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Tuesday, 4: 10 P. M., Seoul
Gregory Donald took a sip of scotch and looked across the
“Do you ever find yourself thinking back, Kim? I don’t mean
to this morning or last week, but-way back?”
Kim Hwan, Deputy Director of the Korean Central
Intel igence Agency, used a red stirring straw to poke at the
slice of lemon floating in his Diet Coke. “To me, Greg, this
morning is way back. Especial y on days like these. What I
wouldn’t give to be on a fishing boat with my uncle Pak in
Donald laughed. “Is he stil as feisty as he used to be?”
“Feistier. Remember how he used to have two fishing
boats? Wel , he got rid of one. Said he couldn’t stand having a
partner. But sometimes I’d rather be fighting fish and storms
than bureaucrats. You remember what it was like.” From the
corner of his eye, Hwan watched as two men sitting beside him
paid their tab and left.
Donald nodded. “I remember. That’s why I got out.”
Hwan leaned closer, looked around. His eyes narrowed, and
his clean-cut features took on a conspiratorial edge. “I didn’t
want to say anything while the Seoul Press editors were sitting
here, but do you realize they’ve actual y grounded my
helicopters for today?”
Donald’s brow arched with surprise. “Are they crazy?”
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