Ryan said, “And that someone new is paying them in hard currency for the opportunity. And that connects this to the missile tubes on the Emerald Endeavor.”
Foley nodded. “Right. The North Koreans are taking the offshore money they are getting for future mineral rights and they are using it to buy the ballistic missile technology they need to make their ICBMs operational, because the one thing they do not yet have is an ICBM that can reach the continental United States.”
Ryan almost mumbled to himself. “A matter of time.”
“Yes. It is a cold fact of economics that if North Korea manages to earn just a fraction of the money we think they can earn from that rare earth mineral mine, then they will be able to buy the technology and expertise they need to threaten us.”
Ryan said, “So often in diplomacy, there is a tendency to oversimplify things. Most situations are not the zero-sum games people make them out to be. But this is one such case. Success for North Korea means failure for us. We stop the mining and we stop the spigot of cash that’s fueling their missile program.”
“Exactly. But as long as North Korea has access to banks where they can transact with shell companies for hard currency, we won’t be able to stop them.”
Jack looked out the porthole next to him. They were just off the coast of Maine, heading northeast. The Atlantic looked impossibly blue below. “We’re not going to fire cruise missiles into North Korea to destroy a strip mine. We just have to find out who in the West is bankrolling them and how they are doing it.”
“The ‘how’ is no problem. CIA has compiled a list of thirty banks in ten nations where we have found North Korean offshore accounts.”
“Where are they?”
She looked down at her iPad and found a file, then opened it and read aloud. “Hong Kong, Vanuatu, Brunei, Singapore, Mexico, Switzerland, Malta, Belize, Nicaragua, and the Cayman Islands.”
“Not necessarily places we can apply direct pressure to get the assets frozen.”
“Not at all.”
Frustrated, Ryan said, “What about identifying who is working with North Korea on the mine?”
“Easier said than done, Mr. President. This transaction with Précision Aéro is a dead end. It won’t lead back to the actual mining partners. It only leads to a shell company, which I’m sure was set up by the North Koreans to procure overseas equipment for their missile program.”
Jack turned and looked at his DNI with a grave face. “Mary Pat, I do hate to sound like a broken record, but you know what I’m going to say.”
“You want me to get you more information.”
He nodded. “However you can. A North Korea with an ICBM that can reach the U.S. is a game changer. Not just in Asia, but in the entire planet. We can’t punish the North for violating sanctions because we are already doing that. I might be able to push the UN for a new round of sanctions that will squeeze their accounts in those offshore banks, but that’s a long shot, and it won’t happen overnight. But if you can find out who is helping them with their rare earth mine, I will go after them with a vengeance, and that will, at least, slow down their new source of income.”
Mary Pat saw the task before her as nearly impossible, but she had her assignment from her superior. “Yes, Mr. President.”
19
Lieutenant General Ri Tae-jin flew via helicopter to the Kangdong Airport, just northeast of Pyongyang. With him were eight subordinates and a security detail of eight more, most of whom were flying in a follow-on helo.
The two Russian-made Mi-8s touched down at noon, and Ri stepped out moments later only to climb into the back of a waiting Mercedes limousine. The bulk of his entourage boarded military vehicles and they set off for their destination.
Kangdong was a suburb of sprawling Pyongyang, only thirty miles from Choi Li-hung Square, the center of the capital city, but Choi Ji-hoon had a second palatial residence here, and when he was at Kangdong-gun, anyone who was summoned had to make the two-hour drive on poor roads. Unless, of course, they were high-ranking government or military personnel, at which point they could simply fly.
The North Korean state had an official policy of Songun, which meant “military first.” It was government doctrine that the Chosun Inmingun was fed first, fed best, housed and outfitted using the pick of the nation’s resources. Most party officials reached their status via their military careers, and many high-ranking government department heads were still Chosun Inmingun.
High-ranking military personnel had access to helicopters, and when they drove on the roads they could order the roads blocked from ordinary civilians.
Songun made the military the elite social class of the nation.
Ri’s flight was only ten minutes, and his limo ride was only twenty more, and this brought him through the checkpoints on the grounds of the luxury mansion and to the front door.
He was brought in to a small banquet hall by a half-dozen men of Section Five of the Party Central Committee Guidance Department. They were Choi’s close protection detail, and they treated Ri with politeness, but no real deference. His body was wanded and he was seated at a small table and brought tea.
Here he waited one hour and twenty-three minutes.
He made no complaints, and displayed no show of frustration, because Section Five stood at parade rest around the room, and they kept their eyes on him.
Finally Choi walked in, and Ri immediately stood and fought off the natural desire to wince.
The Dae Wonsu’s Mao jacket was half open, and his eyes were bloodshot. Choi’s hair was cut too short to show dishevelment, but Ri could see creases on the young man’s face that gave clues the man had been lying on a bed moments before. His fleshy cheeks were pinker than usual as well.
Ri realized almost instantly that the Dae Wonsu was drunk. He’d seen his nation’s leader in various levels of inebriation before. Festive galas were thrown with some regularity, mostly at Ryongsong, and Ri was occasionally ordered to attend. Choi had the habit of arriving late, but always with a drink in his hand, and it was usually abundantly clear he had begun his revelry hours before. He’d never fallen over or passed out like many other officials during the festivities, but it was par for the course to see him slumped and sullen at his grand table while the party continued around him.
No, Ri wasn’t surprised to see his leader drinking and affected by it, but he was disheartened, because he knew why he was here, and a drunk Dae Wonsu was only going to make this conversation more volatile.
The Americans had foiled his attempt to bring in precision-crafted second-stage tubes from France. Ri still had time to make it happen before the clock ran out on Choi’s arbitrary timetable, and with more money coming in from Óscar Roblas than Ri knew what do to with he had other opportunities to get the tubes, but he worried Choi would lose confidence in him and sack him right here and now.
The lieutenant general knew good and well the Dae Wonsu wouldn’t have to keep to his end of their three-year deal — he could change his mind on a whim and throw him to the dogs at any time.
Choi sat down at the table while giving Ri a distracted nod, and then, after the long protocol of deep and obligatory bows, Ri sat back down.
Choi swirled the dark brandy around in his glass for a moment; he seemed to be concentrating on the spiraling movement of the liquid. The general thought his leader would say something slurred and nonsensical, but when he spoke his voice was clear, and his words were lucid and biting.
“Another shipment has been interdicted, towed to port in Inchon. How far back does this put us?”