Not nearly enough to efficiently handle the number of people. A digital clock on the wall behind the booths showed 16:30 hours, Sunday evening. What would that be in Seattle? 8:30 Sunday morning, he thought without conviction. For some reason, the International Date Line made the calculation more difficult for him. “Next.” He stepped from the scuffed red line on the floor to the booth, handed the officer his passport. The officer ran the edge with a bar code through a reader, asked, “Nature of your trip?” “Business.” “How long?” The Korean appeared deceivingly bored in spite of an unmistakable intensity in his eyes. Jon really had no idea. Depended on what Jin-Woo might say. “A week, maybe two.” “Where are you staying?” Jon flashed on Fisher’s warning: They have sympathizers everywhere. Be careful. You never know who you’re talking to, even with friends. An immigration officer as informant.
