"Do you think they believed you?"
"Of course," she said. "I'm a spy, not a politician."
Hood rose and Ann came over and hugged him. "You did it, Paul."
Coffey watched unhappily. "Right. We killed a South Korean officer. There will be repercussions."
"He was crazy," said Herbert. "We shot a rabid dog."
"Who may have a family. Rabid dogs don't have rights; soldiers and next of kin do."
Bugs interrupted with a call from General Schneider. Hood told him to try to raise Mike Rodgers, then sat on the edge of his desk and picked up the phone.
"Yes, General?"
"Looks like you may have pulled this one out. There's no shooting— the North Koreans seem to be waiting."
"Can you see General Hong-koo?"
"No," said Schneider. "My boys up there are still ducking."
Hood looked at the monitor. "Well, the General's sitting up in the jeep, holding a handkerchief or cloth to a wound in his shoulder. Now they're driving away. Looks like he's okay."
"Colon's still going to shit."
"I don't know," said Hood. "The President may like how this worked out— self-policing plays well in the press. So does taking a hard line with an ally we've been underwriting for forty-plus—"
"Excuse me, sir," Bugs interrupted, "but I have Lt. Col. Squires on the TAC SAT. I think you'll want to talk to him."
Elation was replaced by a fresh wave of burning in his gut as Hood was plugged through and listened to what Rodgers was attempting
CHAPTER EIGHTY
The trip down the hill was slower than Rodgers had hoped. They had gone over four hundred yards around the troops stationed below and had crept down on their bellies, feetfirst, to keep as low a profile as possible. Sharp rocks poked at them, thorny plants stabbed their bare arms, and the grade was exceedingly steep the lower they got. Several times, each man had lost his footing and had to dig at the rocks, hand and foot, to keep from sliding into the camp. Rodgers realized that that had to be the reason the command tent had been pitched where it was: in daylight it was difficult enough to approach. In the dark, even with night-vision glasses, it would have been virtually impossible to get to.
Rodgers was in front, Moore and then Puckett behind; he stopped them behind a boulder twenty yards above the tent. With his two men behind the rock, Rodgers leaned around to watch for signs of activity below.
He heard soft, very muted voices, but saw no movement within.
Damn strange, he thought. This wasn't standard operating procedure at all. Once the Nodongs were raised and targeted, it was typical for commanders to be in the field: a launch order would never be given over the phone, but in person. It frustrated Rodgers that he couldn't make out what was being said in the tent, not that it really mattered. The only way they were going to stop the missiles from being launched was to get in there and persuade whoever was in charge to lower them. Though he couldn't hear, he was willing to bet his pension that it wasn't the North Koreans who were calling the shots.
He leaned back toward the others. "There are two or three men inside the tent," he whispered. "We'll go in right below, on the back side. Moore— you cut us a doorway, then step to the left. It'll have to be fast. I'll go in first, then Puckett, and you follow us. I'll cover the left side; Puckett, you take the right; and Moore covers the front. We go in with guns, not knives— we don't want anyone even to think about calling for reinforcements."
Both men nodded. Drawing his knife, Moore inched down the last stretch of slope, feetfirst, his back to the rock. His Beretta drawn, Rodgers set out behind him with Puckett bringing up the rear.
Upon reaching the bottom, Moore waited for the others. The three men crouched in the relative dark behind the tent, Rodgers listening as Moore crept over.
" will find that I have a great deal of support here," someone was saying. "Your own people made this possible. Reunification, like remarriage, is a precious notion, but ultimately impractical."
The South Koreans have obviously taken over here, Rodgers thought. He watched as Moore rose slowly beside the tent, the long knife in his left hand, pointing down and ready to strike. Rodgers made his way over, Puckett behind him, both crouched on the balls of their feet, ready to jump in.
If only he knew who was the infiltrator and who was the DPRK officer. He would kill the former without hesitation.
Moore nodded once, then pushed the hilt bottom with his right hand. The blade tore through the fabric, Moore pulled down, and then he stepped aside. Rodgers leapt through, stepping to the left and pointing his gun at the Colonel sitting on the cot: he was bald and holding a bloody cloth around his hand. From his wound, and the fact that he was unarmed, Rodgers knew at once that this was the North Korean officer and that he was a prisoner of the other two. Puckett jumped through, pointing his gun at the officer standing on the right side of the tent. He grabbed the Type 64 pistol before it could be fired and put his own Beretta to the Colonel's forehead.
Moore came in next as Kong, beside the front flap, held up his left hand and dropped the Type 64 he was holding in it. His gun pointed at the big orderly's head, Moore stooped to pick up the gun.
His right hand behind him, Kong whipped the TT33 Tokarev from his belt and fired into Moore's left eye. The soldier fell back and Kong aimed at Puckett.
Rodgers had been watching Kong, and when he saw the big man's right hand slip behind his back, he had swung his own gun around. The General was not quick enough to save Moore, but he put a bullet into Kong's forehead before he could fire at Puckett. The orderly crumpled to the floor of the tent, slumped against the flap, causing it to bulge out.
Puckett's jaw was set like iron, his eyes aflame. "Don't you move, dirtbag."
Rodgers heard soldiers yelling outside. He looked down at the officer on the cot.
"I've got to trust you," Rodgers said, not sure he was being understood. "We need those missiles stopped."
He made a point of aiming the gun away and stepped back. He motioned for Ki-Soo to rise.
The officer bowed slightly.
"You traitors!" Colonel Sun shouted. "See how a patriot dies!"
Sun reached forward and pulled Puckett's arm toward him. Reacting as he'd been trained to do in an attack situation, the Private fired. Sun groaned, folded at the middle, and fell at Puckett's feet.
Rodgers dropped to his side and felt for a pulse. "He's gone," he said. He turned to Moore. He had known that the Private was dead, but picked up his wrist anyway. He pulled a blanket from the cot and handed it to Puckett, who draped it over Moore's body.
"Colonel," Rodgers said, "do you speak English?"
Ki-Soo shook his head.
"Pu-t'ak hamnida," Rodgers used one of the few Korean words he knew. "Please. The Nodongs— Tokyo."
Ki-Soo nodded as soldiers appeared in the doorway. He held them back with a raised hand and barked command. Then he pointed to the dead man.
He said a word Rodgers didn't recognize. Then the Colonel thought for a moment and said, "Il ha-na, i tul, sam set "
"One, two, three," Rodgers said. "You're counting. Countdown? No— you'd go backward."
"Chil il-gop, sa net, il ha-na " Ki-Soo continued.
"Seven, four, one— a code? The password?" Rodgers felt a chill run up and down his back. He pointed to the dead officer. "You're telling me that he changed the passwords. That's why he killed himself, so we can't get them out of him." He thought quickly. The Nodong circuitry was in a box rigged to fire the missile if tampered with. There was no way to stop them unless they got the code. "How long?" Rodgers asked. "On-che-im-ni-ka?"
Ki-Soo looked at one of the soldiers standing in the door. He asked him the same question, and the soldier answered.