Point of Contact

“It’s also a prestige play for them,” Secretary Adler said. “No matter the outcome of the summit, the fact that they invited us to Beijing to solve a regional crisis and that we accepted the invitation reinforces the impression that they are the dominant power in Asia and coequals with us. And if the summit fails, they’ll blame us.”

Van Damm added, “To some, it might even look more like a summons than an invitation. Especially since this is the second time you will have flown to Beijing to meet with a Chinese president.”

“And perception is reality in politics,” Adler was quick to add. “Especially in Asia.”

“There’s one other possibility,” Van Damm said. “You show up and he springs a plan on you that puts us in a bind.”

Adler shook his head. “If he does that, we’d walk away and he’d look the fool. I don’t think Zhao will offer anything that we can’t agree to.”

“So there are plenty of downsides,” Ryan said. “But despite those, there’s still the real possibility that the Chinese have a plan that will permanently change the situation on the Korean peninsula,” Ryan said. “That interests me.”

The President’s eyes narrowed, his mind concentrating. The others watched in silence as he put all of the pieces together. Finally, he leaned forward on the table.

“The dilemma as I see it is this: risk wasting our time and looking like fools at a worthless summit, or risk losing the opportunity to solve the North Korean problem once and for all. Is that about the size of it?”

They all agreed.

Ryan smiled a little. “When I put it that way, the decision seems clear. It’s worth the risk, given the possible reward, even if it means another long damn airplane ride. Let’s do this.”

“I’ll contact the foreign minister directly and tell him that we’re interested,” Adler said.

“I’ve got a better idea. Arrange for me to speak with President Zhao directly. I want to take the measure of the man myself and show him I’m serious.”

Adler smiled. “That’s an excellent idea, Mr. President.”

Ryan stood, signaling that the meeting was over. The others stood, too. “Thank you all. I’ll be in touch.”

As the others shuffled out, Ryan poured himself another coffee. The Chinese could be handing him an opportunity for sure. But he also knew from boot camp that the bullet you didn’t hear was the one that took your head off.

8

BUILDING 19

PYONGYANG, NORTH KOREA

They met in the underground bunker deep beneath the drab and unassuming five-story granite building on the outskirts of the city, far from the central government district. Nominally it was the subheadquarters of the State Ministry of Fisheries, just another administrative organ in North Korea’s micromanaged, state-owned command economy.

Aboveground, harried black-coated technocrats exerted enormous bureaucratic energies administering the regulations and procedures of the vast ministry, which, unsurprisingly, had very little productive impact on North Korea’s fishing industry. Most of the bureaucrats’ work was designed to justify the generous food ration cards they received, the less cramped public housing they lived in, and the meager but regular salaries their privileged jobs paid them.

What these bureaucrats didn’t realize was that both their work and their lives were meant only as camouflage. Neither the building nor the ministry appeared to have any strategic significance and therefore would hardly qualify for targeting by American or South Korean military planners. But down here, in the nuclear-proof bomb shelter that served as one of the regime’s many secret conference rooms, the truly important business of the state was being conducted. Chairman Choi Ha-guk met with his most trusted civilian and military advisers. He trusted them only because they feared him. The three empty chairs around the long teak table were a grim reminder of the cost of failure.

Unlike his cousin Choi Ji-hoon, Choi Ha-guk was a seasoned military officer, leading the elite Army unit that had killed Ji-hoon’s bodyguard two years earlier in a violent coup and overthrown the young, spoiled fool. Choi Ha-guk’s father, Choi Sang-u, was freed from his labor camp and installed as the new supreme leader of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. But years of forced labor had destroyed his father’s health, and within weeks of leaving the camp, he died. With his father’s blessing and the Army behind him, Ha-guk’s unanimous election to the nation’s presidency, the chairmanship of the party, and promotion to the supreme marshal of the armed forces was assured.

The chairman’s first order of business was to repair his relationship with China, grossly undermined by his idiot cousin. Having trained with some of China’s top military units and fluent in Mandarin, the chairman had deep personal and political ties with key members of the Chinese Politburo and PLA staff officers.