by Ben Coes
Dellenbaugh smiled.
“It’s Dewey,” the president said. He looked at Phil Tralies, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “He has until the three-minute mark. That leaves us plenty of time.”
“But Mr. President,” said Tralies, his voice rising. “We’re cutting it too close! If anything goes wrong—if our calculations are off—we risk the possibility of a nuclear bomb destroying Los Angeles or some other city.”
“What is the status of our missile defense systems?” said Dellenbaugh.
“All defense systems are hot,” said Arnold, the secretary of defense. “All tracking protocols are live and the entire THADD battery is unlocked and loaded. But, Mr. President, it’s not a fail-safe option. I can’t guarantee we can take it down.”
“Understood,” said Dellenbaugh. “Dewey has seven more minutes.”
“Mr. President, waiting any longer is unacceptable,” said Tralies. “We—”
“The last time I checked, General, I was the commander in chief,” barked Dellenbaugh, cutting him off, leaning forward, throwing him a brutal look. “He has until the three-minute mark.”
“Very good, Mr. President,” said Tralies.
78
PYONGYANG
Dewey and Barrazza came to the central guard station beneath the palace.
Dewey clutched two handguns. One had a full mag, the other a half-filled one.
He looked at Barrazza. “What do you think?”
“Let me soften ’em up with a few 433s,” said Barrazza.
“Do it.”
Barrazza took a grenade from his belt and put it into the under-mounted launcher on his rifle. He took aim and fired. The grenade launcher made a low popping noise as it hurled the grenade down the hall into the guard station. The explosion was like a concussion, breaking glass, blowing out lights and parts of walls. Screams and howls of pain came from inside the destroyed room. Barrazza quickly reloaded and fired another grenade into the guard station. A loud, ear-splitting explosion rocked the ground and cracked the ceiling.
Dewey and Barrazza moved quickly to the guard station. It was carnage—a half-dozen bodies torn up into pieces—along with clouds of dust and debris.
Dewey’s eyes shot left. A soldier was charging from one of the other tunnels. Dewey fired, striking him in the mouth, kicking out the back of his head—dropping him.
They cut through the station to a doorway.
“That’s it,” said Dewey, reaching for the knob.
79
SITUATION ROOM
THE WHITE HOUSE
The Situation Room was packed.
The countdown sequence for each of the two North Korean ICBM’s was illuminated in red digital numbers in the upper left corner of each OLED.
00.05.04
Parizeau’s voice came over the speaker system.
“We’re approaching five minutes until launch,” said Parizeau. “I repeat, we are at five minutes out.”
The president was standing at the end of the conference table. His arms were crossed as he looked at one of the screens.
General Tralies was pacing on the side of the table opposite from the OLEDs, his face red with frustration and desperation.
“Mr. President!” Tralies barked, pointing at the screens. “We are at five minutes out! We cannot wait—”
“All defense systems should be in a state-of-emergency priority,” said Dellenbaugh, interrupting Tralies. “THADD batteries, mid-range defense systems.”
“For the love of God, Mr. President,” yelled Tralies, practically begging. “You simply can’t wait any longer!”
“General Krug,” said Dellenbaugh, leaning into the speakerphone, cutting Tralies off. “Remind me again of flight times for U.S. missiles.”
“Three minutes, sir,” said Krug, the commander of the Pacific Fleet, patched in from the USS Forrestal. “Three minutes.”
00.04.47
“I want all missiles launch-ready, on my go,” said Dellenbaugh.
“Those numbers are guesses!” said Tralies.
The president looked at Tralies, then back to the closest screen. He put his hand to his forehead and pushed it back through his thick brown hair.
00.04.29
“We’re going longer!” barked Dellenbaugh, shooting Tralies an angry look. “We have until three minutes—we’re going to three goddam minutes!”
80
RYONGSONG RESIDENCE
PYONGYANG
As Dewey and Barrazza went through the door into the palace, a red light on the side of the SAT started blinking, indicating that a message had come through from Jenna. He opened it.
