Robert Ludlum's (TM) the Janson Equation (28 page)

T
his week most of Nam Sei-hoon's colleagues at NIS had become accustomed to seeing him arrive at the office before daybreak. So as not to arouse suspicion, he made this morning no different.

Once he walked into his office and closed the door behind him, he sat at his desk and logged on to his computer. As he did most days, he went directly to his email client and entered his seven-digit pass code. There were nine new messages, most of which were addressed to the agency at large as opposed to him personally. One, however, instantly caught his eye. This email, addressed directly to him, was from his deputy.

Since he'd become involved in Diophantus, Nam Sei-hoon had taken a decidedly less hands-on approach to his job. He'd delegated many of his duties to his deputy, Jae-suk. Prior to Diophantus, Nam had gotten great pleasure out of debriefing North Korean defectors. Many were diplomats or high-level officials who had received permission to exit the country temporarily—and therefore could be sent back. Under Nam Sei-hoon's control, of course. In the past decade, Nam Sei-hoon had recruited a number of members of the North Korean Guard's Command and even a few agents from the Ministry of State.

Because the palace in Pyongyang was so compartmentalized and secretive, these agents seldom provided much actionable intelligence. After a year, Nam Sei-hoon would typically let them off the hook and bring them back to Seoul, providing them with an additional $20,000 to start their new lives. Once in a long while, Nam Sei-hoon caught a very big fish, someone in Kim's inner circle. And when he did, he
never
let them go.

Now Jae-suk was alerting him to a new defector, whom Jae-suk referred to as “the wife of a deputy director.” He nearly dismissed it. After today, he would have far greater things to concern himself with, not the least of which was the reunification of the country. But then he realized how foolish it was to think that way. Once Diophantus was in play and the conflict began, he would need intelligence from the North more than ever. Even once the conflict ended, intelligence would be crucial to easing the inevitable pains of reunification.

Nam Sei-hoon picked up the receiver and dialed the campus where the defectors were kept. After identifying the defector by name and number, he instructed the official to have her brought to the NIS.

“I would like to conduct the brief here in my office,” he said.

“Very well, sir. Is this afternoon convenient?”

“No, no,” Nam said, glancing out the window at the approaching dawn. “Bring her now.”

A
T
H
ICKAM
F
IELD
on the Hawaiian island of Oahu, Lawrence Hammond ended his call. He hesitated several seconds before rising off the couch in the otherwise empty office. He walked toward the refrigerator. Halfway across the room he stopped, his head rushing with thoughts that made him woozy.

It was one thing to provide information. It was quite another thing to kill.

Could he actually go through with this?

Hammond's eyes welled with tears as he considered his options.

There
were
no options, were there? Clarke had made it clear enough: it was either the kid or Hammond himself. What had started as a simple deal to make a few extra bucks providing ammunition to the senator's political adversaries had become Lawrence Hammond's worst nightmare.

It would seem to be a great leap from collecting opposition research against his boss to murdering that boss's only child. But it had all happened so fast that there had never been a moment to reflect on where all this was heading.

But now he knew.

Now he had no excuse.

This had been their plan all along, to use him for whatever their needs were, however diabolical they might be. Once Hammond accepted that first envelope, he'd surrendered the life of which he had dreamed.

He opened the refrigerator and collected the bottle of Snapple Green Iced Tea, Gregory's favorite drink. Then he moved to his briefcase and set it on the desk.

He unlocked the briefcase using his four-digit code and extracted the vial of arsenic.

As he stared at its contents, his cell phone buzzed on the desk.

Grudgingly, he answered.

The plane, he was informed, was beginning its descent. It would touch down at Hickam in roughly a half hour.

J
anson and Jina Jeon darted, unarmed, across the Joint Security Area as the sound of automatic weapons fire cut through the bitterly cold air. In the mix of confusion and fog, they were mercifully ignored by the soldiers on both sides.

