on the top of his head. “I want you to take the job. President of NADT. It’s going to play an important role developing weapons, not just for the Air Force, but for all the services. I want you in charge.”
“Me?”
“The President agrees. As a matter of fact, you could even say it was his idea.”
Howe leaned back in the seat.
“There will be changes. There have to be changes,” said Blitz. “You’d have the President’s confidence and free rein to get things done. A mandate to get things done.”
“I don’t know,” said Howe.
Blitz bent forward across the desk, his face intent.
“It would be an important opportunity for a man like you,” said the national security advisor. “A good career move.”
Howe started to say that he didn’t have a career: The only thing he was thinking of doing, seriously, was hooking up with a friend of his who was building spec houses up in rural New York about fifty miles from where he’d grown up. But Blitz didn’t wait for an answer.
“More than that, it will be a huge contribution to our country. Huge,” he said. “And financially it would be well worth your while.”
Howe said nothing.
“General Bonham’s base salary was roughly half a million dollars,” continued Blitz. “The entire compensation package would be somewhat complicated and would have to be negotiated.”
Half a million dollars, thought Howe. The sum seemed incredible.
Am I worth that much?
What do they expect for that much money?
“I’m sure an equitable arrangement would be worked out. I understand you’re not the sort of man who makes decisions based on money.” Blitz got up. “Don’t answer now. Think about it. Go out there — you’ve been there. Take a long tour. A few days. Think about it.”
“Of course.”
“Go over, talk to people, talk to Jack Myron on the Defense Committee, talk to everybody. Take a week to talk to different people. I’ll arrange it — whoever you want. Mozelle will set it all up. Go over to the Pentagon, get with Admiral Christopher at the CIA. Go into it with your eyes open,” said Blitz. “As a matter of fact, I gave Congressman Myron your phone number at the hotel and your home. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine.”
“Take some time and think,” added Blitz. “But believe me, your country needs you.”
Chapter 7
“DIA has the intercepts and some details about how an E-bomb would work, probably from one of their Middle East sources, maybe because someone here wanted to get an understanding of it,” Fisher told Hunter in Hunter’s FBI headquarters office. “That’s the extent of it. They have Homeland Security so twisted in knots over it that they’re putting together a joint task force. Macklin and Kowalski are going to work together.”
“Where?”
“Not sure. Macklin mentioned New York, which seems to be where the terrorist cell was operating.”
“You’re sure they don’t know about our guy?”
“I’m sure.”
“How sure? Give me it on a scale of one to five.”
Fisher shrugged. “I’m not good with numbers.”
“They’re trying to muscle into our case,” said Hunter. “Those fucks. They want to take our deserter. Fuckheads.”
Fisher generally approved of cussing in a man; it implied an appreciation for the finer things in life, like spit and horses that finished just out of the running. But from Hunter’s mouth the words sounded as if they were being read from a dictionary.
“We have to bring this guy in,” said Hunter. “We have to get him out of Korea.”
“Okay,” said Fisher.
“I want you to do it.”
“Sure,” said Fisher.
“Bring him in, we debrief him, go the whole nine yards. We need our own task force,” added Hunter. “Yeah, that’s what we need: a task force. Yeah. We’ll get military people, CIA — the right CIA people. This is a big deal, Andrew. A very big deal.”
Fisher didn’t like the sound of that. Whenever Hunter used his first name — with or without expletives — trouble surely followed.
And as for working with the CIA…
“We really don’t need a task force,” he said. “Not yet. We have to make sure this guy is real. Then we can figure out how we’re going to get him. If the CIA is involved, there are going to be meetings and written estimates, budget lines…”
“You’re in the big time now, Fisher. You have to think big. Big.”
“Can I smoke in here?”
Hunter blinked. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Just checking to see if it was you I was standing in front of.”
“You fly out to — what was the name of that town in Arizona again?”
“Applegate.”
“Yeah, right. Fly out to Applegate, meet the scientist, make contact, find out what we need. I’ll get a task force going. What we’ll do is, we’ll get everyone who’s not on the DIA-Homeland Security task force on our task force. Then we’ll nail those bastards to the wall.”
“Assuming this guy is for real,” said Fisher. “Assuming he knows something about E-bombs. Assuming there’s some sort of connection between North Korea and Middle Eastern terrorists who are so dumb even the DIA can stumble across them.”
“Right,” said Hunter. “Go for it.”
“What?”
“The whole nine yards.”
“Why not ten?” asked Fisher.
He made his escape while Hunter tried to come up with the answer.
Chapter 8
North Korean army general Kuong Ou had not begun his life as a superstitious man, nor was he presently given to omens or fortune-telling, except for this: He played o-koan every morning.
The ancient arrangement of dominoes — the Korean words, taken from the Chinese, meant “five gateways,” a reference to famous battles fought by an ancient general — was a longtime habit. He had learned the skill as a babe, studying the meaning of the bone tablets. O-koan could be played as a game of solitaire, a mathematical puzzle to be worked out, but it was also an ancient way of predicting the future and seeing beyond the future to the world as it was, the cycle of endless rearrangement and sorrow. There were lessons in every piece and rule, most importantly this: The lowest tablets were the most powerful when combined. Even as general of an army division and the head of the North Korean Military Research Institute, Kuong Ou could not afford to forget that lesson.
Kuong held the pair — the two and four, the one and two, called chi tsun — in his hand, turning them over as he considered their relation to the event unfolding in the world around him. The regime was in collapse, army units openly rebelling. Even many of Kuong’s men had deserted him, including his cousin Sang. Kuong had not heard from
