Fires of War (31 page)

Remembering their conversation about Korea, Corrine pushed the message to the head of the line and called Franklin back.

“This is Josh.”

“This is Corrine Alston, Mr. Franklin. What can I do for you?”

“For starters, call me Josh,” he said. “Mr. Franklin’s my dad. I was wondering...”

He paused. Corrine stopped sorting through the messages, waiting for Franklin to continue.

“Maybe we could have dinner,” he said finally.

“Dinner?”

“Just, uh . . . I wanted to hear your thoughts on Korea. The treaty— legally enforcing it, which I thought might be a problem. Just informal thoughts.”

“I really don’t have any thoughts,” said Corrine

“Oh,” he said.

He sounded so dejected Corrine felt sorry for him. Then she remembered him sitting near her in the president’s limo: handsome, earnest, a nice smell.

And nearly fifteen years her senior.

But that wasn’t a big difference by Washington standards. Not in the right context.

“I’m not doing anything for dinner tonight,” she told him. “If that’s really what you’re asking.”

“Yeah. That’d be great.” He sounded like a teenager, surprised and happy.

“Let’s pick a place to meet.”

~ * ~

ranklin suggested a Tex-Mex place not far from the Pentagon. He was waiting when Corrine got there, sipping a Beefeater martini. Corrine ordered a glass of the house chardonnay.

“You’re really going to want a beer with dinner,” said Franklin. His tie was still knotted at the collar of his gray suit. “Goes better with the food.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Corrine.

“This place isn’t too informal for you, is it?”

“No, it’s fine,” said Corrine. She glanced around at the soft-hued walls and granite tabletops.

“In D.C., I never know whether someone might be a foodie or not,” said Franklin. “Where I grew up, food was just food; this would pass for fancy.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Idaho,” said Franklin.

“And you like Tex-Mex?”

“I love the spices.”

They traded innocuous small talk for a few more minutes, both sipping from their drinks. Franklin’s nervousness, not far from the surface, added to his charm. It made him seem more real.

He told Corrine that he’d come from a small town in Idaho, was an only child, still had a house there he never went to. His parents owned a ranch. Small by local standards, it sounded immense to Corrine.

Along the way he mentioned that he’d been divorced, no kids. Didn’t work out.

He quickly moved on to other topics.

When he spoke about hunting and hiking his voice hit a different pitch; he was more relaxed, not shy and anxious anymore. Corrine liked that.

Their dinners came. Corrine had ordered a fish dish in a lime sauce; it was a
little overcooked.

“See I told you not to order that,” Franklin said as she inspected it.

“Did you?” She was annoyed by his tone, but hid it.

“This steak is great. Want a taste?”

“No, thanks.”

“So, Korea,” said Franklin.

“I really don’t have much of an opinion on Korea.”

“Well, it’s a very important place these days. As Senator Tewilliger was saying, it’ll be the fulcrum of Asia for the next decade.”

“Isn’t that an overstatement?”

Corrine nibbled at her fish as Franklin held forth on why it wasn’t. The tone he’d used when suggesting she’d ordered the wrong entree was back. He was earnest, but he was strident as well.

Not for me, she thought to herself, with the sort of sharp finality a judge’s gavel might signal dismissing a case.

“Do you think the treaty will pass?” he asked finally.

“I really couldn’t say. I don’t watch Congress really.”

“Not even on this?”

“Well, if the president asks me to do something, then I do.”

“I got the impression the other day that you were really involved.”

“Not really.”

“You disagree with me, but you don’t want to say that,” said Franklin. “About the treaty . . . You think it’s a good idea.”

“I don’t have a position on the treaty one way or another.”

“Hmmph
,” said Franklin, not believing her. “I guess I just don’t trust North Korea.”

“I don’t know that I do, either.”

“Hmmph,
” he said again.

The waiter arrived to ask if they wanted anything for dessert.

“Try the flan,” suggested Franklin.

“I think I’ll have some of the cheesecake.”

“Flan’s better.”

“Just cheesecake, thanks,” said Corrine, handing the menu back to the waiter.

~ * ~

7

ABOARD THE USS
PELELIU,
IN THE YELLOW SEA

“You appear in good health, Mr. Ch’o,” said the doctor. “Your blood pressure is a little high.”

