Threat Level Black

Howe settled his hands on the ends of the chair’s arms, intending to pull himself upright, but somehow he felt too exhausted even to move. He had now told the story of his trip in and out of Korea four times, most recently during a conference call with Dr. Blitz and the defense secretary. He was tired and his head hurt.

But he also realized he was lucky. He could have been killed.

Why hadn’t he?

The CIA agents who had debriefed him had several theories. One was that his passenger felt grateful for his rescue. It was possible, too, that the approach of the small American team and the Japanese security people had scared the men on the ground, or at least encouraged them to move quickly.

Or maybe he was just lucky.

“Colonel, the ambassador wanted to talk with you,” said a young woman.

Howe had been introduced to her earlier but couldn’t remember her name or position now, beyond the fact that she was a member of the embassy staff. Howe pushed out of the chair and her followed down the hallway, his feet sinking deep into the carpet as he walked.

The ambassador was a holdover from the last administration, a political appointee who had turned out to be an extremely popular figure in Asia as well as Japan. A touch of gray at the temples gave his severe face a dignified air; his Montana accent had a slow, dignified beat. He came out from behind his desk as Howe was shown into his study. He clasped Howe’s hand firmly, then gestured for him to sit in one of the armchairs at the side of the room.

“Colonel Howe, thank you for seeing me. I know you’ve been through a great deal.”

“Sure,” said Howe.

“ North Korea is falling apart at the seams. More to the point, it has fallen apart.”

“Yes, sir,” said Howe.

“Do you have any idea who your passenger was?”

“No,” said Howe.

The ambassador nodded. He was in shirtsleeves, but his tie was tight at his collar.

“I have a theory,” said the ambassador. He took a long pause between each sentence, as if waiting for the words to line up in his mouth. “I believe it was a high-ranking North Korean. That’s not much of a guess. I think it was one of Kim Jong Il’s sons, or some other close relative.”

“Why would he need me to help him escape?”

“Because, with only a few exceptions, he’s hated worse than his father. The units that began the mutiny offered a reward for his capture. And he can’t be located.”

“What about the E-bomb?”

“I think it was merely a ruse to get us interested,” said the ambassador. “If they had that sort of weapon, they would have used it-or tried to use it, rather, against Seoul.”

Howe agreed, but when he started to nod, his head pounded.

“The Japanese police are searching throughout the country for your passenger.” The ambassador rose, indicating the interview was over. “The situation is very delicate.”

Howe got up slowly. It sounded to him as if the ambassador was hinting that he shouldn’t talk about what had happened, but if so, such hints were unnecessary. Even if Howe hadn’t been naturally inclined to keep his mouth shut, the incident didn’t make him look particularly good.

“You know, I saw some aircraft in that hangar near the end of the strip where I turned around,” said Howe.

“MiGs?”

“No, they were pretty small. UAVs, I think. Or maybe ultralights.”

“You think that is significant?”

“I don’t know, really.”

“We’ll arrange for a flight back to the States,” said the ambassador, gently touching Howe’s arm.

“Actually, I have my own plane to look after,” said Howe. “What I need is a ride back to the airport. The S-37 is an NADT asset.”

“Yes, of course,” said the ambassador. “You’ve done a very good job, Colonel,” he added. “A very good job.”

Howe nodded, though he didn’t agree.

It was only in the car on the way back to the airport that Howe realized what he’d said-or rather, what he’d thought.

His asset. He wanted the NADT job. Not for the money or the power, but because it was where he belonged. He had the ability to do it, and the will to do it right.

And it was his duty to do it. Or at least to try.

Chapter 6

Blitz could hear the buzz of the press corps in the East Room of the White House down the hall. The President stood next to Blitz, going over the most recent bulletins and handing each page back as he did. The press conference was already running about three minutes late, but that made it early by President D’Amici’s standards.

The President’s press adviser had suggested something less formal, perhaps remarks off-the-cuff as he boarded Marine One, the helicopter that flew him around the country. But the President sensed this was a historical moment, and he wanted to use the White House setting to emphasize not only its importance but the fact that America was in control of the situation.

And it was. Almost.