by Alex Lukeman
He stepped into the elevator and rode to the ground floor. His coat and hat were still in the office. The guard at the exit gave him an odd look but said nothing as he went through the security checkpoint and outside into a cold, December day. He tried not to run as he walked to his car. He got in, started it up and drove away. His exit would have been noted by the computers. It wouldn't take long for them to realize he'd left the building. There wasn't much time to do what needed to be done.
Randolph lived in a pleasant suburb of Alexandria, a setting of upscale homes and carefully tended lawns, although the lawns were currently under several inches of snow. The roads were icy. Randolph drove carefully. It would be ironic if he were killed in a stupid car accident.
They'll lock me up in maximum security and throw away the key. The best I can hope for is one hour of exercise a day in some courtyard without any sun and an eight by twelve cell without a window.
He reached his home, triggered the garage door with the remote and parked. He went into the house, remembering to shut the garage door. It felt as if he were moving in a dream. Everything looked normal, just as it had this morning when he'd left for work. The kitchen was clean. The house was a comfortable temperature. The living room rug felt the same under his feet as he walked to his study.
Somehow that didn't seem right.
His wife was not home, as he'd known she wouldn't be. He was sorry for the pain he would cause her. Worse would be the effect on his children when they learned of his treachery.
Randolph went into his study and sat down at his desk. He opened a drawer and took out the Colt .45 he'd carried before the Army switched to the Beretta. The heavy pistol was a familiar weight in his hand. It smelled of gun oil.
He'd always prided himself on keeping his weapons clean. He took out his cleaning kit, opened it and laid a bore brush, rod and patches on a cloth he spread on the desk. He screwed the brush onto the end of the rod, opened a bottle of Hoppe's No. 9 and dipped the brush in it, then dropped the brush and rod on the floor next to his chair.
He ejected the magazine, pulled the slide part way back and made sure a round was in the chamber. He set the pistol and loaded magazine on the desktop and picked up a picture of his wife and two children.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Sorry for everything. I wish I hadn't given that bastard what he asked for. I'm a fool. If I expose him, he'll make those pictures public. He's trapped me.
With luck, it would appear to be an accident, as if the gun had gone off when he was cleaning it. That way his insurance might pay out. The government would keep his treason quiet. They'd find the money he'd hidden offshore, but they might not go after the joint IRA and the money in his wife's bank accounts. It was the best he could do for his family.
He cocked the pistol, placed it against the roof of his mouth, and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 20
"North Korea in winter?" Lamont said. "Are you nuts?"
"It hasn't been decided yet," Nick said.
It was late in the afternoon after the meeting with the President. As usual, the team had gathered in Harker's office. Stephanie was there. For the first time, Freddie was listening in on the discussion.
The current temperature in Pyongyang is minus four degrees Fahrenheit.
Everyone looked at the speaker in the corner of the room.
"Freddie," Stephanie said. "Please refrain from making comments until you are asked."
Of course, Stephanie.
"Rice wants us to put together a plan to get into the facility where Yun is building his bomb and make it go away," Nick said. "Like I said, it hasn't been decided to do this yet. It's not a mission, more of a feasibility study to see if it can be done."
"That include getting us out again after we blow the place up?" Ronnie asked.
"That would be a good idea," Nick said. "I'm not interested in committing suicide. Steph, would you bring up a map of North Korea?"
I can do that, Nick.
"Uh, okay, Freddie."
A map of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea appeared on the monitor.
"Where's the target?" Ronnie asked.
"Well, that's part of the problem. No one's sure, yet."
"How the hell are we going to plan a mission if we don't know where the target is?" Lamont said.
"We can't, but we can narrow potential targets down to a few possibilities," Nick said. He picked up a laser pointer.
"The main research center is at Yongbyon, here." A red point of light danced on the monitor screen. "That's where they do heavy water research and where they have their cyclotron. It's not a manufacturing facility. We can ignore that. Besides, it's an easy target for a missile."
He moved the laser North and East, toward the borders with Russia and China.
"The two main test sites that we know about are Punggye-Ri and Kilju, here and here. That's where they've been setting off their underground nuclear explosions. As you can see, they're somewhat inland. It would be a difficult penetration, and once we got there we'd run into heavy security. Everything at both sites is below ground in tunnels."
"A HAHO jump?" Ronnie asked.
"High is the only way if we fly in, but I'm not sure any air approach is an option. Their missile defenses and radar are as good as ours. I don't think we could get close enough without getting blown out of the sky, even if we drop offshore."
Lamont whistled part of the theme music for Mission Impossible.
"They wouldn't launch from those sites, would they?" Selena asked.
"It's possible they could bring a mobile launcher out of one of those tunnels," Nick said.
No movements of mobile launchers have been noted in the vicinity of Punggye-Ri and Kilju during the last eighteen months, sixteen days, four hours, three minutes and fifty-six seconds. It is unlikely that a missile would be launched from either one.
"Okay, that's good news. Thanks, Freddie."
You are welcome.
