Never, page 50
However, there was an upside. For now Kiah and Naji were an asset. Hostile tribesmen, suspicious army patrols, and officious policemen would see the three of them as a family. While he was with them, no one would imagine he was an American CIA officer.
In Tripoli there was a station of the French DGSE, Tab’s outfit, thinly disguised as a trading company called Entremettier & Cie. Abdul could dump Kiah and Naji there and make them someone else’s problem. The DGSE could return them to Chad—or, if they were feeling generous, they could easily get them to France. He knew which Kiah would prefer. Yes, he decided, he would drive to Tripoli.
It was about seven hundred miles.
After a while the moon went down, but the powerful headlights illuminated the road ahead. The strain on Abdul began to lift when a line of light appeared on the horizon to his right and day came to the desert. He was able to increase speed a little.
Soon afterward they came to an oasis where a makeshift store offered gasoline in cans, but Abdul decided not to stop. The fuel tank was still three-quarters full. He was driving slowly and not covering much ground, so fuel consumption per hour was low.
Naji woke, and Kiah gave him water and some bread from the big canvas bag. Soon he was lively. Abdul found the switch that activated the child locks, which prevented the rear doors and windows from opening, so that Kiah could let Naji romp on the spacious backseat. She produced his favorite toy, a yellow plastic pickup truck, and he played with it contentedly.
As the sun rose higher the car’s air-conditioning came on automatically, and they were able to continue driving through the heat of the day. At the next oasis they bought food and filled the tank. Abdul checked his phone but there was still no signal. The three of them ate flatbread and figs and yogurt as they drove on. Naji went quiet, and Abdul glanced back and saw that the little boy was stretched out on the backseat, asleep.
Abdul was hoping they would reach a real road and find someplace where they could get beds for the night, but the sun began to go down and he realized they would have to sleep in the desert. They came to a flat plain where geological activity had thrown up jagged rocky hills. Abdul checked his phone and saw that he had a signal.
He immediately sent Tamara the reports and photos he had prepared during his ten days at the slave camp. Then he phoned her, but she did not pick up. He left a message to supplement his reports, saying that he had disabled the jihadis’ transport but they would get hold of fresh vehicles sooner or later, so the military should attack the place in the next day or two.
Leaving the road, he drove cautiously to one of the rocky hills and stopped behind it, so that the car could not be seen from the road.
“We can’t run the heater all night,” he said. “We’ll all have to sleep together in the back for warmth.”
Abdul and Kiah got into the backseat with Naji between them, sucking his thumb. Kiah covered all three of them with the blankets.
Abdul had now been awake for thirty-six hours and driving for half that time, and he was exhausted. He would probably have to drive all day tomorrow. He turned off his phone.
He sat back with the blanket over his knees and closed his eyes. For a while he seemed still to be scrutinizing the road ahead, trying to discern its edges and at the same time scanning for sharp rocks or anything else that might puncture a tire. But when the sun disappeared and the desert went dark he fell fast asleep.
He dreamed about Annabelle. It was the happy period before her narrow-minded family poisoned their relationship. They were in a park, lying on a lawn of lush grass. He was on his back, and Annabelle was beside him, propped up on one elbow, leaning over him, kissing his face. Her lips caressed him gently: his forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, mouth. He luxuriated in her touch and the love it expressed.
Then he began to understand that he was dreaming. He did not want to wake up, the dream was too delicious, but he found he could not remain asleep, and Annabelle and the green grass started to fade. However, when the dream vanished the kissing went on. He remembered he was in a car in the Libyan desert, he reckoned that he had slept for twelve hours, and he realized who was kissing him. He opened his eyes. It was early, and the daylight was still pale, but he clearly saw the face of Kiah.
She looked anxious. “Are you angry?” she said.
In some distant corner of his mind he had been longing for this moment for weeks. “Not angry,” he said, and kissed her. It was a long kiss. He wanted to explore her in every possible way, and he sensed that she felt the same about him. He thought he had never had a kiss like this before.
She broke away, panting.
Abdul said: “Where’s Naji?”
She pointed. He was in the front seat, wrapped in a blanket, fast asleep. She said: “He will wake in an hour.”
They kissed again, then Abdul said: “I have to ask you.”
“Ask me.”
“What do you want? I mean right here, right now. What do you want us to do?”
“Everything,” she said. “Everything.”
Chapter 28
Late on Tuesday afternoon Chang Kai was alarmed by a breaking story on CCTV-13, the all-news channel on Chinese television.
He was in his office at the Guoanbu when his young Korea specialist, Jin Chin-hwa, came in and suggested he turn on the set. Kai saw the supreme leader of North Korea, resplendent in some kind of military uniform, standing in front of jet fighter planes at an air base but obviously reading from a teleprompter. Kai was surprised: it was unusual for Supreme Leader Kang U-jung to speak live on TV. This must be serious, he thought.
North Korea had worried him for years. The government was volatile and unpredictable, which was dangerous in a strategically important ally. China did what it could to steady the regime, but it seemed always to be on the edge of some crisis. North Korea had been quiet for two and a half weeks, since the rebellion by the ultra-nationalists, and Kai had been optimistic that the revolt might fizzle out.
