by Jim DeFelice
“Do you?” said Tyler.
“The friction is important,” explained Somers. “I know you’re here basically to see what the potential for resistance is from a military point of view, but the underlying realities are also important. Back home, people think that North and South want to be reunited. They think of Germany at the end of the Cold War. There is a lot of that, don’t get me wrong. But there’s also friction, as we’ve just seen. The North Koreans are looking at us with curiosity. They haven’t formed real opinions yet. But they do know the South. Or at least they think they do. And vice versa.”
“Okay,” said Tyler, nodding.
Somers smiled. “It wouldn’t be a minor matter to you if you were in charge of keeping the peace in a rural town. Think about it. For the most part you’d be relying on South Korean translators, and probably technical experts, to get the water running and electricity flowing. Could you trust what the translators were saying? Could you trust the people he spoke with to be open and honest?”
“Good points,” said Tyler.
“I assume you were pointing out the obvious and not buttering me up.”
Tyler laughed. As they turned toward the administrative building where they’d been assigned space, an MP came up in a Hummer.
“Major Tyler?”
“That’s me.”
“Sir, I need you to come to the secure communications center.”
Tyler started to tell the soldier that he would be along after checking in with the rest of his group, which was waiting inside. But before he could say anything the MP added, “Major, you’re wanted on the line to Washington immediately.”
Tyler was surprised to find that the call wasn’t from the Pentagon but rather an NSC staffer, who immediately began quizzing him about Tacit Ivan. The major answered the questions warily; he’d of course heard what had happened to Howe and was afraid that someone—maybe even Howe—was being set up as a sacrificial lamb for the failure of intelligence that had led to the botched mission. After a few routine questions about when they’d arrived there and how his men had infiltrated the field, the staffer began asking questions about the airstrip.
“Were you close enough to the field at Pong Yan to see into the hangar at the southeastern end?”
“Personally?” asked Tyler.
“Yes, sir.”
“I couldn’t see inside. But I didn’t have an angle to look at it. I wasn’t on the base.”
“Who was?”
Tyler gave the names of the team that had infiltrated the abandoned base. The staffer then asked if Tyler had seen UAVs at the field, or heard about them.
“You mean, flying reconnaissance for us?” asked Tyler. “We were there by ourselves.”
“No, sir, I mean based at the field. North Korean assets.”
“Not that I know of.”
“Yes, sir. Please hold the line.”
Before Tyler could say anything, Dr. Blitz came on the line.
“Ken, how are you?”
“I’m very well, sir,” he said cautiously.
“You saw no UAVs at the field?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you in a position to get up there now?”
“I, uh, can be if you want me to.”
“I do. Colonel Brott will get back to you with whatever orders you need. The sooner the better on this,” added the national security advisor. “Tomorrow morning if not tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tyler. “Right away.”
“One other thing, Major. You enlisted Colonel Howe in the operation, didn’t you? Initially,” added Blitz.
“Yes, sir. He was the only person qualified to fly the aircraft. It was suggested by one of the CIA planners on the mission staff originally who’d been briefing the Russian flights; they had been touring the country the week before.”
“Was he eager to go on the mission?”
“I think he wanted to do his duty. The, uh—to be candid, Tacit Ivan wasn’t seen exactly as the first choice.”
“Did Colonel Howe know that?”
“He might have figured it out.”
“Did he push it?”
“No, sir. He just answered questions, that sort of thing. At one point I think he did volunteer to go—I mean, that was kind of implicit in his coming over, since he would have known that he was the only pilot available.”
“But you suggested the mission.”
“We suggested it to him, yes.”
“Very good,” said Blitz. “On this UAV project: You report directly to me. No one else is authorized to receive the information. Anything you need to do to accomplish the mission, anyone you want along—well, you know the drill. But otherwise strictly need-to-know. Strictly.”
“Okay.”
“Stand by for Colonel Brott.”
Chapter
2
Andy Fisher believed strongly in the value of sharing intelligence with brother agencies. Especially when cooperation might lead to the rapid conclusion of a case.
“Great bagels on Fourteenth Street,” he told Kowalski, dropping the bag on his desk at the Defense Intelligence Center in D.C. The DIA agent had returned to D.C. following the press conference announcing the sarin bust.
“Fisher, you got past security without being arrested? I can’t believe it.”
“Yeah, pretty slack. Hey, these are nice digs,” he said, glancing around. “You’d never know it used to be a laundry room.”
“What brings you here? You want to change careers and start working for the good guys for a change?”
“No, actually, I wanted to tell you that you were right.”
“You know, we have a doctor on call,” said Kowalski, a concerned look on his face. “He’ll give you sedatives.”
Fisher laughed.
“You really are sick, aren’t you?” said Kowalski.
“Talk to me about the E-bomb intelligence. How good was it?”
Utterly confused, Kowalski got up and went to his door. When he had closed it, he returned to his desk and sat down. “You all right, Andy? You look a little…ragged.”
