Ian Slater - WW III

The man with the eye patch was the presidents pilot. Once, while making love to a beautiful young woman, he had left the patch on, kidding around, pretending to be a pirate of old. But after, in the hush following the storm, she had asked him to take it off. The patch frightened her, she told him, an augury of the perpetual hush that would follow a nuclear explosion, the bombs airburst, brighter than a million suns, blinding all aboard the Doomsday plane except the man with the protected eye-killing all below. Leaving the president in charge of what? Seeing her distress, the pilot had quickly removed it. Trembling with fear, she asked him to hold her and he did. It would be more than a year before he would see her again.

Before he had met her, he had never heard of her two brothers or anyone else in the Brentwood family for that matter-but then, people all over the world had never heard of the family, and there was no reason they should have, that is until, like the Brentwoods in America and Major Tae in South Korea, everybody suddenly found themselves swept into the maelstrom when, whether anyone liked it or not, ordinary human beings would be called upon to do extraordinary things.

High above Seouls Yonsei campus, the moon was white the color of mourning. Mi-ja Tae felt her heart race from the fear of parting, the moon fleeing a cloven sky, one moment its light turning the ginkgo leaves silver, the next swallowing them in darkness. As it was the evening before the annual Independence Day celebrations, fireworks could be seen now and then bursting above the old 88 Olympic Stadium south across the river. And tonight, the television news had told them, there was an added reason for celebration. In Europe the Americans and Russians had announced further arms and troop reductions. The prospects for peace, commentators proclaimed, had never been better.

Turning away from her lover, though still in his embrace, Mi-ja told him, We cannot meet again.

He was stunned. What are you saying? Why

If my father knew what you are doing, she said, you know he would forbid me seeing you.

He doesnt know.

Its his job to know these things. Sooner or later he will find out.

How? asked Jung-hyun. Hes at Panmunjom. Were here.

Each time he comes home on leave, it is more difficult.

What is more difficult?

To deceive him, said Mi-ja sadly. I love him very much. If he knew

Thats unreasonable! said Jung-hyun.

Not to him, answered Mi-ja. He fears the North. For him, you would be a traitor.

Then youre not coming on the march? It was more accusation than question.

I didnt say that. But cant you see how he

But you, Jung-hyun pressed, pushing her away, looking down at her beauty, the nape of her neck revealed in fleeting moonlight. You see, dont you, that North and South should be united? That we should be together?

He wants that, too, she said.

Ah Jung-hyun said, turning from her, he is a chin-mipapro- American.

He doesnt hate the Americans, she said, looking up at him. If thats what you mean. He says if it wasnt for them, we would all be slaves.

And you believe that? Jung-hyun said dismissively.

Im She shook her head and came closer to him, her arms around his waist. He could smell her perfume, feel her softly weeping against him. I dont know, she said, her voice trembling. I dont know what to think. Father says the North is looking to make war before the South becomes too strong. He says that is why its so dangerous now.

Rubbish! snapped Jung-hyun. The North will never attack us. They only want peace. He pushed her roughly away now, his hands in fists of frustration. You think Id be in the movement for reunification if I thought the North wanted war?

No, she said.

Well, he said, there you are.

The moon was lost in cloud. Slowly he drew her back to him. He could feel her heart beating. Stroking the sensuous curve of her neck, he pulled her still closer. She could feel his arousal. I love you, he said softly. You must not worry so. Your father is wrong. Therell be no war.

Whats that? asked the elderly woman in one of Northwests Boeing 767s starboard window seats. The flight attendant, on her first trip from Seattle to Shanghai, lowered her head to look out into the wild blue yonder, as she banally called it. The man from Texas sitting next to the elderly woman didnt care what the attendant called it so long as she kept bending over him for a better view. He was married, but his wife said she didnt mind where he got his appetite so long as he did his eating at home.

A seabird probably, said the attendant, fresh out of training school in Atlanta.

At thirty thousand feet? said the elderly woman. I dont think so, dear. It would need an oxygen mask.

Oh, the attendant replied, then its probably another plane.

Same altitude as us? the elderly woman rejoined.

The attendant peered out again, the man from Texas loving it. If only the plane were empty and they were alone.

I think youd better find out, said the woman, a trifle schoolmarmish in her tone. Would you mind?

Ill ask the senior flight attendant. Hell probably

You ask the pilot, dear. As the attendant forced an accommodating smile and stood up, the Texan studiously watched her walk away. She had to squeeze past the drink trolley. The elderly woman was anxiously looking out the window. The Texan, James Delcorte, smiled at her. I wouldnt worry about it, maam. Probably just a jet fighter.

She turned, looking sharply at him. Thats what Im afraid of.

Well, theres no need, he said reassuringly. Were in the Corridor. If its a jet, its a South Korean. Or American. Were on our side of the lane. Besides, theres a radio beacon plum in the middle to guide civil aircraft.

It could go out.

Hardly think thats

Well, it did. During the eighty-eight Olympics. Course, she continued, thatd be before your time.

Im not that old, he replied good-naturedly. He was looking out the window now. You see? Its gone.

Behind a cloud, she said. Remember double oh seven?

The man was nonplussed. James Bond?

James nothing, the woman said irritably. Korean Airlines double oh seven. Shot down by the Russians in eighty-three. You cant trust any of em. Especially Pyongyang.

The Texan moved uncomfortably in his seat. Pyon it sounded familiar to him. Some Communist leader.

North Korea, she explained.

Oh.

You a businessman?

He was glad of the change of subject. Yes. And you on vacation?

Of sorts. Daughter-in-law lives in Shanghai. Works for La Roche Chemicals. Husband owns it.

La Roche? The Texan sat up in his seat. If it was the La Roche the old lady could be as irritable as she wanted. La Roche was one of the worlds biggest chemical/cosmetic conglomeratesFortunes, top ten. J. T. La Roche? he asked.

Yes, said the woman. Hes a fool.

Oh-?

All think theyll make a fortune in China. A billion people. A billion customers, thats the way Jay looks at it. She shook her head. Wont get anywhere in China. I told him theyll have to get their distribution system organized first. Lord you ever fly China Air?

No, answered the Texan.