Soonji fired a look toward the bar. "The earrings you gave me for our anniversary. One of them is missing."

"Maybe you left it home."

"No. I had it in the bar."

"Right. I felt it when I brushed your cheek--"

Soonji shot him a look. "That had to be when I lost it." She stood and hurried to the end of the grandstand. "I'll be right back!"

"Why don't I call them?" Donald shouted. "Someone here must have a cellular--"

But she was already gone, making her way down the steps and, a moment later, hurrying down the street toward the bar.

Donald slumped forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

The poor girl would be devastated if it was lost. He'd just had the earrings custom-made for their second anniversary, with two small emeralds, her favorite stones. He could have it made over, but it wouldn't be the same. And Soonji would carry her guilt around.

He shook his head slowly. How was it with him that every time he showed someone love, it came back as pain? Kim, Soonji- Maybe it was him. Bad karma or sins in a previous life or maybe he was a black cat with a résumé.

Leaning back, Gregory turned his eyes toward the podium as the President of the National Assembly stepped to the microphone.

CHAPTER FIVE

Tuesday, 6:01 P.M., Seoul

Park Duk had the face of a cat, round and unworried, with eyes that were wise and alert.

As he rose from his seat and moved to the podium, the people in the grandstand and the crowd standing below erupted into applause. He raised his hands in acknowledgment, framed majestically by the stately palace, with its walled grounds and collection of old pagodas from other parts of the country.

Gregory Donald clenched his teeth, caught himself, then returned his expression to neutral. As President of the U.S./Korean Friendship Society in Washington, he had to be nonpolitical as pertained to matters in South Korea. If the people wanted reunification with the North, he had to go along with that in public. If they didn't, he had to go along with that in public.

Privately, he yearned for it. North and South both had a great deal to offer each other and the world, culturally, religiously, and economically, and the whole would be greater than the sum of its parts.

Duk, a veteran of the war and a fierce anti-Communist, was opposed to even talking about it. Donald could respect his politics, if he tried-- but he could never respect anyone who found a subject so distasteful it couldn't even be debated. People like that were tyrants in the making.

After too-long applause, Duk put his hands down, leaned toward the podium, and spoke. Though his lips moved, nothing came out.

Duk drew back and, with a Cheshire grin, tapped the microphone.

"Unificationists!" he said to the politicians seated in a row behind him, and several applauded lightly. There were cheers from nearby members of the crowd who had heard him.