Fires of War (63 page)

~ * ~

31

SOUTHWEST OF KUSŎNG, NORTH KOREA

General Namgung stopped and lowered the nose of his rifle, aiming at the man crawling away.

He showed great courage in attacking us, but now runs like a coward, thought the general.

As he pushed the trigger to fire, he felt the hot wind of hell swirling around him. He glanced up, realizing it was a helicopter.

In the next instant, a half-dozen 9 mm parabellum bullets riddled his neck and chest.

~ * ~

ankin leapt out of the Little Bird as it touched down, running toward the body to the left of the chopper. At first glance, he thought he’d made a mistake; it looked like a Korean.

At second glance, it looked dead.

Ferguson pitched himself onto his back, trying to bring up the AK-47.

Rankin stepped on the gun. Ferguson was so weak he lost his grip on the weapon. He blinked, then realized who was standing there.

“About fuckin’ time, Skippy,” Ferguson croaked. “You missed all the fun.”

~ * ~

32

CIA BUILDING 24-442

Corrigan looked up from the console.

“They’ve got him!” he yelled. “Ferguson is alive! They’ve got him!”

Tears began to stream from Corrine’s eyes.

“Aircraft is under their control,” added Corrigan, almost as an afterthought. “We have the bomb. The Marines are inbound!”

Corrine looked down at the communications panel controlling her headset and pushed the button to connect with Slott.

“You heard that, Dan?”

“Yes.”

“I think you should be the one to tell the president.”

“We should both tell him,” he said. “Corrigan?”

There was a light pop in the headphones.

“You’re on the line with the White House situation room,” said Corrigan.

Corrine waited for Slott to say something.

Slott, waiting for her, remained silent.

“I hope there is nothing wrong with this line,” said the president finally.

“Mr. President,” said Slott. “The First Team has stopped the aircraft. We are in the process of securing the weapon.”

“There
is
a weapon then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good work, Mr. Slott. How long will it take before the bomb is secured?”

“We’re going to use a marine helicopter to airlift it out,” said Slott. “We want to bring it to one of our assault ships offshore. It will take a few hours.”

“I would imagine that securing that weapon is a tricky thing.”

“Yes, sir. One of our people has experience with that,” he added, referring to Ferguson. “But, uh, every weapon is different.”

“Are the North Koreans in a position to stop us?”

“We don’t believe so at this time. We’re monitoring the situation closely. There are no units nearby. There’s a great deal of confusion in the capital.”

“You will tell me the moment the weapon is in our complete control aboard our ship,” said McCarthy.

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“We will keep a careful watch until then, and do nothing to alert either country.”

“I can’t guarantee we can keep this a secret,” Slott said.

“Then we had best move as quickly as possible,” said McCarthy. “Miss Alston, are you on the line?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Job well done to you as well.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, cringing as she heard Slott click off the line.

~ * ~

33

DAEJEON, SOUTH KOREA

The idea was rather simple; the trick was in its execution. Fortunately, Thera’s plan relied heavily on the billionaire’s ego, which was commensurate with his wealth.

“I am calling from the BBC,” she told Park’s official spokesman by phone. ‘‘We have heard that the South Korean military has been put on alert because of a possible attack by the North. We would like to arrange an interview with Mr. Park on the situation because of his prominence. His opinion will be of great importance to the business community internationally.”

Thera hoped to worm Pack’s location out of the man or, failing that, to set up a trace on her line when Park came on to be interviewed. But the PR man did even better than she expected: He invited the BBC reporter and camera crew to Park’s home at six a.m. for an interview.

“A very complex situation, and Mr. Park can surely shed important light on it,” said the aide.

“We’ll be there,” said Thera.

She punched off the phone. It was half-past two; they were about thirty minutes from the compound.

“You have time to refuel,” Thera told the pilot. “I have some calls to make.”

~ * ~

34

DAEJEON, SOUTH KOREA

So it was done.

Years of planning and maneuvering. The difficult arrangements with the scientists, the companies, the Northerners, the mobsters and criminals like Manski, so repulsive and yet so necessary—it had all paid off. The plan would be well underway by now. In less than an hour, the people of Korea would have their revenge and be launched on the road to reunion and strength.

Park knew he would not get any credit for it, but credit was never his goal or desire. It was enough to know what had been accomplished.

