Ken Bo glared at Ferguson as he walked into his office, both hands on his desktop as if he were bracing himself against a gale. Ferguson pointed at him, smirked and sat down.
“How are ya?” said Ferguson. Bo had kept him waiting more than fifteen minutes in his outer office. Ferguson wouldn’t have minded so much if his assistant had had decent legs.
“Why did you pull a gun on one of my people the other day?” said Bo.
“I thought it was a cigarette lighter. He looked like he wanted a smoke.”
“I’ve heard about you, Ferguson.”
“Oh, good. You know why I’m here?”
“Slott told me.”
“Can we talk here?”
Ferguson glanced around. Generally offices in embassies were not used for very sensitive conversations, even though there was only a remote chance that they would be bugged or overheard.
Bo looked down at his desk, glancing around it as if looking for the answer. Suddenly he jumped into motion, leading the way out of the room.
Halfway down the hall he stuck his head into a door and called in to his deputy chief.
“Chris, I want you to hear this.”
“No,” said Ferguson. “Only you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Take it up with the boss.”
“Hey, no problem,” said the deputy chief, backing away.
Bo shook his head and started walking again. Ferguson followed as the station chief went up two flights of stairs to a secure room within a room that had been built for sensitive discussions. There were no chairs or other furniture in the room—most likely to keep conversations short, Ferguson decided.
“What do you know?” asked Bo.
“Plutonium was detected at the Blessed Peak Nuclear Waste Processing Plant. An isotope that indicates there’s bomb fuel present. It looks like the South Koreans are building a nuke.”
“Impossible!”
“I wouldn’t say impossible.”
“Your data is wrong.”
Ferguson laughed. “You don’t even know what data I have.”
“It’s impossible. I’m sure it’s wrong. Or can be explained.”
“Yeah, probably you’re right.” Ferguson, realizing he was done, turned around.
“Where are you going?” Bo grabbed his arm.
“I have work to do.”
Bo glared at him. Ferguson glared back.
It didn’t take ESP to know what the station chief was thinking. A bomb project like this would have taken years to get to this point, and Bo had missed it. Good-bye job.
Ferguson hadn’t really been sold on the idea of working with the locals to begin with, but even if he had, Bo’s attitude warned him away. The station chief was looking at this as a threat to his job. He was going to be interested in covering his butt, not in finding out what was going on.
Not that he was surprised. Disappointed, maybe.
No, not even that. It was to be expected.
“Wait,” said Bo as Ferguson once more started for the door. “We can work together.”
“Don’t think so.”
“That’s all the information you have?”
Ferguson stopped and turned back around. “I don’t have much more, no. If you want the technical stuff, you’ll have to get it from Slott. I really don’t know it,” Ferguson said. “Listen, I need to use the secure communications center. If you don’t mind.”
“Bob—Can I call you Bob?”
“I really don’t know anything else. Honest.”
They stared at each other. Ferguson was so much taller than Bo that he thought he might get a crick in his neck if Bo didn’t blink soon.
“Well, keep us updated,” said Bo finally, looking away.
Ferguson didn’t feel like lying, so he simply shrugged as he left the room.