As the bullets flew, Janson felt as he'd felt during firefights in Afghanistan. Felt as though he was caught in the middle of a war no one would ever fully understand.

As they approached a large hill, Janson slowed down, taking Jina's arm as he did. Peering at its peak he saw a mass of North Korean soldiers charging forward, breaking through the thick predawn mist.

“
Hands up
,” he shouted to Jina. “Start calling to them. Tell them we surrender.”

Janson quickly withdrew a white hankie and swung it high above his head.

As soon as the soldiers spotted them, they raised their weapons.

For a moment Janson thought this was the end.

Then Jina Jeon shouted out in Korean. Though they shared a language, Janson knew that the North and South possessed two distinct dialects. He hoped like hell that these soldiers would understand her.

Several of the soldiers at the front of the line halted. They dropped to their knees and gazed into their sights.

Janson watched in horror. He and Jina Jeon were facing a firing squad.

Two troops emerged from the pack and moved forward, their weapons still raised.

As they neared, they spoke words Janson didn't understand. Without turning his head, he glanced in Jina's direction for the translation. But she was already engaged in a conversation with them. He listened carefully. Heard her utter the name Han Yong Chol.

The moment she did, one of the two soldiers looked back at his group. Then both shouted at Janson and Jina, Jina suddenly screaming in Janson's ear, “
Get down
.”

Janson dropped flat on his stomach. One of the soldiers helped him along, pressing him hard into the ground, stepping on the back of his neck. He heard Jina cry out in pain and he immediately burned with a desire to pick himself off the ground and kill the two soldiers with his bare hands.

Once they were thoroughly frisked and found to be clean, the soldiers shouted out new commands. Janson looked hopefully to Jina Jeon.

“Stay down,” she said. “They're bringing General Han.”

General Han Yong Chol was a large man by North Korean standards. He stood a full six feet tall. With broad shoulders, a wide chest, and a uniform every bit as crisp as the January air, he exuded authority. His booming voice did nothing to dispel the effect.

Although Janson was entirely comfortable with Jina Jeon doing the speaking, she immediately made clear that she intended to translate instead.

“The general wants to know why he shouldn't shoot us.”

That wasn't the question Janson had been expecting.

Still lying flat on the ground, Janson said, “Tell him we're friends of his daughter, Mi-sook.”

Jina translated Janson's words, then the general's response. “He says, ‘Where is she? What have you done with her?'”

“Tell him she defected.”

General Han didn't wait for Jina's translation. “You
lie
,” he shouted in English. “She would
never
betray the Fatherland.”

“She didn't do it for herself,” Janson shouted back, “she did it for your granddaughter.”

The general pulled a handgun from its holster, knelt, and held the gun to Janson's head.

“Jina,” Janson shouted, “do you still have your phone?”

“Yes.”

“General Han, you can speak directly to your daughter. We can call her right now.”

Han kept his weapon trained on Janson but held his other hand out for the phone. Jina cautiously pulled it from her pocket and set it in his outstretched palm.

“We're here to
warn
you,” Janson said. “The firefight in the Joint Security Area, it was planned. The first shots were fired by US intelligence officers acting on the authority of the director, without the White House's knowledge or consent. They're trying to draw you into a war that will ultimately collapse your regime.”

Janson dared to look up. The gun was still leveled at his head. But the general had Jina Jeon's phone to his left ear.

“Mi-sook?” Han said.

As the general spoke to his daughter in Korean, Janson listened for familiar words. Hearing Yun Jin-ho's name, Janson felt as though his heart might break into two.

When General Han ended the call a few seconds later, Janson didn't know what to expect, a bullet or further dialogue. He tried to prepare himself for either event.

Han said, “According to Mi-sook, this war poses an existential danger to both Chosun
and
South Chosun.”

“It's true,” Janson said. “If Pyongyang retaliates for this morning's incursion, it will draw US forces into the conflict. In days North Korea will be leveled.”

