At the time, Shin Man-ki was in his middle forties, in the prime of his career as a researcher in the field of nuclear science. His particular area of interest was nuclear medicine. With his father a respected physician in Seoul, he grew up in a household where nothing was considered more vital than the effort to cure the illnesses that plagued mankind. The younger Shin had decided to pursue a career in research rather than follow his father's footsteps through medical school in the belief that it would allow him to multiply the impact of his work.
The ink was hardly dry on his PhD from Seoul National University when he was hired by Reijeo's Special Projects Division. He was assigned to work on a number of projects dealing with the health aspects of nuclear radiation. The director of his laboratory, a Dr. Jong, had attended graduate school in the United States and had several classmates, also close friends, involved in the American nuclear weapons program. The subject fascinated Jong and he had studied all the available open literature. Impressed with young Shin's knowledge and ability, Jong had used him as a sounding board for his theories and conjectures on the design and production of nuclear weapons.
"When Dr. Jong was chosen to head the study group back in the eighties," Shin recalled, "he naturally wanted me to be a part of it. I had always considered nuclear weapons barbaric, although I enjoyed the theoretical discussions. It was a difficult decision to take a part in the project, but the director was very persuasive. He convinced me that our country's survival was at stake."
While Jerry listened in silence, peripherally aware of the nearby sound of a moktak, the wooden clapper used to accompany the chanting of sutras, he became increasingly restless. As intriguing as Shin's tale had become, the answers the White House sought remained as nebulous as a hwadu, the simple but pointless questions Buddhist monks pondered during periods of meditation. Jerry had read of a noted Korean Zen master who had once meditated on the hwadu "No!" while walled up in a tiny cell for eighteen months.
Impatient over a wait measured in minutes, he asked, "What did the study conclude?"
"Korea Electric Power's Dr. Nam U-je got us started with a briefing on what the old Weapons Exploitation Committee had learned back in the early seventies," Dr. Shin said.
After six months of patient digging, the group produced a report recommending the Republic of Korea initiate a project that would provide all of the necessary facilities for a nuclear weapons program over the next several years. Insofar as the technology was available to them, the equipment needed in the production of weapons would be built and placed in the facilities on a standby basis.
"Secrecy was a prime consideration," Dr. Shin said. "What we were advocating ran counter to the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. It would have been economic suicide to alienate our trading partners, so security had to be absolute. This meant concealing the facilities in some way or designing them with the appearance of having other uses. We had no access to the fissile materials required for making bombs, but with the proper reprocessing systems, the wastes from our nuclear power stations could provide the raw materials."
Jerry recalled the details Brittany Pickerel had provided from her research into the Reijeo plant. The timing seemed to fit. "Was that when Reijeo began construction at Chuwangsan?"
"Right. The top officials of Reijeo were involved with the president and the prime minister in approving the project. It was given a special code name and the highest priority."
The big chaebol would use Chuwangsan to hide a weapons fabrication facility as part of a plant that would manufacture conventional high explosives.
To acquire weapons grade uranium, Dr. Shin said, two procedures would be needed for making the recovery from spent nuclear power fuel. First the uranium and plutonium would be separated, then an enrichment process used to upgrade its isotopic purity. Nuclear power fuel contained only about four percent uranium-235, one of the isotopes used to create the chain reaction for a fission explosion. The rest was uranium-238, which would assist in the operation of a power reactor but exert a negative effect in the core of a bomb.
"The extraction of uranium and plutonium from the waste is a relatively simple chemical solvent process called Purex," he said. "Reijeo built a facility equipped for the Purex process, disguising it as a fertilizer plant."
"Purex stands for 'plutonium-uranium extraction,' doesn't it?" Jerry asked.
Dr. Shin had a surprised look. "How did you know that?"
"I didn't start out in the public relations business. My degree is in chemical engineering."
"Then you probably know about all this."
"Sorry. My nuclear knowledge is pretty limited. What about the enrichment process?"
"Much more difficult. And the most critical. The amount of fissile material required for a weapon depends upon its purity and design. A uranium-235 content of more than ninety percent is necessary for an efficient device."
"And nuclear power fuel has only four percent?"
"Yes. The International Atomic Energy Agency considers anything with an enrichment of more than twenty percent as Special Nuclear Materials, requring strict accountability."
"How do you get high enrichment?"
Two basic processes have been used for enrichment, he said. The United States built huge complexes to enrich uranium by the gaseous diffusion method, such as the one at Oak Ridge, Tennessee, which helped produce the fissile material used in the bomb at Hiroshima. Jerry was quite familiar with that one. The gas centrifuge process also required a large facility, with vacuum pumps and piping to move uranium hexafluoride gas between hundreds of centrifuges. However, Dr. Shin continued, a new process had been developed over the past few years and was only recently put into production. It was called laser isotope separation.
"A laser enrichment facility is fairly small," he explained. "It requires a relatively low expenditure of capital and the operating cost is modest. Israel has done a great deal of work with this process."
Jerry's eyes widened. "Has Korea acquired the technology from Israel?"
