RYONGSONG RESIDENCE
PYONGYANG
As Dewey and Barrazza went through the door into the palace, a red light on the side of the SAT started blinking, indicating that a message had come through from Jenna. He opened it.
KJI/KPA INITIATED LAUNCH SEQUENCE
USS SUBS IN SEA OF JAPAN
EST FLT TIME OF US MISSILES = LESS THAN 3 MINUTES
NK MUST ABORT BY 12:35
Dewey’s eyes shot to his watch. It was 12:31. He looked at the time stamp on the message. 12:16. He looked one more time at his watch. He had three minutes before the United States military launched a nuclear attack.
“Uh oh,” said Dewey.
“What is it?” asked Barrazza, standing behind him.
“We have three minutes.”
“What the hell are you waiting for?”
“You asked me a fucking question,” said Dewey.
They ran quietly up a set of stairs that led into the palace. A door led into a small room barely bigger than a closet. Dewey could hear voices. He reached to the doorknob and slowly twisted it. He pulled the door until it was ajar. He peered in through the crack.
The room was massive, some sort of sitting room with high, coffered ceilings, large windows, chandeliers, chairs and sofas. He saw the back of a man’s head in a chair in the middle of the room. The man was talking to someone rapidly, his voice rising. Kim. The other individual was out of Dewey’s sight line. Dewey opened the door further—pulling it slowly, without a sound. He pulled the second pistol from beneath his armpit and nodded to Barrazza.
“Whatever you do, don’t kill Yong-sik,” Dewey said quietly.
“Got it.”
“On my go.”
Dewey pushed the door slowly in and stepped into the room, training one gun on the back of Kim’s head and the other on the man he was speaking to. Dewey recognized him. It was Yong-sik.
Yong-sik didn’t see Dewey at first. Instead, he was standing near the doorway, dressed in a military uniform. Another soldier was behind him and slightly to the side, clutching a Kalashnikov which was aimed at the floor. As Yong-sik began to speak, the soldier saw Dewey and pulled up the rifle.
Keeping one gun on Kim, Dewey triggered the other pistol. A silenced bullet spat from the Colt. The bullet ripped into the soldier’s eye, kicking away the back of the man’s skull, spraying blood and skull across the door. Dewey stepped between Yong-sik and Kim, holding both men in the firing line as Barrazza moved diagonally across from Dewey, training his weapon on Kim Jong-un.
“Don’t move,” said Dewey to Yong-sik.
Dewey turned and for the first time met eyes with Kim.
Kim was seated on a large wing chair, his face drawn and gray. He looked smaller than he did in photos. The cancer was ravaging him, though his hair remained a thick block of oddly manicured black and he was still a fat load.
For several moments, there was a silent stalemate, as Dewey held Kim and Yong-sik in the muzzles of his guns.
“Either you do it or I will,” said Dewey, nodding at Yong-sik.
“I would not ever do harm to my leader,” said Yong-sik.
“The United States knows, General,” said Dewey. “Your missiles won’t make it off the ground. We’re about to destroy North Korea. Do you really want that to happen? I know you don’t.”
Yong-sik glanced at Kim, who was staring at Dewey.
“How dare you even consider it!” shouted Kim at Yong-sik. He lurched for a phone. Dewey pumped the trigger. The bullet ripped into Kim’s head, knocking him sideways. He slouched into the chair, his destroyed head leaning awkwardly over the arm.
Dewey moved to his right and fired just as Yong-sik dived down to the floor. The bullet missed Yong-sik—but by the time he could reach for his gun Dewey stepped over him and aimed both guns at his head, moving closer training the tip of the suppressors down at Yong-sik, until finally he had one of the suppressors pressed into the socket of his eye. Dewey pushed until he felt resistance from the eyeball, as if it might pop.
“You wouldn’t have told us about the cancer if you agreed with that nutjob,” said Dewey calmly. “Make the call. Now!”