“
Up
,” Han shouted.

Janson slowly rose to his knees, then to his feet.

“What do we do?” the general said.

“We need to get to Pyongyang before this gets too far out of hand. We need to get to the palace.”

The general shook his head. Lowered his voice even though none of his soldiers was in earshot.

“Surely you know that the Supreme Leader is a madman,” Han said. “He will never listen to us.”

“Even madmen respond to psychology,” Janson told him. “If Kim Jong-un knows he's being tricked into going to war, he'll respond to that. We can get him on the phone with the US president.”

“You
know
the US president personally?”

“Let's just say, I have contacts.” When Han didn't respond, Janson added, “It's our only chance, General. It's our only hope to avoid a second Korean War that will lead to the destruction of both Seoul
and
Pyongyang and the deaths of millions of Koreans on either side of the thirty-eighth parallel.”

After a moment of silence, Han said, “You may have direct access to your White House, but I do not have access to the palace. The Guard's Command would never permit us to enter, especially after the incident that occurred at the Ryongsong residence earlier this week.”

“Just get us to Pyongyang,” Janson said. “
I'll
get us into the palace.”

“
You
?”

“Yun Jin-ho showed me the way. You have to trust me, General. I know what we have to do.”

T
wenty minutes later Janson was back on the Reunification Highway on his way to Pyongyang. This time, however, he and Jina Jeon rode in the rear of a troop transport with two dozen North Korean soldiers under General Han's command. The troop transport breezed past the numerous KPA checkpoints without incident.

“We have reached the city,” the general announced in English over a walkie-talkie Jina Jeon held in her hand.

She nodded to Janson, who pulled Han Yong Chol's smartphone from his pocket. As a general, Han was one of the privileged few in the Korean People's Army who could make calls outside North Korea with his cellular phone.

Janson dialed Park Kwan, who immediately turned the line over to Kang Jung.

“Eagle has landed,” Janson said. Kang Jung had insisted on the use of the code.

“Acknowledged,” she replied. “T-minus one eighty.”

Janson glanced at his watch. To Jina he said, “In three minutes Kang Jung is going to shut down the grid.”

Because rolling blackouts were a regular occurrence in North Korea, the palace and other elite areas operated on a separate electrical grid. To which, thanks to North Korea Uncovered, a Google Earth project made public by the US-Korea Institute at Johns Hopkins, Kang Jung knew the precise coordinates.

“Amazing kid,” Jina said.

Janson slipped General Han's phone back into his pocket. “Yes, she is.”

W
ITH THE ELECTRIFIED FENCE
unelectrified, General Han's troop transport crashed through the gate, sending unsuspecting soldiers and guards fleeing for their lives.

A hundred yards inside the compound the vehicle screeched to a stop. The tailgate opened and out spilled the two dozen troops under Han's command.

Leading the way with smoke grenades, Han's soldiers moved briskly and brazenly toward the palace.

When they reached the palace doors, General Han demanded that the Guard's Command throw down their weapons and surrender—and they did. Janson had seen nothing like it since the First Gulf War, when the Iraqi army surrendered to American military forces immediately upon their arrival in the deserts of Kuwait during Operation Desert Storm.

Once the Guard's Command surrendered, Han summoned Janson and Jeon to the front. He ordered several of his soldiers to stand guard outside the palace doors, then commanded his remaining troops to drop their weapons.

“We're going inside the palace
unarmed
?” Jeon exclaimed.

“Repeated attempts on the lives of Kim Jong-il and Kim Jong-un by their own bodyguards have resulted in a new palace policy,” Han explained. “No weapons allowed in the same building as the Supreme Leader. No exceptions.” Marching forward, he continued speaking over his shoulder. “Rest assured, we will not meet with any armed resistance inside the palace walls. In fact, if our experience on the grounds
outside
the residence is any indication, we should not meet with any resistance at all.”