KJI/KPA INITIATED LAUNCH SEQUENCE
USS SUBS IN SEA OF JAPAN
EST FLT TIME OF US MISSILES = LESS THAN 3 MINUTES
NK MUST ABORT BY 12:35
Dewey’s eyes shot to his watch. It was 12:31. He looked at the time stamp on the message. 12:16. He looked one more time at his watch. He had three minutes before the United States military launched a nuclear attack.
“Uh oh,” said Dewey.
“What is it?” asked Barrazza, standing behind him.
“We have three minutes.”
“What the hell are you waiting for?”
“You asked me a fucking question,” said Dewey.
They ran quietly up a set of stairs that led into the palace. A door led into a small room barely bigger than a closet. Dewey could hear voices. He reached to the doorknob and slowly twisted it. He pulled the door until it was ajar. He peered in through the crack.
The room was massive, some sort of sitting room with high, coffered ceilings, large windows, chandeliers, chairs and sofas. He saw the back of a man’s head in a chair in the middle of the room. The man was talking to someone rapidly, his voice rising. Kim. The other individual was out of Dewey’s sight line. Dewey opened the door further—pulling it slowly, without a sound. He pulled the second pistol from beneath his armpit and nodded to Barrazza.
“Whatever you do, don’t kill Yong-sik,” Dewey said quietly.
“Got it.”
“On my go.”
Dewey pushed the door slowly in and stepped into the room, training one gun on the back of Kim’s head and the other on the man he was speaking to. Dewey recognized him. It was Yong-sik.
Yong-sik didn’t see Dewey at first. Instead, he was standing near the doorway, dressed in a military uniform. Another soldier was behind him and slightly to the side, clutching a Kalashnikov which was aimed at the floor. As Yong-sik began to speak, the soldier saw Dewey and pulled up the rifle.
Keeping one gun on Kim, Dewey triggered the other pistol. A silenced bullet spat from the Colt. The bullet ripped into the soldier’s eye, kicking away the back of the man’s skull, spraying blood and skull across the door. Dewey stepped between Yong-sik and Kim, holding both men in the firing line as Barrazza moved diagonally across from Dewey, training his weapon on Kim Jong-un.
“Don’t move,” said Dewey to Yong-sik.
Dewey turned and for the first time met eyes with Kim.
Kim was seated on a large wing chair, his face drawn and gray. He looked smaller than he did in photos. The cancer was ravaging him, though his hair remained a thick block of oddly manicured black and he was still a fat load.
For several moments, there was a silent stalemate, as Dewey held Kim and Yong-sik in the muzzles of his guns.
“Either you do it or I will,” said Dewey, nodding at Yong-sik.
“I would not ever do harm to my leader,” said Yong-sik.
“The United States knows, General,” said Dewey. “Your missiles won’t make it off the ground. We’re about to destroy North Korea. Do you really want that to happen? I know you don’t.”
Yong-sik glanced at Kim, who was staring at Dewey.
“How dare you even consider it!” shouted Kim at Yong-sik. He lurched for a phone. Dewey pumped the trigger. The bullet ripped into Kim’s head, knocking him sideways. He slouched into the chair, his destroyed head
leaning awkwardly over the arm.
Dewey moved to his right and fired just as Yong-sik dived down to the floor. The bullet missed Yong-sik—but by the time he could reach for his gun Dewey stepped over him and aimed both guns at his head, moving closer training the tip of the suppressors down at Yong-sik, until finally he had one of the suppressors pressed into the socket of his eye. Dewey pushed until he felt resistance from the eyeball, as if it might pop.
“You wouldn’t have told us about the cancer if you agreed with that nutjob,” said Dewey calmly. “Make the call. Now!”
81
SITUATION ROOM
THE WHITE HOUSE
All eyes were on President J. P. Dellenbaugh as he stared at the clock, as if by staring at it he could somehow get the clock to slow down.
00.03.07
The room was pin-drop quiet.