But the supreme leader was nothing if not vengeful. Although he had a round face and smiled a lot, he was part of a dynasty that ruled by terror. It would not be enough for him merely to see the insurrection fade away. Everyone had to see him crush it. He needed to terrify anyone else with such ideas.
CCTV-13 added Mandarin subtitles to the Korean soundtrack. Kang said: “The courageous and loyal troops of the Korean People’s Army have combated an insurrection organized by the South Korean authorities in cahoots with the United States. The murderous attacks of the American-inspired traitors have been crushed and the perpetrators are under arrest and face justice. Meanwhile, mopping-up operations are in progress as the situation returns to normal.”
Kai muted the sound. The accusation against the United States was routine propaganda, he knew. Like the Chinese, the Americans valued stability and hated unpredictable turmoil, even in the countries of their enemies. It was the rest of the statement that bothered him.
He looked at Jin, who was drop-dead cool today in a black suit with a skinny tie. “It’s not true, is it?”
“Almost certainly not.”
Jin was a Chinese citizen of Korean ethnicity. Foolish people thought that the loyalties of such men were suspect and they should not be allowed to work for the secret service. Kai believed the opposite. The descendants of immigrants often had exaggerated affection for their country of adoption and sometimes even felt they had no right to disagree with the authorities. They were usually more passionately loyal than the majority of Han Chinese, and the strict vetting system of the Guoanbu quickly weeded out any exceptions. Jin had said to Kai that China allowed him to be himself, a feeling that was not shared by every Chinese citizen.
Jin said: “If it was true that the rebellion was over, Kang would be pretending it had never happened. The fact that he’s saying it’s over suggests to me that it’s not. This may be an attempt to cover up their failure to suppress it.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Kai nodded thanks, and Jin left.
He was still pondering the news when his personal phone rang. He answered: “This is Kai.”
“This is me.”
Kai recognized the voice of General Ham Ha-sun who had to be phoning from North Korea. Kai said: “I’m glad you called.” He meant it. Ham would know the facts about the rebellion.
Ham got straight to the point. “Pyongyang’s announcement is shit.”
“They haven’t crushed the insurrection?”
“The reverse. The ultras have consolidated their position and they now control the entire northeast of the country, including three ballistic missile facilities as well as the nuclear base.”
“So the supreme leader lied.” As Kai and Jin had guessed.
“This is no longer an uprising,” Ham said. “It’s a civil war, and no one can predict who will win.”
That was worse than Kai had thought. North Korea was boiling up again. “This is a very important steer,” he said. “Thank you.”
Kai intended to bring the conversation to a close then, knowing that every second added to the danger Ham was in. But the general had not finished. He had an agenda of his own. He said: “You know that I remain where I am for your sake.”
Kai was not sure that was entirely true, but he did not want to argue. “Yes,” he said.
“When this is over you have to get me out.”
“I’ll do my best—”
“Forget about doing your best. I need your promise. If the regime wins they will execute me for being a senior officer on the wrong side. And if the rebels ever suspect that I talk to you they will shoot me like a dog.”
It was true, Kai knew.
“I promise,” he said.
“You may have to send a special forces team across the border in helicopters to get me out.”
Kai might struggle to make that happen for the sake of one spy whose usefulness was at an end, but this was no time to confess to doubts. “If that’s what it takes, we’ll do it,” he said, with all the sincerity he could fake.
“I think you owe me that.”
“I certainly do.” Kai meant it, and hoped he would be able to pay his debt.
“Thank you.” Ham hung up.
The implication Kai and Jin had drawn from the speech of the supreme leader had been confirmed by the most trustworthy spy Kai had ever had. He had to share the news.
He had been looking forward to a quiet evening at home with Ting. They both worked hard and at the end of the day neither of them wanted to dress up and go to fashionable places where they would see and be seen. Quiet evenings were their delight. In their neighborhood a new place had opened called Trattoria Reggio. Kai had been looking forward to some penne all’arrabbiata. But duty called.
He would tell the vice chairman of the National Security Commission, who was his father, Chang Jianjun.
There was no answer from Jianjun’s personal phone, but he would probably be at home by now. Kai dialed the number and his mother answered. Kai spent a few moments patiently answering her questions: he was not getting sinus headaches and had not suffered them for some years now; Ting had had her annual vaccination for influenza and had suffered no side effects from the jab; Ting’s mother was very well for her age and not suffering any more than usual from her old leg injury; and finally he did not know what was going to happen next on Love in the Palace. Then he asked for his father.
She said: “He’s gone to the Enjoy Hot restaurant to eat pigs’ feet with his comrades and he’ll come home stinking of garlic.”
“Thank you,” said Kai. “I’ll catch him there.”
He could have phoned the restaurant, but the old man might have resented being called to the phone during a dinner with old companions. However, the place was not far from Guoanbu headquarters, so Kai decided to go there. It was always better to talk to his father in person rather than on the phone, anyway. He told Peng Yawen to notify Monk.
