by Tom Carroll
“Is there something I can do for you, Sean?” she asked gently. Sean leaned slightly across the table toward Sara.
“I watch people all day long,” he said. “It’s what I do. I like to watch their daily routines, coming and going. And I like to think, with some people anyway, that I can actually get to ‘know’ them, just by looking at them and watching them for a while. But after watching you for as long as I have, I can’t get a clear picture of who you are, other than sensing you are not a happy person. I’ve often wondered to myself, What could be troubling this young woman?”
Sara was startled. Not only had she never realized that Mr. Trench was watching her, but here he was, speaking to her articulately and with compassion, and it felt good. It was filling an emptiness in her. She couldn’t remember that last time anyone had asked her a personal question or shown any concern about her at all.
“I guess I’m just realizing that I don’t like my job very much — or my life for that matter — and I just don’t see a way out. I guess we sometimes find ourselves in situations we never would have planned.” Sara was embarrassed when she remembered that she was talking to someone who probably hadn’t planned to become homeless. “Enough of my self-pity. What’s your story, Sean?”
Sean took a sip from his cup of tea and thought for a long moment before speaking. “I’m nothing special,” he said. “I served for 20 years as a Marine. When I got out, my marriage fell apart.” He pulled his sleeve back on one arm to reveal a faded tattoo of a globe and anchor, with the words “Semper Fi” written beneath. “Once a Marine, always a Marine, right? That’s why I live in Bremerton, for easy access to the Navy hospital, plus I like being around service people. I understand them.”
“What did you do in the Marines?” Sara asked.
“I usually tell people I was a cook, just to avoid questions, but I was actually a scout sniper.”
Surprised again, Sara looked at Sean’s clear but tired grey eyes. She knew exactly what a Marine scout sniper was, as well as the intensive training and skills he had to have.
“I apologize for asking, but how did you end up . . .” and her voice trailed off.
“How did I end up homeless? That’s okay, it’s a reasonable question. After I split from my wife, I wandered around a bit, trying to get my head straight. It had been a really traumatic time for me. First, to experience so many combat tours, and then to lose my family. I never really got it together after that. Eventually, I decided I just like watching people, and that’s what I do. My half of my retirement pay keeps me fed, and I can move around and be wherever I want.”
Sara looked at him, wistfully. “I wish I could go wherever I want, be whatever I want to be. You know, a new start.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Hearing Derwin call her name, Sara stood up and turned to head back to the counter. “Sara, what’s stopping you?” Sean repeated.
Sara turned back and smiled at him. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She adjusted her apron and headed back to work.
The Blue House, Seoul, Korea
President Kim Seong-Ho quickly concluded his cabinet meeting upon being notified that NIS Director Pang had just requested an urgent meeting with him. The visit by the American delegation had been the last time he had seen Pang. Remembering the subject of that meeting, he wondered whether the Americans had been smart enough to follow his subtle clue in the guidebook regarding the whereabouts of the missing biological warheads.
“Sit down, Director, what is the news?”
“Sir, it appears that last night our marines conducted an unannounced assault on the weapons magazine on Ulleungdo Island. Parachute landings, stolen trucks, a breached magazine vault, and disappearing helicopters. Other than a few bruised egos, there appear to be no causalities.”
“An unannounced assault? But why? What are the joint chiefs saying?”
“That’s the strange part, sir. They deny any part in or awareness of an exercise. They say the island was electronically jammed and even our landline communications with the mainland were somehow interrupted.”
“What is General Cho saying?” President Kim asked. “Perhaps he used a training exercise to disguise his removal of the American warheads that have been stored there. You had predicted it was only a matter of time before he would attempt to move them yet again.”
“Yes,” Pang replied. “But Cho also is denying any involvement — quite strongly in fact. I suppose it makes sense. Why would he admit it, even if it was his operation?”
President Kim’s assistant suddenly knocked and entered the room. He had a concerned expression on his face.
“Yes, what is it?” asked the impatient leader, clearly annoyed with the interruption.
“President Kim, the president of the United States is on the special line for you!”
President Kim took a few moments to gather himself before pressing the speaker button on his desk phone. “An unexpected pleasure, President Harrison! I trust that you are well. What can I do for you?”
“President Kim, I owe you an apology,” said President Harrison. “I’ve just received confirmation that the biological American warheads that we thought your country had stolen were actually destroyed in one of our incineration facilities, simply an accounting error. As we speak, our state department is delivering the same information to the United Nations and to the news media. Please accept my most profound apologies and that of my country for this temporary confusion.”
President Kim stared at his intelligence chief momentarily, breathed a sigh of relief, and then spoke into the phone. “Mr. President, I understand your concern, and I thank you for your graciousness. Please be assured that the relations between our two nations could not be better. We are friends, are we not? Now, is there anything else I can do for you today?”
“Yes, President Kim. On another subject, it would be good if you would announce that your marines conducted a no-notice exercise last night and that it demonstrated the complete combat readiness of South Korean forces.”
Director Pang smiled knowingly at his president and silently nodded his head. “Of course, President Harrison, that is a splendid idea, and I would be pleased to make such an announcement,” said President Kim. “It was indeed most successful and I thank you for the suggestion!”