General Tralies was standing in the far corner of the room, slouched in the corner, in total silence. Dellenbaugh looked at him. The look Tralies gave him was complicated; anger for pushing it this far, respect at the knowledge that Dellenbaugh had warlike courage. Dellenbaugh looked at Calibrisi, seated in a chair, hands clutched together, biting his lip. He saw Josh Brubaker standing next to Dale Arnold along the wall, both men silent, both staring at him as he pushed everything to the last possible moment.
Dellenbaugh forced himself to look at the clock.
00.03.02
“On my go,” said Dellenbaugh.
82
RYONGSONG RESIDENCE
PYONGYANG
With the suppressor still pressed to his eye, Yong-sik felt for his walkie-talkie and lifted it to his ear.
“Stop the missiles!” he yelled. “Now! Stop them! Cancel all launch sequences, per order of the Supreme Leader!”
Dewey lifted the pistol from Yong-sik’s eye socket as, with his free hand, he picked up Yong-sik’s walkie-talkie and pocketed it. He kept Yong-sik dead center in the firing line of the pistol. He tapped his right ear three times.
“Alpha.”
“Get me the president,” said Dewey as he looked at Yong-sik. “This is Dewey Andreas.”
As Dewey waited, he walked over to Yong-sik, who Barrazza held in the firing line of his submachine gun. Dewey motioned for Barrazza to lower it, signaling that now Yong-sik could be trusted—even though he knew it wasn’t true. Yong-sik was still on his back, on the floor.
Dewey came up to Yong-sik and crouched down.
“Hey, General, don’t be so down,” said Dewey, patting Yong-sik’s shoulder as gently as he could. “You just saved at least a million lives, including yours, and more importantly mine. Buck up, hombre. You got fucking blackjack, buddy. You see, today is your lucky day.”
Dewey heard a click in his ear and stepped away from Yong-sik, looking around the room, catching the eyes of Fusco, Kolackovsky, Truax, and Barrazza as he waited for the president to come on. The four SEALs held the room in a tight cordon, weapons moving slowly across the air, surveilling.
“Mr. President,” came a voice over Dewey’s commo. “We have Dewey Andreas.”
83
SITUATION ROOM
The intercom abruptly cut in.
“Mr. President, we have Dewey Andreas—”
The signal was bad, and static could be heard.
“Kim is dead,” came Dewey’s voice. “The missiles have been canceled. I repeat, the missiles have been canceled. Whatever you do, don’t fire.”
84
RYONGSONG RESIDENCE
PYONGYANG
With Barrazza’s gun aimed at all times on Yong-sik, Dewey went to the door. He reached down and pulled the dead soldier into the sitting room, then shut the doors. He picked up the Kalashnikov and tucked the pistol beneath his armpit.
Dewey walked to Kim as Barrazza continued to train the MP7 at Yong-sik, still on his back on the floor.
“May I get up?” said Yong-sik.
“No.”
Dewey stood in front of Kim. He was slouched over, the side of his head destroyed, the chair covered in a riot of blood. Dewey took the phone and took a few photos.
“I’m sending photos of Kim,” said Dewey. “I need a RECON team in here immediately. We’re inside the palace. You should have my phone locked in. We’re in the living quarters somewhere. I don’t know how long I can hold the theater.”
A voice came through the phone.
“Dewey, this is General Krug. We’ll get a team there in about fifteen minutes, but you need to make sure they shut off air defenses.”
“Roger that,” said Dewey.
Dewey turned. He walked to Yong-sik.
“Get up,” he said.
He pointed with the gun at a sofa near the far wall.
“Over there.”
Dewey held Yong-sik’s wrist and guided him to the sofa. Dewey remained standing. He tapped his ear.
“CENCOM, I need a Korean translator on this call,” said Dewey.
“I speak Korean,” said Krug.
“Make sure he’s telling them to stand down,” said Dewey.
Dewey looked at Yong-sik. He handed him the KPA walkie-talkie.
“Tell them to expect inbound helicopters, General,” Dewey told Yong-sik. “They are not to be fired on.”
“How would I possibly explain that?” yelled Yong-sik.
