by David Bruns
Kim’s color had returned to normal. He nodded. The general, sensing he’d lost the momentum of his argument, tried again.
“Excellency, I advise against this course of action,” he said in a brash voice. “We don’t need weak half measures now. You must show real strength in this crisis.”
It took all Pak’s willpower not to smile. By implying that Kim was weak and then telling him what must be done, the general had committed the ultimate act of stupidity. Whatever support he’d had from the other members of the Supreme Leader’s advisers evaporated like rain in the summer sun.
Kim smacked his hand down on the table. In the silence that followed, he stabbed a pudgy index finger at Pak. “You will go to Hwadae immediately and stop this madness. All traces of our involvement must be erased. Is that clear, Pak?”
Pak allowed himself a ghostly smirk at the glowering general. Then he bowed to the Supreme Leader. “As you command, Excellency. It shall be done.” He backed out of the room. When the boardroom door closed behind him, Pak began walking. His knees were still weak, but he dared not pause even for a second. His bravura performance in front of the Supreme Leader had bought him a window of opportunity, but it would not last. He would never be able to stop Rafiq—and he had no intention of trying.
Dawn was breaking when he stepped outside the Supreme Leader’s residence. The damp smell of freshly turned earth in the great man’s personal gardens hung in the air. The smell of new life, Pak thought. How appropriate.
He rapped on the roof of his car to wake his driver but opened the door himself and collapsed into the backseat.
“Home, quickly,” he said to the driver. The departing car left a divot in the raked gravel drive.
Pak turned on his mobile phone and dialed his pilot. “We’re going to Yang-do Island. Have the plane ready in an hour.”
He paused at his front door, listening. He was taking a risk by coming home, but he needed to play out his part. Any deviation in his expected behavior would be all the general needed to raise suspicion. He entered his home and snapped on the light.
Silence.
Pak filled a small overnight bag and dressed with care. He eyed the rows of beautiful suits, bespoke shirts, and expensive shoes in his walk-in closet. He would miss them. Finally, after he had walked through the entire house looking for any sign of an intruder, he went back to the foyer. A huge ceramic planter with live bamboo stood in the entryway. He braced himself and pushed against the planter. It barely budged. He put his back into the effort, rocking the tall planter back and forth until he managed to push it over.
Dirt spilled across the tile floor. Pak grabbed the bamboo shoots and heaved until he had dragged the roots and dirt onto the floor. On his hands and knees, he reached into the planter, digging through the sandy soil until he felt a plastic brick. He pulled it out onto a towel he had brought from the bathroom and rubbed away the dirt. Then he slit open the double-sealed package. Two fake passports and fifty thousand dollars in various currencies went into the false bottom of his briefcase. The small handgun fit into his jacket pocket.
At the airport, he waited for his driver to open his door. The wind blowing across the tarmac was warm, another promise of spring—for those who would live long enough to see it. His pilot waited by the plane steps. “We’re ready to leave immediately, sir.”
Pak nodded vigorously. “Excellent! We’re on a mission for the Supreme Leader himself.” He bounded up the steps.
The pilot retracted the steps behind him and took his place in the cockpit. Pak sipped a bottle of water and watched his car drive away. The early-morning tarmac was quiet except for the muted roar of the twin engines as they taxied to the runway. The engine’s pitch ramped up, and the plane began to roll forward, gathering speed. There was a moment of weightlessness as the craft left the ground; then the steep climb pushed Pak back in his seat.
The city of Pyongyang was stirring beneath him. He saw the lights still blazing in the residence of the Supreme Leader and wondered if General Zhu was still there trying to convince his boss that Pak was screwing them all.
When the city was behind them and the sun was up, Pak rose and went to the cockpit. He drew out the small handgun and placed the muzzle on the back of the pilot’s neck.
“Fly to Tokyo,” he said.
The plane made a wide turn toward the rising sun.
