Ambush?

In order to describe how I got myself into this particular situation I will have to backtrack a little.  I am back on Jeju island in Korea.  To get here it has taken me a nightmarish 22 hours down the back of several aircraft.  I flew out of Melbourne to Bangkok, then onto Osaka before getting back to this beautiful little island very early in the morning.

I had a couple of hours to wash the heinous aeroplane stench from my body in Osaka and had occasion to muse over the curious vending machine culture that exists in Japan.  Most people are used to finding drinks and food in machines, but not so much items of clothing, alcoholic drinks and even toys to keep the kids busy.  It makes sense when you think about it, as when little Kaito spills his hot noodles all over his clothes, you can buy him a new outfit, medication to sooth the burns and some small but incomprehensible digital games to keep him occupied.  I also noticed that you can buy what looked to either be a woolly rabbit hat for your cat or a woolly cat balaclava for your rabbit.  I was strangely tempted to get one, just for the hell of it, but I’m not sure that Bea, our new moggy would appreciate it.   

I am here because of the same complicated reason as before but this time, the stakes are higher.  Relations with the other party have deteriorated to the point where litigation and sensationalist headlines seem to be the only way out; unless we can reach an agreement with them that keeps everyone kind of happy.  I don’t think that this is going to be possible, but I really like the other party and I sympathise with them.  Business and personal relationships in Korea are highly ritualised and whilst I am fully conversant with the do’s and don’ts of polite business meetings in this culture, this will be something else.  It’s going to be a meeting where emotions will be running high and death threats have already been made.

It’s definitely not usual for firearms to be used in Korea even in the conduct of most criminal activities, but knives and even swords are all fair game in persuading the other party to do what you want, so whilst I am not overly nervous for my own safety, as even with two new hips, I can run like a scalded cat when it’s needed. There are others though who might be at a greater risk than me and so I’m not looking forward to this upcoming meeting; as much as I might want to get closure for all concerned.   

I may have mentioned before that I could, in some peoples minds be considered as a little paranoid (refer to the landing page) but if I’m honest, it’s probably true when it comes down to this kind of thing and that’s not a wholly bad thing as I’m not new to this and I have managed to stay more or less, in one piece.  

There are a few things you need to do when you are going into this kind of meeting.  The first is is to conduct a thorough reconnaissance of the meeting place.  If you are sponsoring the meeting, you need to literally set the scene for hopefully, safe and peaceful cooperation, you make sure that the room is comfortable, there are no sharp objects within reach and that the furniture is too heavy to pick up and be used as a weapon against you. The second thing is to know at least two ways out of the venue if something goes wrong.  It usually follows that you need to have an independent means of extraction standing by, just in case the plan goes adrift, as sod’s law dictates that it usually will.  When you aren’t fully in charge of things, you just need to do what you can to minimise the risks. 

This time, I have arranged for independent transportation, taken a look at the location by satellite (I didn’t like the look of it as there was only one road in and out) and plotted in a couple of escape routes on foot through forest tracks.  It’s pretty cold and gloomy and there’s just enough of a wet mist in the air to cut visibility down to 200 mts, which won’t help me recognise any approaching threats.  I borrowed a stab proof vest from a Korean contact just in case, but I think I probably need it more for its thermal properties than for it’s intended purpose.  At least I hope so, because if it gets to that stage, bad press is the least of my worries. 

I’m in a small mini van with a group of young colleagues.  Aside from my other colleague, the lawyer, who is quiet but composed, one of them is crying quietly in the back of the van and the others have the kind of taut, pinched expressions that you don’t want to see on anyone, particularly someone that is the same age as your eldest son.  They are nervous, to the point where I think one of them might vomit, so I try to talk to them and distract them from the winding misty road ahead of us

To the initiated, the term combat indicators (told you I was paranoid) will mean something.  To the less so, it means ‘the absence of normality’ which in an urban environment practically means a lack of women and children in the streets; no people queuing at the bus stop, shops closed down and shuttered.  You get that feeling low down in your stomach and for me, in my balls and on the back of my neck. You just know that something bad is going to happen, but you just don’t know when.  Although it was only 30 minutes from the airport, this was a rural mountain road, through close forest and there was absolutely no clue as to what we were getting into.  Approaching the meeting venue, which was discomfortingly known as ‘the charnel house’ I could make out a few parked vehicles with unhelpfully darkened windows and a highly decorated building, that looked rather like a squat pagoda. 

I asked the others to stay in the warm van and I got out and had a look around. My intention was to complete a 360 degree circuit of the venue to see if I could tell that we were being set up, but because of the mist, I couldn’t see any tell tales as to what we might be walking into. I heard the van door open and jerked my head around to see if it had been opened by one our ours, or one of theirs. Thankfully, if was one of ours and two young men stumbled out. One to revisit his breakfast and other for a nervous pee. Being an old hand (literally) at this sort of bladder woes, I had deliberately desiccated myself, not having had anything to drink after a final airline G&T. I also take an Imodium, just to make sure that I’m not caught out at the critical moment; as that does happen, even to an old hand…

I couldn’t see any lurking media nor indeed any charging ninja’s so I completed my circuit of the building and at last, I noticed a familiar face. It was the Father of our deceased colleague. He had a neutral expression on his face, but I bowed low and then offered my hand for him to shake; for as a westerner, I have always found that a better clue as to a persons intentions. You can also maintain eye contact and hopefully not get blindsided. He shook it, smiled sadly and thanked me for coming. I knew that was about the limit of his english, but I was comforted enough by his handshake and demeanour to at least wait and see whatever came next.

