“How the hell should I know? My mom never talked about it. One day I just came home and she said, ‘Your father’s gone.’ That was it. Just ‘Your father’s gone,’ and I couldn’t get another word out of her.” Frank shook his head, staring at the sunset, his brow furrowed.
For a full five minutes the two sat in their chairs in the gathering darkness, each alone with his thoughts. Finally, Frank spoke. “You know, I lied to you a little while ago. I would walk across the street to see that bastard again, but just to ask him one, simple question – ask him why he walked out on us.” Frank stopped and choked up a bit, “Why he walked out on me.”
The old man looked down at his beer bottle again, and then turned his gaze up to the now dark sky. He found the Big Dipper, and then followed the pointer stars. There it was – the North Star. Was that really the way he should go, he wondered?
Finally, he made his decision and lowered his gaze. He pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, and slowly slid something out of it. He gave it a brief, fond look in the dim light shining out of the truck behind them, and then he gently placed the dog-eared, black and white picture on Frank’s knee. Frank reached out to pick it up, and then stared at it in wonder. In the picture, a child sat on a man’s shoulders. Both were smiling, and above them soared tall, ram-rod straight trees with heavily veined bark.
The old man abruptly looked away, and cleared his throat. Then Frank heard a long forgotten, but now much older voice, say with a pronounced Brooklyn accent, “Well, son, I guess now you’ve got your chance.”
* * *
24
Sarin? You Thought I Said Sarin?
General chan bach Choy, ranking officer of the People’s Army of North Korea, was walking across a broad plaza at the side of the President of the Supreme People’s Assembly. They had just left a meeting with the Beloved Father, and had only a few minutes to converse without being overheard by their aides, or by those in the listening rooms that monitored the microphones that were everywhere. General Bach Choy knew that they were not completely safe from surveillance even here. Certainly some member of the Secret Police was filming them from a hidden location using a telescopic lens, so that another agent could try to read their lips. The General therefore walked with his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back. Being at the top of the chain of command in the paranoid, otherworld of North Korea meant you were always being spied on by everyone else in the inner circle. And, of course, you were spying on them as well.
President Kim Lang-Dong spoke first.
“Are you sure that you can destroy both Washington and New York, General?”
“There can be no doubt.” The General smiled to himself. He had made no effort to bring the President more deeply into his plan than necessary. No need for the President to know about “Mrs. Foomjoy” or any of the other flowers in the General’s garden of espionage that had bloomed so successfully.
The President would have liked to question him more closely, but there was so little time. And in any event, the most important part of the plan was not to destroy these cities, but to depose the much despised clan of Jong Kim-Lo for good.
“And the rest of the plan – that is in place as well?”
“Most of that will take care of itself. Just before the missiles are fired, Kim-Lo and his four sons will take their places in their private bunker. He doesn’t trust them more than he does anyone else, and especially the oldest one, Kim Jam-Nong, now that everyone knows the youngest son has been anointed as his father’s successor.”
“Excellent. But how do you know we can trust the oldest one?”
“You needn’t worry. I am quite convinced he cannot wait to perform his appointed function. He secretly loathes his father, and he doesn’t trust Kim Jung-On, the new heir apparent, for even a moment. Why should he? Only one faction can take power when Kim-Lo is dead. It would be so sad if some unfortunate accident were to befall Kim Jung-On, so that one of the other available sons could be propped up in his place. The only question is which son will get rid of which brothers as soon as Jong Kim-Lo is in his grave – so why wait?”
The President nodded. The logic was as sound to him as it must be to the three sons.
“What will be the means of the final step?”
“The oldest son will be wearing a wrist watch with a vial of Sarin hidden inside. When Kim-Lo and the sons are sealed in the bunker and receive news that the attack has been launched, he will push one of the buttons on the watch, and the liquid will vaporize. There will be more than enough gas to kill everyone in the room within minutes.”
The President stopped and stared at him. “But General...why would he do such a thing if he, too, would die?”
“Because we have given him a second present as well. That one is a gelatin capsule that he will slip discretely into his mouth before releasing the Sarin. He will rely on the capsule containing atropine and pralixidome, the two antidotes for Sarin contamination, to protect him while he watches his brothers and father writhe and die.”
The President was confused. “But General, what then?”
The General smiled. “Mr. President, just because he relies on the capsule to contain the antidotes does not mean the capsule will in fact contain them. But he will be convinced that he is safe, and that is the important part.”
The President’s mouth opened with a silent Ah! of appreciation as they continued their slow walk toward their waiting limousines.
“It was easy to arrange a little demonstration to convince Kim Jong Il’s son of the efficacy of the antidote, although it was not so enjoyable for one of the mice involved. We prepared a sealed chamber with two compartments, each with a mouse and a feeding bowl. But only the food in one bowl had been treated with the antidotes.”