“How the fuck should I know?” said Dewey. “You’re the boss. Figure it out.”
Yong-sik stared at the walkie-talkie. He looked at Dewey.
“Why are they coming?”
“We don’t want to run your country, General, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Dewey. “But we are going to take your nukes. All we want is stability.”
“And Iraq?” shot Yong-sik. “Afghanistan? How about Vietnam?”
Dewey nodded.
“Those are the three primary reasons we don’t want to run your country,” said Dewey. “You’re in charge now. You wouldn’t have told us about Kim’s cancer if you didn’t give a damn about your country.”
“Where are they coming from?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Dewey coldly. “Tell them to turn off the goddam air defenses.”
Yong-sik whispered so that nobody else would hear.
“So I can tell them they’re friendly?” Yong-sik asked.
“Sure,” said Dewey. “Just understand that if those choppers get fired on, you get a bullet in your kneecap.” Dewey paused. “It’s over, General. We don’t want to kill anyone and we don’t want to run your country. We just don’t feel like getting nuked.”
Yong-sik nodded. He lifted the walkie-talkie and hit the mike.
“This is General Yong-sik. The supreme leader is welcoming guests. They will be coming from multiple places and possibly both coasts. Expect several helicopters. They are not to be fired upon. I repeat: do not fire upon the helicopters. They are friends. I don’t have to tell you what will happen if any of the helicopters are shot at.”
Yong-sik handed Dewey the walkie-talkie.
“Sounded good,” said Krug. “We’ll see you in fifteen minutes, Dewey.”
Dewey hung up the phone.
“Now that wasn’t too bad,” said Dewey, taking the walkie-talkie. “I can see why you’re such a good general.”
Yong-sik shook his head.
“So, do you have senior officers you trust?” said Dewey.
“Of course.”
“And ones you don’t?”
“Yes, those too.”
“I’ve been through a couple of these before,” said Dewey. “Change in government. For what it’s worth, some advice. You’re going to need some support. Get the ones you trust over here.”
“And the ones I don’t?”
“They need to be locked up,” said Dewey. “You can let them out later if you want. When you assume power you need to immediately start thinking about preservation of power. That means right now.”
Slowly, Yong-sik extended his hand to Dewey. He shook Dewey’s hand. “Thank you for saving my co
untry.”
85
RYONGSONG RESIDENCE
PYONGYANG
The palace was soon teeming with people.
Five American choppers landed on the palace roof, carrying inside them a small army of Navy SEALs as well as high-level JSOC political, military, and logistics officers, including General Torey Krug, the U.S. commander of the Pacific Fleet.
When Krug entered the sitting room, he was trailed by several SEALs in tactical military gear. Krug registered Kim, lifeless and untouched on the chair. He saw Dewey standing at the far side of the room, talking with Yong-sik.
“Take Dewey’s position,” said Krug to one of the frogmen. “I need to talk with him.”
The SEAL walked to Dewey and introduced himself.
“Dewey, General Krug wants a word. I’ll stay with General Yong-sik.”
Dewey nodded and walked to Krug.
“Hi, Dewey,” said Krug.
“General.”
“How you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Hector is on his way here, along with some planners from the Pentagon and State,” said Krug. “It’s going to be awhile. Why don’t you take one of the choppers and go back to the ship. I’ll have them set you up with a cabin, warm shower, a good meal.”
“I’d rather wait,” said Dewey. “I’m fine. Let’s make sure this thing holds.”
“Have it your way,” said Krug. He nodded at Yong-sik. “Is he going to work with us?”
“I think so. But I don’t know.”
Krug reached out and patted Dewey on the shoulder.
“Good work.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
The additional American Special Forces soldiers enabled them to quickly take the entire palace under armed guard. As soon as that was accomplished, Yong-sik reached out to a list of seven senior officers from the KPA. Each man was brought alone to the room where Yong-sik was under guard—learning of the situation only after being disarmed and entering the large sitting room. Kim’s corpse was allowed to remain front and center: a warning to them all.
