by Andy Harp
Scott knew both sites would be made immediately available. Although they weren’t CIA facilities, this mission had been given the highest priority of any he had seen in over a decade. The White House and Secretary of Defense had sent top-secret messages to the director of the FBI and other related agencies that they were to cooperate to the fullest extent possible with the requests of the CIA’s Mr. Scott. More importantly for the U.S. Government, funding authorization codes were provided on each message. Federal cooperation improved exponentially when one part of the government knew others would pay.
“Okay, Colonel, I imagine you have several other suggestions. I look forward to hearing them.”
Chapter 10
Comrade Doctor, thank you for both the tour and your hospitality.” General Won, stepping forward from beside Tae Nam-Ki, grabbed Nampo’s hand and wrapped his other arm around the small doctor’s shoulders in a bear hug. Nampo, unaccustomed to any man being so close, was repelled by the maneuver.
Won put his face near Nampo as he spoke. “Remember, Comrade Doctor, Sun Tzu’s rule: ‘To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.’” The general’s actions were entirely calculated. China would extend its hand to its communist neighbor, but North Korea should never forget Beijing. And whatever Nampo convinced Pyongyang his system was capable of, North Korea best not push it too far.
“Your advice and counsel are greatly appreciated, General. Perhaps you will be able to return for our advanced testing.”
“Both my government and I look forward to it.”
A young aide came up to General Won and Colonel Nam-Ki and clicked his heels in attention, signaling it was time to go. Some time earlier, a covered jeep had departed the military camp near the South Korean border in an apparently routine trip to the helicopter landing zone in the valley. At a pre-designated time, the vehicle would take the curve at a slow pace, proceed undetected into the dark wooded area, and pass into the short tunnel. The passengers would be standing by, waiting to quickly board and delay the vehicle only momentarily. A satellite would know only that the jeep drove into the grove of woods and came out at the other end.
How could a nation so wrapped in poverty be capable of such efficiency? Won thought as he turned to take a final look at the facility.
Shortly thereafter, Won would be aboard a helicopter, then a Chinese military jet returning him to Beijing.I’ll be expected to go directly to the military department and be debriefed on this trip. Won cringed at the thought. Debriefings on past trips had led to debates on controversial issues lasting well into the night.
As Dr. Nampo heard the staccato pump of helicopter blades pass over the valley, a young North Korean captain approached him from behind and came to stiff attention. Nampo turned, and the captain held out a sealed yellow folder with writing on the outside.
“Comrade Doctor, this just came in from Pyongyang.”
“What is it?” Nampo knew the captain was the duty communications officer, and would have read the folder’s contents while deciphering it.
“They want you in the capital as soon as possible.”
“Transfer by the usual method?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And when will the vehicle be dispatched?”
“It has been already. You have approximately twenty minutes.”
Nampo scowled. A trip to Pyongyang, especially one with such short notice, would take him away from his work.
“Let me go to my quarters and change. Call Lin Po immediately and have him meet me here in fifteen minutes.” Po was one of the assigned doubles. Generally, the trip to the capital was made as inconspicuously as possible. Security would allow Nampo to travel this time with only one double, and Po was a trained security officer capable of handling any situation.
“Yes, sir.” The captain turned and ran off. Nampo, knowing he didn’t have much time, headed for his quarters. If he was not at the tunnel when the vehicle passed through, he knew it would leave him behind. Security had made it absolutely clear that no vehicle entered the grove of trees without also leaving shortly thereafter.
Nampo went directly to the closet, where his well-worn North Korean sergeant’s uniform hung. As he quickly dressed, he barely noticed the woman enter the room and lay down on the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“To the capital. They want to see me.”
“But tonight?”
He turned to the bed and, with the full force of his body, threw his hand across her face. She reeled back, fell to the floor, and began to sob.
“We have one purpose here. You know that.”
Nampo turned away, buttoning the last button on the tunic. He grabbed a military hat from a table near the door and walked out of the room.