CHAPTER 56
Narita Airport, Tokyo, Japan
Pak laid his cheek flat against the cool laminate of the table in the interrogation room. They’d taken his watch and there was no clock in the room, but hours must have passed. He was hungry, he was tired, but most of all, he was afraid. The information he possessed was perishable, and these idiots were wasting his best bargaining chip.
When his plane landed at Narita Airport, the Japanese authorities had been surprisingly gentle. In his country, the authorities would have seized someone landing uninvited at a North Korean airport and thrown him in jail—maybe even shot him first.
Here, a contingent of airport security arrived at his plane, their white helmets gleaming in the weak spring sunshine. It was even warmer in Japan, and a freshening breeze made it hard to talk unless they were close. Pak had raised his hands and said in English, “I am a diplomat from the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. I am seeking asylum.”
The man in charge of the detail stared at him, responding with a burst of Japanese. Pak shook his head and tried French. No response. “Speak English?” he said, pointing to the airport terminal. “Find someone.”
After another twenty minutes, a car arrived bearing a young man with glasses who spoke excellent English. His eyes widened when he told the security detail about Pak’s desire to seek asylum.
“I need to speak to the American embassy,” Pak said. “It is urgent.” What he really needed was their CIA station chief, but good luck getting that message across.
They didn’t even bother to handcuff him when they transported him into the bowels of the massive terminal. He waited another two hours while the customs officials argued with a rotating cast of bureaucrats about how to handle Pak’s entry paperwork.
The door to the room opened. “Mr. Pak?” Pak stood, still bleary-eyed, and nodded. The man was of medium height, with powerful shoulders and short dark hair. His mixed parentage appeared to be Japanese and some darker-skinned ancestry. “I’m Michael Willis from the US embassy.”
Pak extended his hand. The man’s grip was powerful. “I need to speak to your CIA station chief.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir.”
Pak sighed. “We’re wasting time, Mr. Willis. Even as we speak, your military command and control networks have been infected with a very potent computer virus—the same one that has infected the Chinese systems. I can give you valuable information about this situation, but my information is time-sensitive.”
Willis watched him without blinking. “Why don’t you tell me your information and I’ll make sure it gets to the right person.”
“I insist on speaking—”
“Assume that you are speaking with him.”
“What assurances do I have that I will receive asylum?”
“I’ll make that recommendation when I hear what you have to say, Mr. Pak.”
Pak felt his stomach clench. He was holding a weak hand, but if Rafiq’s cyberweapon destroyed the Americans his hand would be even weaker.…
He sat down and indicated for Willis to take a seat. At least he could exert some modicum of control on the situation.
“You know the name Rafiq Roshed?” he asked.
Willis did not flinch. “I’m listening.”
“He’s behind this.”
“And he is in North Korea now? You know where he is?”
Pak nodded. “Asylum first.”
Willis folded his arms. “Convince me this is real.”
So Pak talked. If he could bolster his story about Rafiq, then the secret of his location would be even more valuable.<
br />
“We were contacted by the Russian Bratva to stir up regional tensions with China—”
Willis leaned forward. “So the Russians are behind this?”
Pak held up his palm. “No, the Russian Brotherhood contracted with Kim Jong-un to hack the Chinese. They wanted to sell more weapons, but they stipulated no actual fighting.”
“That seems very unlike the Russians, Mr. Pak. How do you know about all this?”
“I was the one who made the deal.”
Willis stood abruptly. “Wait here.”
It was forty minutes before he returned with a man in tow. His face showed two days of stubble and his eyes were red-rimmed. He wore his business suit like a uniform.
The man disregarded Pak’s outstretched hand and sat down. “If you lead us to Roshed, you’ll get asylum. Start talking, Mr. Pak.”
