Then the door flew open and General Spears and Acting Ambassador Brandewaite and Minister of Defense Lee walked in. General Spears hooked a finger in the direction of the door and Doc Bridges and his nurses nearly left a smoke trail, they moved out so fast.

I was struggling to sit up in bed. Spears said, “Stay the way you are, Drummond.”

I said, “Yes sir,” which wasn’t witty or bright but fit the occasion.

The three of them then gathered around and stared down at me. If you think I was apprehensive, you’ve got that right. Here were three of the warlords of Korea and here was little old me with a hole in my back so if things got bad I couldn’t even get up and run away.

I had no idea what they wanted, but I wasn’t betting it was good. I’d just blown the lid off the Lee No Tae case and thrown a terrible dilemma into their collective laps. I’d proven the minister’s kid was gay, despite a thousand warnings by a thousand people that this was utterly taboo. I gulped a few times and looked at their collective faces.

Finally, Brandewaite stroked his handsome chin and said, “We seem to have a most incredible situation on our hands.”

“Indeed we do,” Spears agreed. “But sometimes, in the midst of tragedy, you find opportunity.”

“That’s right,” Brandewaite said.

This might almost have been funny if I’d had even the slightest idea what they were talking about.

Brandewaite said, “Drummond, this afternoon we’ve been in contact with the White House and the president of Korea.”

I nodded like I understood, which I didn’t.

But before he could say another word, Minister Lee stepped forward. “Please. Let me handle this. I’d like a private moment with Major Drummond.”

Spears and Brandewaite both nodded respectfully, then stepped out of the room.

“Major Drummond,” the minister said, “I want you to know something.”

“Yes sir.”

“My wife and I, we… we loved our son very much.”

He had to stop for a moment, because it was evident he was having difficulty. He took a few heavy breaths, then said, “I am not ashamed of No. You understand that.”

“Yes, Mr. Minister.”

“He struggled against what he was. He wanted us to be proud of him. And we were proud of him. Always. It was not his fault, what he was.”

“No sir.”

“We knew, of course. We knew our son loved men. Children cannot hide such things from parents.”

I’d already suspected this. I’d suspected it from the moment the three of us had entered No’s bedroom together. When the minister had opened his lips and struggled to say something, I’d thought he might have been on the verge of admitting he knew his son was gay.

Why hadn’t he admitted it? I think because he felt he owed the gift of silence to his son’s memory. Koreans are funny that way. Despite the fact that they’re the most Christian nation in Asia, they still worship and honor their dead ancestors. They even have this big national holiday called Chusok, where they all go like lemmings to graveyards around the country to honor their dead forefathers and foremothers, or whatever.

I couldn’t imagine the agony he and his wife had been through. And I suppose that accounted for why he’d bent over backward to be fair to Whitehall. I think he’d suspected from the beginning Whitehall hadn’t done it. I think he hoped his son wouldn’t hook up with a man who would do such terrible things to him. I think he wanted us to prove Tommy was innocent. I think he wanted us to find the real killers. Maybe I was kidding myself, but that’s what I thought. That’s what I’d thought ever since I’d left him and his wife in their house.

He put his hand on my arm. “I’ve asked the president of South Korea to order the release of Captain Whitehall. And I’ve asked General Spears to drop all charges.”

A big breath of air poured out of my mouth.

“I am not trying to hide my son’s relationship with Whitehall. Not any longer. But it’s best for both our nations if we simply say my son was murdered by the North Koreans, and Whitehall was framed, just as your protesters were murdered by the North Koreans. It would be best for our alliance.”

I wanted to say something meaningful, something to take away his pain, to make this easier for him.

But all I could get out was, “It’s true, Mr. Minister. Your son was murdered by the North Koreans.”

He nodded his head in the knowing way some very wise old people have, and he gently patted my arm and left.

Then General Spears and Brandewaite came back in. They stood beside my bed for a long moment. Brandewaite said, “I just want you to know, Drummond, that I bear no hard feelings toward you over all of this.”

I wasn’t exactly sure I heard that right. I mean, the last time I checked, I was the one who was supposed to have hard feelings against him. But I guess that’s what it takes to be a diplomat. Always distort the facts to your own advantage. Or is that a lawyer? Whatever.

Even General Spears seemed to catch the idiocy of it, because he waited till Brandewaite had his back turned and was headed toward the door before he rolled his eyes, and then he did this little jerky motion with his right hand that most folks would interpret to be a fairly disrespectful gesture.

Once Brandewaite was gone, the general reached into his pocket and withdrew a medal with a fancy ribbon on it. He placed it on the bed right beside me. “The President asked me to give you this. He said to tell you that the nation is very proud and appreciative of your efforts.”

I glanced at the medal for a moment, and he seemed to be at a loss for words. He finally squeezed my arm. “Sean, nobody’s more proud of what you just accomplished than me, but as far as the world is concerned, this whole thing never happened. There was an assassination attempt and you saved the Secretary’s life, but the true facts will never be known.”

I nodded like it made no difference to me, and really I guess it didn’t.

Then he paused for a moment before he said, “Son, most people would think a little piece of ribbon doesn’t seem like much for what you did, but in our profession it’s everything.”

Then he spun around and walked out and left me fingering the tiny medal he’d left me. I stared at it, and damn if it didn’t look just like the Distinguished Service Cross, the second highest award for heroism.

But maybe I was just imagining all that happened. I was doped up to the max, and I’d been beaten, stabbed, and shot, then shot again – and the mind does play funny tricks.

CHAPTER 50

The physical therapy was every bit as wicked as I had dreaded it would be. They actually transported me back to Walter Reed Army Medical Center on a medevac plane, keeping me happily doped up till we got there. Then the nazis at Walter Reed got their first look at me, took the drugs away, and my life turned into pure hell.

The Army’s idea of medicine can be summed up by that old maxim “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” Phrased another way, “If you let a knife get dull, it takes a lot longer to resharpen than one kept sharp.”

If you want to hear more of these inane sayings, I could go on, because in my six-week stay at Walter Reed I heard about two million of them from the sadists who made me get up every morning and make my own bed, who brought me Jell-O and actually made me eat it, and thousands of other unspeakable things. My personal favorite was the 250-pound female nurse who showed up on my third day, deadly intent on rolling me over and giving me an enema. I put up one hell of a fight. I swear I did. But alas, I lost.

On my sixth night, an official State Department courier showed up with a handwritten note from the Secretary of State himself, thanking me for saving his life and inviting me to stop by for a private dinner after I got out of the hospital. I thought about sending back a note saying I was pretty busy and wasn’t sure I could make it. That lasted about a nanosecond. Like I’d ever turn down a free meal. And besides, I was dying to share my views about the world with the Secretary; and since I’d saved his life, he’d have to sit and politely listen. How often does life offer you a chance like that?