The Korean Intercept (35 page)

 

Yokohama

 

General Tuttle allowed Meiko to exit the comm van first, then he debarked, joining her on the rain-swept tarmac as the reverberations of incoming helicopters rumbled the damp atmosphere. Around the hangar, behind the van, were waiting ambulances and clusters of men intent in conversation near their unmarked black vans with heavily tinted windows. Everything from medical treatment to diplomatic and intelligence personnel awaited the choppers like animals of prey.

Meiko was the only media person present, and her personal involvement in these unfolding events made it impossible for her to distance herself emotionally from this story, as she'd been taught in journalism school. Tuttle had allowed her to listen in as a radio corpsmen monitored the tactical network through a small squawk box in the comm van's main console. It was a "successful hit and git," according to the woman pilot of the Blackhawk. They were coming home with two surviving members of the
Liberty
crew.

Meiko's stomach was constricted with anxiety. Turmoil ruled her mind, something she was unaccustomed to. She had long prided herself on her mental and emotional discipline, and attributed most of her rise in the news profession to those traits. But never had she felt such a confluence of emotions and circumstances as this. Foremost, of course, was the loss of her father. The pace of events of these past days had not even allowed her the luxury of grief. She so wanted one of the two survivors of
Liberty
to be Kate Daniels. She wished the whole crew could have survived. But let it be the one who Trev loves, the one for whom he'd risked everything. Let one of them be Kate. And if Kate was alive, what then of Trev and Meiko? In the first stages of their relationship, Trev assured her that his marriage was finished except for the paperwork. She had to believe that he meant that at that time. But who could have foreseen the chain of events from the moment the
Liberty
went down? Trev was the most incredible man she'd ever known, a man human enough to have a troubled soul and a restless spirit, yet proficient in his every area of endeavor. He could have sprung forth from a movie or a paperback novel. Trev opened her eyes to a standard of excellence that encompassed everything from the intimacy of the bedroom to the world stage in crisis. She loved the man enough to want whatever was best for him. And yet. And yet. She loved him. The more so, strangely, because he had gone to such measures to undertake the rescue of his estranged wife.

The Blackhawk emerged from the soupy darkness and the chopper touched down. The Apache gunships remained aloft, hanging back to provide the necessary security, if required. The Blackhawk's engines began winding down, as did the rpm's of its rotor blades. The pilot extinguished the flight lights. The side door of the Blackhawk was swung aside by a crewmember.

Galt alighted, and assisted the medics who were waiting on the ground with a gurney. They loaded a man—that would be Paxton—onto the gurney and wheeled him at a run toward the nearest ambulance. Galt then extended a hand to someone inside the helicopter, and Meiko found herself striding forward to meet them.

 

Pyongyang, North Korea

 

President Kim Jong II sat at his desk, studying his pompadour in a handheld mirror, which he tilted so he could view his haircut from various angles. Generals Yang and Tog stood at attention before him. Jong had not spoken for five minutes, having studied his image while he listened to his generals' report.

Kim set the mirror down with a sharp clatter upon the glass-topped desk. "Very well, then. We shall cooperate with their retrieval of the spacecraft."

"I fear that we have no choice," said Tog. "All they re quest of us is that we stay out of their way."

Tog snorted. "Our humiliation is unspeakable."

Kim gestured indolently with one pudgy hand. "Patience, General. A day of reckoning will come. The great America will be brought to its knees. But this is not the time." He returned to examining his pompadour in the mirror, patting the coif for effect. "On another matter, I've taken some time to render my decision, what with all of these recent distractions, but this new fellow, the young man who styled my hair, he will do, yes. A most pleasant-natured boy, and he does good work, don't you think?"

"Indeed," said Yang.

"I'm sure he will be most gratified," said Tog.

"See that his life is spared, and have him brought up here after you leave." Tiny air bubbles burst at the corners of Kim's fleshy lips. "I, uh, find myself in the mood for some relaxation."