The billionaire ordinarily had no use for TV, especially the news. But he could not resist the pleasure of seeing the newscasters’ response to and coverage of the destruction of Korea’s traditional enemy. He went to his office and turned on the small set he kept there, surfing through the channels, though by his calculations it would be at least a half hour before the aircraft would reach Japan.

The half hour passed slowly. Park flipped through the channels, waiting.

Another half hour. He settled on a Japanese station, reasoning that it would carry the news first.

Nothing.

Another half hour. He flipped to CNN. The network was playing a feature about shearing sheep.

Park once more began flipping idly through the channels. There should be news any moment. Any moment.

The phone rang.

Park glanced at the clock on the desk before answering. It was nearly four.

“Something has gone wrong,” Li told him. “The Northern troops haven’t moved as planned. Namgung is not in the capital. And Tokyo—”

“Yes,” said Park, putting down the phone.

~ * ~

35

CIA BUILDING 24-442

“Rankin is aboard the
Peleliu
,” Corrigan told Corrine. “The bomb is secure.”

Corrine glanced at her watch. It was precisely 2:15 p.m.—a quarter past four in Korea. She punched the line to connect with Slott.

“Give Thera the go-ahead,” Slott said.

Corrine nodded to Corrigan.

“Why don’t you talk to the president this time?” Slott said. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“Sure,” said Corrine.

Corrigan made the connection.

“Mr. President, Dan Slott asked me to tell you that the bomb is aboard the
Peleliu.
The First Team is en route to secure Park.”

“Well done, dear. We will give your people forty minutes to complete their task, and then I will call Yeop Hu in Seoul. After that, I will share what we know with the American public. It has been a difficult time,” added McCarthy, “and I expect a few more difficult moments ahead. But you have all done yeoman’s service. Yeoman’s service.”

“Jonathon, there’s one thing you should know about where some of the information came from on this,” said Corrine. “There was an e-mail that we think, that I think, came originally from Park or one of his people. It was sent to Senator Tewilliger. He gave it to me, and I gave it to the CIA.”

“Gordon was involved in this?”

“Indirectly. And probably unwittingly.”

“Well now,” said McCarthy, “isn’t that a fine, fine twist in the old bull’s tail.”

“Sir?” Corrine had never heard that expression before.

“Keep that information to yourself a spell, would you, dear?”

“Of course.”

“I would imagine it will come out at some point in the future,” added McCarthy. “At a much more strategic moment.”

~ * ~

36

DAEJEON, SOUTH KOREA

They did it by the book.

Two teams took the perimeter from the ground, surprising the guards at the main gate and subduing them without resistance. Within seconds, a pair of Marine helicopters swooped in over the grounds, depositing two Special Forces A Teams on the roof of the house. Roughly twenty seconds later, they came in three of the windows.

The lone security officer on duty in the house made the mistake of opening fire at one of the American soldiers. There wasn’t enough left of him to fit into a decent-sized garbage bag.

Thera came in behind the point team, racing toward the hallway that led to the residential suite and Park’s bedroom. Infrared surveillance of the house had given the assault troops a reasonably good idea of where he was.

“Park, I’m here to help,” she yelled as she and the soldiers reached the hallway. “Your government has declared you a criminal. I can offer you asylum.”

There was no answer. The plan was for Thera to wait until the Special Forces soldiers with her subdued the billionaire, but she was too juiced with adrenaline to slow down. She reached the door to the room where he’d been at the start of the assault, dropped to her knees, and grabbed a flash-bang stun grenade.

“Park? We know you’re in there. Come on. We don’t have much time.”

She waited a few seconds, pulled the pin out of the grenade, counted to two, and tossed it in the room.

Two soldiers leapt into the room a split second after the grenade exploded, jumping left and right, securing it before she even got to her feet.

It was empty.

“Shit.”

Thera thought for a second, then realized where he must be.

“This way, come on,” she yelled to the men, starting back down the hall. She ran through the study, turned right, and sped through the dining room.

The light was on in the museumlike room. Thera waved the others back behind her, slowing to a walk before entering.

“I believed it might be a trick. But of course there was no way to be sure.”

Thera froze. Park had dressed himself in one of the ancient sets of armor. He had a long sword in his hands, its jewels glimmering in the light.