Corrine pulled out a seat opposite him and sat down.
“So?”
Slott cleared his throat. “I thought I’d wait for the DCI.”
DCI was Agency-talk for “director of Central Intelligence Agency” — the head of the CIA, Thomas Parnelles.
“When will he be here?”
“Hard to tell.” Slott twisted the lead from the pencil. “He said he was on his way an hour ago.”
When she had first become involved with Special Demands, Corrine had assumed that Parnelles and Slott — generally considered the number-two man at the CIA — were close allies, but over the course of several operations she had come to realize they weren’t close at all.
Parnelles didn’t consider that a problem. Slott, though, felt the director not only second-guessed him but also undercut his authority, giving many of his deputies too much leeway, in effect encouraging them to subvert the normal chain of command. Parnelles wanted results above all; Slott often found himself trying to rein in operations that were veering toward the sort of abuses that had laid the agency low in the past.
Not that Slott would discuss this with Corrine.
“Maybe you and I should get started,” said Corrine. “And when he comes in—”
The door opened before she had a chance to finish the sentence. Parnelles stalked in, a frown on his face. Slott put the pencil down.
“Ms. Alston. Daniel.” Parnelles pulled a chair out and sat. “What’s going on?”
“The First Team found evidence of bomb material in South Korea,” said Slott.
It took Corrine a second to process what he had said. “
“Yes, South Korea. At the Blessed Peak South Korean Nuclear Waste Disposal and Holding Station, thirty miles northwest of Daejeon. Thera brought tags in to get a baseline so the scientists could compare it to the North Korean waste site. All of the tags were somehow exposed. Ferguson thought it might be a mistake or a screwup in the instruments. The devices are new, and since the underlying nanotechnology—”
“We don’t really need the details, Dan,” said Parnelles. “We stipulate that they made the right decision to double-check.”
“They planted a full set again,” said Slott. “One showed a serious exposure. It’s on its way back to the States to be examined.”
“Is it a bomb or bomb material?” asked Parnelles.
“We can’t be sure,” said Slott, going on to explain that the sensors were “tuned” to discover the main ingredient of a bomb and one common contaminant. The ratio indicated that weapons-grade plutonium was present, but they could not definitively say how it had been used.
Parnelles rolled his arms in front of his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Has the president been told?”
“No. I only just found out about this through Lauren. I haven’t spoken to Ferguson myself.” Slott glanced at his watch. “It’s roughly six a.m. in Korea, and they’d been working on getting this all night. I figured I’d let him sleep.”
“But you’re sure of the results?” said Parnelles.
Slott bristled. “There’s always a possibility that the sensors malfunctioned,” he said. “But the technology people tell me it’s unlikely. They’ve been tested, I’m sure you recall.”
“I think we have to tell the president immediately,” said Corrine.
“That goes without saying.” Parnelles’s voice boomed in the small, sealed room. “Are you sure, Daniel, that this isn’t a mistake?”
“We have two scientists on their way out to a lab in Hawaii. We should know more definitely in eight or nine hours. But I don’t think it’s a mistake, not with two sets.”
“It makes sense that they have a weapon,” said Parnelles. “It makes a lot of sense.”
“Whether it makes sense or not, it’s going to be a problem,” said Corrine,
Parnelles held out his hands. The skin around his eyes was thick and rugged, as textured as a rubber Halloween mask, but his hands were remarkably smooth and unblemished.
“This could kill the nonproliferation treaty and God knows what else,” said Corrine.
“I think it’s still a little premature to jump to the conclusion that they have weapons,” said Slott. “It’s possible this is just part of an exploratory program.”
“You think they stole the material from the North Koreans?” asked Parnelles.
Slott hadn’t considered that. “Maybe,” he said.
“Why didn’t we know about it?” asked Parnelles.
All Slott could do was shake his head.
“Nothing anywhere in any of the analyses hints at it?” asked Parnelles.
Slott shook his head again. While he couldn’t be expected to know everything the CIA knew — no one did — Asia was an area of special interest. So was Korea, where he’d been station chief. There had been South Korean programs in the past but none aimed at plutonium-fueled weapons. At least as far as the Agency knew.
“Who’s going to tell the president?” said Parnelles, looking over at Corrine.
Corrine interpreted it as a challenge. “I will.”
“You’ll want to tell him in person,” suggested Parnelles, “and alone.”
Corrine nodded. The president was in Maine this evening, staying at a private home; he’d be in New Hampshire tomorrow. She’d catch an early flight and meet him there.
“We should have the report from the scientists within a few hours,” said Slott, screwing the lead all the way out his pencil. “I can get you a copy.”
“All right. Start reviewing what we already know,” Parnelles told Slott. “See what’s there.”
“Absolutely. But it’s a sensitive time. Thera’s on her way to Korea.”
“It’s always a sensitive time,” said Parnelles, rising. “Better talk to Ferguson and find out exactly what the hell he knows. The president is bound to ask some very uncomfortable questions.”
Slott waited until the others had left the room before getting up from the table. The discovery of the plutonium had shaken him, not merely because it implied that the South Koreans were doing something he’d never believed they would but also because it implied that the CIA’s operations in the country had failed miserably. No matter where the radioactive material had come from, the Agency surely should have known about it before now.
And for it to involve Korea, of all places, a country he knew intimately having spent the better part of his career there…
Granted, he hadn’t been back in a number of years. Still, he knew Ken Bo, the station chief in Seoul, reasonably well. Until now, Slott thought he was a very good officer.
Careers were going to be ruined if the information panned out. Including his, maybe.
He should take steps…
All his life he’d derided officers who put their careers above the needs of the country and the Agency. He hated the cover-your-ass mentality. But as he walked down the hall toward the Special Needs communication center, he realized he was thinking along those very lines.
He wasn’t going to do that. He was going to take it step by step, do what
Jack Corrigan was just coming on duty as mission coordinator and was being briefed by Lauren. They stopped talking as he walked across the “bridge,” an open area of space between the communications consoles and the high-tech gear that lined the room.
“I’d like to talk to Ferguson as soon as possible,” Slott told them.
“He’s still sleeping I think,” said Lauren. “His phone isn’t on—”
“Why the hell isn’t his phone on?”
Lauren glanced toward Corrigan. Ordinarily Slott was the personification of cool; he showed so little emotion at times, she was tempted to take his pulse.
“Ferg’s afraid that the phone might, you know, that there would be a bad time or something,” said Corrigan.
