Kitabı oku: «The Nurse's Bodyguard»

For Pamela, who inspired me to write fiction, and Roz, my best friend from Korea. Thank you both for your love and support.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream!—

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

From “A Psalm of Life”

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

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.”

CHAPTER TWO

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 career.

As a naval intelligence officer in Seoul, Luke assisted Army personnel in monitoring the communications and activities of the North Korean regime and its allies. That position had him bouncing around the northern part of the country, mostly doing spot reviews across the checkpoints of the demilitarized zone. The DMZ was the military demarcation line between North and South Korea, dating back to the 1950s, when the countries ceased overt conflict. Technically, the war had never ended and both sides continued to heavily arm their respective borders. The DMZ was at least five miles wide and heavily mined, fenced and monitored. Luke also spent significant time at a limited-access area in Seoul’s Yongsan Army Garrison. The non-descript building on the north side of the American military installation housed an impressive bank of state-of-the-art computers. Although surveillance work could be tedious, he enjoyed field expeditions with some of the Army guys—riding in Humvees or Blackhawks. And he relished the times when the teams could pass along anomalies or surreptitious movements, alerting the ‘powers that be’ to potential threats or events which might require diplomatic or even military intervention.

In addition to his other responsibilities, Luke was required to take his turn as officer-in-charge of the American Embassy’s security detail one weekend each month, even though the Marine guards who were responsible for the embassy needed scant supervision. He was expected to maintain a presence on the embassy grounds, being called on from time-to-time to help manage issues affecting State or Defense Department personnel or problems encountered by any of the thousands of Americans living or visiting the country. Because he wasn’t needed all that often, Luke redeemed the time by working out in the embassy’s well-equipped gym, watching movies, reading or playing poker with the Marines and consular personnel. One benefit—something he always looked forward to—was the first rate food in the cafeteria.

The slow Saturday afternoon was interrupted by a knock at the open office door, and Marine Staff Sergeant Antonio Mancini entered without waiting for an invitation. Approaching the desk, Mancini waved a file in Luke’s direction. “Luke, you lucky dog,” he said. “You’ve got some customers.”

Luke remained slouched in his chair. He didn’t look up from an article describing the early predictions for the upcoming Major League season. “Customers?” He turned a page. “This is an embassy, Tony, not a department store. We don’t have customers.”

“Man, oh man,” Tony chuckled, and his chocolate-brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “There’s a couple of women in the waiting room—real lookers—who need some help.”

Luke finally glanced at the sergeant and sighed heavily in feigned exasperation. “Okay, what?”

“Seems one of the ladies’ passports was stolen last night along with her purse. She’s filed the paperwork to replace it but needs to report being a crime victim. I’ve taken her statement.” He waved the skinny file in Luke’s direction again. “Unusual situation... I’ve been here almost four years, and this is the first time I’ve seen an American woman knifed by an assailant.”

“Seriously?” Luke’s nonchalant attitude evaporated and he threw the magazine on the desk. “She was knifed? How bad?” He sat up straight and took the file.

“Luckily just a flesh wound to her arm.”

Luke skimmed the first page and memorized the basics: Mary Claire Olsen...25...Rochester, Minnesota...Registered nurse...Working a month in Korea...Single. “You said there were two. Who’s with her?”

“Her roommate—for moral support. The roomie lives here.” Tony briefed him on more of the details. “The victim is doing some sort of educational thing at Samsung Medical Center. According to her story, she was attacked by two guys last night right outside the hospital. The second page is the original police report and the third page is the English translation.”

“Actually at the hospital?” Luke flipped to the third page. “That’s in a good part of the city... It’s well lit and there are plenty of people around, pretty much twenty-four-seven.”

“Yep.” The sergeant pointed to the file. “Right there in the police report. The wound was pretty significant. It took a couple dozen stitches to sew her arm up.”

“Seriously?” Luke repeated. “Man, this is a first.” He closed the folder and stood. “Come on, Tony. Let’s go take care of our customers.”

* * *

AS TONY MANCINI FOLLOWED Luke from the room he was struck for about the twentieth time by the lieutenant’s size. He’d known Luke for a year but had known of him for nearly a decade. Luke didn’t quite rate being called a legend, but he was pretty close. Indeed, it was rare for a man from one of the service academies to be drafted into the NFL, but Luke—an outstanding football player for the Naval Academy—had been selected by one of the pro teams. Tony didn’t recall which. In the end, though, Luke had decided to keep his commitment to the Navy and the NFL had lost out.

As he trailed the lieutenant, Tony could certainly see why the NFL wanted him—the man was a barn. In his fifteen years in the Corps, Tony had never seen anyone that big wearing a uniform. The man was at least six foot six and weighed somewhere north of 260. Come to think of it, Tony wasn’t certain where Luke got his clothes; he didn’t think the Navy made standard uniforms that large.

