скачать книгу бесплатно
“I think you have more in mind than ‘inspection,’” Oh countered.
“Perhaps,” Yulim said.
The lieutenant corporal snapped off a quick salute and moved off toward the new prisoners. Oh had no interest in watching the other officer act out on his lechery, so he signaled his driver and they continued along the road, leaving the poppy fields behind.
After another ten minutes of unrelieved jostling, the jeep reached flatland and soon came to the base of a large gorge cordoned off by three concentric rows of tall cyclone fences, each topped with razor-edged lengths of barbed wire. Prior to its fortification for use as the Changchon Rehabilitation Center, the compound and its honeycomb network of mountain tunnels had served as one of North Korea’s primary mining centers, yielding untold tons of coal, iron ore and magnesite. Most of the mine shafts had been long played out, but chain gangs made up of prisoners capable of more strenuous work than the poppy fields offered were sent daily into the mountain bowels with shovels and pickaxes to seek out new veins or to fill their carts with chiseled leavings.
Once Oh’s jeep had passed through the security checkpoint at the main entrance, the general rode past the crude barracks and the work yard where inmates sifted through the latest haul from the mines. Beyond the yard there were at least a dozen visible openings bored into the base of the nearby mountain. Oh was taken to the most heavily guarded of the openings. There, he climbed out of the vehicle and rubbed his lower back as he left his driver behind and made his way past the sentries, barely acknowledging their salutes.
A well-lit passageway, paved and large enough for a semi-truck to pass through, led him fifty yards deep into the mountain before giving way to a large subterranean bunker the size of an airplane hangar. Unseen generators powered banks of overhead lights that bathed the chamber in a glow so bright that Oh had to squint. Portions of the surrounding walls consisted of bare rock, but for the most part the enclosure—floors, walls and ceiling—was lined with a four-foot-thick layer of reinforced concrete. The far wall had been partitioned off with a row of prefabricated offices and laboratories, and to the general’s right was a two-story housing facility every bit as full of amenities as the concentration camp barracks were deprived. Oh had stayed in one of the officers’ quarters a few months earlier when he’d overseen the initial construction of the bunker facilities, and it heartened him to know there would be a warm bed waiting for him once he’d completed his inspection.
Oh strode to his left, bootheels clomping loudly on the concrete, until he reached the chamber’s storage area. There, concealed inside thick, cylindrical metal canisters mounted to large, seven-axle transporters, were six Taepo Dong-4 intercontinental ballistic missiles. The missiles, three generations removed from the two-stage, Scud-derived, Taepo Dong-1 that North Korea had lobbed into the Sea of Japan back in 1998, had been originally manufactured a hundred miles to the north at the army’s R&D facilities in Sin’gye. Once built and deemed operative, the ICBMs had been dismantled and, over the course of the past three months, using circuitous routes and staggered delivery schedules, Oh had seen to it that the armament had been transferred, one by one, to Changchon. The final missile had arrived two days earlier and reassembly had been completed only a few hours before the general’s arrival.
Oh was looking over the missiles when he was joined by Major Jin Choon-Yei, a short, lean career army officer in his early sixties. Jin, a long-time colleague of Oh’s, had taken charge of operations at Changchon when the general had been called back to Pyongyang, and the major had supervised the site’s transformation into the primary hiding place for North Korea’s nuclear arsenal. Prisoners at the concentration camp, along with Lieutenant Corporal Yulim and the camp’s security force, had been kept in the dark about the nature of the facility and construction had been carried out by military inductees and trusted private contractors.
“Things are coming along nicely, yes?” Jin remarked after the men exchanged greetings.
Oh nodded. “So far, so good. What about the warheads?”
“Over here.”
Jin led Oh past the missiles to a garage-size steel vault imbedded in the mountainside. The door to the vault was closed and guarded by a pair of sentries who stood as rigid as statues, diverting their gazes from the two officers.
“We have four warheads ready for deployment,” Jin told the general, pointing past the sentries at the safe. “The others, as you know, are en route from Yongbyon and Pyongyang.”
