Any nation forced to host foreign armed forces is bound to be a powder keg. South Korea in the 1970s was no exception.

A large and assertive group of American soldiers — many of them no more than teenagers — was butting heads with Korea's ancient Confucian culture. Not to mention the fact that for 20 years the nation had been at bitter odds with its northern half. Fireworks were inevitable.

Lynnwood writer Martin Limón shows a deep understanding of this volatile environment. It's familiar territory for him. The author served five tours of duty there, starting at age 19, learning the language and traveling extensively.

Limón's obvious affection for Korea and its culture make him an excellent guide, and he channels this familiarity into robust and reliable mysteries about two Army investigators, Sergeants Ernie Bascom and George Sueño.

Some of Bascom and Sueño's earlier adventures have centered on the barely controlled chaos of Seoul's red-light district, others on outlying regions like the no man's land between the north and south. In "Mr. Kill" (Soho, 374 pp., $25), the seventh in the series, the pair travels far, racing up and down the length of the country.

A young Korean mother has been raped in a train bathroom, and all signs point to the criminal being an enlisted man. Naturally, the Koreans are shocked and furious, and anti-American feeling is running high. To solve the crime and calm the waters, Bascom and Sueño team up with an implacable Korean police detective whose name, to American ears, sounds like "kill."

Meanwhile, the pair is baby-sitting a group of female musicians touring Army bases. Someone's been stealing from — and spying on — the troupe. Since Bascom is a confirmed ladies' man, he's happy with this gig — but he also knows which case takes priority. Besides, the bandleader's own agenda soon cools the sergeant's eagerness.

Sueño and Bascom are well matched. The former is the smart one — tough, perceptive, and fluent in Korean. Bascom is the boorish one — quick with his fists, impatient with the social niceties. But they're utterly loyal to each other, and they share a deep aversion to both injustice and the Byzantine ways of Army brass — especially when things take a devious turn, as they do often in this compelling book.

Adam Woog's column on crime and mystery fiction appears on the second Sunday of the month

in The Seattle Times.