Fires of War (44 page)

“Boss, Ken Bo has something urgent to tell you in Seoul.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hook me up.”

Slott sat back in the old leather chair, a relic from his wife’s brother, waiting while the deskman arranged for him to talk to Bo. The paneled wall in front of him was lined with photos of old haunts and career stops, most of them in Asia.

There was a particularly amusing picture of him bowing to the statue of the Great Leader in P’yŏngyang on an official visit. He’d taken a lot of ribbing about that when he got back to D.C. Some of his colleagues laughingly suggested he might be changing sides, and the DDO at the time claimed he wanted Slott to bow to him in the same manner.

“Dan, I’m sorry to wake you up,” said Bo when he came on the line.

“Go ahead.”

“The Republic of Korean government yesterday afternoon recovered documents from a DPRK soldier indicating that the forces are to be mobilized within the next few days. The mobilization plan is one that we identified about a year ago as Wild Cosmos, Invasion Plan Two.”

“Wild Cosmos? They’re invading?”

“They’re mobilizing. Supposedly.”

“Was this a plant by ROK ahead of the elections?” ROK was the Republic of Korea, South Korea; DPRK was the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, the North.

“We’re not sure,” said Bo. “The circumstances are a little . . . vague. It looks to us like the guy was trying to defect, and the ROK soldiers screwed up. We’re still pulling information out. They haven’t shared it with the news media, and the ambassador wasn’t told. In light of everything else,” added Bo, “I thought you’d want to know personally.”

In other words: I know you think I’m a screwup; here’s some evidence I’m not.

“All right. Stay on top of it. Obviously.”

“Will do.”

~ * ~

n hour later, Slott arrived at Langley and began reviewing the situation with headquarters’ Korean experts, most of whom had been sleeping barely an hour and a half before. They went over the latest satellite and electronic intelligence. There was no indication—yet, anyway— that a mobilization was imminent.

Judging from their actions, the South Korean government didn’t seem to know what to make of the documents. They’d put a unit near Seoul on alert, yet hadn’t notified any of the units guarding the DMZ. And the incident that had led to the discovery of the orders still hadn’t been reported in the media.

When it came to human intelligence north of the border, the U.S. generally relied on South Korean intelligence, which had a good though not stellar network of agents there. Slott had never trusted the South Korean intelligence agency known as the National Security Council. During his days in Korea, he’d found his counterparts consumed by agendas that had nothing to do with the North. Even a simple assessment of the fighting strength of an army division could become a massive political football, with the data skewed ridiculously according to whatever ox was being gored.

In this crisis—or noncrisis, if that’s what it turned out to be—the Agency would have to rely primarily on information from the Koreans.

Except that he had his own officer somewhere north of the border. Ferguson’s observations might be useful, especially since he was with Park, who had access to the highest reaches of the dictatorship.

Assuming Slott could contact him. Alone in his office, he picked up his secure phone and called over to The Cube.

“Corrigan.”

“This is Slott. Is Ferg still north?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“When’s he due to check in?”

“Um, he’s not due exactly. He thought regular check-ins would be too dangerous up there. He’s not supposed to call in until he gets back and gets settled.”

“Where is he exactly?”

“I’m not positive. He’s north of the capital somewhere.”

“Track him on his sat phone.”

“No can do. He left the Agency phone in Daejeon and bought a local unit. He wanted to make sure he was clean.”

Ferguson’s precautions were entirely reasonable. That far under cover, in an extremely hostile environment, the slightest slip or unexpected coincidence meant death.

But they were certainly inconvenient, thought Slott.

“You want me to try calling his phone?” asked Corrigan. “I do have the number.”

Slott weighed the danger of an unexpected phone call against the information they might get.

If he’d done that a few days ago, before sending the Seoul people down to get Ferg, would the op still trust him?

But it wasn’t his fault the Seoul people had been so inept or that Ferguson had overreacted to the situation.

Let it go. It’s past now.

But he couldn’t let it go, not completely.

“Should I call?” repeated Corrigan.

“No,” said Slott. “When is he due back?”

“Sometime soon. The 727 that brought them is still in P’yŏngyang. It hadn’t been refueled the last time the satellite passed overhead. The billionaire’s plane came back this evening. He generally leaves the night before his guests do. But the schedule isn’t always predictable. Could be a few hours, could be a day or two.”