The embassy’s Marine guard detail genuinely liked Luke and enjoyed when he was the weekend officer-in-charge. Luke took the duty seriously—some of the officers didn’t—and he didn’t look down on the enlisted guys—some of the officers did. Luke was an intelligent and affable Texan, and he’d done several tours in the Middle East—that alone had earned their respect. He was amiable most of the time, but tough when he needed to be. He played a good game of poker and was a magician when anyone was having problems with anything electronic. In addition, he was the only man Tony had ever seen actually bench-press 400 pounds. In truth, the guys were a little in awe of the big man.

* * *

AS THE TWO MEN strolled down the wide hallway toward the large waiting area, Tony said, “Heard you were getting out... Any truth to the rumor?”

“Yep.” Luke’s drawl became more pronounced. “Got three weeks left in Seoul. I’m off to Honolulu around the first of May to sign papers and get counseled. Then I’m headin’ home.”

“Well, dang,” Tony replied. “Since this is your last weekend with us, we need to pull together a game of Texas Hold ‘em. You’ve got a reputation as an easy mark. We’re gonna miss you.”

Luke scoffed good-naturedly and opened the door to the large waiting room. He saw two women looking a bit lost among the dozens of chairs.

The American Embassy in Korea was located in a converted seven-story office building. During normal working hours, the waiting area was often standing-room-only.

During the weekends, the embassy was essentially closed, though Americans were allowed in for emergencies. Those situations were evenly split between U.S. citizens experiencing accidents, serious illnesses or even death and situations in which U.S. citizens—typically young men—got into legal trouble. Most of those cases involved too much alcohol. This case was baffling, however, because in nearly a year as substitute duty officer, Luke had never even heard of a case of a random mugging, much less a physical assault on an American woman.

Luke studied the two women as he crossed the wide waiting area. The closer woman was blonde and appeared to be on the tall side. She was attractively dressed in skinny jeans and a snug red sweater. Beyond her was a slender Korean woman, more somberly dressed in a long gray skirt and hip-length tan jacket. Both women stood as the two military men approached and Luke noted that the blonde was indeed—as Tony had remarked—a looker. Her wavy, streaked, shoulder-length hair was brushed back, accenting intelligent blue eyes. Her deep-pink painted lips parted in welcome, revealing pretty white teeth.

Luke had years of training and experience in observation and assimilation of details, and his immediate impression was of a very attractive young woman. But he would have estimated that she was in her mid-thirties, not the 25 that had been reported on the form. Despite her pretty, inviting smile, that vague disconnect piqued his curiosity, causing his naturally skeptical mind to become even more alert.

Shifting his eyes a bit, Luke quickly looked at the Korean woman standing a few paces back. She was a little taller than most of the local women but had the slender build and staunchly erect posture commonly encountered here. Her black hair was pulled up in a clasp and she was wearing dark-rimmed glasses which—along with her rather frumpy clothes—contributed to a “geek chic” look. Luke got the impression that she was more nervous than her friend. She’d appeared ill-at-ease when she saw the uniformed men descending on them. Luke was very aware that his size was disconcerting to most people and was used to the response. Nonetheless, her reaction seemed a little extreme.

Deciding to start with a friendly approach, Luke addressed the tall curvy blonde. He held out his hand, and with his most reassuring smile drawled, “Hello, Ms. Olsen. I’m Lt. Llewellyn. I understand that you had a problem last night. We’re here—”

His introduction was simultaneously interrupted by Tony and the blonde.

“Oh, no! Not me—” The blonde’s cheeks darkened and she shook her head.

“Uh, Lieutenant—” Tony held up his hand.

Luke glanced back at his comrade who motioned toward the dark-haired woman. “Lieutenant, this is Ms. Olsen.” He indicated the blonde who was now grinning. “This is Ms. Jessica Tyson. Ms. Olsen is staying with Ms. Tyson while she’s in Seoul.”

Luke took a step back and glanced sheepishly between the two women. Trying to smooth over his discomfiture, he shook his head slightly and said, “Uh, sorry. Excuse me.” He held out his hand again. “Ms. Tyson, nice to meet you. Sorry for the mix-up.”

“Not a problem,” she answered, her voice tinged with humor. He shook her hand quickly before turning again to the other young woman, who was still standing several feet away.

She wasn’t smiling.

Luke covered the distance in two steps. This time when he looked at the dark-haired woman he took in details that he’d missed previously. On closer examination he realized that she was not Korean, or at least she was not full-blooded Korean. Her hair, while very dark, was not a flat black. Rather it carried deep brown highlights, and it was very glossy. Her skin was a soft, creamy color rather than the paler shades that many Korean women tried to maintain.