Selena continued. "If they don't use one of those sites, what's the next best bet?"
"We have to assume that they don't use a mobile launcher if we want any chance of accomplishing the mission," Nick said. "We'd never be able to pin down one of those in time. There are too many places they could hide one. That leaves these two sites on opposite sides of the country."
He moved the laser pointer west and indicated a point on a small peninsula jutting out into the Korea Bay.
"This is Tongchon-Ri. It's one of two known satellite and rocket launch sites."
He moved the pointer to a spot on the east coast, next to the Sea of Japan. "Musudan-Ri is the launch site they've been using that for their latest tests, the ones upsetting everyone because the missiles keep splashing down near Japan. The latest surveillance photos show a lot of activity there. They're getting ready for another launch."
"Can't blame the Japanese for getting nervous," Lamont said. "Yun has missiles good enough to hit Tokyo."
"It won't be long before he has missiles good enough to hit us," Nick said.
North Korea has developed a new missile design more powerful than previous versions. It is a two-stage ICBM configuration that appears to utilize a solid fuel engine. Indications are that these missiles are capable of reaching the West Coast of the United States.
"I hadn't heard that," Nick said.
That information was discovered early this morning during an NSA satellite pass. My analysis of the missile configuration indicates nuclear capability.
"It would be a lot better if the target is one of those two sites," Ronnie said. "At least that way we could come in over the water. We could go in at night."
Lamont nodded.
"I agree," Nick said. "Unless Langley comes up with intel that points us in a different direction, we should focus on those two sites. They're doable. I'm not confident we could get into those tunnels in the North at all, much less out again. Freddie, what sort of security does Yun have at Kilju and Punggye-Ri?"
Two companies of Ar
my special forces are stationed at each one. Each site is protected by ground-to-air missiles and antiaircraft guns. There is only one road into each site. Both are heavily patrolled with light and medium duty armored vehicles. There are hidden machine gun and artillery emplacements along the road as well as several checkpoints.
"Shit," Lamont said.
You are displeased? Would you like to know the caliber and number of weapons?
"That won't be necessary, Freddie. Thanks."
I am now part of the team. It is not necessary to thank me.
"That's true, but humans will sometimes say things that seem unnecessary out of politeness."
It is interesting that you consider it appropriate to express politeness to me.
"There may be times when I'm not polite with you," Nick said.
It will not bother me. I do not have feelings that can be hurt by an impolite comment.
"Freddie, do you understand what we are discussing?" Stephanie asked.
You are attempting to determine the best way to counteract a perceived threat of nuclear intimidation on the part of the North Koreans.
"That's one way of putting it," Lamont said.
Nick looked at his watch. "I've had about three hours of sleep in the last three days and I can't think straight. Let's call it a day. I need a clear head when we plan this out. We do this, we're only going to get one chance. I don't want to make a mistake."
"Works for me," Lamont said.
They left the building. Outside, the sky had cleared and the sun was nearing the horizon. Nick looked up and stretched. He stopped and pointed.
"What's that?"
A large, winged metal object was flying in circles above them..
"It's a drone, one of those private ones."
The drone paused and hovered, pointing at them. A camera hung beneath it. Two narrow objects were mounted on either side of the camera.
Ronnie said, "Those almost look like missiles under the wings."
It picked up speed, turned, and dove straight at them.
"Shit!" Nick said.
The drone fired two missiles. Whoever controlled the drone had miscalculated the speed. The missiles sailed over them, struck the parking lot a hundred feet away, and exploded. A cloud of shrapnel whistled past over their heads.
Nick carried a .40 caliber Sig Sauer P229 with a laser sight. The machine turned and started back toward them for another run. Nick drew the pistol and fired. His second shot sent it spiraling to earth. It crashed on the helicopter pad and shattered.
"Nice shot," Lamont said.
"Lasers make a shot like that easy. Just pop the dot on the target and it's all she wrote."
"Still, it was picking up speed."
They walked over to the remains of the drone. It was a large device, not an average hobby store unit.
"That's a fancy piece of equipment," Ronnie said. "Not the sort of thing some teenage kid would be flying."
Lamont looked down at the wreckage. "Teenage kids don't have missiles, even small ones."
"Someone doesn't like us," Nick said.
He scanned the sky. "I don't see any more of them. Maybe Steph can track it back to whoever sent it. It's something for Freddie to puzzle on."
"It's strange, isn't it?" Selena said. "Freddie?"
"Yeah, it is. But it does give us a different perspective on things."
The camera had broken away from the fuselage. Ronnie bent and picked it up. The lens was broken. A red light glowed on the body.
"I think it's still transmitting," he said.
Nick looked at the camera.
"There's a microphone, next to the lens," Selena said.
He held the broken camera up to his mouth and said, "Whoever you are, if you can hear me, you just made a big mistake."
In California, Gregory Haltman heard the words and felt his head throb with rage. The drone had been one of his favorite toys, an experimental long-range device that could stay aloft for days.
No, he thought, it's you that made a big mistake.