Ch’o wanted to tell him that he was in perfect health, but his tongue wouldn’t move.

The doctor packed up his stethoscope and blood-pressure cup.

“I can give you a pill for anxiety,” said the doctor. “It might make you feel more at ease. I think you’re just— It was probably quite an ordeal coming here. You’re still not over it.”

Ch’o couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He simply couldn’t talk. He remained motionless on the bed.

“Do you want the pill? It’s very safe.”

With the greatest effort, Ch’o shook his head.

“No?” said the doctor.

No, thought Ch’o, shaking his head again. No devil poison. You’ll have to kill me yourself.

~ * ~

he doctor found Rankin and the CIA people standing like bookends, arms folded and backs against the bulkhead a short distance from the cabin.

“It looks a lot like post-traumatic stress, something along those lines,” said the doctor. “What happened to him?”

“I’m not sure,” said Rankin. “He wanted to be rescued from North Korea.”

“This happens,” said Jiménez. “Let me try talking to him.”

“No,” said Rankin, putting out his hand to bar the way.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I don’t want to spook him worse than he’s spooked now.”

“He can’t get much worse.”

“Pushing him around’s not going to help us.”

“I’m only going to ask him some questions. Relax.”

“We have to go slow. I’ve seen people like this. It doesn’t do any good to push them.”

“You’ve been in combat, Colonel?” said Jiménez.

“Yeah, I’ve been in combat,” Rankin told him. “And I’m not a colonel.”

Jiménez scowled but said nothing.

“I agree with you,” the doctor told Rankin. “I’d go very, very easy on him. I offered him a pill for anxiety, but he shook his head.”

“Give it to me and I’ll give it to him,” said Jiménez.

“Absolutely not,” said the doctor.

“We can go easy on him,” said Rankin. “There’s no rush.”

“How do you know there’s no rush?” said Jiménez. “If we don’t talk to him, we don’t know anything.”

~ * ~

8

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

Corrine was just turning her car out of the parking lot when her cell phone rang.

“Sergeant Rankin wants to talk to you on a secure line,” Corrigan told her. “He says it’s pretty urgent. I can hook up a sat phone call.”

Corrine had the phone in her pocketbook. She’d have to find a spot to pull over, a place where she could think.

“Can it wait a few minutes?” she asked.

“Not a problem.”

“Can you call me in fifteen minutes at my office?”

“Perfect.”

Exactly fifteen minutes later, out of breath, Corrine rushed into her office at the White House. Corrigan had set up the connection to the
Peleliu
and put her through as soon as she called.

“Sergeant Rankin?”

“Ma’am, sorry to bother you.”

“It’s not a bother, Stephen. What can I do?”

“Ch’o—the scientist we picked up—he’s bugged out. Spooked. Like from shock, either from what he’s seen or what he’s gone through or just being here. I don’t think the CIA debriefer really understands the situation,” said Rankin.

“I heard that there’s a psychologist on his way,” said Corrine.

“Yeah. The shrink. But I had another idea,” said Rankin. “It might be faster. Because, you know, we don’t know if there’s a time limit or something.”

“What’s that?”

“If we could get someone he already trusts.”

“Who?”

“Thera.”

“Did you talk to Slott about it?”

“Am I supposed to? Ferguson usually—”

“I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

~ * ~

9

INCHEON AIRPORT, SOUTH KOREA

Ferguson sat in the lounge area across from the phone Sonjae had used for a half hour, hoping someone might show up looking for them. But either he had missed them while he was getting Sonjae to the gate and aboard the plane, or they hadn’t sent anyone.

Assuming it was the latter, the people Sonjae had called at Science Industries probably weren’t connected with the government. The South Korean security forces were nothing if not efficient; they would have had the phone staked out by now.

Ferguson got up from his chair and stretched his arms, looking around nonchalantly, checking for a tail. No one seemed to be watching him, but he took a wide turn around the terminal anyway, moving back and forth, thoroughly checking his back.

Outside, he took a taxi to the city. As they were nearing downtown, he asked the driver in halting Korean if he could be dropped off at a park.

The driver obliged by leaving him at Tapgol Park, a tourist landmark. Ferguson got out and wandered near a tour guide, who was explaining the significance of the bronze relief on the outer wall.