“So what do you care about them?” Ernie asked. “What have they ever done for you?”
We were in Ernie’s jeep now, heading back toward Yongsan Compound.
“They deserve to know,” I replied. “At least Mrs. Tidwell does.”
“Before we report it up the chain of command, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
Ernie shrugged. “What difference does it make? We’ll have to report it eventually.”
“Not necessarily.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“If we take Jessica away from this Fukushima, return her to her mom, then nobody needs to know. But if we make it official, Eighth Army’s going to lose face.”
“Are you nuts, Sueno?”
“Eighth Army’s done a lot of good in this country,” I said, “despite the crime we see every day. Look at what Moretti did twenty years ago, built an orphanage, fed people who were starving. Eighth Army has built roads and aqueducts and-”
“And we saved the south from the horrors of Communism,” Ernie said, “just like we’re going to do in Vietnam.”
“That too,” I replied.
Ernie sighed. “So you want to keep this quiet?”
“Why not?”
“Because it could be dangerous, that’s why not. If Jessica Tidwell gets seriously hurt, or disappears, it’ll be on us. The provost marshal will come down on us with both feet.”
“A little danger never bothered you before.”
That challenge finally brought Ernie Bascom over. “If you’re game, so am I,” he replied.
“I’m game.”
When we reached Yongsan Compound, Ernie turned left into Gate Number 9, the easternmost entrance to 8th Army South Post. As we approached Colonel Tidwell‘s quarters, Mrs. Tidwell stood at her front door, arms crossed.
“Apparently,” I told Mrs. Tidwell, “Jessica believes that if she can raise the thousand dollars and return it to your husband’s safe, he will drop the charges against Corporal Bernal.”
Ernie and I sat on a leather sofa in the front room, two cups of hot black coffee in front of us on a glass-topped table. Mrs. Tidwell sat on a straight-backed chair opposite, her manicured fingers folded on her lap. Her hair was combed, her face made up, and she wore a blue print dress that lay across her knees in stiff pleats.
Mrs. Tidwell rose, turned away form us, and strode toward a plate-glass window that looked out over a row of tightly pruned cherry trees.
“Jessica might be right,” Mrs. Tidwell said. “My husband brought the charges against Corporal Bernal. He can also drop the charges.”
What she was telling us, I believed, was that if Jessica raised the money she would make sure her husband dropped the charges. Good. But what she needed to know now was how Jessica planned to raise the money.
Ernie glanced at me. I swallowed and opened my mouth.
“I think you’ll agree, Mrs. Tidwell,” I said, “that Jessica’s plan to raise the money is not a wise one.”
Mrs. Tidwell turned away from the garden scene outside, returned, and sat down facing me.
“Just what is her plan?”
I spread my fingers. “According to the information we’ve uncovered, Jessica plans to engage in a business deal sponsored by the Golden Dragon Travel Agency.”
Mrs. Tidwell stared at me blankly.
“To be frank, ma’am,” I continued, “their practices are somewhat unsavory. Trips arranged for wealthy Japanese businessmen. Introductions made.”
Her eyes widened. “Sex tours,” she said.
“Not always,” I answered. “Sometimes the women act as escorts only.”
Mrs. Tidwell kept her green eyes on me, allowing the heat of her stare to linger on my face. “Don’t lie to me,” she said.
I didn’t answer.
“This Golden Dragon Travel Agency is going to set Jessica up with some rich Japanese businessman here in Seoul?” Mrs. Tidwell leaned forward, intent. Somehow, the tiny muscles in her face hardened. “What fun for him,” she said. “A beautiful redheaded American girl. Only seventeen. And what good face for him. The daughter of the intelligence chief of the 8th United States Army.”
She glared at me as if I were Jessica Tidwell’s pimp. Ernie studied the floor, not breathing.
“That’s why we came to you first,” I said, stammering. “Before reporting anything… officially.”
She sat back, breathed deeply, and turned her head as if seeing the intricately designed wallpaper for the first time. Then she snapped her attention back to me.
“Can you find her?”
“With the help of the Korean National Police and possibly with the-”
“Not with them. Alone.”
“It would be difficult.”
“But not impossible?”
“No,” I answered, “not impossible.” I spread my fingers again. “But we’d need to be reinstated back to our full investigative status.”
“Reinstated?”
I explained to her what had happened, about our search for the bones of Mori Di and about the unexpected discovery of the death of Two Bellies. I left out a lot of the details.
“So the ROKs think you murdered this overage prostitute?” Mrs. Tidwell said.
“They know we didn’t,” Ernie replied. “They’re just keeping the charges open to keep pressure on Eighth Army.”
“And to save face,” she said, getting the picture immediately.
I nodded.
“Who’s your boss?” she asked.
“Colonel Brace,” I told her. “The provost marshal.”
When she rose again, she walked over to the mantelpiece. Atop it sat pictures of Jessica: when she was a baby, on a Girl Scout camping trip, laughing with other teenage girls and waving pompoms.
“We’ve spoiled her,” Mrs. Tidwell said. “You know that.”
Neither Ernie nor I answered. Instead, we stared into our cold coffee.
“If we make Jessica’s… uh… indiscretions official,” Mrs. Tidwell said, “my husband would be embarrassed. The Korean government would know of our shame, and eventually the U.S. ambassador. My husband might even have to resign from his position as J-2 for 8th Army.” She shook her head. “That would kill him. The thought that every Korean policeman in the country would know that my daughter planned to sell herself to a rich Japanese, is not tolerable.”
She walked quickly across the thick carpet, entered the den, and slid the door shut behind her.
“What’s she doing?” Ernie asked.
“Probably making a phone call.”
“To who?”
“Not to her husband, you can count on that.”
Five minutes later she returned.
“I just talked to Meg Waldron,” she said. “Do you know who she is?”
I nodded. “The wife of the CG.”
The wife of the commanding general of the 8th United States Army. Also the president of the Officers’ Wives’ Club.
“She says that she’ll put a call in to Colonel Brace immediately. Consider yourselves reinstated. And she says that if you rescue Jessica, there is no way that the U.S. or Korean authorities are going to touch you in any way.” Mrs. Tidwell strode forward and sat back down in front of us. “You must find Jessica. You must find her right away, before she does this horrible thing. Meg Waldron and I and all the women of the Officers’ Wives’ Club will be here to protect you.”
I believed that she meant it. But I didn’t believe it would do us much good. If somebody got hurt-really hurt-the situation would be beyond her control.