Donald didn't know, but he cared. He wanted the perpetrators captured and executed. In ancient days, the Koreans decapitated murderers and left their heads on poles for birds to feed on, their souls blind, deaf, and speechless as they wandered through eternity. That was what he wanted for these people. That, and for them not to run into Soonji in the afterlife: in her boundless charity, she was liable to take them by the hand and lead them to a place where it was safe and comfortable.
He stopped walking in front of a movie theater and stood for a minute, thinking again about the footprints and the water bottle. He found himself wishing that he could be a part of Hwan's team, not just to bring the bombers to justice but to give himself something to focus on other than his grief.
Yet maybe there was a job for him, one that could get to the bottom of this quicker than men at the KCIA. He would need General Norbom's help and confidence to succeed, and he would have to know, somehow, that she would have approved, his Soonji.
Thinking about Soonji again brought tears spilling onto his cheeks. Stepping to the curb, Donald hailed a taxi and headed for the U.S. base.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rodgers pressed the radio headset to his ear and, though the volume was turned way up, he was still having a tough time hearing what Paul Hood had to say. Which was just as welclass="underline" when he'd pulled out his yellow earplugs to take the call, he'd known it wouldn't be warm and fuzzy— and it wasn't.
It would be better if he were screaming, because then he could have heard. But Hood wasn't a screamer. When he got angry he talked slowly, measuring his words with care as though afraid a wrong one might slip in on his wrath. For some reason, Rodgers had this image of Hood wearing an apron and holding a large pallet, feeding his words gingerly as though he were slipping pizzas into an oven.
" has left me dangerously understaffed," he was saying. "I've got Martha as my right-hand man."
"She's good, Paul," he yelled into the microphone. "I felt my place was with the team, first time overseas."
"That was not your decision to make! You should have cleared your itinerary with me!"
"I knew you'd have your hands full. I didn't want to bother you."
"You didn't want me to say 'no,' Mike. At least admit that. Don't jerk me off."
"Okay. I admit it."
Rodgers looked at Lt. Col. Squires, who was pretending not to listen. The General drummed the radio, hoping that Hood knew when to stop: he was as much a professional as the Director was, more so in military matters, and he didn't intend to take more than a bare-bones, there-I've-had-my-say dressing down. Especially from a guy who was busy fundraising with the likes of Julia Roberts and Tom Cruise while he was leading a mechanized brigade in the Persian Gulf.
"All right, Mike," Hood said, "you're there. How do we maximize your effectiveness?"
Good. He did know when to stop.
"For now," Rodgers said, "just keep me apprised of any new developments, and if we have to go into action make sure my staff runs the simulations through the computer."
"I copy on the sims, and the only new development is that the President put us in charge of the Task Force. He wants to play hardball."
"Good."
"We'll debate that over pizza and beer when it's all over. Right now, your orders are to continue to your destination. We'll radio if there are any updates or changes."
"Roger."
"And, Mike?"
"Yes?"
"Let the kids do the heavy lifting, Middle-Aged Man."
The men signed out and Rodgers sat back, chuckling over their favorite Saturday Night Live character. Yet what really got him was the pizza reference. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but Hood had an uncanny instinct for picking up people's vibes about things. Rodgers often wondered if Hood had developed those talents in politics or whether he'd been drawn to politics because of it. Whenever Rodgers felt like kicking Hood in the ass, he reminded himself that the guy got the top spot for a reason however much he wished he'd been offered it himself.
He also wished Hood would join him at the track once in a while, instead of doing the Family Man of the Year drill. They could probably make a fortune together, and some of the girls he knew might loosen Hood up a bit— make everyone's life a little less uptight.
Slipping off the headset, Rodgers lay back against the cold, vibrating aluminum rib of the transport plane. He ran a hand over his graying black hair, freshly buzz-cut the day before.
He knew that Hood couldn't help being what he was any more than Rodgers could change himself, and that probably wasn't a bad thing. What was it that Laodamas had said to Odysseus? "Enter our games, then; ease your heart of trouble." Where would any of them be without competition and rivalry to spur them on? Had Odysseus not participated in and won the discus throw, he would not have been invited to the palace of Alcinous and been given the gifts that proved so important on his journey home.
"Sir," said Squires, "do you want to start going over our playbook? We'll need a couple of hours."
"Absolutely," said Rodgers. "It'll ease my heart of trouble."
Squires shot him a puzzled look as he scooted closer on the bench and looked down at the oversize looseleaf binder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Liz Gordon was sitting in her small office, decorated only with a signed photograph of the President, a carte de visite of Freud, and, on the closet door, a Carl Jung dartboard given to her by her second ex-husband.
Across the Spartan metal desk, Associate Staff Psychologist Sheryl Shade and Assistant Psychologist James Solomon both worked on laptops that were plugged into Liz's Peer-2030 computer.
Liz used her old Marlboro to light a fresh one as she stared at her computer monitor. She blew smoke. "It would appear that our data adds up to the President of North Korea being a pretty solid citizen. What do you say?"
Sheryl nodded. "Everything is right in the middle of the chart, or toward the better adjusted. Relationship with his mother is strong long-term girlfriend remembers birthdays and anniversaries no sexual aberrations diet normal drinks very moderately. We even have that cite from Dr. Hwong about how he uses words that communicate ideas rather than trying to impress people with his vocabulary, which is extensive.
"And there's nothing in the files of any of his executive staff that suggests they'd go against him," Sheryl added. "If we're dealing with a terrorist, he or she is not a member of the President's inner circle."
"Right," Liz said. "Jimmy, what've you got?"
The young man shook his head. "We've got a flat line on aggression in Zhonghua Renmin Gonghe Guo. In private conversations monitored here and by the CIA since we did our last report— the most recent at 0700 yesterday— the President, Premier, General Secretary of the Communist Party, and other leading figures in the People's Republic of China have all expressed a desire to sit out any kind of confrontation on the peninsula."
"Which all boils down to, we were right in the first place," Liz said through a stream of smoke. "The methodology is right, the conclusions are right, you can take our findings to the goddamn bank." She took another long drag, then told Solomon to fax the names of the most militant Chinese leaders to Ambassador Rachlin in Beijing. "I don't think we have anything to worry about from them, but Hood wants to cover all his bases."