“That’s the ruling political party?”
“The Workers’ Party of Korea, yes.”
“Great. Then perhaps you can tell me what Kim Jong Un might do if he got a sudden boost to his missile program.”
“Enough to reach the U.S.?”
“Hawaii and Alaska, not the contiguous states.”
“Kim Jong Un’s main goal is not, as many assume, the destruction of the United States. He hates the U.S., but he’s not stupid enough to think he could possibly win a war against a superpower. No, his desire is for North Korea to be taken seriously as a world power.”
“And his threats against the U.S.?”
“Posturing. He’s trying to cast America as a bully and the one initiating any future conflict. By doing so, he hopes to erode any chances of other countries joining the U.S. should full-scale war break out, not to mention increase the odds of Russia and China taking a stand against Western aggression in the Orient.”
“Are you saying there’s no reason to fear Kim’s missile program?”
“I am most certainly not saying that. I would be surprised if he targeted the U.S. mainland, however. Or even Hawaii or Alaska. That would almost guarantee a devastating response from the United States. However, there is doubt among the North Korean leadership regarding America’s resolve. This dates back to the end of the Korean War, with the ceasefire agreement. The North Korean people think the U.S. started the peninsular war through invasion, and therefore assume they won. They also think they would win an all-out modern war. That’s how powerful and complete the propaganda is.”
“What does this mean for missile threat?”
“I believe Kim Jong Un will target an ally of the United States, gambling the response will be limited.”
“Why not Japan?”
“Too close. There’s the possibility of fallout and targeting Japan wouldn’t demonstrate the range Kim is after. Australia would push the envelope on range, thereby showing off North Korea’s military threat, and it’s a U.S. ally.”
“Well, shit,” Burke said. “Consider me convinced. I’d been holding out hope this was all much ado about nothing.”
“You would do well to rid yourself of such naiveté, Mr. Burke. Kim’s finger is itching to press a big red button. If you’re on the trail of anything that might forestall that eventuality, I’d recommend you not waste another minute. Once the missiles began flying, I fear they wouldn’t stop.” Margrave extended his hand to Burke and dropped the tiny tracking device into the palm of his hand. “I also suggest you look into finding a new tailor.”
Burke fingered the ragged gash on his shirt and nodded. “The sooner the better,” he said.
8
Burke’s “last meal,” as Margrave’s companion had delighted in calling it, had proved to be one of the more surreal experiences in a life that had been lived on the edge of reality for many years. Anna had been very disappointed to see that Burke came to the table wearing clothing once again, and Margrave had talked for most of the meal about her voracious sexual appetite and penchant for novel ways of bringing a man pleasure. The man’s almost monotone delivery of the details was disturbing enough, but the fact that Anna was seated by his side, all the while staring a hole through Burke’s recovered and reapplied pants, made him very happy when it was time to head back to the airport.
The time spent waiting to board the flight back to Sydney was tense for Burke. The revelation that he’d been tracked by the North Korean spook shook him. He was pissed at himself for having been outmaneuvered, but more than that, he realized he had potentially put some key players in the operation in peril. He’d been wearing the shirt when he went to the debate, which also meant he’d worn it to David’s apartment. In practical terms, David was key to getting Burke into Allcock’s lab, and if he was outed by the visit, it could be disastrous to the mission. But more importantly to Burke, he’d liked the young nerd, and getting people he liked killed never sat well with him.
On the other hand, knowing about the tracker gave him the upper hand, at least temporarily. As Margrave had said, the tiny device’s range was not sufficient for Park to know specifically where he’d gone. He didn’t doubt she was good enough to figure out his general destination, but he was sure she wouldn’t know he’d seen the socio-political wizard. But she’d pick up the signal during the flight back, and she’d know when he touched down in Sydney.
After that where the tracker went and where Burke went didn’t necessarily have to be the same place. The thought of sending the slender agent on a wild goose chase while he got close to Allcock made him smile. Of course, he’d need to check his other clothes as well. He’d long been in the habit of ordering a few changes of clothing when reaching his mission destination rather than carrying luggage with him. Not only was it a pain in the ass, the extra burden could prove dangerous in situations where being unencumbered was preferable. It also meant that he only had a few articles of clothing to examine when he got back to his hotel room. He texted Dot while he sat in the terminal and asked her to have a scanning wand delivered to the hotel. A moment later, he laughed out loud as he read her reply: “If you’ve got bugs, you need to wash your balls a little more thoroughly.” Followed a moment later by, “It will be waiting at the front desk.”
The fact that he’d been tracked wasn’t his only source of stress. Over the years, airport visits had come to represent merely mindless passages of time between arrivals and departures. But that had changed after his last assignment in Istanbul where he and fellow agents Perry Hall and Moore had all been targets of attacks in airports.
The recent visit to Istanbul had gone a long way toward explaining the trend, as it was revealed that a previously unknown player on the international espionage scene, a group headed by the mysterious and physically hideous Mr. Zmaj, had been responsible for a massive breach in the SpyCo intel network. Moore had brought the raven-haired Adabelle Fox back to New York to help shore up the holes that were rapidly uncovered, once they knew what they were looking for.
