by Tom Clancy
He had not met the new president face-to-face until now, and he wanted to ascribe much of the progress of the past hour and a half to his good working relationship with the man, but he suspected Ling wasn’t terribly different from most of the other high Chinese Communist Party officials that the party extrudes into leadership positions. No, the success of this meeting had much do to with the fact Ryan came bearing both threats and gifts.
The first order of business had been to detail to the Chinese president North Korea’s involvement in the attack in Mexico City. Ryan brought no evidence with him—this wasn’t the type of meeting where two men would look over photos and witness statements together. Ryan instead offered to send Ling every shred of intelligence the U.S. had gleaned from Adel Zarif over the past three days.
Ling was astonished, and Ryan was pleased to see the seventy-year-old Chinese Communist Party leader seemed to be every bit as worried about how this would affect China as Ryan had hoped he would be.
Ryan then delved into details about Choi’s obsessive quest to obtain nuclear missiles that could reach the U.S. mainland. Again, President Ling’s face registered the gravity of the threat this posed to his own nation.
Ryan could see that Ling knew what was good for him and his country. He would play ball with America in the looming crisis. The last thing in the world he needed was a war between nuclear powers on his border, and Choi Ji-hoon’s aggressive quest for intermediate-range missiles and his targeting of world leaders were leading the region inexorably toward war.
With the threats laid out in stark terms, Ryan offered his gift. He told Ling of the defection of Hwang Min-ho, the director of Korea Natural Resources Trading Corporation. The man was in U.S. custody, but Ryan offered China access to him, and the opportunity to put him on national television and radio. Hwang was prepared to speak about how the North Korean Supreme Leader had initiated the process to squander many trillions of dollars’ worth of desperately needed riches for his nation by expelling Chinese miners, all because he wanted to obtain a nuclear weapons delivery vehicle that would reach to the U.S. It was an endeavor that might well have led to the destruction of the entire Korean Peninsula in the process, and the citizens of North Korea needed to know about this.
Ryan knew the Chinese had media, mostly radio broadcasts, that could reach into hundreds of thousands of homes in North Korea. Not to the proletariat, these people only had the government radio sets that blocked all but officially recognized channels, but to the elite of the nation, virtually all of whom listened to modified radios that allowed them to pick up Chinese transmissions, often translated into Korean for their benefit.
Within hours Hwang could be on a flight to Beijing with an American contingent. It was crucial he spread the word about Chongju to the people of North Korea as soon as possible, because Choi had been showing his volatility. The impounding of his mining equipment, the accusations he was involved in the assassination plot, the capture of his ICBM technology, and now the news that his intelligence chief had committed suicide. Choi was a wounded animal and everyone expected him to act as such.
And Choi had lived down to these expectations. In the past day he had launched two short-range rockets into the Sea of Japan and shelled a pair of South Korean islands.
Ryan knew the only sure bet was for Choi to be deposed from within, and the best chance for an internal uprising was convincing the elite of the nation that Choi had adversely affected all of their fortunes with his reckless obsession with nuclear missiles.
And on this Ryan and Ling were on the same page. They both felt their nations would only benefit if Choi was knocked from power. Ryan explained to Ling he knew the rare earth mineral mine’s value and its potential value to Ling’s nation. “If you could get your mining industry back inside North Korea, it would be a tremendous boon to your nation’s economy.”
Ling nodded, then asked, “How do you propose we convince Choi to allow this, without offering him missiles that would reach your California?”
Ryan said, “China has a lot of positive influence over North Korea. Hwang’s speech might force the hand of the people of the nation to sack Choi.”
“That is possible. We do maintain many friendly contacts with people in positions of power.”
Ryan knew this, and he knew the answer to the question he posed next, but he knew it only through intelligence intercepts from China. He couldn’t reveal this, of course, so he played dumb.
“Ji-hoon’s uncle, I forgot his name . . . he was the ambassador to China, wasn’t he? Whatever happened to him?”
Ling nodded. “Choi Sang-u. We had a most excellent relationship with him. His nephew thought the relationship was too good, unfortunately, so Ji-hoon threw Sang-u in prison.”
Ryan said, “It sounds like it would benefit China if this man was put into power in place of Ji-hoon.”
Ling agreed. “This would be the best possible outcome.” After a pause he added, “Depending, of course, on his present health and condition. You might know there is an attempt to reeducate those in prison. Not so much in the internment camps, but still we would have to evaluate him to see if he could take over the reins of power.”
Ryan said, “If this works, you might just have to take your chances. God knows he’d be better than Ji-hoon in power.”
Ling nodded thoughtfully. “You make a fair point.”
Ryan felt like the matter was dealt with. Hwang would tell the North Korean elite that China should be in North Korea operating the mineral mine. And that wouldn’t happen with Choi Ji-hoon in Ryongsong.
Ryan switched gears suddenly. “Mr. President, there is another matter I need to discuss with you.”
“Unrelated?”
“No, it’s related. I would like to ask for some help. A citizen of my country is, at present, in North Korea. He is wounded, and it is critical we retrieve him.”