Oh nodded. “The next shipment should arrive by tomorrow morning, with the others to follow soon after.”
“We’ll be ready for them,” Jin assured the general.
“Good,” Oh said. “There’ve been no problems, then? No setbacks?”
“None,” Jin said. “The closest thing we have to a problem is some crumbling of the bedrock where we didn’t encase it in concrete. It’s very minor, though.”
The major pointed, dragging Oh’s attention to the area where the warhead vault was imbedded into the raw cavern walls. Small heaps of fallen rubble had accumulated on the ground at the base of the vault and Oh could see faint stress fissures in the nearby rock.
“Keep that monitored,” Oh suggested. “If the fissures widen, I’ll have someone brought in to see if we need to fortify the rock.”
“It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Jin conceded.
Oh made a mental note to call the KPA’s Corps of Engineers regarding the matter, then quickly turned his thoughts to other matters.
“Now, then,” he said, “what about the launch site?”
“I just spoke to your nephew and he says things are coming along,” Jin reported. “And the access tunnels are close to merging, as well.”
“Already?” Oh was pleasantly surprised. He’d made a point not to pry into his nephew’s handling of construction at the missile base, and it appeared now that his faith in the younger man’s talents had paid off.
“Here,” Jin said, leading Oh away from the site, “let me show you.”
Jin’s office was located in the first of the prefab rooms situated along the far wall. Once they’d entered the room, the major directed Oh’s attention to a bulletin board mounted on an easel across from his desk. Tacked to the board was a topographical map of South Pyongyang Province, which was bordered to the west by the Yellow Sea and to the south by the demilitarized zone separating the two Koreas. Two thick lines drawn with a marking pen snaked through the Changchon Mountain Range. The longer line, stretching for nearly seven miles, wound its way south from the facility. The second line was far shorter, barely a quarter-mile long, reaching northward from Kijongdong, a controversial North Korean installation located just north of the DMZ. A barely discernible gap marked where the two lines would eventually intersect.
“We’ve been working around the clock in both tunnels,” Jin told Oh. “If all goes well, by morning the tunnels will have connected. Once that happens, it will only be a matter of widening a few stretches and clearing away debris, then we can haul the missiles and warheads to the launch site.”
Oh smiled faintly. From the sound of it, they would achieve launch capacity within a week, well ahead of even the most optimistic projections made a few months ago. Kim Jong-il would be pleased.
“I’ll check the tunnels in the morning,” the general told Jin. “In the meantime, I’m exhausted.”
“Your room’s the way you left it,” Jin assured him.
“Good,” Oh said. “Before I retire, though, I was wondering. My back has been acting up and I forgot my medication. If you could help me out…”
The major smiled indulgently and went to his desk, unlocking one of the side doors. He removed a vial and handed it to the general. “This should take care of the pain and help you sleep.”
There was no label on the vial, but Oh knew the capsules were filled with doses of morphine, a byproduct of the rehabilitation center’s heroin operations. Oh thanked Jin and quickly helped himself to one of the capsules. He was about to excuse himself so that he could get to his quarters before the morphine kicked in when Jin broadsided him with a pointed query.
“Forgive me for bringing this up, General,” the major said. “I know things seem to be going well, but I’ve been hearing certain rumors about the missiles. About how well they might perform.”
Oh’s smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. He turned to Jin, eyes flashing with irritation.
“What rumors?” he demanded.
Jin blanched. He took an involuntary step backward and stiffened.
“Forgive me,” he repeated. “It wasn’t my place to bring this up.”
“What rumors?” Oh pressed.
Jin hesitated, then said, “What I’ve heard is that these missiles are based on designs first drawn up by the Project Kanggye Team. The team that defected.”