“We allowed Jam-Nong to press the button that admitted the Sarin to the chamber, generating a most theatrical hiss. Within seconds, one mouse was dying a horrible death, while the other simply sat and groomed itself. You should read a description sometime of the ways in which the body reacts to the administration of Sarin. It really is quite an unpleasant way to die. But it does provide a most convincing display.”
“And he was comforted?”
“Oh yes, quite – he seemed to enjoy the demonstration immensely. I’m afraid he must not be very fond of his family at all. And conveniently for us, the Number One Son is hardly the brightest star in the heavens.”
The President smiled. He admired the simple elegance of the plan. He also appreciated the fact that the General had laid it out in such detail while the President had asked only leading questions. He fingered the recorder in his pocket, and was reassured by the warmth generated by its battery. If anything went wrong now, he could easily betray the General, using the recording as proof of his treason and of the President’s own loyalty.
The General interrupted his thoughts. “And what will you do to make sure that the plan is successful?”
The President instantly became more guarded. “Have no worries. I have committed my role to memory, and rehearsed it many times.”
The General smiled. “I am sure you have, my friend. But we must leave nothing to chance. Now tell me – what is the first thing that you will do?
Lang-Dong could not avoid answering. “Ah yes. Well, on the signal,... ”
“What signal?”
“The signal I receive from you. ”
“Please be precise. We must be sure that there is no confusion.” He must not arouse the General’s suspicion. But it hardly mattered. The President could edit his own recording later.
“The call from you stating that the Beloved Father and his sons have gone to their bunker.”
“And what will you understand that to mean?”
“I will understand that to mean... that the Beloved Father and his sons have, ah, that they have gone to their final rest.”
“Then what?”
“I will call an emergency meeting of the Executive Committee and reveal to them that
the Beloved Father and his sons have been killed in a vicious and unprovoked attack by the United States. I will read to them the proclamation that I will say the Beloved Father had prepared against such a terrible eventuality, appointing you and me as the new leadership, with full powers to direct all civil and military functions.”
“What else?”
“I will also inform the Committee members that immediately outside are heavily armed members of your personal guard, who will stay at their sides for the indefinite future for their personal protection against possible enemies of the State. After I inform them of that fact, I will be pleased to accept their personal pledges of support, and their incriminating signatures on the proclamation testifying to their total allegiance to the new regime.”
“Good. And then?”
“You will join me shortly thereafter, and we will jointly release the proclamation on state television, as well as the fact that our troops are pouring across the Demilitarized Zone on their way to an assured victory reuniting the Motherland.”
“Exactly. I am glad that you are very clear on your part.” With that, they reached the limousines.
“Our conversation will have been well noted,” the General said, shaking the President’s hand. “We must not speak again until after the proclamation has been read.”
The General motioned to two corporals standing at attention beside his car. With a smile to the President, the General removed a slim object from his breast pocket. It was about the same size and shape as the recorder the President had been fingering in his own pocket. The General handed his device to one of the corporals.
“Take good care of this until I ask for it,” he said. The corporal threw a sharp salute, and retreated to the other side of the limousine.
At a nod from the General, the second corporal approached, carrying a valise in one hand, and a strange device in the other, connected to the valise with a coiled wire. It looked like a gun, but instead of a barrel there was what seemed to be a small radio antenna dish. The corporal patted down the President, and then aimed the strange device at the pocket that held the digital recorder.
The President felt a creeping sense of horror possess him as the General swung himself into his car and rolled down the window.
Lang-dam tried to sound unconcerned. “What was that all about?”
“Microwaves. Who knows, some enemy of the State might have planted a device on you – of course without your knowledge – and recorded our conversation. Later, the scoundrel would doubtless fabricate a situation where he would jostle you, and remove the device without your realizing his sleight of hand. But no matter – the microwave gun will have destroyed the memory chip in any such device.”
The President stood frozen in place. The tables had turned so swiftly! The General could betray him now at any time, if he wished. A sudden fear gripped him: should that happen, there could be no doubt that the President would die an extremely slow and agonizing death on the order of the Beloved Father, perhaps even through the administration of Sarin gas.
“Farewell, my friend.” The General said with a pleasant smile. “You have no idea what a relief it is to have someone to rely on so completely. After the conversation we have just had, I believe I can trust you with my life.” The General tapped the brim of his hat with the tip of his swagger stick, and then the limousine was gone, leaving the President of the Supreme People’s Assembly of North Korea standing forlornly by the side of the road. Forlorn, but more committed than ever to the plan they had just discussed.
* * *
Frank was sitting alone by a dying campfire, the first he had lit in his clearing in the wilderness. He and his father, now snoring inside a sleeping bag spread on the ground not far away, had sat next to the flames through hours of conversation. Frank wasn’t yet sure what he should and shouldn’t feel after harboring so much animosity for so long. Doubtless, that would take time to work out.
