Mark Greaney - Full Force and Effect

High-ranking military personnel had access to helicopters, and when they drove on the roads they could order the roads blocked from ordinary civilians.

Songun made the military the elite social class of the nation.

Ri’s flight was only ten minutes, and his limo ride was only twenty more, and this brought him through the checkpoints on the grounds of the luxury mansion and to the front door.

He was brought in to a small banquet hall by a half-dozen men of Section Five of the Party Central Committee Guidance Department. They were Choi’s close protection detail, and they treated Ri with politeness, but no real deference. His body was wanded and he was seated at a small table and brought tea.

Here he waited one hour and twenty-three minutes.

He made no complaints, and displayed no show of frustration, because Section Five stood at parade rest around the room, and they kept their eyes on him.

Finally Choi walked in, and Ri immediately stood and fought off the natural desire to wince.

The Dae Wonsu’s Mao jacket was half open, and his eyes were bloodshot. Choi’s hair was cut too short to show dishevelment, but Ri could see creases on the young man’s face that gave clues the man had been lying on a bed moments before. His fleshy cheeks were pinker than usual as well.

Ri realized almost instantly that the Dae Wonsu was drunk. He’d seen his nation’s leader in various levels of inebriation before. Festive galas were thrown with some regularity, mostly at Ryongsong, and Ri was occasionally ordered to attend. Choi had the habit of arriving late, but always with a drink in his hand, and it was usually abundantly clear he had begun his revelry hours before. He’d never fallen over or passed out like many other officials during the festivities, but it was par for the course to see him slumped and sullen at his grand table while the party continued around him.

No, Ri wasn’t surprised to see his leader drinking and affected by it, but he was disheartened, because he knew why he was here, and a drunk Dae Wonsu was only going to make this conversation more volatile.

The Americans had foiled his attempt to bring in precision-crafted second-stage tubes from France. Ri still had time to make it happen before the clock ran out on Choi’s arbitrary timetable, and with more money coming in from Óscar Roblas than Ri knew what do to with he had other opportunities to get the tubes, but he worried Choi would lose confidence in him and sack him right here and now.

The lieutenant general knew good and well the Dae Wonsu wouldn’t have to keep to his end of their three-year deal—he could change his mind on a whim and throw him to the dogs at any time.

Choi sat down at the table while giving Ri a distracted nod, and then, after the long protocol of deep and obligatory bows, Ri sat back down.

Choi swirled the dark brandy around in his glass for a moment; he seemed to be concentrating on the spiraling movement of the liquid. The general thought his leader would say something slurred and nonsensical, but when he spoke his voice was clear, and his words were lucid and biting.

“Another shipment has been interdicted, towed to port in Inchon. How far back does this put us?”

Ri kept his chin up. He’d been summoned to this meeting first thing this morning, which meant he’d had all day to prepare. “It was unfortunate. The American warship USS Freedom is making things difficult for us in acquiring the larger items we need. Smaller equipment can travel by aircraft, and we have utilized this method with good results. It is only on the sea where we are still having problems.”

“The problem is America,” Choi said.

“Exactly correct, Dae Wonsu. The other nations in the UN are not pursuing interdiction. Even before the return of Jack Ryan to the White House, the former President, Ed Kealty, had not harassed our shipments nearly to the extent we are seeing now.”

“So the problem is Jack Ryan, specifically.”

“Again, this is true. But not to worry, we have ordered more rocket tubes, they are being built by another company in Russia. It will take six months for delivery, but we will have everything else in place by the time they arrive, and I feel sure the Taepodong-2 will be operational well within my window for success in the mission.”

In truth, the Russians would ship him nothing until he paid them, and he could not pay them until Roblas delivered his five hundred million. This wouldn’t happen till Hwang’s damn rare earth–processing plant went live.

Ri troubled Choi with none of these additional details.

Choi just asked, “Won’t the Americans capture the next ship like they did with this one?”

Ri smiled. His sad eyes did not brighten, but the smile was there. “The Russians have an aircraft, the An-225, that is large enough to transport the tubes by air. We won’t have to worry about maritime interdiction.”

“You have less than two years.”

“Yes, Dae Wonsu. I am aware.”

“President Jack Ryan has two years left in his term.”

“I am aware of this as well, Dae Wonsu. If not for him, we would be operational much faster.”

“Your predecessor had many complaints about Jack Ryan as well.” Choi drank a long gulp of brandy. “I called them excuses.”

Ri realized he needed to create distance between himself and his predecessor, so as to keep distance between himself and the kennels at Chongjin. “I will not use them as excuses. Ryan is a problem, but we will succeed nonetheless.”

Choi looked across the table for a moment; his eyes were dull from the drink but they did not waver. “What do you know about Rangoon?”

Ri knew Choi wasn’t asking him what he knew about the capital of Myanmar, but instead about a particular event that happened there. When North Korean leadership spoke of Rangoon to the intelligence community, it could mean only one thing, because of the importance of the city to his nation’s intelligence agency.

Ri answered with confidence. “October ninth, 1983. I was a lieutenant in the Chosun Inmingun at the time. I will never forget learning of the bravery of our men who—”

Choi talked over him as if Ri were not speaking. “October ninth, 1983. My grandfather sent three assassins to plant a bomb to kill the president of South Korea during his visit to the Martyrs’ Mausoleum in Burma. The bomb missed Choon Doo-hwan, lamentably, because his motorcade had been delayed by traffic.”

Ri knew all of this, of course. Twenty-one people had been killed, forty-six wounded. He did not know why Choi was bringing up this thirty-year-old event.

Choi said, “As an expert on history, I cannot help but think about what might have been. If Rangoon had succeeded, South Korea would have been destabilized. Our army was better than theirs. America’s will would have faltered. My grandfather would have taken the entire peninsula within one, perhaps two years, and we would have been in a position of incredible strength. Economic strength. Military strength. The problems of the famine during the 1990s would have never occurred, the United States would have realized the pressure and sanctions were futile. Just think where we would be today if there had been a little less traffic on the road that afternoon in Rangoon.” Choi smiled wistfully.

General Ri nodded. Undoubtedly, some of Choi’s conclusions were sound. And undoubtedly those that were not sound would not be mentioned by Ri.

“You see what else would have happened?” Choi asked.

“I am sorry. I confess I do not.”

“My father would not have been killed by Jack Ryan.”

“Your father?”

“The Americans poisoned my father. How else to explain it? He was a healthy man. Hard of hearing, maybe, but his doctors say he would have lived another twenty to twenty-five years in good health.”