you are both relieved of command. Your respective deputies should be able to supervise the withdrawal of our troops.” His last words were spat out as if they carried a foul taste.
“I see.” Cho stepped back and sat clumsily in his camp chair. He lifted his eyes to Yun and in a flat, emotionless voice asked, “These are the most serious charges I can imagine the State bringing against any person. What penalty will the State exact if we are found guilty?”
“Death.” Yun didn’t try to soften it in any way.
Cho nodded. He knew the kind of trial he and Chyong would be given. It would be public, humiliating, and absolutely merciless. Their guilt or innocence would not be a factor. They would serve as the State’s whipping boys, as the men who failed their people. No, he thought, remembering Yun’s words, as the men who had deliberately sabotaged the now-dead Dear Leader’s strategy.
And at the end? Nothing to look forward to except a public execution. He nodded slowly to himself, calm now that the decision had been made for him.
Chyong paid him little attention. He stood eye to eye with Yun, raging. “These charges are absurd! Our only crime is that we failed to win.”
“That, Comrade General, is the only crime that matters,” Yun replied.
Cho stood again, outwardly composed. “Colonel Yun, I submit to your arrest.” He looked meaningfully at the man. “But I would like your permission to be alone for a few minutes. I have some personal business to attend to.”
Yun studied him carefully and at length nodded. “Certainly, Comrade General. You will have all the time you need.”
“Thank you, Colonel. I appreciate your kindness.” Cho turned to his subordinate. “You must excuse me, Chyong, but I must ask you to leave as well. I wish you good fortune.”
“Of course, sir.” Chyong’s understanding showed in his eyes. He saluted and stalked out of the tent, followed closely by the colonel.
Slowly Cho’s shoulders sagged and he sank back into his chair. For a moment he considered writing a letter to his wife, but then decided against it. He had brought her enough pain already. His hand reached for the pistol atop his desk.
The muffled sound of the shot from inside the tent startled Chyong, even though he had known it would come. He stood rigid facing the closed tent flap.
Yun’s voice came from behind him. “So, General Cho has chosen the easier path. Well, he looked like a wise man to me.”
Chyong didn’t turn around. His voice dripped with contempt. “General Cho was an older man, worn down by this war. I have no intention of making things so easy for you and your Chinese cronies. Go ahead. Put me on trial. I’ll fight your lies and falsehoods at every turn.”
Chyong heard Yun unsnap his pistol holster and sigh. “You soldiers … you are so blind at times.”
Chyong started to turn, but the bullet caught him first.
Blake Fowler scanned the draft press release quickly, not at all surprised by its contents.
“See any problems?” the President asked blandly.
He shook his head and handed it back to the White House communications director, who sat beside him in front of the President’s desk.
The phone buzzed. Blake saw the President pick it up, listen, and smile. “Sure, June, send him right on in.”
The President hung up and grinned at his two subordinates. “Gentlemen, it seems that my esteemed national security adviser seeks an audience. I’ve always said he had perfect timing.”
The door to the antechamber opened and Putnam came in, stuffed uncomfortably into a brand-new, double- breasted suit and silk tie that looked one size too small. His hair was now more gray than red, and he wore a grim, determined expression.
“Now, George, what can I do for you this morning?” The President’s voice was genial, but his eyes were cold.
“I’ve come to submit my resignation, Mr. President.” Putnam handed him a single-spaced, single-page letter. His hands shook. “I waited until this terrible crisis was over so that both you and the nation wouldn’t be deprived of my services when they were most needed. But now, I feel compelled to withdraw from this administration.”
“You’re leaving your post?” the President asked, seemingly thunderstruck. Blake hid a grin. The critics who said the nation’s chief executive couldn’t act had obviously never seen him perform in private.
“Yes, Mr. President.” Putnam’s voice rose higher and quavered. “I’ve had all I can take. You’ve systematically cut me out of any substantive policy role over these past few weeks. Instead, you’ve chosen to rely on political neophytes and hapless academics.” He scowled at Blake and then went on. “Well, I won’t stand still for it.”
“I see. Well, then…” The President took Putnam’s letter of resignation, pretended to study it for a moment, and then tore it in half.
Putnam stared at the pieces, utterly surprised. “You’re not accepting my resignation?”
The President shook his head slowly. “No, I’m not, Mr. Putnam.” He turned to the director of communications. “Rick, show him what you’ve got there.”
Putnam took the draft press release and started reading it. Halfway through he turned sheet-white and stopped. “You’re firing me?”
The President nodded somberly. “Absolutely, Mr. Putnam. And publicly, too. You lied to me, and your lies helped cause a war that cost tens of thousands of lives.” He paused. “All things considered, I think you’re getting off damned easily.”
Putnam didn’t seem to hear him. “But my career, what will I d — ”
“Get out.” The President didn’t bother to conceal his disdain. “Any personal effects you’ve left in your office will be shipped to your home. But get out of my sight right now.”
Blake watched his former boss leave, unable to suppress a momentary twinge of guilt at the joy he’d felt in seeing the man torn down. But it passed. The President was right. Putnam was getting off easy. Disgrace only mattered if you had a conscience, and that was something the former national security adviser seemed to lack.
He suddenly realized that the President was watching him closely. “Not a pretty sight, was it, Blake?”
“No, sir. It wasn’t.”
The President nodded. “Necessary, though.” He picked up a file folder from off his desk. “Now, that brings me to my next problem. Having rid myself of the son of a bitch, I need to find a replacement for him. Got any ideas?”
Blake thought carefully. “Well, Mr. President. There are any number of qualified people I’d recommend. There’s — ”
“Yes, I know there are,” the President interrupted him. “But there’s one man I’ve heard some very good things about. People tell me he’d make a top-notch adviser. I’m inclined to nominate him, but I’d like to know what you think first.” He hefted the folder and passed it to Blake. “Here’s his personnel file.”
Blake looked at the name stenciled across the top of the folder — DR. BLAKE FOWLER — and blinked. He sat still, thinking hard. It would mean more work and more hours away from his family. But it was also work he could do and do well. And Mandy would back him. Hell, she’d kill him if he turned this down.
He looked up at the President and smiled. “I think he’d be very honored, Mr. President.”
Seoul, though battered, was unbowed.
With rubble still blocking key streets and armed soldiers standing guard on every corner, Seoul’s merchants and restaurateurs were bringing their city back to life as fast as they could. Their guts and native drive were a constant reminder that South Korea’s identification with the phoenix was apt indeed.
Tony Christopher had picked the restaurant tonight with great care. The Yongsuan was one of the best. Not cheap, but money wasn’t very important right now — and certainly not tonight.
This place was perfect for his purpose. They served authentic Korean royal court dishes in private rooms. They’d also been lucky enough to escape any war damage. One of his other favorite hangouts wasn’t much more than a hole in the ground and a few charred timbers.