“You mean that as a compliment?” asked Fisher, reaching into his pocket and taking out his cigarettes.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
Fisher put the pack away.
“I was kidding before, but now I know you’re sick.”
“So tell me about the weapon,” said Fisher. “Why did we stop taking that seriously?”
“Everybody thinks it’s smoke,” said Kowalski. “It was part of a plan to get some big shot out of Korea before the shit hit the fan.”
Fisher listened to the details of Tacit Ivan.
“After what happened to you in Moscow, everybody should have realized this was a setup,” said Kowalski. “The whole deal. They showed you the real scientist, then pulled the switch in Korea.”
“Maybe,” said Fisher. “What about the bomb plans? Were they real or not?”
“Experts said they were. Sure.”
“And we don’t have the guy who sent them.”
“Probably dead the second he got back to Korea from Russia.”
Fisher settled back in the seat. Whoever Howe transported had figured out somehow that the scientist wanted to defect and had decided he might be a useful insurance policy in case he needed to get out. But that didn’t mean that the E-bomb didn’t exist. On the contrary, it argued that it did.
Unless the whole thing was a setup from the beginning, which was possible.
“If this guy has that much power, why doesn’t he escape himself?” said Fisher. “Just get on the plane and go to Moscow instead of sending Dr. Park?”
“Because he’s more afraid of his own people than us,” said Kowalski. “They must hate him. And they’d recognize him. Besides, he’s got too much to lose to just walk out. He only pulls the plug when the shit’s hitting the fan.”
Fisher reached for his cigarettes. “How do I go about finding Colonel Howe these days?”
Chapter
3
The ship appeared in the distance. It was a small tanker, riding low in the water as if carrying fuel, though as a man who had spent his whole life on land, Kuong did not appreciate this piece of deception.
What he did appreciate was the tarpaulin-covered deck amidships. His revenge.
The helicopter swooped lower, its skids within six feet of the deck at the stern. There was not enough space for it to land, but Kuong was prepared. He opened the door and stepped out, grasping the line at the side that had been prepared for him. He lowered himself slowly, using his feet rather than his hands to control the brief descent. As he reached the deck he handed his thick gloves to the crewman who had come to assist him, then turned and opened his arms to the captain, a childhood friend who was one of the few men in the world he would trust with his life.
The captain folded him against his chest, then turned and yelled an order.
The helicopter had begun to rise, starting away. There was a light swoosh nearby, a plume of smoke as the ship’s crewman fired an antiair missile. A half-second later the shoulder-launched SAM struck the helicopter. Kuong turned to watch as the aircraft stuttered forward in the sky for a few meters before bowing down into the waves.
Things were proceeding very well indeed.
Chapter
4
The NADT security people looked embarrassed and even pained, but neither would budge nor say anything except that they were following their directions. Colonel Howe was not permitted in the facility.
“All right, get me Nancy Meile,” Howe said finally, asking for the head of security.
“Sorry, sir, she’s unavailable.”
“She’s not here, or she’s not available?”
“Not available, sir.”
Howe knew from experience that Meile generally did not schedule meetings after eight A.M., just so she could be available to the security details. Nonetheless, he asked for the shift supervisor. He was told the man was also unavailable.
“And my access is denied?”
“Your clearance expired.” The guard twisted the screen around so Howe could see it from the car. The other man came over to the window and squatted down. “Sir, it’s probably just a computer glitch, we know. But we can’t let you past. It’s the rules. It would be our jobs if we did. We’re sorry. It’s not like we don’t know who you are.”
The man rose. Howe knew the guards were just doing their duty—and that they were in no-win positions. They probably thought he’d have them fired when his appointment was made official.
On the other hand, they could also be fired immediately for letting him through now.
“All right,” he said, stifling his anger, “I know it’s nothing personal. Just do your jobs.”
The guards nodded grimly as he backed up to turn around.
Howe’s first call was to Delano, who apparently was in the same meeting as the security people. Howe didn’t bother leaving a message.
He put in a call to Blitz and ended up talking to his assistant, who of course was sympathetic but had no idea what was up. She promised to have the national security advisor call, but warned him it might be a while: The Korea situation had made him even busier than normal.
Howe ended up at a diner, thinking things through. Halfway through his first cup of coffee he decided it had to be just a computer glitch. He called Meile and left a message, asking her to get back to him; he did the same with Delano. The second cup of coffee made him suspicious once more and he made a call to a friend of his who worked in the Joint Chiefs of Staff J2 intelligence section and asked for some background on how the clearance system worked, explaining what had happened. His friend told him mistakes were certainly possible, though the circumstances seemed odd. The fact that he hadn’t been notified argued for a mistake. But his friend had no way of finding out why the clearance had been cut, and he was too busy today to hunt around. Howe thanked him anyway. He was just hitting the End button on his cell phone when Andy Fisher came into the diner and walked over to his booth.
“Colonel Howe. How’s the coffee?”
“Andy Fisher. What are you up to?”
