Meanwhile, inside said fridge, the resident mold had invited over quite a few buddies. I announced the party was over with the aid of a brush and a spray that made me feel like my sinuses were bleeding. In the middle of this cheery domesticity, the phone rang. “Vin Cooper,” I said.
“Agent Cooper, there's a car with a driver headed your way. It'll get to you in ten. Don't keep it waiting.” Dial tone. General Howerton. Man of few words. I glanced at my watch and wondered what had happened in the three hours since I was last at the Pentagon.
FORTY-NINE
It was a different room this time, smaller and better lit, though it, too, was buried somewhere within the Pentagon's lower bowel area, a region I seemed to be spending an increasing amount of time in. Howerton was at the head of the table, CIA Deputy Assistant Director, Directorate of Operations, Willard F. Norman beside him. Opposite Norman sat the white-haired staff judge advocate, the general with the lined face who'd provided the legal thumbs-down on the original mission to Phunal. Beside him was Brigadier General James Wynngate, my CO at OSI, and beside him the British SAS Major First-Name-Nigel.
“Ah, Vin,” said Howerton, glancing up as I entered. “Take a seat.”
I took the one opposite Norman.
Howerton continued. “You've already met or know everyone here, but just in case …” He went through the introductions. I learned that Major First-Name-Nigel's surname was Overton, and that the staff judge advocate went by General William Weildon.
There weren't a lot of smiles going round the table.
The heavy entrance door slid open again, accompanied by a rush of air. It was Bradley Chalmers, accompanied by his crutches. His arrival was not acknowledged, which led me to believe either he'd arrived earlier and pleasantries had already been exchanged, or he was unimportant. I tried to think charitably about which might be the correct answer, and failed.
“Bringing you up to speed, Special Agent Cooper,” said Howerton, “Butler and Boyle have been found, along with Dortmund. News came through an hour ago. CIA located them in Seoul.” Howerton glanced at Norman, who looked like he would have preferred to be somewhere else. “CIA found them yesterday, and then lost them,” added Howerton. That explained Norman's discomfort.
“Something that hasn't been determined,” said Norman, “is whether Boyle is in Butler's company reluctantly; whether he's being held against his will. We're assuming the worst — that they've become partners and that North Korea is top of their shopping list.”
Christ! North Korea!
“Just so I've got this straight,” said the SecDef, leaning forward, “our radar system the South Koreans use, the, ah… the…”
“The Aegis Ballistic Missile Defense System, sir,” said Howerton, helping the guy out.
“Do we know for sure it's vulnerable to this, er, technology, Henry?”
“We believe so, sir,” said Howerton grimly.
I wondered if I was perhaps the only guy in the briefing who didn't officially know what this technology was. As if reading my mind, General Howerton cleared this throat and stood. He then gave a halting overview of the project developed by Professor Boyle at Moreton Genetics for the DoD. That explained Howerton's discomfort.
When he'd concluded, there was silence while everyone let it all sink in. As if things weren't bad enough, North Korea was hoping to arm itself with a weapon that could knock out South Korea's defenses, negating the very latest deterrents we had on the ground there. And the North was just nutty enough to try it.
“Vin,” said Howerton, once again catching me off guard, “I want you on the ground in Seoul, ASAP, in the event these three turn up again. A CIA operative, handpicked by Assistant Deputy Director Norman, will join you there.”
I hoped like hell the person picked wasn't Chalmers.
“Bradley?” said Norman, gesturing at Chalmers with his chin.
I held my breath.
Chalmers said, “You'll be working with Special Agent Haiko Rossi…”
Exhale.
“… Italian American father, Japanese mother. She spent five years in the Marines developing the skill set we need, speaks Japanese — and English, of course — as well as Korean and a couple of European languages, including Italian and Portuguese …”
Hmm, Portuguese, I thought. That's sure to come in handy.
“By the time you meet up with Special Agent Rossi in Seoul, Agent Cooper, we should have a lead on the targets. I'll accompany you to Seoul for a joint briefing on the ground with Rossi when we get there.”
Christ, I hoped he didn't expect us to actually sit together on the plane over. I had to hand it to Chalmers, though; he was a smooth operator when he wanted to be. Watching him work the table, full of cautious confidence, I could see why he'd gotten so high in an organization that truly embraced bullshit.
I knew why I wanted in on this mission. What I didn't know was why Howerton wanted me involved. There were other federal agents around in better shape than I was. I could only assume the people above me wanted to keep the circle as small and as tight as possible to avoid leaks. I wasn't complaining.
Howerton spread it on a cracker for me. “Cooper, your role will be to keep Boyle and Butler under surveillance until we can determine exactly who is in the market for the NLW “
There was that term again — NLW, nonlethal weapon; in this instance a genetically engineered neoform that allowed one side to kill potentially millions of people on the other side without the fear of immediate retaliation and retribution. There was enough irony in calling the death bug an NLW to swing a compass needle.
“Anyone got anything to add?” asked Howerton.
I hoped not. I wanted to leave, get some air. Heads were shaking like they were at a game of tennis with everyone watching a different ball.
Brigadier General Wynngate, my CO, said, “Colonel Wayne has a hard copy of your orders, Major.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, standing. I had to take a moment to think who Colonel Wayne might be. Arlen — the “colonel” bit still hadn't sunk in.
General Howerton followed me to the door. He pressed a button on the wall and the door came ajar with a hiss. “A moment, Vin,” he said as I stepped into the hall. “I read your interim reports on the Tanaka case, and the Wright inquiry. Good work on both.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The general hesitated, then asked, “Is it true what I heard?”
“I'm not sure, sir. What did you hear?”
“About you falling twenty thousand feet and landing in the cargo chute canopy as it collapsed. Did that really happen?”
I'd given plenty of thought to that Houdini-like escape of mine. Whatever I hit knocked me unconscious, so all I could do was speculate on what had saved me from digging my own grave in the snow. “Sir, the truth is I'm not sure, but it can't have been anything else,” I said.
The general shook his head. “You're one lucky SOB, Vin.”
“I'm expecting a call from the Guinness Book of World Records anytime now, sir.”
FIFTY
Chalmers and I didn't sit together on the plane. We didn't catch the same bus from Incheon Airport to the city. We didn't stay at the same hotel. So I was happy. I believed I'd finally figured Chalmers out. He was involved in the mission in such a way that if it turned out well, he could grab a hefty measure of credit. If not, he was far enough away to avoid any career-lethal shit from sticking.
As for the flight itself, I ate the food, watched the movies, and, like most other passengers, tried to get some sleep. No sweats, no tingles, no fear — just the apparently far more normal searing boredom. I made myself a mental note to write to the publishers of Have a Nice Flight and give them another surefire method for overcoming aviaphobia.