ignore the fact that the space they were sitting in had been designed for vehicles carrying nuclear waste. Julie Svenson shook her head the whole time she was eating, gulping her food and then going to the far side of the building.
When Neto Evora saw that Thera was alone, he came over and sat down beside her, asking how she was enjoying North Korea.
“It looks like the perfect place for a nuclear waste dump, doesn’t it?” said the scientist. “Deserted, cold, and desolate.”
“Actually, the countryside is very beautiful,” she said. “It looks almost like heaven.”
“Heaven? I don’t think so.”
“I don’t mean the government. Just the open fields.”
“If you are like me, a city boy, then you want excitement.”
“I guess I’m not like you,” said Thera.
Evora smirked. “Maybe we’ll chance a party this evening.”
“Here?”
“You never know.”
He got up. Thera watched him strut across the room, very full of himself. There was a thin line between confidence and conceit. Evora was far over the line.
Why hadn’t she realized that the other night?
Temporary insanity. And drinks.
She hadn’t actually gone to bed with him, so she deserved
Some people could push the line between conceit and confidence. Ferguson, for example. Fergie could push it very far. He exuded confidence but not really conceit — not in her opinion at least — maybe because he could back it up.
Not that he was perfect. He could be casually cruel and impish, like the way he loved baiting Rankin, even though he trusted him with his life.
He was nice to her. But maybe that meant he didn’t take her seriously.
Still hungry, Thera got up and went over to the food table.
“You should try the
“Thank you,” said Thera, holding her plate out for him to dish the food.
“My pleasure,” said the scientist, bowing his head slightly.
“You speak very good English,” said Thera. “Better than mine.”
“Oh, you are very good. What language do you speak as a native?”
“Greek.” Thera rolled off a few sentences about how she lived near Athens, then returned to English. “But everyone speaks English these days.”
“You have an American accent.”
“Yes, I have worked there. For the UN. A very interesting place.”
“Yes. I have never been myself. But I have been to Russia and Europe.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. Some years ago. When I received my degree.”
Another member of the inspection team asked Ch’o where he had been in Europe. Thera drifted away, then returned to her seat and finished eating. The beef was tasty, but a bit too spicy for her.
When she was done, she went outside to have a look around. Unwrapping her pack of cigarettes, she pounded the box end, then took one and put it into her mouth. She had just lit up when she saw Ch’o and another North Korean walking swiftly toward her, concerned looks on their faces.
Oh, crap, they don’t allow smoking here either, Thera thought to herself. I’m going to be arrested.
6
Ken Bo glared at Ferguson as he walked into his office, both hands on his desktop as if he were bracing himself against a gale. Ferguson pointed at him, smirked and sat down.
“How are ya?” said Ferguson. Bo had kept him waiting more than fifteen minutes in his outer office. Ferguson wouldn’t have minded so much if his assistant had had decent legs.
“Why did you pull a gun on one of my people the other day?” said Bo.
“I thought it was a cigarette lighter. He looked like he wanted a smoke.”
“I’ve heard about you, Ferguson.”
“Oh, good. You know why I’m here?”
“Slott told me,”
“Can we talk here?”
Ferguson glanced around. Generally offices in embassies were not used for very sensitive conversations, even though there was only a remote chance that they would be bugged or overheard.
Bo looked down at his desk, glancing around it as if looking for the answer. Suddenly he jumped into motion, leading the way out of the room.
Halfway down the hall he stuck his head into a door and called in to his deputy chief.
“Chris, I want you to hear this.”
“No,” said Ferguson. “Only you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Take it up with the boss.”
“Hey, no problem,” said the deputy chief, backing away.
Bo shook his head and started walking again. Ferguson followed as the station chief went up two flights of stairs to a secure room within a room that had been built for sensitive discussions. There were no chairs or other furniture in the room — most likely to keep conversations short, Ferguson decided.
“What do you know?” asked Bo.
“Plutonium was detected at the Blessed Peak Nuclear Waste Processing Plant. An isotope that indicates there’s bomb fuel present. It looks like the South Koreans are building a nuke.”
“I wouldn’t say impossible.”
“Your data is wrong.”
Ferguson laughed. “You don’t even know what data I have.”
“It’s impossible. I’m sure it’s wrong. Or can be explained.”
“Yeah, probably you’re right.” Ferguson, realizing he was done, turned around.
“Where are you going?” Bo grabbed his arm.
“I have work to do.”
Bo glared at him. Ferguson glared back.
It didn’t take ESP to know what the station chief was thinking. A bomb project like this would have taken years to get to this point, and Bo had missed it. Good-bye job.
Ferguson hadn’t really been sold on the idea of working with the locals to begin with, but even if he had, Bo’s attitude warned him away. The station chief was looking at this as a threat to his job. He was going to be interested in covering his butt, not in finding out what was going on.
Not that he was surprised. Disappointed, maybe.
No, not even that. It was to be expected.
“Wait,” said Bo as Ferguson once more started for the door. “We can work together.”
“Don’t think so.”
“That’s all the information you have?”
Ferguson stopped and turned back around. “I don’t have much more, no. If you want the technical stuff, you’ll have to get it from Slott. I really don’t know it,” Ferguson said. “Listen, I need to use the secure