“I need to see the details in writing, Mr.…”
The man ignored the fishing for his name. “Don’t try my patience, Mr. Pak. The conditions of your asylum will be in direct proportion to the amount of damage you help us avoid. You came to us, remember?” He paused. “If you prefer, we can put you on your plane back to North Korea. It seems your pilot is anxious to return home, and I’m sure the Supreme Leader is looking for you.”
Pak swallowed hard. “Roshed is out of control. He developed a computer virus that learns—I mean, he’s teaching it. He infected the Chinese, the Japanese, and the American military networks.”
“We know that much,” the man said. “Where is he?”
Pak hung his head. “Yang-do Island, near Hwadae, on the east coast.”
The man called for a map of North Korea, and Willis appeared in the doorway almost immediately. He unrolled a detailed map on the table.
“Show me,” he said.
Pak’s finger traced the coastline until he found the tiny island. “Here. This used to be a missile launch facility. There’s a bunker there, and barracks.”
“What about his utilities? Power? Communications?” Willis asked.
“He has generators and he’s severed the telecom lines with the mainland. He’s completely self-sufficient.”
“You’ve been there?” Willis said.
Pak nodded. The two Americans exchanged glances.
“I want you to tell me everything you can remember about the island,” the man said. “Don’t leave out a single detail. No matter how small. Most important, I want to know where to find Roshed.”
CHAPTER 57
US Cyber Command, Fort Meade, Maryland
The cold coffee tasted sour in Don’s mouth, adding another level of complexity to the roiling in his gut. He pushed the cup out of view of the video camera. He hadn’t slept in … he was too tired to even do the math. These status calls with the heads of all the agencies plus the White House every few hours weren’t helping either.
He looked across the table at General Price. He didn’t seem to be faring any better than Don.
The director of the CIA went offscreen for a second, then reappeared. “Excuse me, everyone, but I’ve got a useful update. A North Korean defector showed up in Narita claiming knowledge of Rafiq Roshed and the computer virus.”
“Does he have a location?” Price asked.
Don had just spent the last few minutes briefing the conference that his team had tracked the command signal for the virus to the commercial satellite network. The globe was surrounded by a ring of interconnected telecom satellites in geosynchronous orbit. These were workhorse satellites, carrying everything from emails to telephone calls to HBO. There was no way they could shut down that network and not cause a worldwide uproar. From there the trail ran cold. Roshed could be transmitting from anywhere on the planet.
The CIA director said, “The station chief in Tokyo is uploading the whole interview, but I’m patching Brendan McHugh through now to give us an update.”
Brendan’s face filled the screen. Don’s friend looked like he hadn’t slept in several days, but he managed a weary smile.
“Captain McHugh, you’re live,” said the operator.
He nodded. “Thank you. Earlier today, a North Korean diplomat arrived unannounced at Narita Airport and claimed asylum.” A picture of a dour-faced Korean man flashed on the screen. “This is Pak Myung-rok, a close confidant of Kim Jong-un. He showed up demanding to speak with the CIA station chief in Tokyo. I was already in Yokosuka investigating the hack on the Trident network, so I caught a chopper to Narita. Mr. Pak claimed to have direct knowledge of the communications hack and Rafiq Roshed’s whereabouts.”
“And?” the chairman of the Joint Chiefs said. “Is he still in North Korea?”
“Yes, sir.” The screen showed a map with a tiny island circled in red. “He’s holed up in what used to be a missile test site off the east coast of North Korea. The agent who handled the interview is writing up the notes and will transmit them as soon as we have them in a form you can use.”
Don sagged with relief. He looked across the table at Price. The general nodded in satisfaction.
“Finally,” the chairman said. “We’ll blast this fucker into the Stone Age. Good work, Captain.”
Price caught Don’s eye and pointed to the row of seats behind Don and out of view of the camera. He’d forgotten that he’d invited the three midshipmen to the briefing in case he needed any technical details addressed. Everett was waving at him and miming, No!
He slipped out of view of the camera. “What is it?”