 

Beijing, China

 

Huang Peng stared at his reflection in the night-darkened window of his office at the Defense Ministry. Beyond his solemn reflection were the sparse lights of Tiananmen Square as viewed from the top floor of the Great Hall of the People: the lights of military patrols, mostly. Since the student uprising of more than a decade ago, a strict curfew had been imposed on the square. But it was his somber reflection, and his thoughts, which occupied him. He felt as old as he looked in the reflection of dark glass. He felt every one of his seventy-three years.

He had dismissed General Chou after his military affairs commander finished briefing him. The North Koreans, thought Huang. Isolated peasants, led by a simpering fool.

As second ranking member of the Politburo, it was Huang's responsibility to inform the chairman of the incursion of an American force into North Korea, and their claiming possession of the space shuttle. He also informed the chairman of North Korea's decision to, for once, behave prudently and not be confrontational with the United States. Huang had concluded by reporting the death of General Li in the mountains of North Korea. The chairman had listened to Huang's briefing without comment, and had then responded promptly by issuing orders to Huang to smooth ruffled feathers in diplomatic circles and the world media. Much was at stake, Huang had been reminded, from trade status to arms talks.

He swiveled his chair around, away from his contemplation of the old man in the window. He reached for the telephone on his cluttered desk.

 

Washington, DC

 

The president received his update from the White House chief of staff while bench-pressing 185-pound weights in his private workout gym on the second floor of the residence quarters. The president wore a snow-white T-shirt, blue athletic shorts, white socks and tennis shoes. He was working up a mild sweat.

Wil Fleming informed him that Trevor Galt, Kathleen Daniels and Robert Paxton had touched down in Yokohama. "For all their bluster," he concluded, "the North Koreans are in no position to take us on unless they have a complete death wish, which they don't."

"Not yet," said the president.

Fleming wore the mandatory West Wing conservative jacket and tie. "China will lean on North Korea to cool it. Beijing has too much to lose for them to want a hot war in the region, what with things so on-track between China and America economically."

The president rested the weights and sat upright. He dabbed with a towel at perspiration on his forehead.

"Galt made all the difference. Him going maverick like he did, the ballsy bastard, going to Japan on his own, is really what forced our hand to initiate the covert op. Today he again took personal initiative and averted what could have escalated into World War III."

"Yes, sir."

The president set down the towel and commenced some knee bends. "Wil, I know that you and Galt are often at odds. You're my right hand, because you're so damn organized and by the numbers. But Wil, this operation illustrates exactly why it's good to have a kick-ass wild card on our side, even if he is too loose-gaited for the West Wing."

Fleming cleared his throat. "Uh, that does bring us to one remaining problem, sir. I, uh, received a communication from General Tuttle in Yokohama just before coming in to see you."

"What's the problem?"

"It's Galt, sir, and Kate Daniels."

The president paused in his knee bends. "What about them?"

"Put simply, sir, they've disappeared. General Tuttle is not pleased. We have absolutely no idea where they are."

 

Tokyo

 

Galt and Meiko found Baroness Sachito seated on a stone bench, as if she were waiting for them, in the small formal garden behind the main house. A single lantern cast its flickering glow upon the quiet beauty of miniature trees, rocks and streams. Sachito sat, partly in shadow, before a bank of aromatic white star jasmine. She wore an apricot silk kimono, and wooden clogs. The weather was clearing. The first etching of dawn gilded the eastern clouds with silver. Starlight shone through scattering clouds, dancing off the raven's wing blackness of her hair. Hands folded in her lap, she raised her large almond eyes at their approach.

Meiko drew to a stop beside Galt, her back drawn straight as she regarded the woman. Galt saw a pistol at Sachito's side on the bench.

He said, "Good evening, Baroness. Or should I say, good morning? I assume you've received an update on current events." He was clad in dark jacket, T-shirt and jeans that helped him blend into the gloom. The Beretta rode in its shoulder holster, concealed beneath the jacket.