Oh struggled to maintain his composure. The mass defection of all five nuclear weapons specialists comprising the Kanggye Nuclear Research and Development Team had supposedly been kept under tight wraps ever since it had been carried out two years ago. The crew, which had devised the means by which to nearly double both the range and accuracy of the Taepo Dongs, had been replaced by other physicists and military scientists who’d discovered that several members of the original team had tampered with their work data prior to defecting. The need to scrutinize every scrap of data to try to rectify errors had effectively derailed the missile program for the better part of fourteen months, and there was still concern that the replacement team had failed to contend with all the problems the defectors had created. And because there was no way to test the Taepo Dongs without attracting the attention of the outside world, the odds of failed launchings or errant trajectories were far greater than hoped for. The ranking brass had done its best to downplay the risks while fast-tracking production of the ICBMs, but in the back of everyone’s mind, including Oh’s, was the concern that a glitch planted by one of the defectors would avoid discovery and prove the undoing of the whole enterprise.
Oh saw no point in trying to deny the rumors. Instead he tried to alleviate the major’s concerns.
“We’ve had teams at work tracking down the defectors,” the general explained. “Once we have them in custody, hopefully they can be convinced to come back and verify whether the missiles can be successfully fired.”
“A wise move,” Jin responded. “But aren’t the defectors all still in America?”
“For now they are,” Oh said. “And for a while they did a good job of hiding from us. But now we know where they are. At least, most of them. Even as we speak, we are moving in to seize as many of them as we can in one fell swoop. With a little persuasion, I’m sure they’ll tell us where we can find the others, as well.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Canoga Park, California
Dr. Yong-Im Hyunsook was two steps inside his house when he realized something was wrong. Normally the security alarm would start bleeping faintly the moment he opened the front door, reminding him that he had thirty seconds to deactivate the system. When he failed to hear the warning bleeps, Yong-Im’s first thought was that he had forgotten to turn the system on when he’d left the house. But when he stared past the entryway and saw that the sliding-glass door in the living room was partially open, a wave of panic swept over him. He recoiled and turned back toward the front door, but before he could make it outside, there was a blur of motion to his left and the next thing he knew someone had grabbed him from behind. In involuntary cry spilled from his lips as he was jerked backward with so much force that he lost his balance and tumbled to the floor, bounding past the entryway tiles to the carpet that blanketed the living room.
He was still down when his attacker strode over and kicked him sharply in the ribs. He groaned in pain and instinctively began to pull himself into a ball. A second kick glanced off his shoulder and caught the side of his head. Through the sudden ringing in his ears he could hear someone sliding closed the door leading to the backyard.
“Don’t hurt me,” the defector pleaded, covering his face with his hands to ward off another anticipated kick. “Just take whatever you want and leave!”
But the intruders weren’t going anywhere. Across the room, whoever had closed the door turned on the living-room television and raised the volume. Yong-Im’s attacker, meanwhile, grabbed him by the shirt collar and began to drag him across the carpet. The collar tightened around the scientist’s neck and cut off his breathing. He gasped and waved his arms futilely, trying to break the other man’s chokehold.
It was only when Yong-Im was on the verge of passing out that Hong Sung-nam eased his grip and gave the other man a final shove before stepping back. Ok-Hwa Zung moved away from the television set and joined him. The younger man had his gun out and was fitting the barrel with a sound suppressor.
Hong, meanwhile, took a small ceramic ashtray off the nearby coffee table and nonchalantly stuffed it into a stray sock he’d taken from Yong-Im’s bedroom.
“We can’t take what we want because we weren’t able to find it,” he told the cowering scientist. “Maybe you can help us out, Dr. Yong-Im.”
Yong-Im froze in place, his horror escalating with the sudden realization that these weren’t mere burglars. That they’d called him by his real name could only mean one thing: they were either from the North Korean secret police or REDI, the dreaded Research Department for External Intelligence. It didn’t matter which entity they represented. Now that they’d found him, Yong-Im knew that he was a dead man. Still, there was a part of him that grasped at the false hope that he could somehow avoid the inevitable.
“You have the wrong house,” the scientist pleaded. “My name is not Yong-Im. My name is Evan Rohri. You can check my wallet. You’ll see!”
