{"product_id":"mr-kill-isbn-9781616951733","title":"Mr. Kill","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eSergeants Sueño and Bascom team up with the formidable Korean detective Mr. Kill to catch a killer. \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On a crowded train from Pusan to Seoul, the brutal rape of a young mother by a US serviceman sparks rage on the powder-keg peninsula of Korea. By the time Sergeants George Sueño and Ernie Bascom, US Army investigators, are called in, the rapist has disappeared and anti-American fervor in this proud Asian country is threatening to explode. George and Ernie set off a frantic search for a killer that introduces them to a ruthless Korean homicide investigator known to anyone foolish enough to cross him as Mr. Kill.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eMr. Kill\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The suspense mounts, augmented by Bascom's bad temper and very tough partner, in a fascinating place, when tensions among American military personnel and Korean civilians were high. Mix in the psycho profile of the villain, and \u003ci\u003eMr. Kill\u003c\/i\u003e speeds along like a bullet train.” Grade: A- \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eCleveland Plain Dealer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This series is a must not only for procedural fans but also for anyone who enjoys crime fiction set in distinctive international locales.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Excellent . . . A vivid view of Asia, from the Demilitarized Zone to the Yellow Sea, and an insightful look at the era lift this fine entry.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A moral switch-back ride from the Korean DMZ to the Yellow Sea. Limón’s intrepid team of Mr. Kill, the local sleuth, together with Sueño and Bascom, those rough housing army investigators, take us on a wild trip to find the white man who raped the girl on the Blue Train, while the whole country burns with indignation. Limón is an expert guide to Korea and the US army whose passionate commitment to his subject is expressed in direct, searing prose. A not-to-be-missed addition to the growing library of novels about Southeast Asia by people who know what they are talking about.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—John Burdett, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eBangkok 8\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Another solid police procedural, grounded in muscular prose and enhanced by unique local color.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The interplay among the three detectives provides an intriguing view of two cultures . . . The story, while an engaging mystery, is particularly notable for providing an evocative map of South Korea and offers insights into two complex cultures: Korean society and military life.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Reviewing the Evidence\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eMartin Limón\u003c\/b\u003e retired from military service after twenty years in the US Army, including ten years in Korea. He is the author of eleven novels in the Sueño and Bascom series, including \u003ci\u003eJade Lady Burning\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eSlicky Boys\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003ePing-Pong Heart\u003c\/i\u003e, and the short story collection \u003ci\u003eNightmare Range\u003c\/i\u003e. He lives near Seattle.1\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Hot metal shrieked as the Blue Train express from Pusan\u003cbr\u003e braked its way into the vast yard of Seoul-\u003ci\u003eyok\u003c\/i\u003e, the downtown\u003cbr\u003e Seoul Railroad Station. Someone barked an order.\u003cbr\u003e Two squads of khaki-clad Korean National Policemen\u003cbr\u003e fanned out along the cement platform, prowling like\u003cbr\u003e shadows through roiling clouds of vapor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Whoever this guy is,” Ernie told me, “G.I. or not, he’s\u003cbr\u003e about to be introduced to a whole world of butt-kick.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My name is George Sueño. I’m an investigator for the\u003cbr\u003e Criminal Investigation Division of the 8th United States\u003cbr\u003e Army in Seoul, Republic of Korea. Myy partner, Ernie\u003cbr\u003e Bascom, and I stood with our backs against brick, waiting\u003cbr\u003e in this overcast afternoon for the arrival of a train that,\u003cbr\u003e according to railroad authorities, held tragedy. The Blue\u003cbr\u003e Train engineer radioed ahead that a female passenger in\u003cbr\u003e car number three had been threatened with a knife and\u003cbr\u003e raped. She was found by one of the stewardesses cowering\u003cbr\u003e in the lavatory, too incoherent to give much information,\u003cbr\u003e but claiming that the perpetrator had been a \u003ci\u003ekocheingi\u003c\/i\u003e. A\u003cbr\u003e big-nose. In other words, a foreigner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the early seventies, what with 700,000 fire-breathing\u003cbr\u003e Communist soldiers on the far side of the DMZ just thirty\u003cbr\u003e miles north of here, there weren’t many tourists in the\u003cbr\u003e Republic of Korea. Nor were there many European businessmen,\u003cbr\u003e and only a smattering of diplomats. The foreigners\u003cbr\u003e most likely to be using the Blue Train on this Monday\u003cbr\u003e morning were \u003ci\u003eMiguk\u003c\/i\u003es. Americans. And those Americans\u003cbr\u003e were most likely to be among the 50,000 or so G.I.s who\u003cbr\u003e fell under the jurisdiction of the 8th United States Army.