His wife and two aunts, whom I had met before, arrived out of the mist and I called down to my group and asked them to join us. When they got up the slight hill to the entrance of the charnel house, they stood in a line and as one, bowed very deeply in the most respectful way. I joined in, but looking up as I did so. We entered the building, removed our shoes and placed them in the racks provided and then walked slowly up the stairs. I was struck by just how cold it was, much more than outside. I also noticed that I was sweating slightly, but of course, I put that down to my ‘thermal’ vest.

When we got upstairs, I saw how light it was, with everything made of blonde coloured wood, with lots of gold leaf and scarlet highlights. The remains of the deceased had his own compartment and I noticed that there was photograph of him and not having known him in life, it struck me how close he was to the age of my eldest. He was smiling and it was the kind of photograph that you’d want your Mum and Dad to be looking at when they remembered you.

I took my cue from my colleagues who lined up in front of the mobile altar and lit joss sticks with a chanted prayer. There were padded mats lined up directly in front of the small compartment and they immediately knelt and recited what was as obviously as well known to them as the lords prayer was to me. They then prostrated themselves and I bent to join them. The Father stopped me and indicated that I should just pray. Having lost my faith, in so far as organised religion is concerned some years ago, I just bowed my head out of respect and said a quiet thank you for my still having my family intact.

Following what was one of the most difficult and emotional experiences that I have had in a very long time, we moved out of the inner sanctum of the charnel house and into what looked like an IKEA sponsored board room. It was the temperature of a walk in freezer and we sat around a large table. My local colleagues sat with their heads bowed, so bowed that I couldn’t see light between their chins and their chests. My friend the lawyer took our pre rehearsed, but very genuine line and in Korean, thanked the family for inviting us and reiterated just how sorry we were to have lost our friend and colleague.

The Father wanted to tell everyone about his son’s childhood and the hopes that he had held and the dreams they had had for him. He spoke about their hopes for grandchildren and for their family name to continue. He was the eldest child and their only son and that he was the shining light of their family. I knew this even though I didn’t understand the words. I just knew what I’d be saying under similar circumstances.

I looked at the young men with me. Not one of them could look at the Father when he spoke. In fact, to have done so, would have been considered disrespectful, but I could tell that every one of them was physically impacted by his words. After what seemed like a very long time, I looked at our lawyer and he nodded. I asked our team to leave and wait for us outside. It was now time to try and reach closure by negotiating a respectful settlement with the family; but it was far from being about money, in so far that the amounts were almost immaterial; it was more about acknowledging that their son had died in our workplace and that, despite the circumstances and responsibility, we were desperately sorry to have lost him.

With just the two of us from the company, the parents and two aunts, I began to feel like I could at least try to get the paranoid monkey off my back and stop looking for hidden cameras and concealed doors where the ninjas would attack from. My head isn’t a fun place to be in at a time like this believe me…

I made a short, but very genuinely felt speech, which was translated by our lawyer during which the family stared at me like I was naked and in the dock and that was how I felt. The settlement negotiations passed in Korean with me doing my bit when necessary and then the lawyer and I stepped out of the room. When we came back in, there was a nod, but no smiles, because how could there be? There was however, an air of closure. Something almost tangible but you couldn’t touch it, something that literally had a smell and a taste, but you couldn’t describe it as success, because it wasn’t. Someone was dead and we were all sorry.

We bowed low and at my instigation, we shook hands. I went back inside to the young mans final resting place and I said an official goodbye on behalf of the company. I lit a joss stick and lingered a moment longer just to inwardly express my thanks to whoever, that it wasn’t my son. The Father, who had stayed close to me throughout, put his hand gently on my shoulder. I placed mine on his shoulder quickly, possibly too quickly, but that was all I could manage and we both nodded in the way that (people think ) emotionally constipated middle aged men do.

I walked outside the charnel house and into what was surprisingly, the light of day. The mist had cleared and what had been a very gloomy, chilly morning had morphed into something much brighter and quite lovely. The lawyer and I quickly briefed the team and we noticed the Father walking down the small hill towards us. He spoke to each of the young men in turn and I felt, rather than understood what he was saying. I felt that he said that he would always miss his son, but that he hoped they would live their lives with his son in their minds.

I walked the Father back up the hill to where there was large bench seat. The family was sitting there, leafing through an A3 album of our lost colleague. I asked, in English, if I could sit with them and they as one, said yes, in Korean.

I was there while they reviewed – which isn’t the right word, it’s more they ‘relived’ his life and their parts in it. I felt, rather than understood, how much joy they had felt being there for all of the milestones in his life, right up to his finishing university and then winning a position with an international company that would have set him up for life.

And there, but for the grace of [a higher power] go I.