written Korean to read more than a few characters, all used on common road signs. His brain was too flaccid at this point to recall even those. But he leafed through the pages anyway, and gradually realized he’d seen the woodblock prints that illustrated the work before.
The story was a version of “The Seventh Princess.” They’d read it in Romanized Korean text during his language class. In the ancient Korean song, a girl — the seventh princess — journeyed to the land of the dead to save her parents and bring salvation to the Korean people.
What was the Korean? He tried retrieving the words from the corner of his brain where they’d fled.
The figures blurred in front of Ferguson’s eyes. The book dropped from his hand, and he fell back against the wall of the hut, fast asleep.
29
“If it’s not a mobilization for an attack, it’s a damn good approximation,” said Ken Bo as the secure conference call wound down. “ROK Army intelligence now thinks it’s for real.”
“Not much of an endorsement,” said Verigo Johnson, the Agency’s chief Korean expert.
Slott cut the conversation off before it degenerated. The evidence remained contradictory. Key elements of the North Korean army were moving toward the border, and the navy was on high alert. But the transmissions from army and air force units in the eastern parts of the country intercepted by the National Security Agency were entirely routine. Johnson interpreted this to mean that they were seeing the early stages of a coup, a significant change in what he had told the National Security Council only a few hours before.
Parnelles wasn’t convinced, holding on to the blackmail theory. Slott was trying to stay neutral: No matter what was going on, the situation was extremely dangerous.
“Ken, I need to have a word with you now that we’re done,” said Slott as the others signed off. He glanced across the secure communications center at the specialist handling the call, waiting for the signal that he and Bo were the only ones on the line.
“What’s up?” asked Bo.
“I’m looking for an update on the South Korean plutonium.”
“Two of our people are going into Blessed Peak today,” Bo told him. “I’ll send a report as soon as I hear from them.”
“Good.”
“Listen, Dan. How much priority do you want us to give this thing? It’s obviously nothing.”
“Why are you dismissing it?”
“You saw my note, right?”
Bo was referring to the theory that the material was the remains of the earlier South Korean project.
“I saw it,” said Slott.
Bo was silent.
“All right,” the station chief said finally. “Ferguson is still working on this?”
“Ferguson went across the border a few days ago and hasn’t been heard from since,” said Slott, deciding there was no sense keeping it from him any longer.
“You’re kidding. He went north?”
“He traveled with Park Jin Tae.”
“About the plutonium? Jesus. He’s off on this one, Dan. I know he has a great reputation, but, honestly, he doesn’t know garbage about Korea.”
“Maybe not,” said Slott.
“You want us to put feelers out?”
“No.” Putting feelers out — asking about Ferguson, even in his covered identity — might inadvertently tip off the North Koreans to his true identity. That would be tantamount to signing a death warrant. A crooked Russian arms dealer was far safer in North Korea than a CIA officer.
“Do you want to give me some information about his cover? Maybe we’ll hear something unusual.”
“Let’s leave it the way it is for now, Ken. Update me on the waste site as soon as you can.”
30
“The plane is prepared,” General Kang told Namgung. “You have only to choose between the two pilots.”
Namgung nodded. He had known the head of the First Air Combat Command since he was six years old; he trusted Kang with his life.
Literally, now, since word from Kang could ruin the plan and brand him as a traitor.
“How will you choose?” asked General Kang.
Namgung had pondered the question for the past several days. Both pilots were highly qualified; both were committed to striking a blow against their ancient enemy. They were so evenly matched that he could have them simply draw straws and be pleased with the result.
But it was his job as commander to decide.
“I will make a decision right before takeoff,” he said. “I will be there personally. One shall go.”
“And the other?”
“He, too, will do his duty.”
“Very good,” said Kang. “As it should be.”
Namgung held out his arms, and the two old friends embraced.
“We will succeed,” said Namgung. “I have no doubt.”
31
The Cube had used a Korean speaker to call hospitals in the area along the DMZ, inquiring about Caucasian patients who had been admitted unconscious. They found one in a small facility northeast of Seoul, and sent Thera to check it out.
She hadn’t realized exactly how much she was hoping she’d find him until she broke into tears when she saw that the patient, who was hooked into life support in the critical center, wasn’t him.
CIA officers weren’t supposed to cry — women CIA officers especially. If a woman wasn’t ten times as tough as a man, she was labeled a liability.
Thera couldn’t help herself, though. She was still sobbing when she boarded the train back to Daejeon.
Thera’s sat phone rang when she was about ten minutes from the Daejeon station.
“Yes?”
“Can you talk?” asked Corrigan.
“A little.” The two rows around her were empty.
“We have something new for you to check out. It’s a real long shot but that’s all we’ve been playing.”
“What?”
“We were checking a list of vehicles that used the Korean waste site where your tabs found the plutonium. There’s a truck used by a medical facility that happens to be owned by Park. It’s down in Jiro, which is a couple of
