Steve Abbott: Devil's Gambit

Sung continued, “But that is only two targets. What about the third, you ask?” Sung’s finger moved across the surface of the map until it found the proper spot. “The Americans have only one major airbase located in the South, at Kunsan. It is home to the Eighth Tactical Fighter Wing, composed of only F-16 fighters. It would be of little consequence for one of our Special Forces commando teams to take care of. Kadena AFB on the island of Okinawa poses a more difficult problem. It is home to the Eighteenth Tactical Fighter Wing. This wing has three tactical fighter squadrons, all equipped with the F-15C fighter. A Special Operations Group is posted there and a Patriot Missile Defense system is in place. Delivery of a nuclear payload by missile is unlikely. To render the base inoperable, we will physically need to deliver the device to the target, our first target.”

“And of the Commandos that deliver this device?” The Supreme Leader let the question hang in the air.

“We will mourn their loss as much as we will honor their supreme sacrifice.”

The room was deathly quiet.

Kim Jong Un was not done. “And what of American retaliation? Will they not respond in kind once they understand who was responsible for the attacks? These weapons are used to give clout to your demands. To use them in war is to fail.”

Sung knew now was the time to choose his words with care. “I respectfully disagree. The Americans would never retaliate when we hold twenty two thousand of their troops and the remaining population of the South as political hostages and human shields. We have seen how their population goes weak in the knees over a handful of hostages. Think of the prolonged bargaining power of an entire country. It will more than stifle their want for revenge.”

Kim Jong Un pointed his finger at Sung. “And when the final hostage is released? There is no guarantee they still will not retaliate.”

“We have all seen what the Americans are capable of. It lies in our cities amongst the rubble of buildings they destroyed. This time we are more than ready for them. Our anti-aircraft defenses are formidable. If they dared to intrude into our skies, they would be blown out of them.”

The Supreme Leader steepled his hands in front of his face. “You speak as if we have all of the means to bring your plan to fruition. We do not possess any nuclear devices of this type in our arsenal. Our research has not been fruitful. We are constantly badgered by these UN IAEC inspection teams and we have yet to recover from your department’s bungled attempt to move the breeder reactor at the Yongbyong complex. That disaster set our weapons program back years.” Kim Jong Un leveled a finger at Sung’s chest. “We have managed the successful extraction of Plutonium, yes, but not in amounts large enough to create any sort of weapon.”

Sung was prepared. “You are of course correct, Supreme Leader. Our advanced Scud-C missiles are not yet equipped with a warhead package of the type required, even though they possess the correct range. I am afraid my superior, Deputy Director Kyun, has failed to locate components for our purposes through the regular back channels. I, on the other hand, using a South African contact who has been of aid to us in the past, have located the needed devices and have arranged for their purchase and transport.”

Kim Jong Un’s voice was flat. “Without my consent.”

“It was an issue of timing, Supreme Leader. I apologize for not seeking your counsel, but I felt if things had not gone well during this procurement, you would be saved the sting of my failure.”

Kim Jong Un’s eye’s narrowed. If Sung’s gamble had paid off, there was no point in making him disappear if the results were positive. “Very well, but I advise you to curb your haste in the future. How has Comrade Kyun failed us? His record is exemplary, his dedication to this country reflected by accomplishments in the construction and design of the Yongbyon and Packchon facilities, ahead of schedule and below budget. Yet you discredit the man before this council? A council, I might add, with more than a few men who fought beside Kyun in the Great War of Liberation.”

Sung sighed heavily with regret. “Supreme Leader, I am afraid Comrade Kyun has fallen prey to the allure of imperialist excess.”

“What proof do you have of this?”

“For one, his failure to produce anything of major use in the last six months. Look at your own reports, gentlemen. They clearly show the lack of materials received from what was before a most lucrative operation.”

Kim Jong Un tried to brush Sung’s arguments aside. “Circumstance and conjecture, you have no proof. The West has frozen us out of their markets for years now. Our suppliers feel the pressure and have to devise new ways of getting us what we seek under the ever-changing sanctions we face.”

“And yet I was able to circumvent Comrade Kyun and successfully secure the devices sought.” Sung drove the point home. “It is my considered opinion that Comrade Kyun has fallen prey to Western intelligence and is now in their employ. This would explain why the West has been able to block the majority of our attempts at purchase from his particular operation for the last six months.”

Once again, silence dominated the room. When the Supreme Leader finally spoke, the weight of his decision was evident. “Comrade Kyun can no longer be trusted.” He looked to the Director of People’s Security. “Proper steps are to be taken to deal with Kyun immediately.” The Director of Security nodded. A team of assassins would depart that night for Brazzaville in the Belgian Congo.

The Supreme Leader looked Sung directly in the eye, “You seem to have thought of everything, Comrade. How much is this South African contact asking for the items and his services?”

“One hundred million US Dollars in gold.”

The Supreme Leader did not flinch. “That is acceptable. Make the necessary arrangements for procurement. You are now in charge of this operation, answering only to me. Its success will guarantee you a high place in our nation’s history.”

Sung knew failure would net him a painful death and an unmarked grave.

Gayle Ecevit smiled as she slipped on her silk blouse in the dark of the hotel room. It felt good to get off the base grounds for a change. At least the coast had some scenery. It had been a while since her last weekend off and she intended to use her free time to its fullest potential. Picking up a willing partner had not been a problem. Gayle was not a stunning beauty, but her dark hair and olive skin, from her Turkish father’s side of the family, added an air of the exotic that men found attractive. Gordon somebody – she couldn’t remember his last name – lay on his back, snoring gently.

A chiropractor. That was what he said he did for a living. Of course he could have been anything; hearing over the moving wall of sound most dance bars feel they need to inflict on their patrons made understandable conversation haphazard at best. Gayle had been on quieter flight lines. The dancing and the wine were just what she needed to put the Russians, the base and all that went with it behind her, at least for seventy-two hours. She stepped into her skirt.

Gordon had been good with his hands. Maybe he had been telling the truth. Everyone should have a massage like that once in their life. His steady and unhurried approach had made the sex better. She felt a small tinge of regret leaving like this, but in her job, long-term relationships were tough to maintain. When most people found out what she did for a living, they were hard pressed to understand the job. Shoes in hand, she slipped out the door into the hall. It was convenient that they had driven her car; Gordon would have to cab it back to the club. Gayle unlocked her driver’s side door and got behind the wheel of her blue sixty-five “Stingray.”