But in spite of the return to a more secure SpyCo, he remained vigilant, relaxing only minimally as he ordered a drink to help pass the two-hour flight. Picking up his phone, he sent Dot another text. “Don’t worry about my balls, old woman!”
Faster than he would have thought she could type, Dot replied, “Don’t feel bad just because mine are bigger.”
PARK WAS FILING A RATHER VAGUELY WORDED report to her superiors when the signal from the tracking device came back online. It once again showed Burke was obviously flying, and he was heading back to Sydney. His visit to Hobart had been brief. Too brief, in fact, for her to determine its purpose. Park didn’t like not knowing things about the moving pieces in her assignments, and though Burke would probably end up being little more than a minor annoyance, the half-day blackout had put her in a sour humor.
The fact that her handlers had been checking on her progress and requested she file an update did little to brighten her outlook. She included a few details to keep the dispatch from sounding like a high school student bluffing her way through a report on a book she had not read, and couched what she didn’t know in terms that would leave it up to the reader to decide what she was talking about.
With a much more forceful click on the laptop’s touchpad than was necessary, she sent it off and turned her attention once more on the flashing blip that was the SpyCo operative. As the signal drew closer to Sydney, she made a decision. This gnat had pestered her long enough. It was time to brush him aside and move on to the real focus of her assignment. Once Burke was back in Sydney, she would work out her plan for his execution.
“YES?” The terse voice of J. Carlton Moore stabbed from the phone’s speaker and nearly ruptured Burke’s eardrum.
“Tiger reporting, sir.”
“It’s about time.”
“Sorry. This job has involved a lot more legwork than I’m used to. I’d much prefer to just show up, shoot a couple people, and then go home.”
“Be that as it may—are you eating while on the phone?” Moore sounded outraged anyone could possibly be so uncouth.
“Sorry,” Burke repeated. “I’m chewing gum.”
“I don’t recall you being a gum chewer.”
“I suddenly developed the habit.”
“Whatever. Now listen. We’re not dealing with some ragtag terrorist group this time, Tiger. If North Korea starts lobbing nukes around, the situation will assuredly escalate. It sounds overwrought to say, but we could be living mankind’s last days.”
“That does sound overwrought.”
“It only takes one nuke to set off a chain reaction. North Korea attacks, the U.S. responds, and then the other nuclear-ready countries act defensively. Can you imagine the state of the world if the U.S., Russia, China, North Korea, and the U.K. all started firing nukes at each other? Once it starts, there will be no stopping it.”
“No pressure at all,” Burke said dryly.
“Just keep that technology from getting into North Korean hands.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Not good enough.”
“You can count on me, sir.”
Burke assumed that was the correct response, because the line went dead without a “good-bye,” as Moore had some sort of deep-seated hatred for the word. He put the phone back in his pocket and grinned at the waiter, who had been shooting him dirty looks all throughout the conversation. At last, the server approached. He was a thin, gangly fellow with an extremely high forehead and sharp features.
“Pardon me, sir, but we encourage diners to use their phones outside the cafe.”
“I just hung up,” Burke said.
“I see that, sir. But for future reference, please refrain from using your device inside the building.”
Burke stared at the young man, knowing he could break the smug little bastard in two and wondering exactly how much trouble he would get into if he did so.
“Listen, Don Knotts—”
“The name is Samuel, sir.”
“Sure. Listen, Don, as it seems you have an interest in the future, let me read your fortune.” Burke mimed unrolling a slip of paper and reading from it. “Young man retain use of legs if young man shut mouth and serve coffee to customer.”
Samuel’s face darkened. “That, sir, is inappropriate.”
“And yet so very accurate. Now trot off and do your job.”
The waiter pulled himself up to his full height, which was still unimpressive, hesitated, and then stalked into the kitchen area. Burke watched him, hoping he wouldn’t slip a Mickey or spit in the coffee.
Burke had intentionally chosen a spot near the back of the restaurant, and he now reached into his pocket for the tracking device. He then spit his gum into his hand, pressed the device into the wet stickiness, and then pressed it to the underside of the table. He’d left the second one he’d found in his other shirt back at the hotel, as sending a signal from two distinct locations would be an obvious sign that he’d found the bugs, and for the time being, that was not a message he wanted to send. The gum trick wouldn’t fool his shadow for long but should buy some time. Enough time, hopefully, to get close to Dr. Leonard Allcock.
9
David steered the car along the narrow road toward the nanotech laboratory. He was whistling, a habit that annoyed Burke both out of principle and because the current situation didn’t warrant that level of cheerfulness. He was surprised at his own nervousness. It wasn’t unusual to have a few butterflies, especially when the job was beginning to really heat up, but this seemed different, as if his body was trying to warn him about something.
“You’re sure you can get me in without a lot of annoying questions?”
“I can get you in,” David said, his voice full of confidence. “You may get asked a question or two, but remember your cover story and everything will be fine.”