\u003cbr\u003e Therefore, the call had been made by the Korean National\u003cbr\u003e Police to us, the agents of 8th Army CID.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Exactly who this guy was, we didn’t know. All we knew\u003cbr\u003e for sure was that the crime had been committed sometime\u003cbr\u003e after the Blue Train pulled out of Taejon. Between there\u003cbr\u003e and here, no stops. The Blue Line takes about four hours\u003cbr\u003e and fifty minutes, total, to travel the almost 400 kilometers\u003cbr\u003e from Pusan to Seoul, with only two brief layovers,\u003cbr\u003e the first at the East Taegu Station and the second at Taejon.\u003cbr\u003e At each scheduled stop, the train pauses for less than five\u003cbr\u003e minutes. After leaving Taejon, whoever perpetrated this\u003cbr\u003e crime would’ve had no way to get off the train. Therefore,\u003cbr\u003e we were assuming, as were all these Korean cops, that he\u003cbr\u003e was still aboard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lieutenant Shin, the officer in charge of the KNP\u003cbr\u003e detail, told me that the engineer had further explained\u003cbr\u003e that the victim was a young mother with two children\u003cbr\u003e in tow. Apparently, she’d left her son and her daughter in\u003cbr\u003e their seats while she used the bathroom. That’s where she’d\u003cbr\u003e been assaulted. The rapist forced his way into the small\u003cbr\u003e bathroom behind her and threatened her with a knife,\u003cbr\u003e slicing the flesh of her throat superficially. The blood\u003cbr\u003e and the blade had convinced her to comply with what he\u003cbr\u003e demanded. Everything he demanded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The cops in Lieutenant Shin’s detail already knew that\u003cbr\u003e a woman with children had been assaulted by someone\u003cbr\u003e they assumed to be an American G.I. They weren’t happy\u003cbr\u003e about such a non-Confucian crime being committed in\u003cbr\u003e broad daylight in a public place, and they allowed their\u003cbr\u003e anger to show when they glared at Ernie and at me, as if\u003cbr\u003e we were somehow responsible.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Steam puffed from the sides of the train. With a huge\u003cbr\u003e sigh, the big engine shut down. Usually, even before\u003cbr\u003e wheels stop rolling, people would already be hopping off\u003cbr\u003e metal steps, hurrying to beat the crowd filtering toward\u003cbr\u003e the front gate of the main station. Today, eerily, nobody\u003cbr\u003e moved. If I hadn’t been able to make out seated silhouettes\u003cbr\u003e through the fog-smudged windows, I would’ve thought it\u003cbr\u003e was a train full of ghosts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lieutenant Shin barked more orders, and two cops\u003cbr\u003e took up positions at the ends of each passenger car. Other\u003cbr\u003e cops covered the opposite side of the train. Thus surrounded,\u003cbr\u003e all possibility of escape was eliminated.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Behind us, on the overhead ramparts, a crowd gathered,\u003cbr\u003e people waiting for other trains. Some of the civilians\u003cbr\u003e murmured loudly about \u003ci\u003eMiguk-nom\u003c\/i\u003e, base American\u003cbr\u003e louts. Somehow they’d gotten wind of what had happened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Accompanied by Lieutenant Shin, Ernie and I climbed\u003cbr\u003e aboard the first passenger car. The head conductor, wearing\u003cbr\u003e a high-collared black coat and pillbox hat, was already\u003cbr\u003e waiting. He was a craggy-faced man, middle-aged, with\u003cbr\u003e his feet planted shoulder-width apart as if from years of\u003cbr\u003e pacing up and down rocking central aisles.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “She’s in car three,” he said in Korean. I translated for\u003cbr\u003e Ernie. “The children are confused,” he continued. “They\u003cbr\u003e know something happened to their mother, something\u003cbr\u003e bad, but they don’t know what.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Has the perpetrator been identified?” Lieutenant Shin\u003cbr\u003e asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “No. All she told the stewardess was that he’s a kocheingi.”\u003cbr\u003e He glanced toward Ernie and me. I nodded for him\u003cbr\u003e to continue. “She’s in her seat, huddled with her children.