Shortly, as Nampo stood at the entranceway, a troop truck started down the entrance ramp into the tunnel, just as a man nearly identical to Nampo emerged from the facility.
The young troops in the truck had heard of this mysterious tunnel facility, but they were never to mention it, not even to family or friends, on the threat of instant execution.
At the tail of the truck, their sergeant stood up. “Men, move forward,” he said. “Make room.”
Each grabbed his small pack and rifle and slid forward on the truck’s wooden bench.
“Make room quickly.” He turned to the two men in similar uniforms. “Get up. Do you have your rifles?”
As Nampo climbed up onto the truck, a security guard ran out of the tunnel with two AK-47 rifles.
Nampo grabbed the weapon as he sat down across from his double, Lin Po. However unpleasant these trips were for him, they would appear to others as another small squad-size troop movement made from the countryside to the city.
The truck took nearly an hour to complete its journey to Wonsan. It did not use the helicopter landing zone in the valley so as to not attract further attention to the site. Rather, the doctor would have to endure the long bumpy journey to the city of Wonsan, where a larger troop transport helicopter would meet them. Even in this, there were risks—North Korea rarely had the luxury of using helicopters for random troop transport. But even the capital knew that Nampo could not afford to be away from the facility for long. The risk was reasonable and had to be taken.
As the truck drove into the suburbs of Wonsan, Nampo smelled the acrid, overwhelming odor of the city’s pollution. He had forgotten how sheltered his facility was from daily life.
The children here were thin and slow-moving. One child, no more than ten, stood on the road, staring at the truck as it drove by. Nampo stared back with no emotion. He had seen many such children before.
The truck pulled onto the Wonsan airfield near a large Soviet-made Mi-17 HIP helicopter. Its turbine was winding up so loud the sergeant had to shout out his instructions. Even so, he could barely be heard. Russian helicopters were well known as unstoppable, rugged, and tough, but also uncomfortable and noisy. The HIP, a larger brother of the Mi-8, was a flying tank, described as a two-hundred and fifty-knot, medium-lift helicopter.
The truck suddenly stopped, and all its passengers were tossed forward. One of the troops in the back, half asleep from the journey, fell to the hard floor. His friends laughed. The two passengers remained expressionless.
“Get up. Get hopping. Move it,” said the sergeant. He jumped out onto the ground and helped each of the soldiers, including the two guests, to quickly unload. Each ran at a forty-five degree angle to the rear of the helicopter.
Nampo ran into the loud, humming aircraft and took a seat near the front, where the crew chief signaled him to sit. Po sat next to him. Near the half-open door, Nampo felt the warm air blowing from the blades. The ship rocked on the tarmac as the blades danced.
The men filed in after Nampo and alternated their seats from one side to the other. Nampo noticed that each placed the barrel of his weapon down, ensuring that if an absent round were fired, it would go down through the flooring and not up toward the jet turbines. With this, he turne
d his AK-47 to the floor and gestured to Po to do the same.
The helicopter lunged forward in a hopping fashion as the blades bit into the air. Nampo felt the blades shift from lift to forward movement. As the helicopter moved upward, the deck tilted as the aircraft banked in a three hundred and sixty degree climbing turn out over Wonsan, the small town’s port, and the Sea of Japan. A wrench slid across the floor until the crew chief stopped it. Nampo saw the small fishing boats below in Wonsan’s harbor and several military boats between them and the open sea.
As they climbed higher, Nampo saw the twisting outline of the coast to the south. Just below Wonsan, a large, odd-shaped object appeared in the waters off the small port of Changjon. Not much more than a pier, Changjon had moored a larger passenger cruise-liner with lights on in the middle of the day, strung like a Christmas tree from the front of the main masts to the rear. It was a strange sight for the North.
