Donald allowed himself a little frown. Duk really bugged him, as much for his smooth manner as the growing size of his following.

A red flash caught Donald's eye as, from somewhere behind the august gathering, a figure in a red blazer went racing to the sound truck.

They'd have this fixed in no time. From the 1988 Olympics, Donald remembered just how good the focused, savvy South Koreans were at troubleshooting.

He lost the frown as he turned to look back toward the bar and saw Soonji running toward him. Her arm was raised in triumph, and he thanked God that at least something went right today.

Kim Hwan sat in an unmarked car on Sajingo, south of the Palace, two hundred yards behind where the podium had been erected. From here, he had a complete view of the square and of his agents on rooftops and in windows. He watched as Duk approached and then stepped back from the podium.

No sound from a bureaucrat: now there was his definition of a perfect world.

He raised the field glasses sitting beside him. Duk was standing there, nodding to acolytes in the crowd. Well, like it or not, this was what democracy was all about. It was better than the eight years that they had General Chun Doo Hwan running things as head of the martial law command. Kim didn't like his successor, Roh Tae Woo, any better when he was elected President in 1987, but at least he was elected.

He turned the glasses toward Gregory and wondered where Soonji had gone.

If any other man had won his former assistant, Hwan would have hated him to his last breath. He had always loved her, but KCIA policy forbid relationships among employees; it would be too easy for infiltrators to get information by placing a secretary or researcher on staff and having her court an official.

She was almost worth quitting for, but that would have broken Gregory's heart. His mentor had always felt that Hwan had the mind and soul and sensitive political instincts of a KCIA man, and had spent a small fortune educating him and preparing him for that life. Even as thick as the red tape got at times, Hwan knew that Gregory was right: this was the life for him.

There was a beep to his left, and Kim lowered the glasses. A wideband radio was set in the dashboard of the car; when anyone needed to talk to him, a tone sounded and a red light flashed above the button accessed their station.

A light came on from the operative stationed atop Yi's Department Store.

Hwan punched the button. "Hwan here. Over."

"Sir, we have a lone figure in a red blazer running toward the sound truck. Over."

"Will check. Over."

Hwan picked up the portable phone and called the office of the event coordinator at the Palace.

A harried voice said, "Yes-- what is it?"

"This is Kim Hwan. Is that your man going to the sound truck?"