\u003cbr\u003e So far, she refuses to move.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Take us,” Lieutenant Shin told him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We followed the conductor down the center aisle. As\u003cbr\u003e we did so, row after row of Asian faces turned up to us,\u003cbr\u003e some of them frightened, more of them angry. I heard\u003cbr\u003e epithets whispered, a few familiar, a few I’d never heard\u003cbr\u003e before.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Tough crowd,” Ernie mumbled behind me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As we passed from car to car, Ernie and I checked the\u003cbr\u003e bathrooms, just to make sure no one was hiding in them.\u003cbr\u003e No one was. They were small, locked from the inside, and\u003cbr\u003e under normal circumstances barely large enough to hold\u003cbr\u003e one person.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Finally we entered car three and stopped. A gaggle of\u003cbr\u003e grandmothers, clad in traditional Korean dresses, surrounded\u003cbr\u003e two of the seats. As we approached, they turned\u003cbr\u003e their headsand, one by one, faces soured. Wrinkled eyes\u003cbr\u003e evaluated me, finding me in some way disgusting, flashing\u003cbr\u003e disapproval—at me, and at the crime that had been\u003cbr\u003e perpetrated on this Blue Train from Pusan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It wasn’t me, I wanted to shout. Although I’ve been\u003cbr\u003e falsely accused before, and I know the sick feeling in the\u003cbr\u003e gut, I’ve never in my life threatened anyone with a knife—\u003cbr\u003e nor have I raped anyone. I stifled the urge to scream at\u003cbr\u003e these women. I’m a cop, not a rapist. Ernie fidgeted behind\u003cbr\u003e me. Americans are generally welcome in Korea. It wasn’t\u003cbr\u003e often that we faced such hatred, but we were feeling it\u003cbr\u003e now—down to our bones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lieutenant Shin stepped forward, breaking the silence.\u003cbr\u003e With a rustle of silk, angry grandmothers stepped away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The victim was a petite woman, five foot two or three,\u003cbr\u003e maybe just slightly over a hundred pounds. She sat huddled\u003cbr\u003e with her two children, the boy about four, the girl\u003cbr\u003e about six. She wouldn’t look up. Lieutenant Shin spoke to\u003cbr\u003e her softly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Are you hurt badly?” he asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She didn’t answer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Can you show me where you’re cut?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The children stared at us with wide, worried eyes.\u003cbr\u003e When the woman still wouldn’t answer, Lieutenant Shin\u003cbr\u003e reached out and touched her arm. Like a startled spider,\u003cbr\u003e she flinched, curling herself into a tiny ball. The children\u003cbr\u003e clung more tightly to their mother and started to cry.\u003cbr\u003e That’s when I saw it. Blood. On the side of her neck. The\u003cbr\u003e wound hadn’t been completely stanched. The blood trickled\u003cbr\u003e slowly down the side of her small neck, staining the\u003cbr\u003e round collar of her dress, pooling against bone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The grandmothers had had enough. They pushed\u003cbr\u003e themselves between Lieutenant Shin and the woman,\u003cbr\u003e shooing him away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He refused to back off. The authority of the elderly in a\u003cbr\u003e Confucian society like Korea is great, but not greater than\u003cbr\u003e the law. Still, the presence of two kocheingis was making\u003cbr\u003e his job more difficult. He motioned with his eyes for Ernie\u003cbr\u003e and me to continue on ahead of him toward the rear of\u003cbr\u003e the car. We did, passing another surly group of passengers\u003cbr\u003e craning their necks to see what was going on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e According to the conductor, the bathroom at the back\u003cbr\u003e of the car was where the crime had been committed. A\u003cbr\u003e nervous stewardess in a stylish blue skirt, white blouse,\u003cbr\u003e and matching blue cap explained in Korean that more than\u003cbr\u003e an hour ago she’d received complaints from other passengers\u003cbr\u003e that someone was in the bathroom and wouldn’t\u003cbr\u003e come out. The stewardess investigated, pounded on the\u003cbr\u003e door, and finally coaxed whoever was inside to open up.\u003cbr\u003e She found the victim crouched on the floor, dress ripped,\u003cbr\u003e blood seeping from a slice on the side of her neck, covering\u003cbr\u003e her face with splayed fingers. The stewardess immediately\u003cbr\u003e reported the incident to the head conductor. Together\u003cbr\u003e they bandaged the wound and, after much coaxing, managed\u003cbr\u003e to escort the devastated woman out of the bathroom\u003cbr\u003e and down the aisle to her seat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Did you see the foreigner?” I asked the stewardess.