Ling listened to the translation, then asked, “Do you mean to tell me you have an American secret agent inside North Korea?”
Ryan shrugged a little. “I am not prepared to say what the man’s occupation is. But I hope you will appreciate the fact I refuse to lie to you.”
The president of China nodded slightly.
“What is it you want?”
“He is less than a kilometer from your border on the southern side of the Yalu River.”
“You are asking us to open our border crossing?”
“No, Mr. President. I am asking more than that. I am asking you to send some men in to get him.”
“I am afraid what you are asking is out of the question. Despite the other matter to which we have just agreed, it is important for my country to maintain good and open relations with the DPRK. The potential for scandal in this matter is too great.”
“The success of the first matter depends on the positive resolution of the second.”
The president of China turned to his translator and had him repeat himself. Ryan saw the man was confused by the wording, but he let him figure it out on his own. Finally President Ling spoke and the translator turned it into English. “Do you mean to say the entire deal depends on this one man?”
Ryan did not hesitate. “Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. It is in both of our nations’ interests that this man is rescued, alive.”
Ling was still astonished, but Ryan could see the gears turning in his head. The man saw an opportunity. “If I agree to your request, I would like the opportunity for my intelligence officials to sit with this individual for a short interview.”
Ryan had been ready for this. “The information he has is related to the issue at hand, nothing more.”
“Be that as it may, I request—”
“It is likely this man is gravely injured. I want him delivered to us, here in Beijing. I will delay my departure, if necessary. If you do that, you have my personal assurance that an interview will be grant
ed, provided he is in condition to give an interview and only if my own people are allowed to be present during the interview.” Ryan smiled. “I expect this man might be very confused by everything.”
Ling asked, “When do we need to rescue your agent?”
Ryan said, “Within the hour would be ideal, Mr. President.”
Ling just stared at his translator in shock.
76
Adam Yao lay in a thick copse of trees alongside the Yalu River, some fifty yards from the gravel road behind him. He heard trucks passing on the road, back and forth, over and over, for most of the day. They couldn’t see him, he was well hidden, but he knew that as soon as the army thought to dismount some troops to check the wood line he would have to crawl to the river or lie here and await capture.
And the river was too cold to ford, especially in his weakened state.
Adam’s knee was swollen like a grapefruit, and the huge gash was showing signs of infection just twenty-four hours after he dove out of the racing SUV. He had crawled the last fifty yards through a muddy rice paddy after he fell off the bicycle, and an hour earlier when he tried to stand up he had been unable to put any weight on the leg at all.
He knew he wasn’t going anywhere. It had been a bone-chilling and wretched evening, and he told himself he was ready to die. Freezing to death had always seemed so awful those few times in his life he’d ever thought about it, but now he found himself accepting his fate. At peace with it.
Occasionally he thought he heard voices, never right on top of him but certainly on the road and perhaps even on boats passing on the Yalu River. He’d not understood any of the words, and after a while he started to wonder if his mind was not just playing tricks on him.
Though he had heard the footfalls of individual men traveling on the road far below him, he did not hear the men in white at all until they were right on top of his position. He opened his eyes suddenly, aware of a presence close by, and he saw a group of armed men in white snow camouflage surrounding him here in the trees.
It was too dark to tell anything else about them, but Adam assumed they were North Korean Special Forces.
One of the men knelt down at his head while two more began working on his leg wound. The others, Adam saw, had taken up positions in the woods, their guns up in defense of him.
What the hell was going on?
In Mandarin the man at his head said, “Yao?”
How did they know his name? He shook his head. “Wu.” No.
“Your country sent us.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe whatever you want. We are putting you on a stretcher and taking you over the river into China.”
And Adam Yao just let them do it. He was in no position to argue.
—
Edward Riley stood on the fifth-floor rooftop of the apartment building across from Mae Fah Luang–Chiang Rai International Airport in Chiang Rai, Thailand. With his binoculars in hand, he looked over the entire length of the tarmac, his eyes wide to take in the scant electric lighting; his binoculars were all but useless in the evening darkness.
Where are they? They were supposed to be here hours ago.
Once he was clear of immediate danger in Mexico, Riley had contacted Óscar Roblas and told him he was still in play. He exaggerated his abilities and influence, and he asked Roblas what he needed to do to prove he was still an asset to the operation.
Riley had been almost surprised when Roblas answered him, giving him the specifications of the froth flotation tanks, relaying the size and weight of the equipment, and filling him in on the special logistical problems involved in moving the huge industrial devices into North Korea.
Now Riley was here, in Thailand, and he had moved mountains to accomplish the one thing the North Koreans and Roblas had not been able to do for themselves. In the past five days Riley had played every last card in his deck. He’d used contacts, made deals, traded on old friendships, and called in every last favor he’d ever been owed by anyone. With this intangible currency he’d made it out of Mexico, over to Asia, and he’d negotiated with Russian cargo companies and Thai businessmen.