K
INCAID AND
S
IN
B
AE
lowered their weapons and dropped back even farther once they received word from Park Kwan that Janson and Jina Jeon had made it to Pyongyang.

Kincaid couldn't help but look on Sin Bae with revulsion. His mere image stirred up the fear and anger she'd experienced sprinting through Dosan Park. The helplessness she felt diving into the rear of the taxi, ducking down into the subway station, disguising herself in the dressing room of that Seoul department store.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw him as he was when he entered the T-Lound nightclub. Though the sounds of automatic weapons fire replaced club beats, he appeared as he'd appeared on the upstairs dance floor—ruthless and relentless.

This is the same monster, she thought. The same monster who'd nearly sliced through her windpipe with the garrote he extracted from his cuff link. The same monster who would have ended her life without a scintilla of remorse had Park Kwan not stepped into the coatroom and spotted his gun at the exact moment that he did.

“
He's a lot more like you and me than either of us could have imagined
,” Janson had said.

Speak for yourself, she thought. But then, that was exactly what Janson had been doing.

Janson saw
himself
as a monster, Kincaid realized. Still, after all this time severed from Consular Operations. He'd said as much in the car on the way to Chuncheon this morning.

She suddenly felt for Janson something she'd never dreamed she'd feel for him. Had never dreamed there would ever be a need. Never dreamed there would ever be so much as an excuse, even if she'd wanted to.

Pity.

For the first time in her life Kincaid pitied the man she loved.

The most beautiful, most intelligent, most caring man she'd ever met didn't believe he was a good man, didn't believe he was a man at all. He thought he was a monster. Like Sin Bae.

“He's a lot more like you and me than either of us could have imagined.”

Janson still thought of himself as a Machine.

I
N A MAGNIFICENT ROOM
of vaulted ceilings and green marbled walls, Janson stood rigidly with General Han Yong Chol on his left and Jina Jeon on his right.

Following their forced entry into the compound the last thing Janson had thought would become a priority was proper decorum. But the enigmatic hermit kingdom continued to live up to its reputation.

A white-haired official stepped into the room, followed by two members of the Guard's Command. He issued orders to the three visitors, orders that Janson, of course, couldn't understand.

“You have to remove your watch,” Jina Jeon whispered.

The official shouted at her. She responded in Korean, apparently informing the official that Janson spoke only English.

This is surreal, Janson thought. If someone told him last week that in a few days he'd be standing in Kim Jong-un's palace, he'd have tried to smack them out of their derangement.

Janson waited for one of the Guard's Command to pat them down, but no one else approached. He supposed visitors to the palace never made it this far without getting frisked, maybe not without enduring a full-body cavity search.

Bad security, he thought.

Janson regretted not snatching one of the handguns from the troop transport. He'd known that with the grid down, the entrance metal detectors wouldn't be functioning. But he presumed the Guard's Command would fall back on wands. And there was something far more important Janson needed to get past security. Something largely made of plastic that alone probably wouldn't have set off a metal-detecting wand. So he hadn't wanted to risk inviting additional scrutiny. After all, foiling Diophantus was far more pressing than his own personal safety, or even Jina Jeon's.

Ten full minutes later—ten full minutes of standing, ten full minutes of silence—a second official entered the room, followed by six others. Janson couldn't help but notice that each official who entered was several inches shorter than the last.

Janson thought of Nam Sei-hoon; immediately he felt an overwhelming heat rise up his neck till it colored his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

He took several deep breaths and waited for his pulse to slow.

Once the seven dwarfs were lined up against the wall in size order, the original white-haired official walked to the middle of the grand room and spoke in a voice majestic enough for Yankee Stadium.

“The chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme People's Assembly of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea will now enter.”

Janson glanced to his left at Han Yong Chol, who whispered, “Officially, he serves as head of state, the Supreme Leader's number two.”

“And in reality?”

“In reality, he is Kim Jong-un's puppet, his mouthpiece. Nothing more than a stooge.”