When Ferguson returned to his hotel, he discovered that during his absence the room had been bugged—a very promising sign. He put the bug to good use, pretending to use his sat phone to call a contact in Russian Georgia and telling him that things were going nicely. Then he removed the bug. While it would have better to leave it in place, he wasn’t an expert on them and would need to give it to someone who was to have it identified.
With the room now clean, he called Corrigan to check in and to tell Slott he was going to North Korea.
“Ferg, where the hell have you been?”
“Good morning to you, too, Jack.”
“What are you doing over there?”
“Sight-seeing.”
“Slott is pissed. He wants to talk to you right away. And I mean right away.”
“Here I am. Listen, before you get him on the line, I’m going to be out of touch for a couple of days. I’m going north of the border on a business trip.”
“What?”
“Mr. Park is getting up a junket. I’m going as Manski, the notorious Russian arms dealer.”
“Why are you going to North Korea?”
“Park wants to talk about something, but I get the feeling that he doesn’t think it’s safe in the South. I don’t know exactly what he’s up to.”
“I am Russian citizen. I go anywhere.”
Corrigan slapped him on Hold. Slott, breathing hard and talking a mile a minute, came on a few seconds later.
“What the hell are you doing?” Slott asked. “Are you out of your mind? Have you lost your senses?”
“Following a couple of leads. I don’t think so. And no. In that order.”
“You outed a fellow officer. I can’t believe you did that, Ferg. That’s way over the line.”
“When?”
“You blew someone’s cover last night in Daejeon.”
“Jeez, I almost forgot about that.”
“Ferguson.”
“Look, I didn’t blow her cover. I didn’t say anything about her, except that she worked for the trade commission, which is her cover, right?”
“Why were you even near her?”
“I was undercover, she was staring at me, her jaw scraping the carpet; I had to do something. I left things vague.” Ferguson, annoyed, sat down in the chair and put his feet up on the bed. “It was a reception that Park went to. Park’s the guy who owns Science Industries.”
“What the hell is Science Industries?” said Slott.
“Science Industries has a guy on its staff who’s an expert in extracting bomb material. Or was an expert—he killed himself a couple of months back. It was a suicide. Suspicious.”
“And what else?”
“You know Park Jin Tae?” Ferguson asked.
“Park Jin Tae? I know of him.”
“What do you know?”
“Billionaire. Extreme nationalist.” Slott calmed down as he spoke. “He was connected with March 1, a political movement. They may have been thinking about rioting. It was hard to know where the South Korean’s charges ended and the truth began. In any event, he bought his way out of trouble.”
“Well, he owns Science Industries. He wants to talk to a notorious Russian arms dealer up in the People’s Democratic Hell Hole tomorrow.”
“What arms dealer?”
“Me.”
“You?”
“I figured it was the easiest way to talk to him.”
Slott exhaled so loudly Ferguson had to move the phone away from his ear.
“Sometimes you go too far, Ferg.”
“I don’t think so, Dan.”
“North Korea’s pretty risky.”
“Park goes there a couple of times a year. Something’s gotta be up, right? Arms dealer comes to him, says I can get you whatever you want? And Park says, hey, take a trip to the outlaw paradise of the world.”
“All right. I’ll tell Seoul. We’ll set up—”
“I wish you wouldn’t tell them.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t trust them. I barely trust you.”
Actually, he wasn’t sure that he did trust Slott, but saying that wouldn’t be particularly helpful.
Slott didn’t answer.
“You still there, Dan?”
“Just because you’re Parnelles’s fair-haired boy, don’t think you can get away with everything,” said Slott.
Ferguson laughed. “My hair’s black, Dan.”
“Bo’s thinking about bringing formal charges against you for outing his agent.”
“That’ll be fun.”
He’d hedge his bets. Have Corrine take the dirt to the DOE, the disks to the NSA. He’d tell her where he was going, and why.
Not that that would save his sorry butt if Slott really was out to screw him. But at least he wouldn’t get away with it.
“You still there, Bob?”
The truth was, though, Ferguson wanted to trust Slott. Bo seemed like a boob, but Slott had a good track record, a history. And he’d helped Ferguson do his job, which was pretty much the best thing you could say about any manager.
Not trusting him meant not trusting the Agency—and, ultimately, not trusting his country.
Was that how they got his dad? Was it your sense of loyalty to your nation that screwed you in the end?
“I’m still here,” Ferguson told him.
“I won’t tell Seoul. But take care of yourself. You don’t have any backup.”
“Always,” said Ferguson, hanging up.