The National Security Council meeting was scheduled to begin at eight p.m. President McCarthy practically leapt into the room at 7:58, full of energy. The laid-back southern gentleman always yielded to a purposeful commander in a crisis.
“Gentlemen, ladies. I’m glad we’re all here.” McCarthy’s drawl had a decidedly caffeinated flavor to it. “Korea. Update me, if you will.”
Verigo Johnson from the CIA began running down the latest intelligence. The key word seemed to be confusion; even the North Koreans didn’t seem to know what was going on.
The Japanese government had issued a terse though polite “we don’t comment on rumors” statement, while at the same time placing its self-defense forces on high alert. The Russians had issued a statement of support for Kim Jong-Il “during his illness”; the Chinese had remained characteristically silent. Behind the scenes, the British were suggesting a coup was underway and had notified the U.S. that two warships would be steaming toward the area and could be called on if necessary.
About halfway through the slides in Johnson’s PowerPoint presentation, one of Slott’s aides came into the room and whispered something in his ear. He grimaced, then looked across at Corrine and motioned with his head toward the door.
She waited a minute after he left, trying to preserve some pretense that she wasn’t working with him.
Slott had gone down the hall to the secure communication center and was talking to Thera in Korea when Corrine got there. The communications specialist on duty had already arranged for her to join the line; all Corrine had to do was pick up the phone.
“The cargo container was lined with lead,” Thera was saying. “That’s why it was so heavy. It must have gone north when the 727 brought Ferguson north.”
“What went north?” asked Corrine.
“The plutonium,” explained Thera. “Park had a special container made for his aircraft. We have the scientist who designed it in North Korea, and I’ve spoken to the people who moved it.”
“They must have used it to bring the plutonium south,” said Slott.
“No, not south,” said Thera. “It was south. It went north.”
“I doubt that,” said Slott. “Park must be buying it from the North Koreans. He wouldn’t be giving them plutonium.”
“Why do you think it went north?” asked Corrine.
“Because the plutonium was at the waste site when I was there, and now it’s not. Right? They must have moved it out. Maybe it was in one of those train cars near the tag, and then was removed by the truck that Ferguson saw.”
“That just means they moved it to a better hiding place,” said Slott. “Giving bomb material to the North would make no sense. They’re almost at war.”
“Maybe Park thinks he’ll somehow benefit if there’s an attack on South Korea,” said Corrine.
“I don’t think so,” said Thera. “He’s kind of nutty, but not in that way. He collects old Korean relics. He’s really into history. Really into it.”
Corrine glanced up at Slott. “What did Ferguson say about Park? He hates the Japanese.”
“Big time,” said Thera. “Can’t stand them.”
“The defector with the dictator’s bank data,” said Corrine, realizing where the senator’s e-mail had come from. “What if that plane were carrying a bomb?”