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She shook her head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Did you or the conductor see an American up here in\u003cbr\u003e car three?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “No. And neither did any of the passengers. They’ve\u003cbr\u003e been talking among themselves nonstop since this thing\u003cbr\u003e happened. Only now, because the police are here, are\u003cbr\u003e they quiet.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Korean National Police are a mixed blessing. They\u003cbr\u003e maintain order, plenty of it. But sometimes they maintain\u003cbr\u003e that order at a high price, especially if you’re on the receiving\u003cbr\u003e end of a polished wooden nightstick.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “So no one saw a foreigner in car three?” I asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The stewardess nodded. I explained what she’d said to\u003cbr\u003e Ernie. He pushed open a door, and air rushed into the car.\u003cbr\u003e We both studied the metal walkway leading back toward\u003cbr\u003e car four.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Where are the Americans?” I asked the stewardess.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At the RTO, 8th Army’s Rail Transportation Office,\u003cbr\u003e tickets are issued free to G.I.s on official travel and sold\u003cbr\u003e at a discounted rate to those on leave or pass or other\u003cbr\u003e forms of unofficial travel. Eighth Army’s policy is to try,\u003cbr\u003e whenever possible, to keep all the Americans in the same\u003cbr\u003e passenger car.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The stewardess showed us with her eyes, glancing back\u003cbr\u003e at car four.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lieutenant Shin approached. While the stewardess\u003cbr\u003e went over the same ground with him, I crouched and\u003cbr\u003e studied the interior of the bathroom. There wasn’t much\u003cbr\u003e to be seen. A little splashed water. A low toilet—porcelain\u003cbr\u003e embedded in the floor, Korean style, made for squatting; a\u003cbr\u003e small sink; and an unraveled roll of paper.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the center aisle, men in blue smocks were trundling\u003cbr\u003e toward us. Stenciled on their chests, in white block \u003ci\u003ehangul\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e letters, was the word \u003ci\u003eKyongchal\u003c\/i\u003e. Police. Keeping his voice\u003cbr\u003e low so the female victim couldn’t hear, Lieutenant Shin\u003cbr\u003e briefed them. These were the technicians who would be\u003cbr\u003e searching the bathroom for traces of blood or semen or\u003cbr\u003e hair. I was impressed. So was Ernie. In the Itaewon bar district,\u003cbr\u003e loaded with business girls who catered to American\u003cbr\u003e G.I.s, rape wasn’t taken nearly as seriously. As the technicians\u003cbr\u003e placed their gear on the floor and squatted down\u003cbr\u003e to get to work, one of the them said in Korean, “First the\u003cbr\u003e mother of our country, and now this.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lieutenant Shin stationed a young cop near the bathroom\u003cbr\u003e to make sure that no one interfered with the crime\u003cbr\u003e scene or with the technicians.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What we did next was what Ernie’d been aching to do\u003cbr\u003e since we arrived at Seoul Station, ever since we’d been subjected\u003cbr\u003e to the hatred in the eyes of the masses of Koreans\u003cbr\u003e surrounding us: he reached in his pocket and pulled out a\u003cbr\u003e shining set of brass knuckles. Slipping them over his fingers,\u003cbr\u003e he clenched his fist, enjoying the fit and the satisfying\u003cbr\u003e heft of the finely crafted metal. Satisfied, he nodded. Lieutenant\u003cbr\u003e Shin took the lead. Together, we entered car four.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Autumn had fallen quickly in Korea. This was not unusual\u003cbr\u003e in itself—seasons change rapidly on the Korean Peninsula—\u003cbr\u003e but it had also fallen early. Gray clouds appeared,\u003cbr\u003e and gloomy winds started to blow. A week and a half ago,\u003cbr\u003e August 15, had been the 29th anniversary of Korea’s liberation\u003cbr\u003e from the occupying forces of the Japanese Imperial\u003cbr\u003e Army. The Japanese had taken over the country in 1910,\u003cbr\u003e stripping the Korean monarchy and the Korean legislature\u003cbr\u003e of any real power, and ruled the entire peninsula as a\u003cbr\u003e colony until 1945.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e To mark this all-important day, Pak Chung-hee, the\u003cbr\u003e former Army colonel and current authoritarian president\u003cbr\u003e of South Korea, had given a speech to a packed hall.