“Looking for you,” said the FBI agent, sliding into the booth.
“Excuse me, sir,” said the waitress coming over. “You can’t smoke in here.”
“Don’t those laws annoy you?” asked Fisher.
The waitress was unmoved. Fisher asked for a cup of coffee but made no sign of extinguishing the cigarette.
“You’re looking for me?” Howe asked.
“All morning,” said Fisher.
“What for?”
The waitress reappeared with two coffee cups: one filled with coffee, and one with water to extinguish the cigarette.
“I heard you took a trip overseas,” said Fisher as the waitress walked away.
“I can’t talk about that,” said Howe.
“Sure you can. My clearance is higher than yours.”
You don’t know how true that is, thought Howe.
“Obviously, I already know about Korea,” said Fisher.
Howe didn’t answer.
“Look, Colonel, I can get the paperwork and the official orders to make you spill the beans if I have to, but what’s the sense?” asked Fisher. “Making me spend the whole day chasing down my boss, the military liaison, the NSC people—you know how many cups of coffee that’s going to take?”
“Let’s go for a ride,” Howe suggested. “We can’t talk here.”
It was the sort of deal Fisher appreciated: straightforward tit-for-tat, no strings. Howe would tell him everything he knew without making him go through the bureaucratic rigmarole to get proper authorization. In exchange, Fisher would use his wiles to find out who had pulled his clearance.
“It’s not that I don’t trust the people I’m asking already,” Howe told him. “I just want to make sure.”
“Oh, I get it,” said Fisher, who was now curious himself to find out who was screwing Howe and why.
As it turned out, though, Howe’s description of what had happened in Korea and Japan gave Fisher no more insight than what Kowalski had told him.
“Had to be somebody very, very important,” said Fisher. “Close to the top. Somebody the military would know.”
“A general or somebody?”
“At least.” Fisher’s list of missing North Korean leaders was extensive and started with Kim Jong Il himself.
“Thing that bugs me is why they didn’t kill you when they had the chance,” said Fisher. “He just knocked you out.”
Howe shrugged. “I made him get rid of his gun.”
“Probably had another one. Or he should have. Sets this up so carefully—probably covered a dozen bases with people—then doesn’t kill you? You sure there isn’t a deposit in a bank account somewhere I ought to know about?”
“Fuck you,” said Howe.
“What did he hit you with?”
“I didn’t see.”
“What’s the doctor say?”
“Something hard.”
“Big or small?”
“Hard.”
“Maybe it was a gun that couldn’t fire,” suggested Fisher. “It jammed or something. Maybe it was your lucky day.”
“I guess.”
Howe was the touchy type; the bank account question still bugged him. Most likely he thought his honor besmirched. Tough to live like that around here, thought Fisher, though it wasn’t useful to point out.
“You don’t believe in luck, Colonel?” Fisher asked.
“Not hardly.”
“Luck is greatly undervalued in America. Except by people who play the lottery.” Fisher took a puff of his cigarette. “I would lay money that they’re looking for you now.”
“Why?”
“Because you can identify who it was who got away.”
“I can’t,” said Howe. “I’ve already looked at all sorts of pictures. The debriefers had me do that at the embassy.”
“Yeah, but the
bad guy doesn’t know that. You being followed?”
Howe twisted his head to look. “Am I?”
“I don’t think so. Let me off up there.” He pointed to a convenience store just ahead.
“What about your car?”
“Ah, it’s a Bureau car, don’t worry about it,” said Fisher. “You’re not going back to the diner, are you?”
“I’ll take you back if you want.”
“Actually, I don’t,” said Fisher.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Howe stopped the car. Fisher dug into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Day or night, you call me,” he said, tapping his satellite phone. “This sucker always rings.”
“You’re going to keep your end of the bargain, right?”
“I will. One more favor,” added Fisher.
“What?”
“You see my boss, don’t give him the number. Okay? I’m pretty sure the paperwork on it got lost before it made his desk.”
Chapter
5
Disaster had followed disaster. Providence had saved Faud from being arrested like the others, but the news of the raid on the warehouse in Staten Island shocked him. For surely the all-knowing God could have prevented such a catastrophe.
Blasphemy. It was a grave sin even to think that.
Faud knew sin. He knew sin very well. He was trying to redeem himself, purify his soul as it must be purified.
Was this God’s way of testing him? Or was Faud’s way to paradise being blocked by a devil?
Surely it was the latter. Faud heard it in the boasts on the TV in the corner of the store, the policemen bragging that they had stopped a “nefarious plot.”
Nefarious. What precisely did that word mean?
“Terrible,” said the woman behind the counter. Her skin was dark; she came from Pakistan. But he knew where she stood before she continued. “It shames us all. And makes it more difficult.”
“Yes,” Faud told her. He handed over a dollar for the newspaper. The system of passing messages was complicated: One paper would have a key or a clue referring to another. In this case he needed the Times to know which classified in the other to follow.