Before leaving he told Jin what he had learned from General Ham. “Now I’m going to brief Chang Jianjun,” he said. “Call me if anything happens.”
“Yes, sir.”
Enjoy Hot was a large restaurant with several private rooms. In one of them Kai found his father dining with General Huang Ling and Kai’s boss, Fu Chuyu, the minister for state security. The room was full of the steamy odors of chili, garlic, and ginger. All three men were members of the National Security Commission: they formed a powerful conservative group. They looked sober and serious, and seemed irritated to be disturbed. Perhaps this was more than a convivial get-together. Kai would have liked to know what they had been discussing that required privacy from other diners.
Kai said: “Some news from North Korea that won’t wait until the morning.”
He expected them to tell him to pull up a chair, but they thought such courtesy was not necessary toward a younger man. Fu Chuyu, his boss, said: “Carry on.”
“There’s strong evidence that the regime of Kang U-jung is losing its grip on the country. The ultras now control the northeast as well as the northwest—in other words, half the country. A reliable informant describes the situation as civil war.”
Fu said: “That changes the game.”
General Huang looked skeptical. “If it’s true.”
Kai said: “That’s always a question with secret intelligence. But I would not have brought you this information if I did not have confidence in it.”
Chang Jianjun said: “If it’s true, what do we do?”
Huang was aggressive, as ever. “Bomb the traitors. In half an hour we could flatten every base they’ve taken over and kill them all. Why not?”
Kai knew why not, but he kept quiet, and his father answered the question, with a touch of impatience. “Because in that half hour they might launch nuclear missiles at Chinese cities.”
Huang bristled. “Are we scared of a rabble of Korean mutineers now?”
“No,” said Jianjun. “We’re scared of nuclear bombs. Anyone in his right mind is scared of nuclear bombs.”
This kind of talk infuriated Huang. He thought it made China weak. He said: “So anyone who steals a few nukes can do whatever he likes and China will be powerless to resist!”
“Certainly not,” said Jianjun crisply. “But bombing is not our first move.” After a moment he added thoughtfully: “Though it might well be our last.”
Huang shifted his ground. “I doubt whether the situation is as bad as it’s been represented. Spies always exaggerate their reports in order to pump up their own importance.”
Fu said: “That’s certainly true.”
Kai had done his duty and did not want to argue with them. “Excuse me, please,” he said. “If I may, I will leave you older and wiser men to discuss the matter. Good night.”
As he left the room his phone rang. He saw that the caller was Jin, and he stopped outside the door to answer. “You told me to let you know of developments,” said Jin.
“What’s happened?”
“KBS news in South Korea says the North Korean ultras have taken control of the military base at Hamhung, a couple of hundred miles south of their original base at Yeongjeo-dong. They’ve advanced farther than we imagined.”
Kai pictured in his mind a map of North Korea. “Why, that means they now have more than half the country.”
“And it’s symbolic too.”
“Because Hamhung is North Korea’s second city.”
“Yes.”
This was very serious.
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kai hung up and went back into the private room. The three men looked up in surprise. “According to South Korean TV, the ultras have now taken Hamhung.”
He saw his father go pale. “That’s it,” he said. “We have to tell the president.”
Fu Chuyu took out his phone. “I’ll call him now.”
Chapter 29
The helicopters flew across the Sahara overnight, aiming to arrive at the gold mine at dawn, a little more than thirty-six hours after Abdul had reported. Tamara and Tab, as the lead intelligence officers, rode in the command chopper with Colonel Marcus. While they were in the air, dawn broke over a featureless landscape of rock and sand, without vegetation or any sign of the human race. It looked like another planet, uninhabited, Mars maybe.
Tab said: “Are you okay?”
She was not really okay. She was scared. She had a pain in her stomach and she had to clasp her hands together to stop them from shaking. She was desperate to hide this from the others in the chopper. But she could tell Tab. “I’m terrified,” she said. “This will be my third gunfight in seven weeks. You’d think I’d be used to it.”
“Always with the wisecrack,” he said, but he discreetly squeezed her arm in a gesture of sympathy.
“I’ll be all right,” she said.
“I know you will.”
All the same she would not have missed this. It was the climax of the whole Abdul project. Abdul’s report had electrified the forces fighting ISGS in North Africa. He had found Hufra and, even better, al-Farabi was there. He had revealed the role of North Korea in arming African terrorists. He had also discovered a gold mine that had to be a major source of income for the jihadis. And he had uncovered a slave labor camp.
Tamara had quickly confirmed the exact location. Satellite images showed numerous mining camps in the general area, all quite similar from six thousand miles up, but Tab had organized a surveillance flight by a Falcon 50 jet of the French air force, six miles up instead of six thousand, and Hufra was easily identified by the large black square of burn damage caused by Abdul’s gasoline fire. They now understood why the drone search for the bus had failed: they had assumed the bus would head north as the quickest way to a paved road, but in fact it had gone due west to the mine.
