The Foreign Service Journal, November 2007

capital ... lush beaches and chic night- clubs. On vous attend. He emptied the second bottle. “All I can say is” — and as he spoke he knew his tone sounded more ominous than he intended — “the ridwan should be careful. If any- thing happens to an American, then we’ll get involved.” Of course the embassy would have to get involved if anything happened to an Amcit, he thought. But Cole had no idea what the embassy might actually do about the ridwan. He had another sudden overpowering longing to be in the Sofitel. Air con- ditioning, a drink with ice, a room- service club sandwich and, maybe, another Abati ... The Korean woman watched Cole intently, a flickering smile still playing across her lips. He hesitated to meet her gaze and instead found himself staring at the tired print on her jack- et. He quickly shifted his eyes to the clock above her head. Nearly 4:30. If Oumaru returned now, there might barely be enough time to make it to the hotel by dark. “You are staying at the Sofitel.” Again, Cole could not discern if this was a question or a statement. He was considering going out to look for Oumaru when another Abati appeared before him on the bar. “No, please. No thank you,” he stammered as what looked like disap- pointment registered on the woman’s face. Fear of boredom must have made her so quick on the trigger, Cole decided, and out of pity he tried to revive the conversation. “Where are you from in Korea?” “Pyongyang,” she replied artlessly. Cole took a gulp of the beer. As if magically aware that he was needed, Oumaru arrived to announce that the Land Cruiser was repaired and ready to complete the day’s journey. Cole dropped some crumpled bills on the bar and affected a careless demeanor as he walked toward the door. In her composed but rudimentary French, the woman wished him a safe jour- ney. “We will wait for you,” she added as Cole followed his driver out the door. My God, he thought, did she learn her French by parroting ad campaigns? Cole turned and saw the Korean’s absurdly grinning face. Against the somber mud brick, it appeared sus- pended between the bar and the clock. The normally garrulous Oumaru was unusually subdued, which was just as well. Cole felt no need to mention that he’d been discussing their trip with a North Korean bar- tender. As the Land Cruiser sped down the narrow road into gathering twilight, Oumaru began to share his own intelligence. Cole was faintly embarrassed to find that he had gleaned more information on the rid- wan’s activities than Cole himself. Understandably, the spate of road- side ambushes by the ridwan’s men made Oumaru especially uneasy. Stories of violence against the Scan- dinavian missionaries were apparent- ly more than just rumors. Cole ner- vously ran his fingers up and down the taut seat belt as he tried to con- centrate on the lavish dinner he would soon enjoy at the hotel. Oum- aru was studiously vague on the ques- tion, but Cole knew they would make the last part of the journey in the dark. The Land Cruiser rounded a cor- ner into a small cluster of buildings, the last hamlet before an unpopulat- ed stretch of the trail led to the provincial capital, still nearly an hour away. A final sliver of sun doused the horizon. Cole could faintly make out a battered roadside billboard. “La vie Abati. On vous attend.” Oumaru finished recounting what he had learned around town and clenched the steering wheel with atypical ardor. After a long pause, he stole an expectant glance at Cole. “So, monsieur, what did you learn from the ridwan’s wife?” N O V E M B E R 2 0 0 7 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 43 Where was Oumaru? Were there no other patrons? Perhaps the woman was a lousy cook.