were suggesting a coup was underway and had notified the U.S. that two warships would be steaming toward the area and could be called on if necessary.
About halfway through the slides in Johnson’s PowerPoint presentation, one of Slott’s aides came into the room and whispered something in his ear. He grimaced, then looked across at Corrine and motioned with his head toward the door.
She waited a minute after he left, trying to preserve some pretense that she wasn’t working with him.
Slott had gone down the hall to the secure communication center and was talking to Thera in Korea when Corrine got there. The communications specialist on duty had already arranged for her to join the line; all Corrine had to do was pick up the phone.
“The cargo container was lined with lead,” Thera was saying. “That’s why it was so heavy. It must have gone north when the 727 brought Ferguson north.”
“What went north?” asked Corrine.
“The plutonium,” explained Thera. “Park had a special container made for his aircraft. We have the scientist who designed it in North Korea, and I’ve spoken to the people who moved it.”
“They must have used it to bring the plutonium south,” said Slott.
“No, not south,” said Thera. “It
“I doubt that,” said Slott. “Park must be buying it from the North Koreans. He wouldn’t be
“Why do you think it went north?” asked Corrine.
“Because the plutonium was at the waste site when I was there, and now it’s not. Right? They must have moved it out. Maybe it was in one of those train cars near the tag. and then was removed by the truck that Ferguson saw.”
“That just means they moved it to a better hiding place,” said Slott. “Giving bomb material to the North would make no sense. They’re almost at war.”
“Maybe Park thinks he’ll somehow benefit if there’s an attack on South Korea,” said Corrine.
“I don’t think so,” said Thera. “He’s kind of nutty, but not in that way. He collects old Korean relics. He’s
Corrine glanced up at Slott. “What did Ferguson say about Park? He hates the Japanese.”
“Big time,” said Thera. “Can’t stand them.”
“The defector with the dictator’s bank data,” said Corrine, realizing where the senator’s e-mail had come from. “What if that plane were carrying a bomb?”
17
Ferguson lay in his hiding spot among the rocks, leaning on his elbows as he contemplated the stars. He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t sleep; his mind spun in a million different directions, just beyond his control.
“We’re all going to die,” a friend who had pancreatic cancer once told him, “but I’ve been blessed with the knowledge that it’ll be very soon.”
“That’s because you’re a priest,” Ferguson had answered. “You see everything as a blessing.”
“Aye, but truly it is, because it gives me a chance to do my best until then. Every day.”
“Shouldn’t we do that anyway?”
“If we did, Ferg, then what in the world would I have to preach about every Sunday? Will you tell me that, lad?”
“Will you tell me that, lad?” said Ferguson now, staring at the night sky. “Will you tell me that?”
The thick clouds refused to answer.
If living meant living like this — shaking from the cold, exhausted, his mind torn off its pegs — was it worth living?
No.
Why bother?
Ferguson rubbed his eyes. They were like hard marbles in wooden saucers.
The sat phone began to buzz. He grabbed it, held it to his ear expectantly.
“We leaving?” he asked.
“Ferg, this is Corrine Alston. I’m here with Dan Slott.”
“Wicked Stepmother,” he said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice. “You calling to tell me I’m going to have to walk to China?”
“Ferg, when Park met with the general, was there any talk about a MiG-29?” asked Corrine.
“I didn’t hear the conversation,” said Ferguson. “Why?”
“We’ve been told that a MiG pilot is going to defect and fly to Japan with documents saying where Kim Jong-Il has hidden his money. We’ve located what we think is the airport where he’s supposed to be taking off from. It has an unimproved strip.”
“Ferg, remember the airstrip A5?” asked Slott.
“More or less.”
“It’s south of Kusong. You looked at it as a possible evac base, but we couldn’t be sure if it was inactive.”
“Yeah, OK.” Ferguson didn’t remember it at all.
“It’s only about fifteen miles from where you are,” said Slott. “The satellite passed over it a few minutes ago, and there was nothing on the strip. But if the aircraft is in an underground hangar, it might be there.”
“Why do you think there?”
“We have coordinates that indicate something will take off from that area pretty soon. We’re arranging a Global Hawk surveillance flight with ground-penetrating radar, but it’s going to take about two hours at least for it to get up and get over there. If you were able to use the bike that’s in the cache kit, you’d get there in half the time. You could at least tell us if the runway’s clear.”
“Yeah.” Ferguson got up and started pulling the bike together. “Did you find the plutonium?”
Neither of them answered.
“All righty then. Hook me up with Corrigan so I can get a road map.”
18
The National Security briefing had already broken up by the time Corrine and Slott finished talking with Ferguson. They followed the president and a knot of aides up to the Oval Office. Corrine felt almost sheepish, as if she’d snuck out of class to meet a boyfriend and gotten caught.
Slott felt as if he were in the middle of a painful dream. He still wasn’t sure he believed Park and the North Koreans were actually aiming at the Japanese. It was a wild theory but too dangerous to ignore.
Parnelles, who was with the president, saw them in the corridor. The CIA director whispered something to McCarthy, and the president’s voice suddenly boomed through the hall.
“I require a few minutes to discuss something with my attorney,” McCarthy told the others. “Miss Alston, if you could meet me upstairs please. Tom, why don’t you and Dan stand by, and I’ll take you right after her. Everyone else, please have a very good dinner.”
When they got to the president’s office, Corrine insisted that Slott and Parnelles come in and then made Slott say what they had found. McCarthy leaned back in his leather chair, one foot propped against the drawer of the desk.
“It is an