CHAPTER 21
Three of the nine men who ruled China sat at a round, black-lacquered table inlaid with characters of good fortune and prosperity. They were meeting in the private residence of Zhang Jei, General Secretary of the Communist Party and President of the People's Republic of China. Zhang sipped his tea and waited for Minister of State Security Deng's analysis of the newspaper article that had appeared in the American press, concerning their erratic ally to the south.
Zhang wasn't smiling, but that was nothing unusual. He seldom smiled. He wore the uniform of powerful leaders worldwide, a tailored dark blue suit and a red tie. It was one of the concessions to the Western world that Zhang hated. He preferred the comfort of traditional garb.
Sitting next to the Minister of State Security was a thick bodied man in army uniform. His tunic bore the three stars and leaves of a full general in the People's Liberation Army. General Liu commanded the Guangzhou Military Region bordering North Korea, with over one hundred and eighty thousand first level troops at his disposal. His forces included three motorized infantry divisions, a mechanized division, armored and artillery brigades and antiaircraft brigades.
It was one of the premier commands in the People's Liberation Army. If military action against North Korea was ever needed, Liu would command China's forces on the ground. His presence at the meeting was a sign of how seriously Zhang was taking the report that had appeared in the United States about chairman Yun's involvement in the death of Ambassador Li.
"Well?" Zhang said to Deng. "Is it true?"
Deng controlled the repressive intelligence and security apparatus that kept the rulers of China feeling more or less secure at night. China's intelligence network was as good as America's CIA or Britain's MI-6. In many ways, it was more effective. Deng's ministry was not subject to the kind of oversight practiced in the Western democracies.
Deng had a round face that seemed to wear a perpetual frown. For a Chinese, he had large ears that stuck out from the sides of his head. It had been a long time since anyone had dared make fun of those ears.
"I am not convinced this article is entirely true," Deng said. "It may be what the Western press is fond of calling a 'false flag.' On the other hand, there is no doubt that the assassin who murdered our ambassador was a member of Yun's Ministry of State Security."
"You are certain of this?" Zhang asked.
"Yes. Our asset in the American CIA confirms it. He has been positively identified."
"Yet you doubt the truthfulness of the report."
"I do not doubt the assassin's identity, but why would Chairman Yun do such a thing? Without our support, his regime will collapse. Why would he risk offending us in such a manner? It could only bring bad luck to him."
"Give me permission and I will bring much more than bad luck to our esteemed ally," General Liu said.
"This is a time for caution, General," Zhang said. "Like you, I am tempted to remove this annoying thorn in our side once and for all. But we must be aware of the consequences."
"You mean the Americans."
"That is exactly what I mean. If we annex North Korea, it will almost certainly mean war. The Americans are already unhappy with our actions in the South China Sea."
"That is our rightful area of control," Liu said. "The gwai lo will not risk nuclear war over fishing rights."
"No, but we both know that much more than fishing rights are involved."
"The Americans will not permit us to enter North Korea unopposed," Deng said. "Look what they did when Yun sank their submarine. They were angry and sent their Seventh Fleet in spite of his warnings about entering North Korean waters. That is a formidable force. If Yun had attempted to stop the rescue effort, they would have crushed him. They know he has nukes, but they chose to risk it."
"Even Yun wasn't stupid enough to take on the American Seventh Fleet," Liu said.
"He may not be stupid, but you are making the mistake of thinking he is r
ational," Deng said. "He is not. The man displays disturbing signs of mental disorder. He is delusional."
"Paranoid?"
Deng nodded, once. "The medications he takes support an assessment along those lines. Unfortunately, he does not take them as regularly as he should. If he had not agreed to the solution proposed by our Russian comrades, I believe war would have started. He would have attacked the American ships."
"Comrades?" Zhang looked amused.
"In a manner of speaking, in this particular instance."
"What do you propose?" Zhang asked. "We cannot let this pass unnoticed."
"'A moment of patience in a moment of anger prevents a thousand moments of regret,' " Deng said. "I need time to verify the truth or falsehood of this report."
"How will you begin?"
"I already have. Interestingly, the Korean murderer was recently treated here in Beijing for terminal cancer. My agents are questioning everyone who interacted with him. Perhaps the disease unhinged him and he acted on his own."
"That seems unlikely," Zhang said. "How did he get from Pyongyang to Washington? Where did he get the explosives he used?"
"You have mentioned two reasons why it is possible the report is true," Deng said.
"How much time do you need, Minister Deng?"
"A week should be sufficient."
"What if the report turns out to be accurate?" Liu asked.
"In that case, we will have to consider the best response."
"Yun should be eliminated."
"That may not be possible without starting a war with the West."
"Perhaps," Zhang said, "perhaps not. There is always more than one way to accomplish a goal."
CHAPTER 22
Nick's secured phone vibrated in his pocket as he pulled into the HQ parking lot. Elizabeth Harker was calling from her hospital bed.
"Good morning, Director. You're up early."
"Did you ever try to sleep late in a hospital?" Harker said. "They wake me up at four in the morning to give me a pill."