Hong and Ok-Hwa exchanged a glance, then Hong suddenly whipped the weighted sock around, striking Yong-Im in the jaw.
The man’s cry was drowned out by the blaring of the television set. A welt began to form on his jaw where he’d been struck.
“I’m sure they gave you a new name when you defected,” Hong taunted the scientist, “but you are Dr. Yong-Im Hyunsook from the Project Kanggye Nuclear Team. There’s no sense trying to deny it.”
“My name is Evan Rohri!” Yong-Im persisted.
Hong lashed out again with the weighted sock. Yong-Im threw a hand up and deflected the blow. His fingers went numb where the ashtray struck them.
Hong signaled Ok-Hwa. The younger man moved forward, grabbing Yong-Im and pinning his arms behind his back. Hong laid into the scientist a third time with the sock, splitting his lower lip and breaking two of his front teeth. Blood began to seep from the corner of his mouth.
“We’ve found you and we know the addresses of the others, except for Shinn Kam-Song,” Hong told the older man. “Tell us where we can find him and maybe we’ll let you live.”
Yong-Im stared at his captors, trembling. He couldn’t help them, even if he wanted to. After they’d defected, the Kanggye Team had been split up and, for their own protection, none of them had been told where the others had been relocated to, much less what their names had been changed to. He spit out the blood pooling inside his mouth and clung to his first defense.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he insisted. “I don’t know about any nuclear team! I’m a retired accountant! I’ve lived here in America since I was a child!”
“Liar!” Ok-Hwa screamed at the prisoner. In a burst of fury, the young Killboy initiate tossed his gun aside and jerked Yong-Im across the carpet, slamming his head against the corner of the coffee table. “Do you think we’re fools?”
Hong reached into his tool kit for a syringe filled with an amber fluid. He had a feeling they were going to need truth serum to get Yong-Im to talk. As he readied the needle, his partner continued to throttle the doctor.
Hong became alarmed by Ok-Hwa’s ferocity and finally set aside the syringe and rushed over to intervene.
“Ease up, you idiot!” he shouted. “We want him alive!”
But Ok-Hwa was caught up in his bloodlust and he continued to hammer Yong-Im’s skull against the tabletop until Hong forcibly pried him away. Even then, Ok-Hwa continued to rage at their prisoner.
“That will teach you!” he seethed.
Hong dragged his protégé aside, pinned him against the wall, then went nose-to-nose with him.
“Who’s running things here?” he demanded.
“He wasn’t cooperating!” Ok-Hwa countered.
“Who’s running things here?” Hong repeated, shaking the younger man.
“You are!” Ok-Hwa relented. “You’re in charge!”
“Don’t forget it!”
Hong released Ok-Hwa and turned back to Yong-Im. The defector lay sprawled facedown on the floor, blood from his mouth discoloring the carpet. He wasn’t moving. Hong crouched over the man and turned him over. Yong-Im’s face was bruised and swollen. His eyes were open, but his stare was vacant. Hong let the man go and slowly stood. Ok-Hwa met Hong’s livid gaze with one of his own.
“I didn’t mean to kill him!” he said. “I was just trying to get him to cooperate.”
“There’s not much chance of that happening now, is there?” Hong said coldly. He turned the television up even louder, then went to a nearby desk and yanked out one of the drawers, spilling its contents onto the carpet. He’d already looked through everything in the desk and taken pains to make it appear that nothing had been disturbed. But now everything had changed. They needed to cover up the real reason for their visit. They couldn’t afford to make it known that the Kanggye Team was being targeted by REDI. Until they got their hands on the other defectors, they needed to maintain the element of surprise.
“Give me a hand!” he shouted at Ok-Hwa. “We need to make it look like he stumbled onto a burglary!”
Ok-Hwa quickly joined in, helping himself to Yong-Im’s wallet as well as his watch and jewelry.
“What do we do then?”
“We stick to the plan,” Hong told him. “We’ll go to Nevada and track down the next member of the team.”