“Sir, if you destroy the originating site, we may not be able to shut the computer program down. It’s still learning. We don’t know what it will do if it’s not educated.”
“You mean it could be worse?” Don said.
“It could be much worse,” Goodwin replied. “It’s code, but it’s like a living thing. It needs to be shut down at the source or…”
“How bad could this get?”
The three looked at each other blankly and shrugged. Don’s mind immediately went to North Korean nukes. A man like Roshed would have a fail-safe plan in case he was taken out—and by “fail-safe,” Roshed would mean “world-ending.”
Don rolled back into the screen, where there was a vigorous debate between State and Defense about how bombing a sovereign nation would impact global politics.
“Excuse me, Mr. Secretary, we have another problem. My technical team here believes the safest way to deal with the computer virus is to shut it down at the source.”
The line went silent for a full ten seconds.
“How certain are they, Mr. Riley?” the chairman asked.
Don looked behind him. “Sir, I’m going to ask them to explain it. There’s no sense in me being a middleman on this issue.” He widened the camera view and had the midshipmen roll their chairs into view.
The chairman made a choking noise. “Are those Naval Academy midshipmen? Riley, what the hell is going on over—”
“Sir,” General Price broke in. “Give them a chance. I was skeptical at first, but without them I’m afraid we’d be sitting here with our thumbs in our posteriors. I stand behind their work.”
Don threw Price a look of thanks.
“Proceed,” the chairman said in a curt voice.
Everett swallowed, sitting ramrod-straight in her chair. “My name is Midshipman First Class Everett, this is Ramirez and Goodwin. Our analysis on the virus shows that it has a learning component. Someone, presumably this Roshed person, is teaching the program to do what he wants.”
“The AI part. We know about that,” said the chairman.
“It’s not an AI, sir,” Goodwin said. “There’s no sentience here. It has to be taught, like…” He scowled, and then his face cleared. “Think of it like training a puppy. Are you training a hunting dog or a show dog or a fighting dog? If you stop the training midway and release the dog into the wild, what happens? Will it be tame or go feral? It depends on the environment. The program might have defenses that we don’t know about.”
Everyone on the call
seemed to be processing the concept of a feral computer virus.
“Assume we bomb the island and kill the puppy’s master, Midshipman,” the chairman said. “What’s the best-case scenario?”
Ramirez jumped in. “It could go dormant. A tame dog, if you will. In that case, we’d still have to take the entire Trident network offline to make sure we got the virus cleaned from our system. Same for the Chinese and the Japanese networks.”
“The Russians are going to love that,” someone said.
“What’s the worst case?” the chairman asked.
The three midshipmen looked at each other. “Can’t say, sir,” Everett replied.
“Could this virus access nuclear weapons?”
“It’s possible.”
Another period of stony silence.
“And you think if we have someone at the source, they can shut this thing down safely? Make the virus destroy itself?”
“Yes, sir,” Goodwin said. “If someone wrote it, someone else can take it apart.”
“Anyone against a raid on this island to shut down this virus at the source?” the chairman asked.
There were no dissenters.
“I’m calling the president as soon as we’re done to get JSOC activated. Be back in two hours for a full brief.” The chairman paused. “Captain McHugh, I’m directing you to act as my direct liaison on that raid.”
“Absolutely, sir,” Brendan said.
“Mr. Riley?” The chairman’s tone was stern.
“Sir?”
“Tell your midshipmen to pack their bags. You’re all going to Korea.”
CHAPTER 58
Yang-do Island, North Korea
The wolves were coming. Rafiq could feel it in his bones. But who were they?
He briefly considered the North Koreans. Maybe Pak had talked, but that seemed unlikely. To admit to the Supreme Leader the extent of Rafiq’s cyberwarfare plans would have implicated Pak himself. But if Pak had grown a conscience—even more unlikely—they might be fighting North Korean special forces. They would be able to find detailed plans of the island, which would put his men at a disadvantage.
