“And there’s more. This showed up between eight and nine a.m. Much later than we thought he would arrive, even considering his environment.”
“What does that mean to you?”
“Significant injury,” Brawley said gravely.
“So… where is he now?”
“If he had been captured we would expect to see vehicle tracks leading into this rice paddy. I checked, the paddies aren’t flooded, but the ground is very wet from the spring rains. Truck tires would remain for weeks this time of the year. Even if he was picked up by a group of men on foot, we would see some disturbance. But there’s nothing.”
“If he walked off, would we see that?”
“No. The resolution won’t pick up a single set of footprints.” Brawley smiled. “I wish. No, it won’t even pick up the disturbance of one body going through waist-high foliage or crops. Even if it was hundreds of yards of trail, it’s just too narrow and subtle to show up.”
“So, I’ll ask again. Where is he?”
Brawley used the laser pointer to touch a crescent-shaped grove of trees at the edge of the Yalu River. The roof of a tiny fishing shack was apparent at one side, but there was no sign of life anywhere else in the area.
“I think he is in these trees. I’ve checked the Chinese side of the river and it is crawling with border guards. I don’t see indication that anything exciting is happening as far as they are concerned, so he hasn’t crossed.
“That leaves these trees. If he is healthy enough to try it, he might be waiting for nightfall to cross. But there are whirlpools and relatively strong currents this time of year.”
“How do we know that?”
“There are links on Map of the World. Americans have traveled the Yalu and then reported it. Just adventure travelers in rafts and kayaks, not spooks. Crazy if you think about it, but there are some crazy folks out there, and we benefit from them. If he does try to swim or float across…” Brawley hesitated. “If he tries, I don’t think Avalanche will make it.”
Mary Pat Foley said, “This is really incredible work, Ms. Brawley.”
“Thank you,” Annette replied. “I just wish I could do more for Avalanche.”
“Someone else needs to do something for Avalanche now. If we get him out, it will be because of you.”
One hour later Annette Brawley was shutting down her computer for the night. She wanted to get home to make dinner for Stephanie. Her daughter would complain about it, but Annette knew the best thing she could do to help Stephanie through her tumultuous teenage years — years made more tumultuous by the death of her father — was to be there for her, even if she didn’t appreciate the effort.
Just as she stood and reached for her purse, the phone on her desk rang; maybe this would be Stephanie, letting her know she wouldn’t be home for dinner. She liked to wait until right before her mom left work to tell her.
Annette answered her phone. “Brawley.”
“Please hold for the President of the United States.”
“Excuse me?” There was no response. Her heart skipped a beat, but quickly she came to her senses. “Colonel Peters, that’s not funny. I’ve got work to do.”
Just then the unmistakable voice of President Jack Ryan came over her line. She looked around the room, motioning frantically to two coworkers still in the office, but neither noticed her.
“Ms. Brawley. Jack Ryan here.”
She cleared her throat. “Mr. President.”
“Quick question. In about ten minutes I’m going to be sitting with the president of the People’s Republic of China. It is crucial that I give him good information regarding the CIA asset on the ground in the DPRK. Director Foley told me your conclusions, and they sound solid to me, but I’m going to put you on the spot here. How certain are you that he’s right where you say he is?”
Annette realized her hand was shaking the telephone receiver. She pushed it tighter against her ear. She looked at the picture of Ryan she kept on her desk. “Mr. President, I believe he went into those woods. One hundred percent. And I don’t believe anyone has gone in to get him. Again, I’m one hundred percent confident in that. The only unknown is whether or not he is in the Yalu River. I truly hope he is still in those trees, but the only way to know for sure is to go in there and look for him.”
The President’s reply came quickly, like he was rushed. “You’ve done some good work. I wish I had had some of the technology you possess back in my analyst days, but I know enough to know more noise doesn’t necessarily mean more music. You’ve got a ton of things you have to work through, and I’m impressed.”
“Thank you, sir. It is wonderful to be appreciated.”
“I know what you mean. Thankless work most of the time.” He paused. “So… thanks.”
“I’m sorry about Mexico. Are you feeling better?”
“Every day. Gotta run. Good-bye.”
The line went dead in Annette Brawley’s hand, and within seconds she began questioning whether or not the conversation had even taken place.
75
President Ryan had spent less than ninety minutes in direct talks with Chinese president Ling, but already he felt he had accomplished more substantive work than he had in his past two years of bilateral dealings with the often obstinate and sometimes belligerent superpower.
He had not met the new president face-to-face until now, and he wanted to ascribe much of the progress of the past hour and a half to his good working relationship with the man, but he suspected Ling wasn’t terribly different from most of the other high Chinese Communist Party officials that the party extrudes into leadership positions. No, the success of this meeting had much do to with the fact Ryan came bearing both threats and gifts.
The first order of business had been to detail to the Chinese president North Korea’s involvement in the attack in Mexico City. Ryan brought no evidence with him — this wasn’t the type of meeting where two men would look over photos and witness statements together. Ryan instead offered to send Ling every shred of intelligence the U.S. had gleaned from Adel Zarif over the past three days.
Ling was astonished, and Ryan was pleased to see the seventy-year-old Chinese Communist Party leader seemed to be every bit as worried about how this would affect China as Ryan had hoped he would be.
Ryan then delved into details about Choi’s obsessive quest to obtain nuclear missiles that could reach the U.S. mainland. Again, President Ling’s face registered the gravity of the threat this posed to his own nation.
Ryan could see that Ling knew what was good for him and his country. He would play ball with America in the looming crisis. The last thing in the world he needed was a war between nuclear powers on his border, and Choi Ji-hoon’s aggressive quest for intermediate-range missiles and his targeting of world leaders were leading the region inexorably toward war.
With the threats laid out in stark terms, Ryan offered his gift. He told Ling of the defection of Hwang Min-ho, the director of Korea Natural Resources Trading Corporation. The man was in U.S. custody, but Ryan offered China access to him, and the opportunity to put him on national television and radio. Hwang was prepared to speak about how the North Korean Supreme Leader had initiated the process to squander many trillions of dollars’ worth of desperately needed riches for his nation by expelling Chinese miners, all because he wanted to obtain a nuclear weapons delivery vehicle that would reach to the U.S. It was an endeavor that might well have led to the destruction of the entire Korean Peninsula in the process, and the citizens of North Korea needed to know about this.
Ryan knew the Chinese had media, mostly radio broadcasts, that could reach into hundreds of thousands of homes in North Korea. Not to the proletariat, these people only had the government radio sets that blocked all but officially recognized channels, but to the elite of the nation, virtually all of whom listened to modified radios that allowed them to pick up Chinese transmissions, often translated into Korean for their benefit.