After the call with the American president, Kim rang and asked his assistant to come into his office.
“Please get me Admiral Pak on the phone immediately!’
Headquarters, Republic of Korea Marine Corps, Hwaseong, South Korea
For the first time in his life, General Cho was experiencing pure, unmitigated fear. He stepped out of his private elevator and rushed through his outer office, not noticing the three men in dark suits among the several officers in his large waiting room. Everyone stood in unison as the three-star marine general glared, entered his private office, and slammed the door behind him. Initial reports had made little sense. South Korean parachutists had evidently and inexplicably landed on Ulleungdo Island during the night, stealing several trucks and then driving to a helipad where they were picked up by Korean Army helicopters. Other reports indicated that the island had been completely cut off from the mainland, and even the redundant communications circuits carried by a submarine cable was temporarily inoperative. Cho’s attempts at contacting his marine forces on the island had been unsuccessful, and, what was most concerning, he had been unable to communicate with the special troops responsible for safeguarding his stolen biological warheads in the island’s weapons magazine.
General Cho had long subscribed to the adage that when attempting to determine the cause of an event, it is best to assume the most obvious. In this case, he believed it was obvious that the North Koreans had used the information gained through Colonel Chang’s treasonous relationship and had simply taken the warheads while disguised as South Korean forces. Despite his anger at his loss, he grudgingly admired his adversaries for coming up with such an audacious but well-
executed operation.
As he stood there in his office, Cho’s assistant announced that Admiral Pak, the chief of naval operations, was holding for him on the phone. He wondered what the old man would have to say. He sat down at his desk, picked up the phone, and greeted him. “General Cho, here. What can I do for you, Admiral?”
“It appears you have had a setback, Cho,” said Admiral Pak.
“What are you talking about? What have you heard?”
“What I have heard is that the warheads you stole many years ago are no longer in your possession but are now back in the hands of the Americans, who apparently visited Ulleungdo Island last night and took them.”
General Cho skipped a breath, then asked, “The Americans did this? They came into our country and removed my weapons from Ulleungdo? How do you know this, Admiral? How will Kim respond?” Pacing back and forth, General Cho was unable to quell his anger as he considered the arrogance of the Americans who dared to violate South Korea’s sovereignty.
“Neither America’s actions, nor our nation’s potential response to them, are your concern, Cho. You have a decision to make, and you must make it immediately.”
The fact that Admiral Pak had omitted the general’s rank when addressing him was not lost on Cho as he sat back down at his desk and spoke quietly into the phone. “What decision are you referring to, Admiral?”
Admiral Pak perused the notes he had prepared for this moment. “Cho, we are well aware of your involvement in the torture and death of Colonel Chang. Your accomplices in his savage murder have been most cooperative. It is you who has dishonored our nation through the theft of the warheads, and it is you who must bear the burden of the mistake you yourself made. You have two choices, and two choices only.”
Cho sat silently for a few moments. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest. “Go on, Admiral.”
“Two minutes from now, if you choose the first option, several well-armed operatives of our security service will enter your private office and place you under arrest for the brutal torture and murder of Colonel Chang. You will resist arrest violently, and during the struggle for one of the operatives’ weapons, you will be killed accidentally. The subsequent investigation will reveal your role in the murder of Colonel Chang, and the motive given will be your irrational desire for his beautiful, young female companion. The public will find the sordid details disgusting and the press will have a field day. You will be posthumously reduced in rank to private, and your pension will be revoked. Your reputation will be destroyed and you will long be remembered for the worthless old fool that you are.”
General Cho sighed and rested his head in his hand. “And what is my second option, Admiral?”
“Your second option begins with the opening of the top drawer in your desk.”
Cho slowly and dispassionately opened the drawer and removed its sole contents: a letter from his personal physician, and a 9mm pistol.
“The letter, written to you by your physician, states that you have been diagnosed with an inoperative brain tumor and have just a few weeks to live. If you choose this option, you will pick up the pistol, place the barrel in your mouth, and fire a single round into your brain. You will be honored with a state funeral, you will be posthumously promoted to the rank of full general, and your wife will receive your four-star insignia and its full associated pension. Your memory and reputation will be preserved and honored by a grateful nation.”
The general quietly read his physician’s letter. He examined the pistol and noted the single round in the magazine. “You say I have two choices, Admiral, but it appears you have left me with no choice at all.”
“You are correct, Cho,” said the Admiral, with a complete lack of sympathy in his voice. “The British have a name for a situation such as this. They call it Hobson’s Choice. I rather like the concept.”
A few moments later, General Cho’s assistant and the roomful of waiting visitors were startled by the sudden, deafening sound of a single gunshot coming from the general’s private office. While the others in the room scattered noisily in different directions, the three men in dark suits sat quietly and gazed out the window.
