The lieutenant checked the passageway in both directions, stepped close, and lowered his voice. “Petty Officer Ahn, you’re going to be our interpreter. We need someone who speaks Korean.”
Phil made a concentrated effort not to groan. “I hate to disappoint you, sir, but my Korean sucks. I was never what you would consider fluent to begin with, and I pretty much let it slide when I left home for boot camp.”
“We know that,” said the lieutenant. “But half a loaf is better than none, and you’re the best we could do on short notice.”
“Doesn’t the Navy have translators? I mean real translators?”
The lieutenant nodded. “There was a Korean interpreter aboard USS Mahan. If he survived the sinking of his ship, we haven’t found him yet. The Navy’s flying out two more from Defense Language Institute in California. They touch down at Naval Air Station Key West in about three hours. There’s a helo standing by to bring them out our way. In the meantime, we start with you. Just do the best you can.”
Phil nodded. “Aye-aye, sir. Who am I going to be talking to?”
The lieutenant started walking again. “Let’s go knock out your clearance paperwork. Once you’re nice and legal, we’ll tell you as much as we can.”
There was a soft tap at the door.
National Security Advisor Frank Cerney looked up from the stack of briefing folders on his desk. “Come in.”
The door opened and the deputy national security advisor, William Snowcroft, poked his head into the office. “Do you have a second, sir?”
Cerney beckoned for the man to enter. “Sure, Bill. What have you got?”
Snowcroft came into the office and closed the door. Instead of taking a seat, he leaned against the doorframe. “Remember the interpreter we sent to talk to the Korean prisoners aboard USS Bowie? The kid we borrowed from the Coast Guard? Well it looks like he might be on to something.”
Cerney nodded. “Keep talking.”
“The commando we captured is a Major Ri Kyong-su, North Korean Maritime Special Operations Force. He was the officer in charge of the detail protecting the ship and the missiles. Snake-eater type. Probably knows fifteen ways to kill you with your own shoelaces.”
“I’ll try to keep my feet out of his way,” Cerney mumbled. “And I’m assuming that Major Snake-eater hasn’t tried to murder our interpreter with footwear.”
“No, sir. In fact, he seems to be willing to talk.”
Cerney sat back in his chair. “Seems to be? Meaning that he hasn’t started talking yet?”
“He claims to have important information to divulge,” Snowcroft said, “but he won’t talk unless we agree to certain conditions.”
“What kind of conditions?”
“He’s asking for asylum in the U.S.,” Snowcroft said. “Protection and citizenship for himself, his wife, his two-year-old daughter, and his sister. Oh, and we have to teach them all English.”
“I take it they’re all still in North Korea?”
Snowcroft nodded.
Cerney snorted. “He doesn’t want much, does he? All we have to do is penetrate the territory of a sovereign nation, kidnap two women and a child who don’t know we’re coming — and who, I might add, have no reason whatsoever to trust us — then spirit them quietly away to the land of Wal-Mart and Chicken McNuggets.”
“We don’t have to accept his terms,” Snowcroft said.
“You’re right about that,” said Cerney. “Why are we even having this conversation? What do we think this guy knows?”
“This was his second voyage to Cuba, so he’s got the delivery protocols mapped out pretty well. Also, he says that all of the commando teams were trained at the same time, and that all of the shipments were identical. He knows how many missiles were carried by each ship and what kind they are. He can tell us how many missile sites there are, how they’re supposed to be laid out, and how they’re manned.”
“Can he pinpoint the locations?”
“No. Evidently, that information was only shared with the missile crews. But at least he can tell us the scope of the threat, and let us know how many sites we’re going to have to hit.”
Cerney shook his head. “Not good enough. Granted, that’s all useful information, but it’s hardly enough to justify an international snatch job.”
“There is one more thing,” Snowcroft said. “Major Ri claims to know something about Kim Yong-nam.”
“Something? What the hell does that mean?”
“He’s not very forthcoming with the details, but he says that it’s big. Enormous. The sort of thing that will fundamentally transform our understanding of Kim Yong-nam’s strategic mindset. And it will supposedly give us insight into what the whole Cuba thing is about.”
“Sounds like this guy is trying to blow smoke up our butts,” Cerney said. “How would a common soldier know secrets about the Supreme Leader?”
“He’s not a common soldier. He’s Special Forces. North Korea’s version of a Navy SEAL.”
“Fine,” said Cerney. “But how many of our SEALs are privy to secret knowledge about the president?”
“He says it’s not something he learned through military channels. Whatever it is, he found out from his sister.”
“His sister? And where did she get it from?”
“We don’t know.”
“Have we asked?”
Snowcroft nodded. “Of course. Several times.”
“No answer?”
“No answer. The sister’s method of access is supposedly part of the big secret.”
Cerney’s fingers began to fiddle with his necktie. “What about the other Korean prisoner? Is he talking?”
“Not at all. Not even name, rank, and serial number. Major Ri says the man is a low level maintenance worker from the ship’s crew, but the prisoner won’t even confirm that much. As far as we can tell, he hasn’t spoken a word since he was captured.”
“Loyalty to the fatherland?”
Snowcroft shrugged. “Could be. Or fear. He’s probably got a pretty good idea of what his government will do if he talks to us.”
“And all of this is coming to us through the Coast Guard sailor, right? The kid whose Korean is a bit dodgy?”
“Yes, sir. But Petty Officer Ahn’s facility with Korean appears to be returning more quickly than he expected. He’s having very little trouble communicating with Major Ri.”
“I’m not inclined to trust a twenty-two-year-old kid’s assessment of his own performance,” said Cerney. “Not when the stakes are this high.”
“You wanted an interpreter on scene as quickly as possible, said Snowcroft, “and Petty Officer Ahn was the closest asset we could tap. The team from Defense Language Institute should be landing at Key West in the next few minutes. From there, it’s another three hours by helicopter to the USS Bowie.”
“So we’re looking at midnight before the professional interpreters even meet with the prisoner?”
“Something like that.”
Cerney fell silent, his fingers still fidgeting with the necktie. After thirty seconds or so, he sat up straight in his chair. “We’re going to leave this on the back burner until we hear from the real interpreters.”
“What if it’s time sensitive?”
“If there was a timing issue, our North Korean major would have made that part of the discussion, to pressure us into moving quickly. I think we can afford to wait a few more hours. In any case, I can’t see taking this to the president until we know for sure what the prisoner is actually saying to us.”