Hwang’s face blanched.
“And that’s not all. His family paid for his failure with their lives.”
Hwang knew the families of traitors were often put to death. It wasn’t a hidden practice. On the contrary, the military wanted it to be known that the ramifications for defying the state extended past the life of the culprit. It was a way to encourage families to inform on members who were a threat to the society as a whole.
Ri continued, “Fail Choi as spectacularly as Gang did, and you will suffer the same fate. I might even be ordered to witness your fate. And you should hope I am there, because while the dogs are ripping your flesh, you will have the small comfort of knowing I will be there in the pen eighteen months after you.”
“Are you just here to commiserate with me?”
“No. I am telling you all this so you know that the two of us need one another.”
“What are you proposing?”
Ri smiled at Hwang. “I am proposing a partnership between our organizations. Between ourselves, in fact.”
“A partnership? I do not understand.”
“Your efforts are doomed to fail without outside help. I can get you that help. That which you need is all outside our borders, and I am the man who can go out and get it, and bring it back. You need foreign partnership. Not from China, but someone else. Someone who can acquire the goods and know-how and get them here, and someone who can take the metal and sell it quietly on the world market.”
“What do you want in return?”
“Twenty percent.”
“Twenty percent of what?”
“Twenty percent of everything. Direct into the coffers of the Ministry of Intelligence. Within one year this will triple my budget. With such monies I will be able to attain the technology we need.”
Hwang cracked a smile. “The Chinese say the mine is worth twelve trillion U.S. dollars. You think I have authority to divert twenty percent of twelve trillion dollars?”
“I think you can figure out a way if it keeps you out of the labor camps and your children alive. I have access to a network of international bank accounts. I can help you divert payments. And twelve trillion will be over the life of the mine. I only need to use the promise of your mine to generate foreign investment, which I can use for my ICBM operation.”
“You are going to buy a missile?”
“No. I am going to buy a missile industry.”
The smile on Hwang’s face returned. “You don’t lack for confidence.”
“It is not confidence. It is inspiration.” Ri leaned forward. “Nothing so inspiring as watching your predecessor being eaten alive by hunger-crazed animals.”
Hwang cringed. Then said, “Just tell me what you want, Ri.”
“No. You tell me what you want. And I will make it happen. I will use as much of my budget on this project as necessary, I’ll shut down desks, departments, stations, and move resources, I will task foreign operatives, I will devote all my energies into this operation.”
“Operation? I’m sorry, Ri. I don’t understand what you think you can do to help me mine and process rare earth minerals in Chongju.”
“Let me give you some examples of what I can do. I can bribe UN officials to loosen sanctions on banks and trade, I will hire armies of Western spies to infiltrate rare earth facilities all over the globe to learn that which you need to know. I will make deals with mining companies abroad to bring them on board in a clandestine fashion to help you with their expertise. I will offer secret employment contracts to chemists, geologists, engineers… you hand-pick the people you want and I will go out and get them, at gunpoint if necessary. I will organize deliveries of the goods you need and see that they make it past sanctions and embargo enforcement ships in the Yellow Sea. I will work with allies in Russia who can hack the computer systems of relevant industry to help you with blueprints. I will fund public relations initiatives around the world to make sure the market is accepting of your product once it’s ready to export.”
Hwang had never heard anything like this in his life. Of course his office had made requests for information from foreign intelligence, but what Ri was offering was on a scale exponentially larger than anything he had ever considered. Ri was outlining just exactly all the things he needed to create a successful mining and processing operation at Chongju. “Incredible,” he said. “If you can do this, we have a chance.”
“So, you agree?”
What did he have to lose? “I agree.”
Ri said, “I need to establish partnerships outside of our nation, to create the conduits necessary to make this happen. If you had any suggestions for companies or personalities I should seek out to join us in our endeavor, I would like to hear them.”
Hwang nodded instantly. “One name comes to mind. You get him involved as a benefactor, and you and I might just make this happen.”
The intelligence chief raised his eyebrows. “Tell me.”
“Óscar Roblas de Mota.”
Ri nodded thoughtfully. He knew all about this man. “Óscar Roblas. Why, yes. Of course.”
13
The small house on Jayhawk Street in Annandale, Virginia, showed its first signs of life most mornings at six. Forty-three-year-old Annette Brawley tapped the alarm clock, rolled up into a sitting position on her bed, and flipped on a light that shone through the curtains, out across the tiny yard and into the narrow street. She spent a few moments sitting on her bed, rubbing her eyes and dealing with the frustration that today was only Tuesday, and then she stood on tired legs.
As soon as she was up she made her bed. It was an old habit from her days in the Army, more than eight years removed now, and the process was especially quick and straightforward because no one slept with her, so she needed to remake only her side.
She then entered her kitchen and hit the button on the coffeepot, and grabbed a carton of eggs from the fridge. She pulled two cereal bowls out of the cupboard — this was about the time her head cleared enough for her to shut off her body’s autopilot and actually think about what she was doing.
She fixed breakfast for two, then at six-fifteen on the nose she walked down the narrow hall to the back of the house, took a narrow flight of stairs up, and then knocked on the door at the top of the landing. After knocking she opened the door, because she knew knocking was only a formality and no one would answer, and she would therefore need to use more active measures to accomplish this daily task.
Stephanie Brawley was sixteen, and she liked getting up in the morning even less than her mom did. She also didn’t like her mom very much, so she was doubly surly each and every time she awoke to a hoarse and tired female voice.
“Time to get up, Steph. I made you some eggs.”
“I hate you,” Stephanie croaked.
“I know, honey,” Annette calmly replied, wiping sleep from her eyes as she turned away. “I made you some cereal, too.”
“Turn off the light!”
Annette left her daughter’s room with the light on. She was subjected to a litany of insults as she retreated back downstairs to her coffee cup. Getting yelled at each morning had become part of her daily routine. She didn’t like it, it saddened and depressed her, but she did her best to keep a bit of perspective. Annette herself had lived with her mom after her parents divorced, and she’d been no great joy to be around during her teenage years.
No, she’d probably been rough on her mother, and now as Stephanie berated her each morning, she tried to tell herself this phase was just the payback of karma and it would pass soon enough.
Annette had lived alone since her husband died in 2007. He was in the Pennsylvania National Guard, serving in Afghanistan as a staff sergeant working as an intelligence analyst at his battalion headquarters in Nangarhar Province. He was far from any combat, and Annette thought he must have had one of the safer military jobs in the country, but his armored Humvee ran over an explosively formed projectile and he died instantly.