CHAPTER SIX
Stony Man Farm, Virginia
Hal Brognola rarely returned from his White House briefings in a state of good cheer, and this day was no exception. As he disembarked from the helicopter that had brought him from the capital to Stony Man Farm, a clandestine base of operations in the heart of Shenandoah Valley, he trudged wearily past the sun-drenched fruit orchards to the inconspicuous-looking farm house.
As he headed toward the tunnel to the Annex, Brognola ran into Barbara Price, the Farm’s blond-haired mission controller. Price was carrying a file folder filled with intelligence briefs on the North Korea situation.
“I just spoke to Mack and Cowboy,” she told Brognola as she took a seat alongside him in the small electric rail car waiting for them at the mouth of a thousand-foot-long underground tunnel connecting the main house with the Annex. “They knocked out that street gang in L.A., but it turns out drug-running was just the tip of the iceberg as far as what they were up to.”
The rail car purred to life and slowly carried them along the subterranean passage that ran beneath the orchards as well as a stretch of land that had been converted into a poplar grove, the better to sell the Annex’s supposed function as a timber mill. Along the way, Price briefed Brognola on Bolan’s discovery of an apparent hit list involving North Korea’s former Project Kanggye nuclear team.
As he listened, Brognola fumbled through his suitcoat for a cigar. He wasn’t about to light up; he’d cut back on his smoking in recent years and for the most part contented himself to fidgeting with cigars the same way some people used worry beads.
“I’ve got Carmen checking the status of the defectors,” Price concluded, referring to Carmen Delahunt, one of Aaron Kurtzman’s cyber experts. “She should have an update ready for us.”
“Good,” Brognola replied. “If you ask me, though, I’m not sure we’re talking about a hit list, per se.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think these defectors are more valuable to North Korea alive than dead,” Brognola said. “Especially with this whole missile situation going on over there.”
“You have a point,” Price conceded. “What’s the latest on that?”
As succinctly as possible, Brognola rehashed the key points brought up during the White House briefing. For the past three years, the so-called People’s Democratic Republic of North Korea had been using its unchecked nuclear weapons development as a bargaining chip in its demands for economic aid and other concessions from the U.S. and her allies. The ploy had had intermittent success, but each time America had given an inch, DRNK had turned around and asked for a mile, then used balking by the West as an excuse to resume its nuclear agenda. When matters had escalated in recent months, Russia, China and Japan—prompted by concerns about their close geographic proximity to North Korea—had been forced off the sidelines and into the fray. There had been hope that pressure from their closer neighbors would make Kim Jong-il’s regime more willing to make compromises, but the opposite had been the case.
In recent weeks DRNK’s demands had escalated to the point of absurdity. The President was concerned by the sudden change in tact, as it seemed to indicate that the rogue nation now less concerned with negotiation than pursuing its agenda by more aggressive means. The implication seemed clear: North Korea had stalled long enough on the diplomatic front to beef up its nuclear arsenal and was now looking for a pretext to use it. And if all available intel was correct, the range of the DRNK’s missiles was no longer restricted to countries that lay adjacent to North Korea. Word was that the Korean People’s Army now had four-stage ICBMs capable of reaching American targets in a two-thousand-mile-wide swath extending from San Diego to the Great Lakes. And, much as the U.S. had always been concerned about the vulnerability of its troops stationed below the 38th parallel, now a goodly share of the homeland citizenry was lined up in Kim Jong-il’s crosshairs, as well.
Whether North Korea would be foolhardy enough to launch a first-strike attack on the U.S.—thereby ensuring their doom via retaliatory bombing—was still a matter of debate, but the President, for one, wasn’t about to play wait-and-see. At the end of the briefing, his orders had been concise and to the point: find the ICBMs and put them out of commission.
“Obviously we’re working every diplomatic angle possible to diffuse the situation,” Brognola concluded, “but the feeling is that Kim Jong-il is through talking. Which means we’re running out of time. We need to track down those missiles, pronto.”
