by Ben Coes
“I agree. You work for them and your loyalties are to America, and, hopefully, Britain always.”
“What makes you think I would even consider going to the CIA?” Jenna yelled. “Fuck them. Americans? Fuck all, Derek.”
“You’ll go,” said Chalmers, looking her in the eyes and picking up his water glass. He took a sip. “We’ve leased a flat for you in Kalorama. You’ll be on triple pay. Two years. That should clear your head.”
“And if I don’t want to go?”
Chalmers grinned.
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” he said. “I’m giving you a license to kill. At least show a modicum of appreciation, will you?”
7
TONGHAE SATELLITE LAUNCHING GROUND
MUSUDAN-RI
NORTH HAMGYONG PROVINCE
NORTH KOREA
A long line of vehicles moved quickly through the remote hills north of Chongjin, a desolate, impoverished city on the coast of North Korea. There were seven sedans and one black limousine in all. The vehicles were guarded by two extended-cab, dark-green-colored troop carriers, one in front and the other in back. Each specialized vehicle was filled with half a dozen armed soldiers from the Special Guard Unit, an elite division of the Korean People’s Army.
The limousine’s windows were tinted dark. Small North Korean flags stuck up from the front and back corners of the vehicle.
The motorcade sped along the thin, pot hole–strewn roads of the rural coast, the dark, whitecapped waters of the Sea of Japan visible in the distance. The hills and valleys alongside the road intercut between empty land, covered in dirt and rocks and the occasional shrub or tree, and shacks, small huts, and houses made of scrap metal, wood, or concrete.
Inside the limousine, North Korea’s supreme leader, Kim Jong-un, lit a cigarette and took a deep puff as he looked out his window. It gave Kim no pleasure seeing the thin, emaciated figures milling about ramshackle homes without electricity and barely any food, staring at his limousine as it passed by. Yet, he also didn’t feel at all guilty or responsible for the terrible conditions of his country. The truth is, he felt nothing at all.
Kim was dressed in a black suit with a black trench coat. His hair was short except on top, like a little tuft. He was morbidly obese and needed help getting out of the limousine. Kim had the body of a sixty-year-old, but the face of a child. He looked at the man seated across from him, Pak Yong-sik, the highest-ranking officer in the Korean People’s Army.
Suddenly, Kim’s eyes shot to the window. A skeletal dog was traipsing along the roadside, searching for food.
“Stop!” barked Kim.
The limousine came to a halt. Kim pushed a button, lowering the window. He took another puff as he stared at the dog. Kim had a smile on his chubby face, like a young child. The dog stopped moving, staring at Kim with a nervous mixture of curiosity and fear. The dog had gray-and-black fur, with patches of bare pink skin in places. Kim flicked the cigarette out onto the road. He reached into his coat and pulled a handgun from the holster beneath his left armpit. He flipped the safety off, chambered a round, then swept the gun so that it was aimed at the dog. The dog stared back at Kim without moving. Slowly, he seemed to bow his head and then took a step closer to the limousine. Kim fired. The sound of unmuted gunfire was shocking and loud. The bullet missed.
“Dammit!” he yelled. “Lousy gun!”
The dog started to move away but Kim fired again, then a third time. A bullet struck the dog in the side, knocking him to the ground, where he spasmed and writhed in pain as a low series of yelps came from his mouth. Kim fired again, hitting the dog in the head. The dog went quiet and still.
Kim stared at the creature for a few seconds and turned to Yongsik. He tossed the handgun at Yong-sik.
“Terrible pistol,” he seethed. “See to it we no longer buy any by this manufacturer!”
“Yes,” said Yong-sik.
Kim slapped the leather seat next to him.
“Go!” he barked to the driver.
* * *
A half hour later, they came to a security fence. It was twelve feet high and fringed with circular razor wire. Small red signs indicated that it was electrified. A guard station stood before a set of gates. Two soldiers emerged as the limousine approached. One of the soldiers, seeing the long limo, turned abruptly and charged inside. The gates started moving aside, opening for the motorcade just in time to let the vehicles pass through.
The two armed soldiers at the entrance hut stood and saluted as the vehicles passed through.
Just inside the gates, a black-and-white sign read:
Tonghae Satellite Launching Ground
The motorcade rumbled in through the gates, where the road turned wider and smoother, as if it had been recently paved. The steel fence ran in both directions for as far the eye could see, disappearing behind sloping hills in the distance.
Tonghae was one of two missile test launch facilities in North Korea. Tonghae was the oldest, originally constructed in 1981 and consisting of little more than a circular concrete launch pad. Sohae, North Korea’s second missile test and launch facility, was located to the west and was larger and more modern—at least, until now. For Tonghae had just completed a substantial renovation, including the addition of a state-of-the-art launchpad, with a massive flame bucket beneath the pad, four-stage gantry tower and crane, rocket assembly building, and engine test stand.
