The Commander - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Patrick A. Davis is the national and New York Times bestselling author of six previous novels: The Commander, A Slow Walk to Hell, A Long Day for Dying, The Colonel, The General, and The Passenger. He is a graduate of the United States Air Force Academy and the Army Command and General Staff College, and a former Air Force major who flew during the Gulf War. He helped plan and direct U-2 surveillance operations for Operation Desert Storm and flew eleven combat sorties. He is a former pilot with a major airline.

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Chapter 1

Tuesday

It was another muggy summer evening in Song-tan, South Korea, an industrial city roughly sixty miles south of Seoul, and I was playing salesman in my wife's jewelry store located in the Ville, the GI term for the ten square blocks of shops, bars, and whorehouses outside the main gate of Osan Air Base. A vaguely familiar young airman in a green Battle Dress Utility uniform stood before me at the counter, intently looking over a diamond engagement ring. He glanced up and asked nervously, "How much is it, Major Webber?"

"Eleven hundred dollars," I answered, finally placing him as the personnel clerk who had processed my separation paperwork from the Air Force last month. I added, "And you can relax, Tanner. I'm not a major or a cop anymore. Call me Burt."

Airman Tanner quickly diverted his eyes back to the ring. "Sure, Maj -- uh, Burt."

I had to smile at his reaction. Like most of the base personnel who came into the store, Tanner treated me as if I were still Major Burton Webber, the chief of the Osan Air Base Office of Special Investigations. Frankly, I saw myself that way, too. I'd planned on being a military criminal investigator until I could have retired at twenty years. Instead, I'd abruptly resigned from the Air Force after fifteen, forgoing any chance of a pension. A lot of people thought I was crazy not to stick out the extra time, but in light of the circumstances, I really had no choice. Besides, it's not like my wife, Chung-hee, and I are hurting for money. Even though her jewelry store, which Chung-hee's father left to her when he died, is fairly modest compared to those back home, it does pretty well. Last year we cleared almost two hundred grand, give or take.

Not that I saw myself running a jewelry store in Korea for the rest of my life. But until Chung-hee and I could figure out our next move, maybe sell out and move back to the States, it's not a bad gig.

Airman Tanner sighed dejectedly and handed me the ring. "It's sure pretty, but -- "

"Too much, huh?" I said, knowing it was. As a two-striper, Tanner barely made that much money in a month. To me, it's a crime how little military enlisted were paid, but don't get me started.

Tanner nodded.

I said, "You could make payments -- no?" He was shaking his head.

"I'm heading home to Iowa in a couple of weeks. I was going to give it to my girl then."

"How much can you afford?"

"Maybe seven, eight hundred."

"A ring like this will run you a couple of grand back in the States. Maybe more."

"I know..." He drifted off with a shrug. "Guess I'd better go with something smaller -- "

"Not so fast. Maybe we can still work something out."

"Oh?"

Before knocking that much off the sticker, I'd wanted to clear it with my wife. Even though she's always gone along with my altruism, it bugs her when I let items go below cost.

At the moment, Chung-hee was at the far end of the counter, haggling over the price of Korean Rolex knockoffs with a couple of fighter pilots in flight suits. I settled on a stool, waiting for her to finish. Watching her, I kept thinking I was one lucky man.

By any standard, Chung-hee was a beautiful woman. At five-seven, she's tall for a Korean, with shiny, waist-length black hair and delicate, almost fragile, features. She's pushing thirty, looks twenty, and has the kind of willowy figure made for magazine covers. We'd met shortly after I arrived in Korea, when I'd popped in to buy something for my sister's birthday. While I'd definitely noticed her looks, what really heightened my interest was her accent. Chung-hee speaks English with a soft southern drawl, like she'd been raised in the Deep South. Later, after I finally wore her down and she agreed to go out with me, she explained that she'd received her undergraduate degree at the University of Alabama and earned her master's in economics at Auburn. She'd planned on a career as a Wall Street analyst but, upon her father's sudden death, had to return to run the store and look after her mother.

We had a whirlwind courtship that caught us both by surprise and became engaged within a month. In hindsight, I probably should have kept our relationship quiet until my tour was up and married Chung-hee when I returned to the States. But when you're in love, you don't really stop to think. My biggest mistake was misjudging my superiors' resistance to the marriage. Once I announced our engagement, they acted as if I'd suddenly lost my senses. Next thing I knew, I was summoned before a very annoyed Lieutenant General Harry Muller, the 7th Air Force commander.

General Muller started off by reminding me that the military had an informal policy of discouraging marriages between servicemen and Korean nationals. He rehashed what I already knew, that most of these unions were shams, where some naive kid was enticed, hooked, reeled in, then dumped once he brought the woman to the States. Muller stated that, in my position as a commander and the base's top cop, I had a responsibility to set an example for the troops.

"For chrissakes, Burt," General Muller had said, "fucking these women is one thing, but marrying them. You gotta be shitting me."

I almost lost it then, but didn't feel like going to Leavenworth for punching out a three-star. I tried to explain that Chung-hee wasn't just some hooker I'd picked up, but Muller wasn't in any mood to listen. He cut me off with a not-so-subtle threat about what the marriage could do to my career. After a heated exchange, I bluntly told him my mind was made up, saluted smartly, and left.

Two weeks later, Chung-hee and I got married in a traditional Korean ceremony. Only a few people from the base bothered to attend. My primary promotion board for lieutenant colonel met the following year. I had a fistful of outstanding ratings and should have been a shoo-in.

I was passed over.

"I tried to warn you" was all General Muller had said, when he gave me the news.

That episode occurred two months ago. The next day I handed in my resignation and --

I glanced out the front window at the sound of a car door slamming. It was dusk now, and the streetlights had come on. I saw a tall, black colonel in Air Force blues emerge from a staff car, a cell phone to his ear. He paused on the curb, continuing his conversation.

My jaw tightened. Him? Coming here?

"You need something, hon?"

When I faced Chung-hee, she was giving me a quizzical look as she rang up a sale for the fighter jocks. As they left, I went over and made my pitch about giving Tanner a break on the ring.

Chung-hee rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Burt, this is a business. We can't keep -- "

She broke off, stiffening visibly. I grimaced, turning toward the front door. The bell above it tinkled as the colonel entered, tucking his cell phone into his jacket. In his late thirties, he was young for a full bull, athletically built and with prominent cheekbones that tapered to a square jaw. Decked out in his uniform, with the rows of fruit salad on his chest, he cut an imposing figure. He slowly removed his wheel cap, took a few tentative steps, then stopped, eyes on us. He flashed a friendly smile.

"Hello, Chung-hee," he said.

"Hello, Raymond."

He nodded to me. "Burt."

I glowered back at Colonel Raymond Johnson, General Muller's executive officer and chief dog walker, not trusting myself to speak. I noticed Airman Tanner had automatically popped to attention, eyes riveted to the silver eagles on Raymond's shoulders. In Tanner's world, the only things higher than a colonel were generals and God, not necessarily in that order.

We all stood in an awkward silence, listening to the rattle of the ancient window air conditioner. Rock music pulsed faintly from the bar next door.

"It really is good to see you, Raymond," Chung-hee said, sounding as if she meant...