With so many people in their team, not everyone needed to go. Jack noted the detective's number and decided to go with Clay while the others handled different tasks.
Alice stayed behind to continue digging into Grayson Faber's background. Jubal and the rest headed to the police headquarters to check for updates on the Barbara Walker case from two weeks ago.
As usual, Clay drove while Jack navigated. Seoul was a city built on hills—not as steep as Chongqing, but still full of annoying slopes.
Although Jack was new to the city, at least he could read the road signs. However, after several turns, they found themselves stuck in a traffic jam near their destination.
"Looks like something's going on up ahead," Clay observed. Since the intersection was completely blocked, he parked on the side, and they got out to walk.
Both men were tall, allowing them to see over the crowd. The scene of the disturbance was a GS25 convenience store on the street corner. A young man in hospital scrubs stood at the entrance, wildly brandishing a knife as he faced off against several people.
Jack and Clay had a perfect vantage point, standing at an intersection that provided a direct line of sight to the store.
The blade was stained with blood. The man's hospital gown was also covered in red splotches—but the blood didn't seem to be his.
A nearby ambulance was parked by the sidewalk, where two paramedics were tending to a middle-aged man's wound.
"What happened?" Clay asked, unable to understand the rapid-fire Korean conversations around them. He could only watch as Jack flashed his signature friendly smile and started chatting up the locals.
"Kamsahamnida," Jack politely thanked a talkative ajumma before turning back to Clay.
"The injured man is the store owner. That guy with the knife is a mental patient who came out of nowhere and stabbed him. Then he barricaded himself at the entrance."
Clay frowned. "What about the people inside?"
"The store owner's wife and daughter," Jack replied. "The daughter's in college. They're unharmed for now, but they're trapped inside, screaming their heads off."
At the store entrance, three plainclothes detectives were hesitantly confronting the suspect—without weapons drawn.
Meanwhile, uniformed officers in black vests with white stripes were busy keeping the swelling crowd at bay.
As was typical worldwide, the bystanders showed zero concern for their own safety, pushing forward to get a better view. The outnumbered police struggled to maintain order.
"They're just… standing there?" Clay's disbelief grew as he observed the three unarmed detectives awkwardly shouting at the suspect from a safe distance.
"Uh…" Jack's expression turned unreadable.
Modern South Korean police had a notorious reputation for being powerless and ineffective. A few examples painted a clear picture:
A mentally ill man once attacked police officers with a knife—the officers tased him and arrested him. Five months later, the suspect died. The police were ordered to pay 320 million won (~$230,000) in compensation.
In another case, an officer fired a warning shot while pursuing a knife-wielding suspect. The suspect tripped, accidentally stabbing himself in the thigh. The police were fined 78 million won (~$56,000).
These incidents had only further weakened police authority, thanks to South Korea's prosecutor-controlled legal system.
Historically, during the regimes of Syngman Rhee, Park Chung-hee, and Chun Doo-hwan, the military police had been the enforcers of oppressive rule.
After democratization, the public backlash stripped the police of much of their power. Their status had only plummeted further ever since.
If, in some countries, the joke about "shooting the leg first" was just a meme, in South Korea, it was an actual policy written into regulations.
Police shootings were highly scrutinized, and assaults on officers were rampant. Every year, nearly 20,000 cases of police assault were formally reported—with countless more going unreported.
Many of the unreported cases involved female officers, who faced discrimination within the force. Fearful of worsening their workplace standing, they often chose not to disclose their assaults.
Even when assaults were reported, suspects rarely faced consequences. In many cases, police officers themselves ended up being counter-sued by their attackers.
Due to media pressure, the higher-ups often abandoned officers involved in violent encounters. As a result, South Korean police had the highest suicide rate among all public sector workers.
The farce unfolding before Jack and Clay was not an exception—it was the reality of the country's law enforcement.
After all, cowardice and incompetence often go hand in hand.
The detectives at least had the guts to stand there and prevent the suspect from attacking the trapped mother and daughter—though their effectiveness was questionable.
Other cases had been far worse.
In one infamous incident, a victim subdued a criminal herself after two responding officers failed to act.
Clay, completely fed up, rolled up his sleeves. "Screw this."
Jack sighed and followed. "Just don't show your gun," he warned in a low voice.
Gun use in South Korea was extremely sensitive. While they were FBI agents from the U.S., this situation was not officially their jurisdiction. If they drew their weapons, the media could turn it into an international incident.
South Korea's contradictory society—one that simultaneously worshipped foreign power while obsessing over national pride—made it far too easy for things to spiral out of control.
If some protester cut off a finger in front of the Blue House (again), the situation could get out of hand fast.
Even though South Korea's government never punished misbehaving U.S. military personnel, it was possible the FBI team could be ordered back home to "cool tensions."
That would be an utter disaster—especially when the Bombardier private jet they were supposed to get was already undergoing modifications in Canada.
—
Just as they approached, a long-faced man—clearly someone in charge—blocked their path.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"FBI. Agent Jack Tavoler. This is my colleague, Agent Clay Spencer," Jack replied, showing his badge.
The long-faced man was wearing a blue-striped polo shirt tucked neatly into beige slacks, with a thin belt completing his "middle-aged uncle" look.
The other plainclothes officers had been calling him "班长" (banjang)—a rank roughly equivalent to sergeant in U.S. law enforcement.
His eyes widened in absolute shock.
"Wha—?! The FBI? Like… 'FBI WARNING' FBI?"
"You speak great Korean," Jack noted dryly.
"Wait, so the FBI only recruits male idols now?"
The other plainclothes officers—who had just been trying to negotiate with the knife-wielding man—completely forgot about their job.
Instead, they swarmed around Jack and Clay, bombarding them with questions.
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