Even so, he already realized that much of the pain he had converted into disdain had apparently not been his father’s fault at all. Assuming, of course, that he could believe everything he had just heard – how his dad’s lieutenant in the Army had joined the FBI on his return to the States, and later recruited Frank’s father to act as a plant in a mob sting operation. How that project had gone terribly wrong, forcing his father to flee New York City and enter a protection program far away. And how he had not been allowed to communicate with Frank or his mother for a year thereafter, for their own protection.
Frank could easily believe that his mother might have refused to take his father back after that. She was a strong-willed woman, and it had been abundantly clear to Frank, even as a child, that no warmth existed between his parents. He could even believe, as his father had said, that she had insisted that his dad agree to never contact his son again. Frank knew that Doreen Adversego had never played for anything but keeps.
Watching the embers die, Frank wondered what it must have been like for his father, suddenly whisked away to a nowhere location in the Southwest, especially after he learned that he had no home to return to.
Luckily, the FBI had offered Frank, Sr. a job, and during his year out of sight he learned all about computers, codes and security while the mess was cleaned up back East. He found that he had a natural affinity for technology. He had already fallen in love with the Southwest during his summer trip with Frank, so with nothing to take him away, he simply stayed out west, with a new name, a new identity, and a new career as a full-time FBI security specialist.
Frank was grappling with mixed feelings over another part of the tale he had just heard. The “anonymous donor” that had funded his full scholarship was no longer anonymous. So that scholarship was no longer much to be proud of.
That really shouldn’t be much of a surprise, he forced himself to admit. Yes, he had ranked first in his class in the math and science courses that captured his interest. But he’d barely passed any of the others. He’d been lucky to squeak into MIT at all, much less get a free ride through college besides. His father may have promised not to contact Frank, but luckily for Frank that hadn’t kept him from keeping a watchful eye over his son from afar through all the intervening years.
And then there had been that last surprise at the end of the evening, as his father was preparing to leave the circle of firelight and get himself some sleep. Frank was self-conscious and embarrassed, recalling the harsh words he’d unleashed about his father earlier in the evening before he knew to whom he was speaking. Still, reconnecting with his father would take time. He might as well be upfront about that, he decided, as they shook hands and said goodnight.
“I hope you’ll understand if I don’t yet feel comfortable calling you ‘Dad’ for awhile.”
“That’s okay, Frank. I’m out of practice calling anyone ‘son.’” Then his father smiled and put a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “If easier it should come to you, just ‘Yoda’ may you call me.’”
* * *
Marla and Carl were meeting in the coffee house in Alexandria, once again seated at an isolated table. Across the street, the antiquarian bookstore was dark. A sign in the window said “Closed Until Further Notice.”
“Unfortunately,” Carl was saying, “their story checks out. Our preliminary review of everything we’ve found – hard drives, email, server logs, you name it – indicates that the old guys were never responsible for successfully hacking anything other than the Library of Congress.”
“It seems the guys we caught had hired someone else – no surprise – to do the hacking. But then he went rogue on them, and started hacking everything in sight, still using their silly Alexandria Project calling card when he did.”
“We also found the botnet they had paid him to set up, by the way. It was still randomly hammering away at networks, probably to give the hacker some camouflage in case we got wise. But unfortunately it’s not the one he’s using now.”
“The old guys were willing to piggyback on the mayhem their runaway hack
er was producing for awhile, but it didn’t take long before they realized that what they’d started had gotten way out of control. I think they were genuinely relieved when we came bursting in.”
“Well, so what?” Marla replied. “Can’t you just arrest whoever was working with them? They must be responsible for all the other attacks, right?”
“Maybe. But then again, maybe not. I expect your father would have a better idea about that than I would. Maybe it’s time you allowed us to speak with him directly?” Carl purposefully stirred his coffee without looking up.
Marla fired back. “Maybe. But then again maybe not – trust you, that is. Anyway, I can’t believe that you guys can’t figure that out on your own. It’s clear those elderly librarian types didn’t do the high tech part of this on their own. Who do they say was working for them?”
“They don’t really know, believe it or not. They say that they never met the guy face to face, or even talked to him on the phone. Everything was always handled by email.”
“So how did they find him?”
Carl gave a short bark of laughter. “On Craigslist! Can you believe it? The guy who picked the code name Zenodotus said, ‘Isn’t that where you find everything these days?’”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Have you been on Craigslist lately?” Marla ignored him.
“Anyway, the old guys probably thought they were being very clever and secretive, using only email and their silly, ancient Library of Alexandria librarian names. But we don’t really know who they connected with – not yet, anyway. Maybe they did enough fumbling around on the Internet that they attracted attention from real bad guys, who then pointed them to a fake ad so it would look more innocent.”
“What we don’t know is whether the guy they hired just fell in love with their Alexandria shtick and took off on his own, or whether there’s something more serious going on. If the latter is the case, then we’ve got a big problem on our hands.”
The Alexandria Project: A Tale of Treachery and Technology (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 1) Page 21