If he could pull this off he could show both Roblas and Pyongyang that he was worth the risk and an asset to their lucrative enterprise. Though compromised to the Americans, wanted as an accessory after the fact to the damnable thing that happened in Mexico City, he still could come through with the goods, and they would keep him under their wing.
He’d arranged for a pair of Russian Antonov cargo aircraft to land at the airport here, and once they arrived, he’d only have to contact Roblas, who was trying to secure the delivery of a new set of froth tanks that were on the water from Brazil. If the planes showed up as arranged, Riley could fly the bloody equipment into North Korea and bypass the Americans and their blockade.
But so far, the fucking Russians hadn’t shown.
He’d work the phones, he’d make sure the tanks were on the ship and on the way, and he’d make sure the payment from the North Koreans made it to the seller.
But if the Russians in their cargo planes didn’t make it to Thailand, then this deal was dead in the dirt.
He tried the binoculars again. Nothing. “Where are those bloody planes?”
He lowered his binoculars and turned to head back to the stairs.
He stopped suddenly when he saw a man standing there in the low light, forty feet away.
“Who are you?”
“Someone who’s come a long way for this.”
Riley did not recognize the man, though he could tell he was American. Riley didn’t have a gun, but the other man showed no hint of a weapon, either. “FBI?”
The man shook his head.
“Who, then?”
“My name is Jack.”
Meant nothing to Riley.
“A friend of Chavez.”
Oh.
“A friend of Veronika’s.”
What?
Riley thought about running for the stairwell, but this man looked prepared to stop him. He could just put down his head and charge forward, throw punches, and hope for the best, but Riley wasn’t any kind of fighter.
“What is it you want?”
“I’m taking you back to the United States.”
“All by yourself you are? Or did you bring your friends? The friends from Cuernavaca.”
The man called Jack said, “I have a lot of friends, but to tell you the truth, I think I’ll do it all alone.”
Riley nodded almost to himself, seemed to think it over dispassionately, and then he charged.
Not toward the man by the stairs. But in the other direction.
Toward the building’s edge.
There was another apartment building next door, but that structure was separated by an alleyway fifteen feet wide. The neighboring rooftop was one story lower, and Riley thought he could make it. He charged on, picking up as much speed as possible, knowing his one avenue of escape was a massive leap between two buildings some seventy-five feet in the air.
—
Jack Ryan, Jr., thought he might be able to stop the man before he threw himself over the side of the five-story building. He could shout something and run for him, either catch up or hope the man hesitated near the edge. But Ryan just stood there, watching, while the Englishman leapt. The man kicked his legs and flailed his arms; then he disappeared over the side of the apartment building. Ryan did not hear him land on the other rooftop. Instead he heard a long, shrieking scream that grew more distant.
He heard no impact, but immediately his earpiece came alive.
“Ryan! I saw someone fall! You okay?” It was Chavez.
“I’m fine. Did you see him hit?”
“Facedown in the middle of the alley.”
Jack said, “No better than he deserves.”
&n
bsp; “Yeah.”
Clark’s voice came over the net now. “Works for me. Let’s pack it up. If we leave now, we’ll be back in time for Sam’s funeral at Arlington.”
Ryan nodded to himself on the rooftop, and then he headed for the stairs.
EPILOGUE
Adam could have flown on another plane, but the CIA wanted him out of China as soon as possible, and the next U.S. government aircraft to depart Beijing was the big white 747 known as Air Force One.
President Ryan delayed his departure two days to make this happen, and it had been an interesting time, indeed. The coup in North Korea took less than twenty hours, beginning with Hwang’s speech to the North Korean people and ending with the reports on Korean state television that the Dae Wonsu had taken ill and was going to spend some time recovering in the mountains of his birthplace.
The kid had been born in a hospital in Pyongyang, so it was anybody’s bet where he was, but Jack Ryan didn’t think it was anywhere good.
It wasn’t bloodless: Choi’s bodyguards put up a fight, but they were up against the Chosun Inmingun, and it was a matter of hours, not days, before the tide turned and the power shifted in North Korea.
The Chinese made it happen, all would say, and while the Chinese had great influence over the North Korean military and certainly controlled the media access that had allowed Hwang to reveal the scope of Choi’s corruption to his own people, few would ever know America’s role in uncovering the Chongju mine scandal or the effect a single American agent had in the affair. The rumor would come out that the Chinese had someone at the mine, and this would be helped along by an Australian geologist, who, back with her family in Melbourne, allowed that her intermediate knowledge of Mandarin played a small role in saving the Korean Peninsula from a madman.
Dr. Powers was just glad to be home. She’d keep quiet about the American agent, her ride in a remote-controlled aircraft, and her arrival at a U.S. air base.
The CIA moved Adam Yao onto Air Force One out of sight of the press and even traveling administration personnel. Almost no one on board knew that a man on a stretcher had been carried onto the aircraft after the curtains were closed. The only personnel aware were the CIA officers and medical staff who brought him from the embassy, along with two Secret Service agents who checked everyone extra carefully these days, even Adam Yao, though he was flat on his back with a bandage around his leg.
