He dialed another private number, this one in Pyongyang. As usual, General Park let the phone ring endlessly — a display of his importance and the incalculable value of his time.
“Yes, Dresner. What is it?” finally came the accented voice.
“We need to move up the timetable for the sterilization of the facility.”
“Dismantling not finished. Still many scientists and equipment on the site.”
“Three people are on their way there. A German and two Americans. I want them captured.”
“I see. And if capture is impossible?”
It was a question he was prepared for, but not one he wanted to consider. He needed to know what Smith and Russell had discovered and who they had told. And then there was the entirely different matter of Gerd.
“If capture is impossible,” he said, reluctantly. “Then killed.”
“This will all be very expensive.”
It was always about money — the hard currency that kept North Korea’s elite inner circle in luxury and power while their people starved.
On the brighter side, the country’s entire hierarchy had adopted the Merge in a showy display of their technological sophistication. In fact, this call was being handled by Park’s personal unit.
“How much?”
“Fifty million.”
On top of all the other money he’d paid, it was an outrageous sum. But there was little point in arguing.
“Agreed.”
“Then I will take your request to our leader as soon as possible.”
“As soon as possible? For fifty million dollars, I expect this to be handled immediately.”
“He has a country to run. By comparison, your problems are unimportant.”
Dresner fought to swallow his anger. “I appreciate your considering my request.”
“Of course,” Park responded. “And now I have other matters to attend to.”
The line went dead and Dresner put his Merge in standby mode, looking around the empty room with no alterations or enhancements.
Would Park succeed in capturing them and wiping away all evidence of the facility? And even if he did, would it be enough? Dresner needed time to reach the tipping point — the critical level at which the people leading the planet to its destruction couldn’t be seamlessly replaced. But where exactly was that point? He’d calculated two years, but what if he couldn’t wait that long? What if his hand was forced? Would it be enough?
53
“Dr. Eichmann!” Smith shouted from the back of the anonymous Learjet they’d flown from Morocco. “Don’t bother her when she’s trying to land.”
The German, who was standing in the cockpit door, looked back fearfully and then started down the aisle. Instead of taking one of the seats closer to the front, he dropped awkwardly into the one facing Smith and strapped himself in.
“We shouldn’t be here. This is North Korea. They—”
“This isn’t anything new. You’ve been here before.”
“With Christian’s permission and protection! The military controls this place. We have no authority here without him.”
“You’re going to have to calm down, Doctor. People can smell fear. If we act like we’re here with Dresner’s blessing, no one will have any reason to question that.”
Eichmann looked unconvinced, which wasn’t surprising. He wasn’t a stupid man. In truth, they were very much working without a net. There was no way to know what security protocols were in place or how much direct communication the Koreans had with Dresner. They could very easily be walking into a summary execution and unmarked grave. But what alternative did they have? If the dismantling of the facility was already under way, going through the nearly nonexistent political channels between Pyongyang and Washington was guaranteed to fail.
Randi swung the plane in a slow arc and Smith looked out the window, admiring the lush mountainscape for a moment before focusing on the narrow airstrip. On the bright side, the massive military force and SAMs that he’d half expected weren’t in evidence. But then, maybe they just wanted to take them alive.
“Is this how it looked when you’ve come in the past?” he said, pointing to a single open jeep parked next to the ribbon of asphalt. “Do you see anything that looks unusual?”
The German squinted out the window and shook his head. “That’s Kyong. He always picks me up.”
“Is he armed?”
“We should turn around. We can still—”
“We’re not turning around,” Smith said. “After this is over, you’re going to live out a very comfortable retirement under another identity. But now it’s time to focus. Is he armed?”
“Never that I’ve seen,” Eichmann said shaking his head miserably. “He isn’t a scientist or a soldier. He was born near here and speaks very good English, which makes him an ideal escort.”
Randi touched down without her normal drama and shut down the engines as Smith opened the door. He peeked out and saw nothing but the young Korean jogging toward the plane waving.
“What do you think?” Randi said, coming out of the cockpit and sliding a.32 beneath her light jacket.
“Looks okay.”
She indicated toward the door. “Age before beauty.”
Smith unfolded the steps and went cautiously down them with Eichmann close behind. As terrified as the elderly scientist was of the locals, he didn’t seem particularly excited about being left alone with Randi either.
“Dr. Eichmann!” the young Korean said, rushing up and offering his hand. “It’s good to see you again so soon.”
“Hello, Kyong. I’d like to introduce you to my associate…” He hesitated and Smith covered.
“Dr. Smith.” He indicated behind him, seeing no reason to bother with aliases at this point. “And this is Dr. Russell.”
Kyong gave them a quick nod and then started toward the jeep. “Please, if you’ll follow me.”
Temperatures were in the mid-fifties, but the sun was hot in the cloudless sky. There was no humidity and no pollution, just clear air and snow-topped emerald hills in every direction. A deceptively peaceful scene.
Smith slipped into the passenger seat, forcing Eichmann into the back with Randi, where he couldn’t cause any trouble. They took off at a casual pace with Kyong skillfully negotiating the uneven dirt road while Smith watched the trees for signs that they were headed into a trap.
Nothing but a few colorful birds, a distant waterfall, and a constant flow of small talk from their driver.
They came out of the trees after about fifteen minutes and began angling toward an enormous complex built near the shore of a small lake. A chain-link fence surrounded the entire campus but they didn’t slow as they passed through the open gate. The regular army guard seemed interested in them only insofar as it gave him an excuse to snap off a crisp salute.
The activity Smith had noted during their approach was even more frantic up close. Trucks of every type and size were coming in empty, being loaded, and then heading for the gate. What Eichmann had told them about the place being shut down was apparently true. But more than that, it looked like it was being completely dismantled. To the west, windows were being carefully removed and three men were carrying out a security desk that looked like it had been cut from the floor.
They pulled up to what appeared to be the main entrance — so far untouched by the demolition crews crawling over the rest of the facility — and Smith jumped out. A military flatbed rumbled by with a massive tarp pulled tight over its load. The shapes bulging beneath it were unmistakable: bodies.
Smith followed the vehicle with his eyes as it moved away, spotting a single hand peeking out from beneath the canvas. At first he thought it was covered with dust, but then he realized the color was natural. The body wasn’t Asian, but African or possibly East Indian.