“In other words,” the national security advisor said, “you’re asking the president to authorize covert military operations in a friendly country, without bothering to notify the national government?”
General Boosalis made a palms-up gesture. “Well, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound very good.”
“No,” said President Bradley. “It doesn’t sound good at all.”
CHAPTER 35
There was a tap at the door, and YN3 Ahn poked his head timidly into the wardroom.
Captain Heller motioned for the yeoman to enter. Ahn did so, followed by the two interpreters from Defense Language Institute, CTI1 Julia Cerroni, and CTI2 Hector Nash.
Ahn stopped a few feet short of the long dining table, at a position directly across from where the captain was seated. The junior petty officer’s body began its usual routine of subtle posture changes as he unconsciously searched for the proper balance between the formal rigidity of standing at attention, and the relaxed bearing of standing at-ease.
YN3 Ahn was always jittery when he found himself in the sections of the ship designated as ‘officer’s country.’ By contrast, the more seasoned petty officers from DLI usually had a more relaxed demeanor. The nature of their job made them frequent visitors to officer’s country, and they were accustomed to dealing with senior leadership. But today, they seemed just as antsy as the junior yeoman.
No… This didn’t look like nervousness. It looked like shock. All three sailors wore expressions of startled incredulity, as if they’d witnessed something horrifying and not quite believable.
“You look like you’ve just had front row seats for the end of the world,” said Heller.
No one laughed, and no one spoke.
“Alright,” Heller said, “let’s try this again. I’m assuming that you have something to report?”
Ahn nodded dully. “Yes, sir. Sorry, Captain. It’s…” His voice trailed off into silence.
Captain Heller waited, but the sailor didn’t continue. That was odd enough. But the other two interpreters were not stepping in to pick up the thread of the dropped report, and that was even stranger. They really did look like they’d seen the devil. Or something worse.
Heller raised his eyebrows. “Eventually, somebody is going to have to say something. Or am I going to have to bring in a mind reader to find out whatever it is that you’re not telling me?”
“Sorry, Captain,” Ahn said again. “It’s just that we… That is—”
“He’s got cancer!” said CTI1 Cerroni in a tone that held none of her usual professionalism. “In his brain. And it’s killing him.”
Heller held up a palm. “Hold on a second,” he said. “Who’s got cancer? You mean Petty Officer Ahn?”
Ahn shook his head. “Not me, sir. Kim Yong-nam. He’s got a brain tumor. Malignant. About the size of a golf ball. And it’s terminal.”
“Let’s back up a little bit,” said Heller. “How do you know this? Did you catch a CNN report that I missed?”
“Major Ri told us,” said Cerroni. “Or he told Petty Officer Ahn, and we were monitoring.”
“This is the thing about Ri’s sister,” Ahn said. “Remember there was supposed to be some kind of big secret about her? That thing he wouldn’t tell us until the government met his terms? Well this is it.”
“Her name is Ri Su-mi,” said CTI2 Nash. “She’s a nurse. She works at Bonghwa Clinic, which — according to Major Ri — is where the absolute cream of the North Korean elite are treated. Ri thinks it might be the only modern medical facility in his whole country, and it’s restricted to eight or ten patients. Maybe not even that many. So naturally that’s where the Supreme Leader goes for medical care.”
“She’s been assisting the French doctor brought in to treat him,” said YN3 Ahn. “Major Ri claims that his sister has personally seen the test results, along with the x-rays, or CAT scans, or whatever they’ve got over there. She also overheard the doctor discussing the diagnosis with Kim’s personal interpreter. In fact, she overheard a lot of stuff. The cancer is late stage, highly aggressive, and completely inoperable. It’s already into his spinal cord, and it’s spreading through his central nervous system like wildfire.”
“He’s got a few weeks before the effects really start to show,” said CTI1 Cerroni. “Five or six months after that, it kills him.”
“Some people might be inclined to call that good news,” Captain Heller said.
“I know what you mean, sir,” said Ahn. “I’d probably feel that way myself. But Major Ri tells us that Kim Yong-nam is really cranking up the propaganda at home. He has publically sworn a personal oath as Supreme Leader that North and South Korea will be reunified before the next Victory Day celebration, and that’s July twenty-seventh. Only five months from now.”
“He’s being medicated for pain,” Petty Officer Nash said, “but Ri’s sister doesn’t know if the drugs are powerful enough to influence his thinking. She also doesn’t know whether or not the tumor could be affecting his mental stability.”
Heller sat without speaking for several seconds, trying to process the idea that Kim Yong-nam’s decision-making processes might be clouded by drugs, or entirely unhinged by organic deterioration of his brain. Even assuming that Kim was somehow playing with a full deck, the man would be in his grave before the coming summer gave way to autumn.
Risk a nuclear confrontation with his American enemies? Why the hell shouldn’t he?
If Kim won the showdown, he would be elevated to a god in the minds of his people. His would be an unsurpassable legacy as the man who reunited his divided country, and made a world superpower bow to his will.
If America refused to submit and the showdown devolved into a nuclear shootout, he’d go out in a literal blaze of glory — dying only a few weeks (or months) before the cancer finished him off.
Kim Yong-nam had nothing to lose. Not a single damned thing. In a career touched by many moments of danger, that was the most terrifying thought that had ever entered Zachary Heller’s mind.
He blinked, and realized that the interpreters were not finished rendering their reports.
“Major Ri gave us the rest too,” said Ahn. “Everything he promised. There was a single launcher with a conventional warhead, for a one-time demonstration of force. I guess we already know about that one. The real weapons are twenty-four modified Rodong-2 missiles with nuclear warheads. Ri doesn’t know the yield ratings. Six missiles per site, for a total of four launch sites. There were supposed to be two more launch sites, but one of the delivery ships blew itself up, and we sank the other one.”
Ahn held out a steno pad. “We’ve got the details all written down, sir. If we get him a map, Major Ri has got a rough idea of where the launch sites are hidden.”
Captain Heller reached across the table and accepted the offered pad. “Good work, all of you. I’m going to sit you down with the Operations Officer and have you draft a formal report. It’ll go out Top Secret. And I shouldn’t need to remind you that everything we’ve just talked about is also TS. None of you are to breathe a word of this to anyone except me, the XO, or the Ops Officer. That’s an order.”
The sailors nodded in unison. “Aye-aye, sir!”
Heller dismissed them.
As the three interpreters exited the wardroom, he sat back in his chair. The intelligence community would have to figure out some way to confirm Major Ri’s story, but Heller already found himself believing it. He could sense the truth of it in some instinctive way. His subconscious mind was already reevaluating countless ideas and suppositions in light of this new information.