by Larry Bond
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 se
cond 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.
“I’m with the American embassy, offering you asylum. Your government considers you an outlaw,” said Thera. “They’ll be arresting you.”
“Do they? Or is that another of the Americans’ many lies?”
Park mocked her, even though he suspected that what she said was true, or would be as soon as the Americans explained what had happened. The Korean security force would be ordered to shoot him as he resisted arrest.
He had planned to kill himself before they arrived, but the woman and her soldiers presented a better option.
“I’m with the American embassy,” repeated Thera. “I can get you out.”
“You were the arms dealer, the one with Manski,” said Park, recognizing the red hair beneath the watch cap. “You were both spies, then, both Americans. I was a fool to think he was just a greedy criminal.”
“I’m with the embassy,” said Thera. “I can get you out. We can give you asylum.”
“And what would be your price?”
“No price. Just come.”
“You would expect me to explain. You want me to betray my country.”
“Your country wants to arrest you.”
“The government is not my country. Korea is my country.” He raised the sword.
“Don’t do it,” said Thera. “I’m armed.”
Park felt his chest grow warm. All his life he’d had two dreams. The first was to see Korea unified, its ignominy under Japan avenged.
The second was to live the life of a warrior. He could not have the first, but he could achieve the second in this moment. He charged forward with a yell taught to him by his ancestors.
Thera waited until the last moment, then dove to the side, trailing her foot to knock the top-heavy Park off balance. As she dove, she pulled the pistol from her holster,
“Stop!” she yelled at him.
He scrambled upward before she could get to her feet.
“I’ll kill you,” she warned.
Park smiled and swung the sword down.
Thera fired three times, square into his face. The sword grazed her ear, drawing a trickle of blood and lopping off her hair as it flew to the ground.
“You made it too easy,” she told the dead man, pushing him off her chest. “Too damn easy.”
~ * ~
~ * ~
1
THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.
TWO WEEKS LATER . . .
Senator Gordon Tewilliger smiled for the television cameras as he entered the hallway, heading for the Red Room and the reception. He was only one of the crowd today, but it was a good day nonetheless. He had done well on the weekend talk shows, modestly pointing out that he had foreseen problems like those that had occurred in Korea, problems that necessitated a strong stance by the U.S., not a weasely inaction that couldn’t be backed by force. The president needed to negotiate a new arms treaty with teeth. If he didn’t, hinted Tewilliger, others would.
“Hey, Senator, you got a second?” said Fred Rosen, a reporter with the New York Times.
“For you Fred, anything,” said Tewilliger. He hated Rosen, of course, and wouldn’t have trusted anything he read in the Times. But flattering articles in the Times were money in the bank during fund-raising season. And it was always fund-raising season when you were planning to primary a sitting president.
“Just over here,” said Rosen, nudging him to the side, away from the others. “I can’t go in. Media’s barred.”
“A shame,” said Tewilliger. “Jonathon was never like that in the Senate. He was very open. He’s changed a great deal since he became president.”
“Yeah.” The reporter’s mustache twitched. “Listen, I’ve been hearing some things. Supposedly there was an e-mail that came from this guy named Park trying to throw American forces off.”
“What’s that?”
“Some sort of information that came through a roundabout source about the weapon that was confiscated,” said Rosen. “What I heard was that the target was going to be Japan.”
“Japan? Preposterous,” said Tewilliger.
“Yeah. I also heard . . . This sounds crazy, but I also heard that the weapon may have been made in South Korea, not North Korea like everybody thinks. The administration has been awful dodgy about that.”
“Dodgy. Yes.” Tewilliger felt sweat starting to run down his neck. “Oh, there is my colleague from Wisconsin,” he said, spotting Senator Segriff. “Excuse me, Fred. Senator? Larry?”
~ * ~
I
’ve written the letter,” Dan Slott told Thomas Parnelles as they queued up to be congratulated by the president for the action in Korea. “I have it with me.”
“Now’s not the time, Dan. Think about it. Take a few more days.”
“I’ve made up my mind.”
“Special Demands is a very special situation. It really stands by itself.”
“It won’t forever. And even if it does, it’s the principle. I have to resign; the president doesn’t trust me.”
“I’m certain he does.”
“I’ve made up my mind,” said Slott. He reached into his jacket pocket and handed Parnelles his letter of resignation just as the president turned to shake his hand.
~ * ~
T
hera found herself standing alone with Rankin, watching as the CIA and military people were congratulated for finding the weapon in North Korea. The reception was part of an elaborate game, half cover for the First Team and half celebration for the military and Agency personnel who could be acknowledged.
Thera, Rankin, and Ferguson had not been on the original guest list. Corrine Alston, however, had insisted that they be invited to attend, passing them off as nondescript aides to the White House chief of staff.
Rankin hadn’t wanted to go. Thera, though, was curious; she’d never been in the White House before, and she convinced him to go.
Ferguson, of course, was always ready to party. He flowed through the crowd as smoothly as if he were working a casino in the Middle East, trolling for information.
And maybe he was.
“Told you it’d be bullshit,” said Rankin bitterly. “Look at the stinkin’ big shots, getting their handshakes.”
“It’s not about handshakes, Stephen.”
Thera’s eyes followed Ferguson across the room as he walked to the bar. He was handsome, and smart and brave. He’d recovered remarkably in the past two weeks, though he still wore a bandage on his wrist. When she’d seen him on the Peleliu, he looked like a ghost; now he looked like his old handsome self.
His old handsome self.
I’m in love with him, she realized. How did that happen?
“I need another drink,” said Rankin. “Want one?”
Thera started to say that she would get it herself, but then she saw Corrine Alston going to Ferguson, touching his arm.
Something caught in Thera’s throat. She turned to Rankin.
“I’ll take one if you’re getting one,” she managed. “I’ll be right here.”
~ * ~
I
know, Ferg.”
Ferguson looked at Corrine and smiled.
“You know what? The price of tea in China?”
“I know you’re very sick and that you don’t want anyone
else to know.”
For a half of a second—no, less, a half of a half of a half of a second— Ferguson felt the shield he carried before him disintegrate. He was entirely naked, unprotected. Alone, too.