Seoul, South Korea
MARY CLAIRE OLSEN smiled shyly and said good-night to the security guard sitting at a large desk near the entrance of the Samsung Medical Center. Exiting through the automatic doors, she shifted her purse to her other shoulder and buttoned her white lab coat. The spring night was cool, but a little hazy, which was apparently typical for the city during April.
Having been in Seoul for a month, Claire had established a routine. The apartment she was sharing wasn’t that far from the hospital. She could take the subway home—the nearest stop was only two blocks away—or she could catch a cab. Although taxis cost a little more than the subway, the silver cabs were readily available, usually clean and remarkably cheap. Traveling by taxi often took a bit longer because traffic was heavy, but Claire was tired. It was almost eleven and she’d put in more than twelve hours at the hospital, so she decided to find a cab.
Claire headed for the street, walking through the large, well-lit parking lot. Positive memories and cheerful thoughts bounced through her mind as she wove her way among the late-model Korean or Japanese sedans and occasional SUVs. It had been a good day. Most of the children on the hematology/oncology unit were doing well with their treatments. She recalled the smiles of the children as well as the grateful expressions on the faces of their parents. Compared to that her fatigue was secondary. Nonetheless, she was looking forward to a hot shower and bed.
She glanced at her watch and quickened her pace. If she got home soon, she’d probably have time to Skype her parents before Mom left for school. The fifteen-hour time difference between Seoul and Minneapolis was sometimes a challenge, but she and her parents had been amazed to discover that communicating with people literally on the other side of the world was as easy as installing a tiny camera on the computer and hitting a few buttons.
Focused on her plans, Claire didn’t pay attention to the two men who approached her. Even if she had been more engaged, she wouldn’t have perceived them as a threat. Seoul had a reputation as an extremely safe city. Crime, particularly personal crime, was very rare.
Without warning, Claire had a sharp, overwhelming feeling of danger. Only a heartbeat later she felt a hand grab for her. Whether she’d been alerted by a muffled sound, a perception of movement, or simply intuition, Claire suddenly felt compelled to pivot quickly and dive to one side. A man dressed in a dark jacket, his face obscured by a hoodie, lunged after her and arched a fist in her direction. Reflexively, she stumbled backward—narrowly missing the punch—but in doing so, she smacked solidly into the second man. He tried to grab her, but she ducked and flailed in his direction with her elbow. Her blow was partially deflected by his leather coat, but Claire was able to throw off his grasping hands and pull away
Fueled by an adrenaline rush and pure survival instinct, Claire succeeded in putting a Hyundai SUV between herself and the men. Her heart pounded painfully and she tried to scream, but she knew her anemic shriek couldn’t be heard beyond the parking lot. Trying to control her panic, she turned to run back toward the hospital.
Within two steps, however, one of the men grabbed her lab coat, halting her progress. She sensed another blow coming and held up her purse as a shield. Rather than a fist, a knife sliced through the purse and tore into the flesh of her forearm. This time, her scream was much louder, startling her assailants. In that instant, she dropped her purse and staggered back, trying again to flee the attackers. They quickly recovered and followed.
The tenacity her parents had commented on a hundred times saved her life. Although Claire could feel blood dripping from her arm, she turned around and kicked high and hard with her right leg, catching the man with the knife squarely on the chin. He reeled backward, landing hard on the concrete, but the leather-jacketed man lurched toward her and grabbed her injured arm. Claire ignored the pain and with a strength and agility that were completely at odds with her slight frame, she whirled away from the assailant and broke free from his grasp. Once again she started running toward the hospital, screaming for help.
Before she’d covered a hundred feet, she saw two security guards running in her direction. The man with the hoodie shouted and his partner mumbled a reply before he picked something up and ran off with his friend.
Claire’s heart was still hammering when the security guards reached her. They noticed her bleeding arm and one produced a handkerchief to help staunch the flow. “Thank you,” she said through panting breaths. “Thank you,” she whispered a second time and then repeated in Korean, “Kamsahamnida.”
The guards made no attempt to follow Claire’s attackers. Instead, they led her back into the hospital, and took her directly to the Emergency Department. There, the guards turned her over to the staff and called the police.
Within no time, two nurses had cleaned the knife wound and a young doctor was putting a series of neat stitches into the six-inch long gash, all the while telling Claire about completing his plastic surgery residency in Boston. The adrenaline surge was wearing off and the pain in Claire’s arm was changing from acutely intense to a merely tear-producing throb. While she was being treated, Claire realized that during the assault she’d lost her purse. On reflection she knew that the man in the leather jacket had picked it up before he fled.
“Well, damn!” she said to no one in particular. Other than about twenty dollars worth of Korean won, she’d just lost her favorite stethoscope, a couple of credit cards and some personal items. And then she remembered...
“Damn!” she repeated. Because Claire’s father was a Lutheran minister, she rarely swore. But tonight the circumstances definitely warranted it. She sighed and looked at the doctor who was suturing her forearm. “My passport,” she said with exasperation. “They got my passport.”
LIEUTENANT LUKE LLEWELLYN was sitting at a borrowed desk in the security office of the American Embassy in Seoul, reading a recent issue of Sports Illustrated and trying to avoid boredom. He was not particularly successful. It was a tedious way to spend a lovely Saturday afternoon, but he really couldn’t complain because it beat most of the alternatives.
Luke had been a naval intelligence officer for nearly eight years. He’d completed three tours in the Persian Gulf, where he had logged an inordinate amount of time in the E-2 Hawkeye and other early warning system aircraft, monitoring movements of men and weapons. He’d also spent hours upon hours in front of computer terminals watching satellite feed and listening to interpretations of intercepted conversations, trying to discern plans of the enemy. The work wasn’t exactly what he’d signed up for when he applied to the Naval Academy at seventeen, but he had no doubt of the critical, life-and-death nature of his work.
However, with Luke’s last promotion, the Navy had ‘loaned’ him to the Army. What followed was the longest nine months of his life. He’d been assigned to a forward operating base in Afghanistan, where his affinity for, and appreciation of the soldiers and marines who were ‘boots on the ground’ quickly rose in conjunction with his disdain for the Taliban.
While in Afghanistan he decided it was time to consider parting company with the U.S. military, but then he’d been recalled by the Army and sent to South Korea. Compared to the Middle East, life in Korea was a cake walk. There were no snipers, no IEDs, and no suicide bombers. The weather was good and the Korean people wanted the military in country—at least for the most part. All in all it was an excellent assignment to close out his