Nampo immediately knew what this ship was and a scowl crossed his face. Despite his protests, Pyongyang had allowed a South Korean tour boat to bring to Changjon a limited number of South Korean tourists to visit the Taebaek Mountains. A South Korean mega conglomerate, Hyundai Corporation, had secretly consummated the deal, paying Pyongyang hundreds of millions in blackmail bounty. Even North Korea’s leaders were feeling the shortage of goods and supplies and much enjoyed the infusion of Western cash.
It was only after many protests that Nampo was able to ensure that the tour groups would stay on the coastline, taking a bus from the pier at Chamgjon directly to the Diamond Mountain. He did not want anyone to go anywhere near Kosan or his inland valley.
The helicopter banked one final time and leveled off at its altitude. As Nampo smelled the dull kerosene fumes from the jet engines, he turned over his shoulder and looked through the round plexiglas window to see the sharp points of the Taebaeks lined up in a row, paralleling the coast. He soon spotted his small green valley, angled away from Wonsan and the coast.
The flight to the capital took well over an hour. Pyongyang, the largest city in a nation of twenty-two million, is known as the “hermit city.” For more than fifteen hundred years, it served as the capital of the peninsula of Korea, and for five decades, it was the secret city of Kim Il Sung, the father of the nation. It was rebuilt in his honor, according to his whims, with monies and designs provided by Moscow and Beijing. Now the son, Kim Jong Il, ruled.
At a small military airfield near the edge of the city, the helicopter landed and taxied to the edge of an open, lit hangar. Inside it, Nampo noticed, was a troop truck similar to the one in Wonsan, and a large, box-shaped black car. The car, another Soviet product, was rarely seen in the countryside, but Nampo was familiar with it from the other trips he had made to the capital. Once again, Security’s attention to detail was admirable. Under the protective cover of the hangar, a low-orbit spy satellite would see troops enter a building and a troop truck leave. Only with luck would the observers wait and catch a black car leaving from the other end some time later.
The troops bolted from the side door across a short space of tarmac to the interior of the hangar. Inside the building, Nampo and Po separated from the group and approached the Soviet car. A security officer snapped to attention, opening the rear door. Both Nampo and his look-alike climbed into the back of the vehicle. The broad heavy security officer slid into the front passenger seat.
“We are to go directly to NCDB, Comrade Dr. Nampo.”
Nampo was surprised by this news. In previous visits to the capital, Nampo could expect a stay at one of the distinguished visitors’ quarters. It was the sole perk from these tiring and boring trips. Although dedicated to the cause, he didn’t forego all personal benefits.
“Why the urgency?”
“Comrade Doctor, I was not informed why.” The officer paused, wondering whether to say more, having learned the hard way over the years to say less. “I do know this is a special meeting. There are several in attendance.” He paused again, fearing he had said too much, and left the sentence hanging in midair.
The silence in the car was disturbing. As they drove into the city, Nampo observed an open but corroding capital. The buildings were in disrepair. With few lights on, he could see the wood around the frames of windows, dark and twisted, the glass broken in many places. This part of the city was dark, with only an occasional flash of light that broke through the curtain-drawn windows. Candles or lanterns flickered in small, cold apartments.
Nampo took pleasure in his thoughts and observations. It’s not that he cared about this misery as much as he knew it represented opportunity. He would be the shining light the city lacked—the hero of a nation.
Rain fell on the capital’s streets as they headed toward the tall downtown building of the NCDB. The Nuclear and Chemical Defense Bureau was instrumental in Nampo’s operation. It controlled funding and had oversight responsibility. This trip, although sudden, was a good opportunity. Nampo was interested in how the other aspects of the operation were advancing.
The chunky, aged Soviet car pulled into the rear of the building under a covered portico. Nampo and Po entered the building through large metal and glass doors pulled open by two stiff guards dressed in brown buttoned uniforms with red stripes. The red star stood out on their collars and hats.
“I am always unsure which of you is Dr. Nampo,” said the elderly Sin Tae-sam, senior vice president of the state, meeting them at the door. One or two military generals may have had greater stature, but he remained one of the most powerful men in all of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.