Yet, even after the renovations and new construction, it was difficult to believe that the small collection of buildings, spread out over several hundred acres of barren land, was, in point of fact, a central flash point in a growing conflict that threatened to spark nuclear war. North Korea continued to stick its finger in the eye of Japan, South Korea, the United Nations, and, most importantly, the United States of America, by launching test missile after test missile into the China Sea, testing and retesting, working to improve North Korea’s ability to send a missile anywhere in the world.
North Korea already possessed nuclear weapons. One of the many ironies of the backwards country was that it was somehow able to manage the much more difficult technological achievement of nuclear fission and yet couldn’t figure out how to fire a missile more than a few thousand kilometers.
But they were learning.
With each successive launch, the North Koreans were gaining knowledge as to what worked and what didn’t. It was only a matter of time before the country possessed the ability to launch a missile that could strike anywhere in the world.
All Kim Jong-un cared about was being able to hit the United States.
Kim Jong-un’s hatred for America started when he was just a young boy, traveling with his father to towns that remained half destroyed by bombs that had been dropped almost half a century before by America. He recalled seeing his father cry on two different occasions, both times while visiting places his government could barely afford to feed, much less rebuild. His father, Kim Jong-il, had lived through the great war but, ironically, he was not embittered toward the United States or the South Koreans. Instead, the war gave the elder Kim a deeper sympathy for not only his people, but for his opponents as well. “To see war,” he once told the young Kim, “is to know there are no winners.” But Kim Jong-il only saw the reckoning the war left behind. A divided Korean Peninsula. An impoverished people without enough food to eat. Elderly farmers still scarred by napalm. Kim believed it was the guilt and sadness over not being able to provide for his country that killed his beloved papa. Through the distorted eyes of a child, Kim Jong-un developed the kind of pure hatred that only a child is capable of, and never had reason to abandon it. Now, this hatred guided his every move.
The three-vehicle motorcade came to a large rectangle of gray concrete, elevated into the sky by at least ten feet. This was the new missile launchpad. There were several stairwells leading up to the surface of the pad. Below the concrete, a hollowed-out area—the blast bucket—was designed to create an outlet for the heat and flames from the missiles
as they initially ignited.
Standing on the launchpad were hundreds of uniformed soldiers. The soldiers stood in neat lines, as still as if they were statues, each man’s right hand raised in a salute to Kim as the limousine approached.
In the middle of the gathering of soldiers, at the center of the launchpad, stood a shiny white missile that jutted seventy feet into the sky, clutched on two sides by the gantry tower.
The limousine came to a stop and Kim climbed out.
General Yong-sik emerged from the opposite side of the limo. He joined Kim at his side and walked toward the crowded launch platform. Kim and Yong-sik walked to one of the stairwells and climbed slowly up. It took Kim several minutes to climb the twenty or so steps. When he arrived at the top of the platform, his face was red, though a smile appeared. He stood and caught his breath, then raised his hand, saluting the soldiers who’d gathered for him.
A loud, cacophonous cheer suddenly came from the brigade of soldiers:
“Kim! Kim! Kim!”
One of the soldiers approached Kim and handed him a wireless microphone.
“Good morning, soldiers of the Korean People’s Army,” bellowed Kim. “Today, we launch the first test missile of the Taedongo-3! It is with the Taedongo-3 that North Korea will at long last be able to attack our mortal enemy, the United States of America!”
The soldiers began cheering. They shouted, “Long live Kim!” again and again as Kim handed the microphone back to one of the soldiers and turned to walk down the stairs, followed by Yong-sik.
“Long live Kim! Long live Kim! Long live Kim!”
Kim and Yong-sik climbed back inside the limousine, which moved slowly away from the launchpad and along a winding uphill road, passing several armed gunmen. The limousine stopped at a small, two-story glass-and-concrete building that sat atop the highest point of land for several miles. Kim and Yong-sik climbed out and walked to the building. This was the control tower, where all controls and communication for the missile launch were managed. An armed soldier opened the door for Kim and Yong-sik, who stepped inside.
The room looked like a control tower at an airport, with various workstations arrayed with radar screens, computers, and other devices. A large window covered the front wall and offered a panoramic view of the Tonghae facility. The launchpad was below them, down a steep hill. Soldiers were moving in lockstep away from the launchpad. Beyond, the Sea of Japan appeared through a haze of thin fog and gray clouds.
Three individuals were inside the control tower. Two engineers sat at tables before a wall of controls, dials, and screens, wearing headsets. A third man was standing at the large window, looking down at the launchpad. He had on thick glasses, a white lab coat, and was speaking in a low voice to someone over his headset. He was holding a clipboard.
“Dr. Cojin,” said Yong-sik.
The man turned. He suddenly caught sight of Yong-sik and then Kim. After a surprised moment, he immediately dropped to his knees and bowed.
“Your Excellency,” said Dr. Cojin. “It is a tremendous honor to have you here today.”
Kim removed a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and lit it.
