Ferguson lay in his hiding spot among the rocks, leaning on his elbows as he contemplated the stars. He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t sleep; his mind spun in a million different directions, just beyond his control.
“We’re all going to die,” a friend who had pancreatic cancer once told him, “but I’ve been blessed with the knowledge that it’ll be very soon.”
“That’s because you’re a priest,” Ferguson had answered. “You see everything as a blessing.”
“Aye, but truly it is, because it gives me a chance to do my best until then. Every day.”
“Shouldn’t we do that anyway?”
“If we did, Ferg, then what in the world would I have to preach about every Sunday? Will you tell me that, lad?”
“Will you tell me that, lad?” said Ferguson now, staring at the night sky. “Will you tell me that?”
The thick clouds refused to answer.
If living meant living like this—shaking from the cold, exhausted, his mind torn off its pegs—was it worth living?
No.
Why bother?
Ferguson rubbed his eyes. They were like hard marbles in wooden saucers.
The sat phone began to buzz. He grabbed it, held it to his ear expectantly.
“We leaving?” he asked.
“Ferg, this is Corrine Alston. I’m here with Dan Slott.”
“Wicked Stepmother,” he said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice. “You calling to tell me I’m going to have to walk to China?”
“Ferg, when Park met with the general, was there any talk about a MiG-29?” asked Corrine.
“I didn’t hear the conversation,” said Ferguson. “Why?”
“We’ve been told that a MiG pilot is going to defect and fly to Japan with documents saying where Kim Jong-Il has hidden his money. We’ve located what we think is the airport where he’s supposed to be taking off from. It has an unimproved strip.”
“Ferg, remember the airstrip A5?” asked Slott.
“More or less.”
“It’s south of Kusŏng. You looked at it as a possible evac base, but we couldn’t be sure if it was inactive.”
“Yeah, OK.” Ferguson didn’t remember it at all.
“It’s only about fifteen miles from where you are,” said Slott. “The satellite passed over it a few minutes ago, and there was nothing on the strip. But if the aircraft is in an underground hangar, it might be there.”
“Why do you think there?”
“We have coordinates that indicate something will take off from that area pretty soon. We’re arranging a Global Hawk surveillance flight with ground-penetrating radar, but it’s going to take about two hours at least for it to get up and get over there. If you were able to use the bike that’s in the cache kit, you’d get there in half the time. You could at least tell us if the runway’s clear.”
“Yeah.” Ferguson got up and started pulling the bike together. “Did you find the plutonium?”
Neither of them answered.
“All righty then. Hook me up with Corrigan so I can get a road map.”