Kitsap College, Poulsbo, Washington
Colonel Dimitri Petrov quite appreciated the green tranquility of the remote college campus, where his mind could wander as he walked each day to and from the parking lot and his office. Sara’s reaction to his ordering the assassination of Colton Garrett had surprised him, and it was still on his mind. It wouldn’t be the first time in his career that an operative showed reluctance when ordered to kill someone who was considered an enemy. But typically, after some time had passed, the operative would learn how to compartmentalize the violent act and rationalize their role in the murder. But Sara’s reaction was different somehow, and Petrov feared it may negatively affect her performance. He might be held responsible if he hadn’t warned Moscow ahead of time. He entered his campus building and made a mental note to communicate his concern about Sara to his GRU superiors in his next report.
Colonel Petrov also was surprised to learn that his operations plan had been modified by Moscow to include a backup option for assassinating Garrett in the event the primary plan failed. Using VADIM to personally kill Garrett —if the flight mishap didn’t — demonstrated how ardently Moscow wanted him eliminated. And the backup option included instructions for VADIM to also eliminate NIKITA to tie up any loose ends. Clearly, Moscow was ready to expend any resources necessary to optimize mission success.
More than ever before, Petrov also believed he, too, was now considered expendable. Because his escape plan depended on air travel to Vancouver, Canada, he decided to proceed with the necessary arrangements now. He also decided he needed to extract Sara from America as well, as Moscow wouldn’t want there to be any other loose ends left behind. He opened his notebook, reached for his cell phone, and called the number for Best Jets, an air charter company based in Seattle.
“Best Jets, Charlene speaking! How can I help you?”
“Hello, Charlene. I am anticipating a quick business trip from Bremerton to Vancouver, B.C., in the next few days,” he told the perky receptionist. “Can I schedule a charter flight with your company on short notice?”
“Yes, sir, no problem. We’re based at Boeing Field, and we typically have two to four aircraft available for short hops like that. If you can give me just twelve hours’ notice, I can have you covered. Can I start with your name, please?”
“Robert Jordan. And I may have an associate going as well, but they’ll be booking separately.”
“Understood. I just need a bit more information so we can get you in the system. Makes it way easier and quicker when you call back to schedule your flight. What credit card will you be using?”
Flight Deck, the Reagan
Dan Garrett was having difficulty keeping pace as his father, and Lenny Wilson ever-so-slowly jogged a circular route on the flight deck from bow to stern and back again. Dan couldn’t call it running. It was all he could do to avoid breaking into a brisk walk. It wasn’t the first time in his life Dan was glad he inherited his athletic ability from his mother. “Hey, Dad? Lenny? Could we speed it up just a little? I’m having trouble with this pace — I didn’t think it was possible to run this slowly.”
Lenny let out a laugh and just narrowly avoided tripping over a tie-down chain securing a Super Hornet to the deck. “Careful, Dan,” he cautioned him, “remember, you’re talking to the second most powerful man in the world. He doesn’t need to run fast, he just needs to be able to talk on the phone while he’s doing it!”
“I don’t feel like the second most powerful man in the world,” Colt said between gasps for air. “I feel like I need oxygen.” In fact, it was Colt’s idea to break up the workday with a group run on the flight deck before eating lunch — a habit he had formed years earlier as a junior officer. Watching the clouds stretch toward the horizon as the ship plowed through the ocean swell was a spectacular sight, and the comb
ination of sea air, aviation fuel, and fresh paint evoked fond memories of places and people from long ago.
Anna DeSantis jogged next to Dan Garrett and smiled at the good-natured banter among the three men, who were clearly fond of one another despite their never-ending jabs and insults. Anna’s profession had provided her with years of exposure to the interaction among men. She was fascinated by how they could say harsh words to one another yet share deep-rooted feelings of trust and admiration. Anna turned to Dan and yelled, “Hey, Lieutenant! First one to the bow buys lunch,” as she rocketed ahead. Dan shifted down two gears and tore after her.
“Well, there goes my protection detail,” said Colt as he slowed to a gradual stop and used their departure as an excuse to take a break.
Lenny stopped as well, placed his hands on his hips, and arched his back. “Sir,” he reassured his boss while trying to catch his breath. “I don’t think you need to be concerned about your safety!” He motioned to Colt to turn around and look behind them. There stood a few dozen Sailors and Marines who also had joined the group run. Some of them wore green shirts displaying the graphic of a running horse and the words, “Colt’s Herd.”
Hangar Deck, the Reagan
Malcolm Simpson needed to determine as soon as possible which of the Growlers Colton Garrett would be flying in during the next day’s air show. Two of the squadron’s five EA-18Gs were down for maintenance, which meant one of the three remaining aircraft would require the Magic Carpet software modification. But which one? Malcolm walked over to talk with Warrant Officer Steve Wilkes, who managed the squadron’s maintenance activities. Although Lieutenant Commander Rick Becker was the squadron’s maintenance department head, it was Steve Wilkes who ran the day-to-day operations of what was the squadron’s largest and most important department.
“What’s up, Warrant?” Malcolm said to get the warrant officer’s attention.
Steve Wilkes looked up at Malcolm from the piles of papers on his desk. “I’m pretty busy right now, Malcolm. 502 and 504 are hard down, and I have to get two birds ready to go for tomorrow’s air show. What do you need?”