Then Luke realized that the most unusual thing about her appearance—what he should not have missed—was her eyes. Now that he was close enough to look past the dark-framed glasses, he could see the color—or rather colors—of her eyes. For the most part they were greenish blue, which alone would have been striking. But what was remarkable was that the outer one-third of both irises was a warm, coppery brown, interrupted periodically by small bluish flecks. The result was stunning.

Luke suddenly realized he’d been staring. Recovering his composure, he held out his hand. “Let me try this again... Ms. Olsen, I’m Luke Llewellyn, U.S. Navy. I understand that you have an incident to report.”

Cautiously, she placed her hand in his and practically gaped. Luke’s grip was gentle, but his hand was huge and it completely swallowed her much smaller, finer-boned one. Quickly she pulled her hand back and blinked nervously. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do. Last night the police detective said I would have to come by the embassy to apply for a replacement passport, and that while I was here I should talk to someone about...well about being mugged.” Her voice was soft and a little tentative, and she made a slight waving gesture with one hand.

Luke was still recovering from his embarrassment. In his peripheral vision he got a glimpse of Tony trying to keep a straight face. Ignoring his snickering colleague, he gave his best effort to appear competent and reassuring. Using his most professional tone, he explained, “In cases like this, where U.S. citizens are harmed, embassy personnel try to work as closely as possible with the police to resolve the case and ensure that it doesn’t happen again. If you’ll come with me, I need to get a little more information.” He motioned toward the hall that led to his borrowed office.

Claire hesitated a beat before responding, “Yes, okay. But...would it be all right if Jessica comes, too?”

“Of course. Ms. Tyson, you’re welcome to accompany us but I’ll ask you to avoid interfering.”

“Thanks,” the blonde replied in a friendly tone. “I promise I’ll keep quiet.”

Luke led the quartet down the hall with the curvy blonde beside him. Claire Olsen stayed a few paces behind and the Marine sergeant brought up the rear. Trying to appear casual with his initial questioning, Luke asked, “Ms. Tyson, have you been in Seoul very long?”

“It’s Dr. Tyson, actually. PhD, not M.D. And yes, I’ve lived in Seoul about seven years.” Her voice was a little throaty, and Luke discerned a bit of a northeastern accent, perhaps New York or another part of New England.

“What do you do?” he asked. They had arrived at the office. Luke entered first and pulled a couple of chairs forward to face the desk. He gestured for the women to sit before retreating behind the desk and taking a seat.

“I’m a professor of cultural anthropology at Seoul National University”

Luke responded, “Hangukmal hasil jul aseyo?”

“Yae, jogeumyo. Hangukmal hal jul ani?” she answered, looking amused.

Luke grinned and just shook his head. “No. Other than ‘hello’, ‘thanks,’ ‘how much’ and ‘where’s the men’s room,’ that’s pretty much the limit of my Korean. Do you actually teach in Korean?”

“No. I teach graduate courses, so my classes are all in English,” Jessica replied. “Most of my students want to go to the U.S. to study further, and they need to practice writing and conversing in English.”

Luke glanced toward the woman’s silent roommate and asked, “How are you two acquainted? Did you know each other before coming to Korea?”

“Seoul National provides me with a very nice three-bedroom apartment,” Jessica said. “Although I’ve lived here for so many years, it can get pretty lonely being a random American in a big city.” She shrugged. “From time to time I offer one of my spare bedrooms to visiting scholars.”

Luke nodded and turned to Claire. “Is that what you are? A ‘visiting scholar’?” He pointed to the form the sergeant had completed. “It says here you’re a nurse.”

Claire was sitting very erect. Although his question was mild, his tone indicated doubt. She cleared her throat before answering. “Well, kind of.” She shifted as if her chair was uncomfortable. “I’m in a graduate program at the University of Minnesota. I’m involved in a project for one of my professors, so I’m working at Samsung Medical Center...collecting data for a research study.”

Luke had been jotting notes as she spoke. He glanced up, “What is your professor’s name?”

“I’m sorry?” Claire responded.

“The name of your professor in Minnesota...”

“Sung...Dr. Lin-yeong Sung, but she goes by ‘Cindy’ in the U.S. Dr. Sung is Korean, but she’s been working at the Mayo Clinic Hospital for nearly twenty years.” Claire seemed to be growing even more uncomfortable. “What does that have to do with me getting mugged?”

“I’m just trying to get background information for the file.” He made another note. “What do you do for this ‘research study’?”

“I work with children who have cancer.”

He glanced back at her and then looked down to scrawl something on his pad. “In what capacity?”

“What difference does that—”

“Please just answer the question.” Luke kept his voice without inflection.

“I work on a hematology-oncology unit with children fifteen and under.” She squirmed and sighed. “We’re collecting data on play therapy involving three different activities—computer games, pets—particularly dogs—and musical instrumentation... We actually teach the children how to play either the piano or a flute. The dependent variable—or rather variables—are symptom experiences and side effects of their therapy—usually a combination of chemo, radiation and sometimes bone marrow transplant.”