Dr. Shin leaned forward on the desk. "As you can imagine, Mr. Chan, that kind of information is a closely guarded secret. I do know that we have some talented people who have done very advanced work with lasers. I cannot say with certainty, but from what I have seen and heard, I believe there is a laser enrichment facility adjacent to the Kanggu nuclear power plant."
Jerry studied the Dr. Shin with a new intensity. The conspiracy was beginning to come into focus, like the image slowly taking shape in a Polaroid photo. It had all begun to make sense. "Have you been working in the weapons fabrication plant?" he asked.
"Yes. Since last summer. I continued to believe it was necessary to protect our country. I did not trust promises from the Democratic Peoples Republic to permit inspection of their nuclear facilities. They might show some harmless process, but they would surely keep their real weapons production line hidden. Then came the incident in Pyongyang that killed Kim Il-sung and his son."
"What happened then?"
"When it became evident the North was no longer a threat, I expected the weapons program to be shut down. But it went right ahead as vigorously as ever. I started raising questions. The management said Pyongyang wasn't the only threat. They said it was vital to the nation's interests to continue the project. When I started talking to others about holding a meeting to organize a protest, I was fired. That was about three weeks ago."
Dr. Shin wasn't aware of what had happened since early November, but he said the project had been on target to have a weapon ready for testing the first of the year. He had no doubt that goal would be met. There was enough highly enriched uranium available—he didn't know its origin—to fabricate several additional weapons. And with the amount of spent nuclear power fuel available in the storage area at Kanggu, the whole production process should be under way within weeks, turning out an increasing supply of weapons grade uranium. Over the long term, the plan was to convert to the use of plutonium, which would permit more powerful weapons wi
th smaller amounts of radioactive metal.
"Did the French or the Israelis send over scientists to help with weapons design or fabrication?" Jerry asked.
"It wasn't necessary," said Dr. Shin with a shrug. "We had something better."
"Something better?"
"Several Korean-Americans who had worked in U.S. Energy Department weapons programs joined us some months ago. From both the Los Alamos and Lawrence Livermore laboratories. One had been a key person on the team that developed the B61 warhead at Los Alamos."
Jerry shook his head in amazement. That was probably the greatest shocker of them all. But how did the Koreans plan to deliver their nuclear weapons, he wondered? "Are these things intended as bombs or as warheads for missiles?"
"Warheads."
"Damn!" Jerry pounded a fist against his hand. "With that capability, they could pose a threat to anybody in the region."
"They do, Mr. Chan. They do. I hope your coalition can manage some way to stop them."
His coalition was sitting in the Oval Office at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. And what could the President do? Blow the whistle on Seoul? No doubt they would deny it right up to the minute they set off a test explosion. They would claim America was inventing things out of pique over South Korea's dropping the U.S. as one of its principal trading partners. Unless...unless what? Unless Dr. Shin Man-ki were paraded before the press to reveal all the gory details of South Korea's treacherous plot dating back to the mid-eighties.
"I'll report everything you've told me to the Coalition in Washington," Jerry said. "I don't know just what action they'll take, but it might be necessary to have you tell your story to the international press. Would you be willing to do that?"
Dr. Shin frowned. "I'd have to leave the country if I did."
"That might not be a bad idea anyway."
The troubled physicist studied his palms for a moment, as if looking for an answer in his lifeline. He looked back at Jerry through determined gray eyes. "Yes, I would talk to the press. This madness must be stopped."
"You said they gave it a special code name. What was the name?"
"They took it from a familiar Taoist blessing, the Chinese characters for happiness and longevity. How's that for scrambling the symbolism? It was called Operation Pok Su."
Seoul, South Korea
Chapter 41
The Dokjo Restaurant in Iksun-dong had the look of a large traditional Korean home, which it had been until its reincarnation some years ago as one of Seoul's top native style dining establishments. Hanging scrolls decorated the walls and beautiful examples of celadon and porcelain pottery were displayed about the rooms. Subdued lighting added to the feeling of antiquity. Burke had reserved a table in a small private cubicle but was waiting near the restaurant's entrance when Captain Yun arrived. The policeman wore a dark gray suit that, along with the tightly controlled look on his face, gave him the appearance of a successful Korean entrepreneur. The maitre d' bowed deferentially before conducting them back to the private room where floor cushions were arrayed around a low laquered table.
"Your waitress, Miss Han, will be with you shortly," said the maitre d' before closing the rice paper door behind him.
Burke took his place at the table, thankful for the warmth of the ondol floor. From a speaker somewhere out of sight, he heard the soft strains of a melody he had learned to recognize as Arirang, the country's unofficial national anthem. He hadn't managed to comprehend the words, but concluded that the sound would effectively thwart any recording devices that might be around. Then he almost laughed at the paranoia behind that thought. It seemed rather farfetched that anyone would want to bug the dinner conversation of a police detective and a PR man.
"Did you get caught in that mess up the street?" he asked Captain Yun.
"Mess?"
"All the policemen in front of that place. Motorcycle cops. Vans."
