white cotton robe. I wondered immediately whether escaping with the robe would be noticed but then laughed out loud.

“Really?” I said aloud to myself, “From secret agent to petty thief in a matter of hours, quite a descent.” I laid down on the bed to think.

My eyes popped open when there was a very gentle knock on the door. I checked my Seiko. I’d slept for an hour, unaware of sleeping until the knock. I cursed, jumped up, and ran to the door. There was no peephole stuck in the center of the solid wood door, so I opened it a crack.

“Your vehicle remains waiting, sir,” a female voice said.

I was shocked once more. The doorman reserved the car and then they all waited for me to come down and I didn’t come down.

“Five minutes,” I yelled, closing the door.

I ran to get dressed, and, taking only my wallet and passport, headed for the elevators. The thing dinged eighteen times on the way down. Irritating but I could understand that one could be accustomed to it over time. I was culturally conditioned to silent elevators and the world outside my knowledge was much bigger and more varied in customs than I’d imagined.

The ride to the embassy wasn’t as short as I thought. In distance, it was probably only a few miles, but since I’d been down on the bed, traffic had burgeoned and everything was a mess. Cars were unmoving in many places and traffic signals, when the drivers did obey them, took five minutes to change colors. I sat back and thought, my mind disappearing into different channels to consider the problems I’d been handed. It came to me. The last problem the schoolmaster had brought up was the solution to everything. The school and most Americans living abroad in difficult areas, I had to assume, needed a medical insurance policy that paid and could be worked into the fabric of foreign hospitals, doctors, pharmacies, and caregivers. The school needed a service organization to handle the claims and sell the policies that were made and backed in the U.S., and finally, there had to be some sort of air service set up to evacuate sick or medically damaged U.S. citizens under the policy. Three companies, all overseen by Porter from a home base in Washington D.C. With a substantial investment, all three could be off and running in no time at all. Civilians would staff the companies at the home office and then half-staffed by civilians and CIA agents for the sales and evacuation services. Agents would go in and out of countries with relative impunity, as long it wasn’t revealed in any way that the companies had such employees.

“Money, it’s all about the money now,” I said to myself. Would the CIA spend the millions it was going to take to set it all up and kick it off on a target date?

All three companies had to go operational together and that meant coordination, real estate acquisition, build-in, airplanes, and employees. Was Porter up to such a mission? I knew nothing about him and had to know more because the whole thing would depend upon him doing what he had to do. I could only advise, and maybe enjoy the cover of being a salesman, but that was about it.

The car arrived at the embassy. This time I made no effort to communicate with the driver or pay. Drivers of hotel vehicles were not even tipped as their jobs were so highly prized by one and all.

Getting into the embassy was easy, mostly because I produced my passport and then my Marine Officer I.D. card. The guards at the outer part of the gate immediately snapped to attention before I set them at ease and they guided me to the deputy chief of mission, the man who really ran the embassy, as the ambassador, formally in charge, was usually just a figurehead when it came to administration or internal affairs. The Marine Sergeant of the Guard gave me a quick education in embassy functions as we walked through the place. The sergeant seemed to know a bit about me but I didn’t question him as to how that would be possible. A man named Christopher, running the embassy, was in his office but not available, instead his secretary informed the sergeant that a room in the basement of the building was set aside for my communications.

Once again, I was surprised by what was known by people around me who should have known nothing. As we rode the elevator to the basement, which did not ding through the floors, it occurred to me that surprise was going to be a big part of the training and learning process in working for and with the Agency. It was like encountering the artifact to discover that the universe wasn’t really what I thought it was, or anybody else for that matter.

Once in the basement and, after being cleared by a corporal checking my passport and I.D. card once again, the sergeant opened the door to the room and closed it when I stepped inside without entering himself.

There was a small table with a phone on it and a few file cabinets and that was it, except for the man sitting at the table.

It was Huang Nguyen.

<<<<<<  The Beginning | Next Chapter >>>>>>

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