“Thera?”
“No, he wasn’t on the flight. I thought maybe I missed him.” She knew she hadn’t; it was a wish, not a thought. “Try his sat phone, all right?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. I’ll wait.”
“It’s off-line,” said Lauren a minute later.
“I was afraid of that,” said Thera softly. She pressed the button to disconnect the call.
12
General Namgung stood at attention as the tanks passed out of the camp, returning the stiff salutes of the crews. Dust and exhaust swirled around him, but he didn’t flinch. His father had taught him long ago that a leader inspired with poise as well as words, and the old man would be proud of his bearing now.
What he would think of his plan to oust Kim Jong-Il was another matter entirely.
The senior Namgung had been a close comrade of Kim Jong-Il’s father, Kim Il-Sung, the father of modern Korea. Kim Il-Sung was a true liberator, a gifted ruler who had save d his people. Kim Jong-Il was a poor shadow of his father, a debauched tyrant who had contracted venereal disease as a youth and was now slowly dying of kidney disease brought on by alcohol abuse.
His son, Kim Jong-chol, promised to be even worse.
Not that he would have the chance to rule.
Namgung dropped his arm as the last tank rolled out of the camp. An American spy satellite should be almost directly overhead, recording the movement. By now, alarms were going off in Seoul, where Park would have delivered the bogus plan by Kim Jong-Il to mobilize and attack. Over the next few days, a variety of North Korean army, navy, and air force units would mobilize.
Then, the unthinkable would happen, and everything would fall into place.
Namgung glanced upward as he got into his car. He smiled at the thought that some intelligence expert back in Washington might get a glimpse of his face.
Let the smug Americans try and guess what was really going on.
13
The black leather miniskirt was a little stiff, but there was no doubt it was effective; the security officer at the gate of Science Industries had trouble getting his eyes back in their sockets before waving Thera and her driver into the complex. The male receptionist was more influenced by cleavage; he stared at her chest as he dialed the managing director to tell him his appointment had arrived.
“But you do not seem to have an appointment,” he told Thera.
“I would think he’d talk to me, wouldn’t you? It has to do with a mutual business acquaintance, a Mr. Manski. The Russian. Would you remember him yourself?”
Thera leaned over the desk. The receptionist, in his early twenties, looked as if he was about to have a coronary.
“No. I wouldn’t remember anything,” said the man. He got back on the phone and persuaded the managing director’s secretary that the boss would definitely want to meet the visitor.
A few minutes later, Thera was escorted into the director’s office. She was playing the role of a jilted business partner, out to find Ferguson because he owed her money. In theory, she was Irish, the redheaded daughter of a one-time IRA member who’d done some business with Ferguson in the past, Deidre Clancy. There was a
Thera told herself to tone down her performance, afraid she was going too far over the top. But it was like trying to stop yourself from skiing downhill in the middle of the slope.
And besides, wasn’t that one of Ferguson’s rules? When in doubt, push it as far as it will go?
The managing director’s secretary said that Dr. Ajaeng was very busy and might not be able to see her before lunch.
“Then perhaps he and I should have lunch,” suggested Thera. She took a seat opposite the secretary, adjusting her skirt.
The managing director’s schedule cleared up within minutes. The secretary personally escorted her, stroking the back of Thera’s fake fur coat.
“How can we help you?” said the managing director.
“I am looking for a friend. Or, rather, a business acquaintance. A special business acquaintance.”
As Thera sat in the seat near his desk, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to the managing director. He shook his head. There had been signs downstairs saying that smoking was not allowed in the building, but the director didn’t object as she lit up.
This was a trick she had learned from Ferguson. Breaking rules always had an effect on a subject. Sometimes it annoyed them and made them want to get rid of you. Other times it created an unspoken intimacy, making them a partner in crime. Either way, it gave you something to use.
The effect on Dr. Ajaeng was somewhere between the two.
“I don’t know what friend we might share,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
“Ivan Manski. Call it a business associate, for I’m not feeling very friendly toward him today. He was here some days ago trying to sell…,” Thera paused. “Scientific instruments.”
“Manski. No I don’t recall him.”
His expression indicated otherwise.
“Mr. Manski and I, we have an interesting arrangement. He happens to owe me a spot of money,” said Thera.
She stopped right there. That was enough.
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that,” said the managing director.
“Of course not.” Thera smiled, then rose to go. “Is Mr. Park in?”
“Mr. Park?”
“I believe our friend went to North Korea with him. Perhaps he might know where he has gone to.”
“Mr. Park never comes here.”
“I thought he had an office. My mistake.” Thera started for the door, then abruptly turned back, catching Dr. Ajaeng staring at her. “I’m at this hotel. Ask for me. Deidre. They’ll know.”
Too much, too much, too much, Thera told herself as she left. Even so, she made a point of saying good-bye to both the secretary and the receptionist, and waved at the guard as her driver took her out of the complex.
Are they working?”
“Loud and clear,” Lauren DiCapri told Thera. “What are you wearing, anyway?”
“Well, now, do you think I’d be telling you that?”
Lauren laughed. “They want to jump your bones.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You dyed your hair orange?”
“Kind of an orange red. Goes with the new haircut.”
“It must be a stunner.”
“Thank you.”
“The managing director called someone named Li and told him about you. Li seems to be an assistant to