Yun smiled. "That was the Jang Jung Gak kisaeng house, probably the most exclusive one in town. The long black limousine out front belongs to President Kwak. If he's in Seoul, you can usually find him there on a Tuesday night. It's closed to the public on Tuesdays."
"At a kisaeng house? Isn't that a...sort of..."
"House of prostitution? No, not in the normal sense. The young ladies are charming, beautiful, talented. They provide lavish service during dinner. They also sing and dance and play musical instruments. Should they choose to, they may accompany their patrons later in the evening. For rather exhorbitant fees, I might add. In fact, the charges for dinner and entertainment are more than the ordinary man can afford. The president meets there to relax with some of his cronies, particularly the Prime Minister and Colonel Han of the NSP."
An attractive waitress in a colorful hanbok served an array of steaming dishes that soon covered the table. As they began to eat, Yun inquired about Burke's impending fatherhood.
"Only about three weeks to go," he said with a smile. "Which means I won't be in Seoul much longer. That was one reason I wanted to take you to dinner tonight. The other was to let you know the manuscript from Dr. Cabot Lowing should be arriving in the next day or two. I'll get it to you as soon as I can."
"I'm not sure what help it will be now," said Yun with a note of bitterness.
Burke frowned. "What's the problem? I got the impression when we talked the other day that something might have happened with your investigation."
Yun paused, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, then returned a succulent shrimp to its bowl. He looked across at Burke, his features as hard as the granite that supported the foundation beneath them. "I was told by my prosecutor not to mention this to anyone, but you know the rest of the story. You might as well know this, too."
He explained how his effort to unmask the man known as Hwang Sang-sol had been torpedoed by Prosecutor Park and the director of the NSP. They might as well have slammed a steel door in his face.
Burke shook his head in sympathy. "When they start waving the red flag of national security, you know you've really touched a sensitive nerve."
"True. And Park was nearly petrified at the involvement of the NSP."
"Doesn't look like they left you any maneuvering room."
Yun shrugged. "I could appeal directly to the president, if I was interested in committing career suicide."
"I wouldn't advocate that."
Yun sighed in resignation. "Nor would I."
Burke speared a chunk of beef with his fork and used it to emphasize his words. "If that manuscript was worth killing for, surely it holds something pretty damned important. Let's hope we can find it."
As Burke and Captain Yun were leaving the restaurant, they walked past another small cubicle where two men sat eating. The waitress had just opened the rice paper door, which allowed Burke a glimpse of a large fat man facing him from the other side of the low table. He couldn't recall having seen a Korean of such proportions, almost like a Sumo wrestler. He saw only the back of the short, compact figure facing away from him. Burke wondered if the Captain might recognize the burly diner but realized Yun was looking straight ahead and couldn't have seen him.
In the small room, Prosecutor Park Sang-muk looked down at the man across from him. "One of your old police colleagues just passed by with an American."
Yoo Hak-sil frowned. "An American?"
Park nodded, his beefy jowls shaking like the folds of a dancer's skirt.
Yoo went to the door and looked out. Returning to his place at the table, he downed a swallow of soju and smiled at his dinner companion. "That was his public relations agent."
"What are you talking about?" Park frowned. Sometimes he wondered about his old drinking buddy.
"The American's name is Burke Hill. He's with an American public relations firm that recently opened an office here. They hired me to do some employee investigations on Captain Yun's recommendation."
Park was not at all pleased with what he had just heard. Yun dining with an American businessman whom he had apparently befriended?
Could it have any relation to his theory about a plot against Koreans who supported close relations with the Americans? He recalled the Captain's past indiscretions, at least they qualified for that description from his biased viewpoint, which had required large quantities of insam cha to restore his nervous system to its proper balance and harmony. Surely Yun was not still pursuing the involvement of an assassin named Hwang. Park feared any misstep by the investigator might be turned against himself, since he bore overall responsibility in the cases. The very last thing he cared to even contemplate was a confrontation with the NSP.
By the time Jerry Chan and Dr. Shin had finished their conversation about Operation Pok Su, it was too dark for Jerry to risk the treacherous road back down the mountain. So he spent the night at Hongsansa and drove back to Seoul the following morning. Song Ji-young was delighted to see him.
"I was worried about you," she said. "We thought you would be back last night. I stayed here late, but you didn't return. I heard the weather was bad down at Kyongju."
"The weather wasn't too bad," Jerry said, "but I would have had to drive at night to get back. I thought it best to stay over till this morning. Where is everybody?"
"Let's see." She counted them off on the fingers of one hand. "Mr. Hill has gone over to the Bank of Korea. Mr. Elliston is meeting with a group of fast food managers, Mr. Tolliver is calling on a television station, and Miss Pickerel is in her office." She looked down at his desk and saw the note she had left there. She pointed to it, frowning. "That Mr. Yoo called and wants to come by to see you. He said you could call him at that number."
Jerry noticed she didn't offer to place the call for him. That was unusual. But he thought no more of it as Brittany stuck her head in the door to say she would be out for a short while.
The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2) Page 27