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Unfortunately, a Japanese national, believed to be in\u003cbr\u003e the employ of North Korea, smuggled a gun into the hall\u003cbr\u003e and took a few potshots at the president. Pak Chung-hee\u003cbr\u003e crouched behind his heavily fortified podium and was not\u003cbr\u003e harmed. His security guards, however, pulled their own\u003cbr\u003e weapons and returned fire, and for a few mad seconds\u003cbr\u003e hot lead zinged all over the auditorium. One of the bullets\u003cbr\u003e struck the head of Yuk Young-soo, the wife of the president,\u003cbr\u003e who’d been sitting on the stage only a few feet from\u003cbr\u003e her husband. She was rushed to the hospital but declared\u003cbr\u003e dead on arrival.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Like most first ladies around the world, Yuk Young-soo\u003cbr\u003e was popular, much more popular than her husband. The\u003cbr\u003e death of such a vital woman, the mother of three young\u003cbr\u003e children, shocked the country, sending it into mourning.\u003cbr\u003e Only hours after she died, the blue skies of summer disappeared\u003cbr\u003e with the onset of autumn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Does a country have a mood? Maybe. Maybe not. We\u003cbr\u003e only read our own moods into what we see around us. But\u003cbr\u003e if countries do have moods, the mood of the Republic of\u003cbr\u003e Korea was surly right now. Surly to the point of tipping\u003cbr\u003e over into rage.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As we entered car four, rows of passengers gaped at us.\u003cbr\u003e They were mostly Koreans, but there were a few American\u003cbr\u003e faces scattered among them. While Lieutenant Shin and\u003cbr\u003e the ranking sergeant in his detail asked for identification\u003cbr\u003e and briefly interviewed the Korean nationals, Ernie and I\u003cbr\u003e studied the Americans. The faces were confused and concerned,\u003cbr\u003e but nobody bolted for the door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I pulled out my badge and held it up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Good morning, everyone. I’m Agent Sueño. This is\u003cbr\u003e Agent Bascom. We’re going to be asking you some questions.\u003cbr\u003e First, I’d like everyone to pull out their identification\u003cbr\u003e and their travel orders.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “What if you don’t have travel orders?” one of the G.I.s\u003cbr\u003e asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Then your leave orders will have to do,” Ernie replied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Every American G.I. had to be able to prove that he had\u003cbr\u003e permission to be away from his compound. If he didn’t,\u003cbr\u003e we’d report him to his unit and non-judicial punishment\u003cbr\u003e could ensue. This was punishment short of court-martial,\u003cbr\u003e like restriction to the barracks or forfeiture of pay for less\u003cbr\u003e than thirty days.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e While Ernie stayed inside the car, I took the American\u003cbr\u003e passengers outside onto the platform, one by one,\u003cbr\u003e and interviewed them. I wrote down their names, units\u003cbr\u003e of assignment, serial numbers, and the issuing headquarters\u003cbr\u003e of their temporary duty instructions. G.I.s don’t travel\u003cbr\u003e much in Korea, unless they’re under what we call TDY—\u003cbr\u003e temporary duty—orders. There were a total of seven G.I.s\u003cbr\u003e in car number four. One was a courier carrying a packet\u003cbr\u003e of classified documents. Another was on his way home on\u003cbr\u003e emergency leave orders; apparently he had a child back\u003cbr\u003e home who was gravely ill. Four of the G.I.s were Signal\u003cbr\u003e Corps technicians on their way to do some repair work at\u003cbr\u003e the 42nd Long Lines Battalion at Camp Coiner. The last\u003cbr\u003e G.I. was an officer under orders to report to 8th Army\u003cbr\u003e headquarters for a SOFA Conference, a joint ROK\/US\u003cbr\u003e Status of Forces Agreement confab.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nobody was on unauthorized travel. Nobody was\u003cbr\u003e absent without leave. At least, that’s the way it seemed\u003cbr\u003e so far. The paperwork they showed me could have been\u003cbr\u003e forged. It was even possible that their ID cards were\u003cbr\u003e phony. Unlikely, but possible. Later today, Ernie and I\u003cbr\u003e would be checking out the validity of their stories, but for\u003cbr\u003e the moment I was taking what they told me at face value.","brand":"Soho Crime","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305292812517,"sku":"NP9781616951733","price":15.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781616951733.jpg?v=1767733039","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/mr-kill-isbn-9781616951733","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}