temples had turned silver, and he had a perfect smile, his teeth radiant in his mouth.
“Cigarettes are bad for your health,” he told her.
“Everyone needs some bad habits.”
He smiled and wagged his finger at her, as if he were a kind uncle.
His finger brushed away enough of her fear to let her walk again. The paranoia retreated to her chest, hiding in some secret chamber of her heart as she joined the others for the introductory tour.
The layout of the plant was almost meter for meter the same as that of the site in South Chungchong Province, South Korea. There were fewer video cameras and slightly more soldiers outside the gate, along with a pair of very old tanks near the fence, but the buildings themselves were in precisely the same locations. The vegetation was browner, but the buildings were just as bright.
The North Korean officials were more long winded than their counterparts in the South, perhaps because they felt it necessary to insert the praises of the Great Leader into every other sentence. Thera found herself struggling to stay awake as the tour of the administration station proceeded in slow motion.
The man who had helped her from the bus stepped forward to speak. She’d thought he was simply one of the army of assistants, but he turned out to be a scientist responsible for “supervising precautions against pollution of the workers,” as the translator put it, reading from a prepared vitae. “Ch’o Tak has studied in Russia and France and is one of the world’s top experts in waste handling. A very important scientist for the People, who takes his duty most seriously.”
Dr. Ch’o kept his eyes fixed on the floor as she spoke, the tips of his ears turning bright red. When she finished, he raised his hand in a half wave.
“I have been blessed with good fortune,” he said, speaking in Korean and then immediately translating his words to English. “Korea’s Great Leader has directed us to answer any questions you have and to lay ourselves bare. I humbly pledge myself to cooperate fully. You may ask whatever you wish, and I shall answer.”
Norkelus glanced toward the rest of the group. When he realized no one was going to ask a question, he put up his hand, rose, and asked whether it had been difficult to install necessary safeguards. It was an extremely obvious attempt to be polite, but Ch’o took the question very seriously, saying that there had been great concern about expenses “and other considerations” among officials at different levels, but the directives of the Great Leader himself had prevailed and focused the actions of all. Money had been found and state-of-the-art precautions installed.
Norkelus thanked him. Ch’o, relieved, gave way to another official.
“What a ham,” whispered Julie as they passed out of the hall.
“He seemed sincere,” said Thera.
“Right. And Kim Jong-Il deserves the Nobel Peace Prize.”
2
A long sleepless night followed by a morning and afternoon filled with meetings had only increased Daniel Slott’s anxiety over the South Korean plutonium. He did his best to control it, but it was a losing battle. By midday he was wound so tight that when his daughter called him from college to say hello he nearly hung up on her.
Corrine Alston had called from New Hampshire to tell him what the president had said. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. Slott resented Corrine, but he thought it was probably better that she had told the president what was going on rather than Parnelles. This way, he figured, Parnelles looked as bad as he did.
It was more cover-your-ass thinking, and he hated it. He absolutely hated it.
When his four p.m. budget meeting finally dragged to a close, Slott headed toward his office, intending to call his daughter and apologize for being so abrupt.
“Daniel, there you are,” said Parnelles, intercepting him just before he got there. “Come and let’s have a quick chat.”
Slott followed silently as the CIA director led him down the hall to his office. Unlike many of the more recent DCIs, Parnelles was a CIA insider, a man who’d worked in the field as a case officer and held a host of other Bureau jobs before being appointed to head the CIA. There had been a gap of roughly ten years — he’d left the Agency and worked as, among other things, a bank vice president before being appointed — but otherwise he’d spent his entire adult life with the CIA, a throwback really to the handful of old hands who’d learned the business from the ground up.
“Where are we with Korea?” asked Parnelles when Slott sat down.
“Still trying to get more information.”
“What’s Seoul’s opinion?”
“I haven’t consulted them.”
Parnelles raised his left eyebrow slightly.
“I wanted to make sure we knew what we were dealing with,” explained Slott. “That it wasn’t a false alarm.”
“Is it?”
“The scientists say no. The first batch of tags were brought very close to a source, though it’s impossible to say where. The second set, which Ferguson recovered, had only one exposure. We’ve narrowed down the possible location, but we need more work.”
“And you don’t think Seoul can help?”
“I guess I’m wondering why they didn’t know about it in the first place,” said Slott. “Just as you are.”
“Do you think they purposely withheld information?”
“I’ve thought about that. I have thought about that.”
He had, for hours and hours.
“But I don’t,” Slott added. “I just can’t see Ken Bo doing that. I can see..”
The word
“We may to have involve them,” said Parnelles, “if we’re going to find out anything. This has to have been a far-reaching operation, and I don’t know that we’ll gain anything from delaying at this point.”
“If the information comes out, it will jeopardize the disarmament treaty,” said Slott. “And if Seoul gets aggressive about pursuing it, sooner or later the ROK government will realize what we’re doing. Once that happens, I doubt we can keep the information under wraps.”
“That’s not really an intelligence concern, is it?”
“I guess it’s not,” said Slott, “but I wouldn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize the disarmament treaty.”
“How would you?”
By having the information leak out, thought Slott. It was obvious. Any bad publicity now — and certainly a reaction by North Korea — would send the Senate running for cover.
“I’m having a little trouble reading you,” said Slott. “I know you’re against the treaty, but—”
“That has nothing to do with it,” said Parnelles. “I’m not interested in politics. I’m interested in information. And our security.”
“If Seoul pokes its nose around, and something comes out, it would have a very negative effect.”
“Why should something come out?”
Slott couldn’t decide whether Parnelles was being disingenuous.
“You don’t trust your people in Korea?” Parnelles asked.
“I do trust them.”
“Then tell them to be discreet, but let’s find out what’s going on.”
“We’re going to have to find out why they missed this,” said Slott.
“Yes, but that’s of secondary importance right now,” said Parnelles. “Find out what it is they missed, first.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Slott, guessing Parnelles had probably already decided to clean house there. “I’ll get on it.”