"Yes." Sachito spoke vaguely. Her demeanor was listless and drained. "Chai Bin is dead. America has reclaimed what remains of its space shuttle, and two surviving astronauts have been rescued, one of whom is your wife." Her gaze alternated between Galt and Meiko. "And I know that the two of you are more than mere friends. You are lovers. I needed no one to tell me that."

"Bitch," said Meiko in a harsh whisper.

Galt experienced a mental alarm bell going off at the naked, unfettered rage from one usually so composed under the most trying circumstances. Meiko was a Washington journalist, after all. She could only have the deepest of negative feelings against this woman. But Galt had invited her to accompany him here because, from past experience, he had expected her to sublimate the rawest of her emotions.

Sachito spoke to Galt as if she had not heard Meiko's insult. "You rescue your wife from North Korean mountain bandits, yet you arrive here with Meiko. Where is your wife, may I ask?"

"You may," said Galt. "Kate's waiting for us in a car parked on the road that fronts this property. She's about to be airlifted out of Japan. She has debriefings
ad nauseam
and a media circus to look forward to. When I told her that Meiko and I had one last part of this business to attend to, she asked to be a part of it. So we slipped away, the three of us." He saw no reason to tell her about the explosive charge that he had concealed in the middle of the front main driveway before he and Meiko had come to the garden, or about the detonation device that resided in his pocket.

"The three of you?" Sachito arched an eyebrow and regarded Meiko dispassionately. "You have confronted this man's wife… under these circumstances?"

"It was not a confrontation," said Meiko in a more subdued voice. "I greeted Kate when the rescue helicopter landed in Yokohama. Kate and Trev were separated when I met him. She and I embraced. It is an American custom, not Japanese, I know. I admire and respect Kate Daniels. She is an extraordinary woman."

Sachito considered this. "Indeed," she conceded. "And you're right, child. I don't understand."

"Then perhaps you will understand this. If Kate ever brings up the subject of Trev and me, then we will discuss it honestly. Or I will tell her. I don't know. I only know that she appreciated having a woman to meet her among all those bloodied male warriors when the helicopter touched down."

"You have a kind heart," said Sachito with no hint of irony.

Meiko's arms were held rigid at her side, the elbows bent, the fists clenched. "Not towards you," she spat. "I will report what I know and what I have seen to the world. My father's innocence. Your guilt. What happened to those aboard
Liberty
, and to those who made this happen."

Sachito peered at Galt. "Do you not risk greatly offending your superiors?"

He shrugged indifferently. "It won't be the first time. They'll get over it. And yeah, there are issues that Kate and I need to address and that's no damn lie. But right now, she's our lookout. She's going to tap the car horn at first sight of any vehicle approaching your property."

Sachito resumed alternating her gaze between them. "Have you come to kill me?"

Galt glanced at the pistol beside her on the bench. "It doesn't look like that will be necessary. You do understand that we didn't just take down Chai Bin, right? Thanks to information supplied by Meiko here, we're tracing down Ugaki and his
yakuza
and we're taking them down too, because they were behind everything." He paused, then added, "Along with you, of course."

Sachito's sigh was barely audible. "What you say is true." Her eyes rested on Meiko. "And you, stepdaughter? Do you wish to kill me?"

Meiko regarded Sachito with venomous contempt. "When we had dinner with you here, you told us you possessed intimate knowledge of my father's business dealings. You said that in his last days, his every decision was relayed to his subordinates through you. You abused that power, you and Anami, the acting CEO. But that's the least of your sins, bitch." Meiko's eyes narrowed. "You killed my father."

Sachito's gaze lowered to study her hands, clasped in her lap. "Your father was gravely ill. He had only months to live, and was in terrible, constant pain. For your father, death was a merciful release." There was a catch in her voice. "I loved him. I still do. You must believe that."

The line of Meiko's mouth quivered with emotion. "You're a vile monster. You want to rationalize what you've done?"

"I did love your father." Sachito's eyes remained downcast. "Yes, I am evil. I have done evil things. But I did love him. It broke my heart to see him dying a little every day, his vitality and life ebbing from a spirit once so commanding and powerful. He was ashamed to be an invalid, did you know that, Meiko?"