“Are we ready, Cojin?” said Kim. “After almost one hundred million dollars and three and a half years, I trust the answer is yes.”
Cojin stood up. He nodded.
“Yes, it is all ready, Your Excellency.”
Kim took a deep puff, exhaling, filling the small control room with smoke.
“Yes, yes, get on with it. I don’t have all day.”
“If everything goes correctly, as it should,” said Cojin, “I would like to introduce you to the individuals who made today’s launch possible.”
Kim dropped the cigarette onto the floor and stepped on it.
“The state is not a place of individual achievement,” said Kim loudly. “We build weapons of glory not because we want to celebrate the men who built them, but because we want to advance the great cause of the North Korean people and to be able to strike the evil enemy, the United States of America!”
Cojin bowed. “Yes, of course, Your Excellency. Of course.”
“Tell us about Tadondo-3,” said Yong-sik.
Cojin pointed out the window to the launch platform. The final row of soldiers was moving down the steps and away from the platform.
“Taedondo-3 is a multiple-stage, solid-fueled hydro rocket, capable of reaching distances of up to ten thousand kilometers. Today, we launch Taedondo-3 with an expected flight path over the Sea of Japan. It will, if all goes according to plan, land in the Pacific Ocean approximately one thousand miles from the coast of Mexico. It would represent the greatest length achieved in flight by a North Korean missile, Your Excellency.”
Kim nodded and smiled. A moment of childlike glee hit his face. He clapped once.
“Excellent, Cojin!” said Kim. “Now let’s do it, shall we?”
Dr. Cojin turned. He looked at one of the engineers seated at the control station.
“Kawau,” said Colin. “Commence firing sequence.”
Without turning around, the young engineer nodded and began typing.
“Commencing firing sequence,” said Kawau.
A low, soft boom echoed from down the hill. Kim, Yong-sik, and Cojin stepped to the window and looked down at the launch platform. It appeared as if nothing had occurred, and then a few puffs of smoke ebbed out from the base of the missile. A louder explosion followed, then came a high-pitched sizzling noise, followed by a cacophonous boom, and all hell broke loose. Flames and smoke shot out from the missile as it started to rise in the air. The gantry tower fell back and away as the missile slowly lifted into the air, a trail of smoke and orange flames behind it, the noise deafening. The missile climbed into the air, its velocity increasing with every passing second until, at some point, a massive boom again rocked the air and the missile’s speed went from fast to supersonic and it shot up into the sky.
Kim and Yong-sik started clapping, and Kim even yelled “Hooray” as the missile climbed higher and higher in the sky …
… and then something went horribly wrong.…
“Oh my God,” groaned Cojin.
The missile abruptly exploded. Violent clouds of red and orange flames shot in every direction as the sky filled with flames and smoke and falling debris, chunks of missile caught in burning, fuel-soaked flames, raining down from the sky into the ocean in the distance.
Cojin stepped behind one of the engineers, leaning forward, trying to read the instruments, trying to understand what had happened.
Yong-sik looked at Kim, who stood motionless in front of the window. Finally, Kim met Yong-sik’s stare. He had a dumbfounded, angry look on his face. Kim turned and walked past Dr. Cojin and the two engineers, almost stumbling in shock as he made his way to the door. When he reached the door he paused. He reached inside his coat to remove his gun from his shoulder holster, but it wasn’t there. He looked at Yong-sik. Yong-sik unbuckled a holster at his waist and lifted his handgun and handed it to Kim. Kim raised the gun and aimed it at the young man on the right, whose back was to him. He fired, striking the man in the back of the head. Cojin and the other engineer turned. Kim fired at the other engineer. The bullet ripped into the young man’s forehead.
Cojin held both of his arms up in resignation.
“I am sorry, Your Excellency—”
The third bullet struck Cojin in the chest, kicking him sideways and down to the ground.
Yong-sik stood at the window. He had a blank expression on his face. He stared at Kim as Kim watched Cojin fall to the ground. When Kim’s eyes met Yong-sik’s, they stared at each other for several moments. Kim moved his arm to the right and trained the gun on Yong-sik. His hand was shaking as he held him in the firing line. Finally, Kim lowered the gun.
“It’s not your fault,” said Kim. “But now we do it the way I said. You will call the Iranians and we’ll do what we should’ve done years ago.”
“Yes, my leader,” said Yong-sik.
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Also by Ben Coes
Power Down
Coup d’État
The Last Refuge
Eye for an Eye
Independence Day
First Strike
Trap the Devil
Bloody Sunday
About the Author
Ben Coes is the New York Times bestselling author of international espionage thrillers, including Eye for an Eye, First Strike, and Trap the Devil. Before writing his first novel, Power Down, he worked at the White House under two presidents and was a Fellow at the John F. Kennedy School of Government. He lives with his wife and four children in Wellesley, Massachusetts. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Excerpt: Bloody Sunday
Also by Ben Coes
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SHOOTING GALLERY. Copyright © 2018 by Ben Coes. All rights reserved. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