Burke ran through the cover in his mind. A past lab partner of David’s, now working for the Pentagon, here on a research grant, the final paperwork for which must be delayed—all that bureaucratic red tape, don’t you know.
It was a flimsy tale, and Burke could only hope David’s reputation and the fact that he’d been going by the cover name Dr. Markham since arriving would overcome any lingering doubts. He had no idea how well-secured the laboratory would be, but he had to assume there were multiple levels, including—but not limited to—armed guards.
“What about my sidearm? Will I be able to take it in?”
“No. There are detectors at the doors and you may also be patted down. If they find a gun on you, your cover story will be rendered useless. Not many research fellows carry weapons on the job.”
“It might aid the scientific process,” Burke volunteered.
“How so?”
“Look, David, something you need to know about me is that not all of the stuff that comes out of my mouth is necessarily going to make sense. It’s just how I think through things sometimes.”
“Okaaaay,” David said, drawing the word out. “You might want to rope that in a bit when you’re dealing with Dr. Allcock. His mind tends to run toward the analytical, and thoughts like arming research scientists might raise an eyebrow.”
“I don’t do it all the time,” Burke said, grinning at the fact that he’d set the young operative’s own thinking a little askew.
“Now the lab we’re working in is a clean environment, which means fully suiting up: shoe covers, mask, hooded jumpsuit, the whole deal.”
Burke suspected this would be the case, and in spite of his underlying unease, the thought of his face being covered gave him a measure of relief.
“What about before I suit up? Do I have to shower or something?”
“Have you yet today?”
“Of course I have.”
“Then no. You will still have to strip down to the nude and get a nice UV bath to kill any microbes that might be hitchhiking, but that will be all. Street clothes go on hooks in the changing room.”
Burke had endured more than enough enforced nakedness in the past few days and this news burned off any lingering comfort.
David seemed to sense his discomfort and laughed. “Relax, mate. The UV rooms are private. It’s not like you’ll be asked to drop trou in front of people. Who would even do that?”
“Who indeed.”
They pulled into the parking lot of the building housing the Sydney Nanoscience Hub, and their first test of the fake identification badge David had fabricated for Dr. Eric Markham occurred. The man who stepped from the guard booth to the car was late-twenties, with a military haircut and bearing.
“G’day, David,” he said, taking David’s badge and scanning it despite the fact the two obviously knew one another. “Who’s your partner?” Burke passed over the ID badge and held his breath as the young guard zapped it with his IR barcode scanner. “Hallo, Dr. Markham,” he said as the scanner beeped benignly, accepting the ID as genuine. “We don’t get a ton of Yanks around the Hub. How are you finding Australia?”
Burke accepted the card back and clipped it to his shirt pocket. “Quite easily. Everywhere I look, there it is!”
The guard stared at him blankly for a moment, then broke into a fit of raucous laughter definitely not commensurate with a joke that lame. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day,” he said when he finally regained control. “Of course, this lot is not known for their sense of humor.”
“Thanks for the compliment, Chester,” David said as he drove through the gate.
The guard waved as the car pulled past. “Any time, mate!”
“Okay, 100 points for your counterfeit ID skills,” Burke said as they pulled into an empty space.
“Don’t celebrate yet. If we get scanned at the checkpoint inside the Hub, we’re going to have to rely on the story. Chester’s scanner just checks for the correct sequence on the barcode, which is easy enough to fake. The guards inside have computers and they’ll check you against the mainframe da
tabase, which obviously you’re not in. The good news is the guard inside is Charlie.”
“Why is that good news?” Burke asked, following David through the glass doors of the Nanoscience Hub.
“Hello, David!”
“Hi, Charlie,” David called, waving to a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair that cascaded in ringlets around her face.
“Well, did you see it? Did you see the Swans smash those filthy bastard Dockers?”
“Yeah. That last second behind was a miracle!” David agreed enthusiastically as he passed through the metal detector without incident. Burke prepared to follow him, but Charlie held out her arm, blocking his way.
“Who’s your mate, David?” she asked, squinting a bit to read Burke’s badge, still clipped to his shirt pocket.
“This is Dr. Eric Markham. He’s a Yank, Charlie. Go easy.”
“A Yank, eh? Tell me, so-called Dr. Markham…”
Burke gulped, thinking their ruse might already be in danger.
“...how do you feel about footy?”
“Footy? Are you kidding me? I’m a huge fan. Swans all the way!”
Charlie’s mouth curled up just slightly, but she maintained her suspicious expression. “Huge fan. I see. So you’d know who we beat last night, then.”
“The Dockers, like you said.”
“And where might the rock from under which those bastards crawl be located?”
Now Burke could see David squirming a bit, clearly expecting him to be on the verge of making a fool of himself. “Freemantle, Charlie. Everybody knows that,” Burke said. He saw David swallow, obviously hoping the interrogation was over.
Charlie did not lower her hand. “So you’re a Swans rooter. That’s grand. And as a Sydney fan, you’d of course know who holds the Swans’ record for most goals, am I right?”
David appeared on the verge of falling over in a dead faint. “Come on, Charlie. I don’t even know that—”
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