“Let’s get someone to wait for him at the airport. Tell him to call in as soon as he gets back. And I mean the second he gets there. Tell him to go right over to the embassy and get on the line back here.”

“Uh, boss?”

“Yeah?”

“Last time, uh, we used the Seoul office, it didn’t go too well. Ferguson—”

“Well, that’s too bad. I need to talk to him.”

“How about Thera? She’s just killing time offshore with the scientist. We could fly her in, have her wait.”

Slott thought about it. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll call her.”

“What’s going on?”

Slott explained, briefly.

“Should I tell Ms. Alston?” asked Corrigan.

Slott felt instant heartburn.

“I’ll tell her myself when she gets in. Get Thera for me.”

~ * ~

6

ABOARD THE USS
PELELIU.
IN THE YELLOW SEA

Thera typed the notes on what Ch’o had said during their morning session for the CIA debriefer. She’d come to a working relationship with Jiménez, each taking turns listening to him talk.

The scientist was truly concerned about the effects of radiation poisoning on sites throughout North Korea and had provided her with a long list of sites that he said were poisoning people. Ch’o also told her, almost as an aside, that there were no other weapons aside from those that had been announced. Two of the weapons had been assembled without the proper amount of weapons-grade material, a fact supposedly kept from the dictator. It was a critical piece of information, since it could be verified during the inspection process and then used to test Ch’o’s real knowledge of the program.

“Hey,” said Rankin, popping his head into her cabin. “You busy?”

“No.”

“Slott wants to talk to you. Up in the communications shack or whatever the hell name these navy people use for como.”

Thera followed Rankin up to the communications department, where she picked up a secure phone and found Corrigan on the line.

“Stand by,” said the mission coordinator.

“Thera, this is Dan Slott. How are you?”

“Fine, Dan. What’s up?”

“I’d like you to go over to Gimpo Airport in Seoul and wait for Bob Ferguson. We need him to call us right away, as soon he’s back from North Korea.”

“He’s in North Korea?”

Slott explained that Ferguson had gone north with Park, trying to talk to the billionaire because of the possible link to the plutonium.

“This isn’t about that, though,” he added, explaining the situation.

“I realize this is a messenger’s job,” he added. “But it’s important, and for reasons I don’t want to go into, you’re the best person available.”

“Not a problem. I’ll leave as soon as I can say good-bye.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing. I can go as soon as you want.”

“Good. Corrigan will give you the details.”

~ * ~

7

OUTSIDE CHUNGSAN, NORTH KOREA

Ferguson found himself running across the desert, going up a dead ringer for a hill he’d ridden over near the Syrian border with Iraq a few months before. Thera was there, running a few yards in front of him. Every so often she would turn around and glance over her shoulder. She had a terrified look on her face.

She wasn’t scared of him, but just what she was frightened of he couldn’t tell.

Metal clanged.

Ferguson fell out of the dream and onto the cot in the North Korean prison.

He looked up. A guard was walking away.

The man had slid a plate through a metal hole at the front of the cell. A half cup of cold rice sat in a mound near the middle.

Ferguson got up and carried the plate back to his cot. His hyper phase was over. He felt as if he’d been up all night and gotten only an hour or so of sleep, which was pretty much the case.

Picking up a few grains with his fingers, Ferguson forced himself to chew as slowly as possible. He was halfway through the dish when footsteps approached down the hall. He steadied his gaze on his food, concentrating on each grain of rice.

“Are you ready?”

Ferguson raised his head slowly. Owl Eyes blinked at him from behind the bars.

“Have you called the embassy?” asked Ferguson.

“Why would I call the embassy?”

Ferguson took another bite of the food. He heard a clicking noise and looked up. Owl Eyes was shaking his pill bottle.

Ferguson went back to eating. When he looked up again, the interrogator was gone.

~ * ~

8

THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

Corrine sat down at her computer, checking her e-mail before leaving for an early-morning meeting at the Justice Department. The first note was from Slott, who’d posted it nearly two hours ago. It read simply:

Call me. First thing. Secure line.

She picked up the phone and dialed. As it connected, she braced herself, expecting he was still mad about her going around him.

Or actually Ferguson going around him, though she’d taken the blame.

“Slott.”

“It’s Corrine Alston, Dan. What’s up?”

“The South Koreans picked some interesting documents off a North Korean soldier who may have been trying to defect. They seem to indicate that a mobilization order has been issued, getting the country ready to invade the South.”