“I am Comrade Nampo.” Nampo stepped forward to grab the old man’s hand, and Lin Po stepped backwards and off to the side. Inside the NCDB building, the ruse would be suspended. Po had done his job. Now he could slip away to a side hallway, try to grab a cigarette, and wait until Nampo was on the move again.
“Doctor, we have many important things to discuss.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Come with me.” He turned and walked down a short stairway, across a wide hall to two dark mahogany doors guarded by two similarly dressed soldiers. The soldiers were backed up by two large, heavy, muscular men, preventing anyone—at risk of death—from passing without permission.
Nampo walked into the long, surprisingly narrow conference room. A wooden table covered with green felt stretched the length of the room. Nampo immediately recognized the remainder of the NCDB committee: three generals, men of power all, and another vice president, Choe Hakson, known as a direct advisor to Kim Jong Il.
On Nampo’s right were two of the engineers in charge of the nuclear reprocessing facility at Yongbyon. They had the job of ensuring there was sufficient weapons-grade plutonium available for small nuclear warheads, but their tasks were well down the line, so they looked relaxed.
To their side, Nampo recognized what he called the navigation unit—the intelligence officers assigned that task. In the shadows of the rear, on the left, was another man, not dressed like any of the others. With a dark cosmopolitan look, he appeared to be a European—someone from Paris or possibly New York. A black leather jacket with black trousers might appear normal in New York, but in this communist city, his dress stood out. Nampo noticed a glimmer of gold as the man’s hand moved.
“Dr. Nampo,” said Sin, “have a seat here in this central chair of great importance.”
Nampo pulled the large leather chair away from the table and sat down. In the center of the green felt table sat several silver trays with bottles of water and bowls of fruit. Nampo, realizing he had not eaten for most of the day, grabbed an apple. Even for Nampo, the tart, succulent, sweet taste of the apple was a rarity, and he ate with relish.
“Dr. Nampo, where are we?”
Nampo quickly put forth an updated timetable, and Sin provided the recently obtained coordinates Nampo had long awaited. At the discussion’s end, the elder chairman pulled his chair back.
“We are appreciative of the efforts of everyone. Th
is project will save our nation and its great cause.”
As the men stood and began to depart, Nampo again noticed the dark figure in the back of the room.
“Oh, Dr. Nampo, please stay one moment.”
Only the chairman, Nampo, and the man in the shadows remained. The chairman waved his hand in a small signal to the guards—more than an order to close the doors. If Kim Jong Il himself asked to be admitted, he would not be.
“Dr. Nampo, per our last discussion, it is reported that the names you have suggested have been. . . retired.”
Why, Nampo thought, did they elect to use such evasive words?
“Did you bring an additional list?” said Sin.
“Yes.”
“We have now retired Harbinger at Berkley, Walter at MIT, and Brooklins at Cal Poly,” said Sin. “Each was a leading mind in micro-engineering, nanotechnology, and satellites. Who else?”
“The next list,” Nampo said, “will be fragile.” Now even he was using words in an absurdly careful manner. The plan seemed too dangerous to discuss out loud, but it was necessary.
The figure in the rear of the room shifted his weight in his chair.
“Who, Doctor?” said Sin.
“Wiretrack at Oxford, Feizer at Chicago, and. . . Boriskof at the Ioffe Physico-Technico Institute in St. Petersburg. And possibly one other in Japan at the Riken Institute.”
“We will take this upon consideration,” said Sin.
“Thank you, Comrade,” said Nampo.
“What is a reasonable expectation for the first launch date?”
“Thirty-one December,” said Nampo, “but we must be assured of a valid GEO orbit location.”
The chairman knew this was Nampo’s ego talking. Even if the blast radius was pinpointed, they still risked missing the satellite. The GPS systems would compensate for one or two downed birds, but the blast had to have an effect. It had to register on several GPS receivers in that western portion of the U.S. Only if GPS systems on airplanes, boats, trucks, and in a thousand other places suddenly failed could North Korea make its point. The country’s economy was bleeding. It could afford no failures.
