Suddenly Kai understood. This was retaliation. The missiles and bombers that had attacked North Korea today had come from American bases in Japan. As he felt his plane’s wheels hit the runway he said: ‘So the Supreme Leader did have some ballistic missiles left.’
‘He must have used the last six. Three were intercepted and three got through. There are three US air bases in Japan, and each one was hit: Kadena in Okinawa, Misawa on the mainland, and – worst of all – Yokata, which is actually in Tokyo, so there will be a lot of Japanese casualties.’
‘This is a catastrophe.’
‘President Chen is meeting with colleagues in the Situation Room. They’re expecting you.’
‘Okay. Call me with updates.’
‘Of course.’
Kai got off the plane and was led to his car. As it pulled away, Monk said: ‘Home, sir?’
‘No,’ said Kai. ‘Take me to Zhongnanhai.’
The rush hour was over and traffic was moving freely through the city. It was night, but Beijing had three hundred thousand street lights, Kai recalled.
Japan was a powerful enemy, but the worst of this news, he reflected, was that Japan had a long-standing military treaty with the US, according to which the US had to intervene when Japan was attacked. So the question was not merely how Japan would respond to the bombing, but what the Americans would do now.
And how would this affect the deal Kai had just done in Yeongjeo-dong?
He called Neil Davidson.
‘This is Neil.’
‘This is Kai.’
‘It’s a shitstorm, Kai.’
‘Something you need to know,’ Kai said, taking the plunge. ‘The regime of the Supreme Leader in North Korea will have ended by this time tomorrow.’
‘What – what makes you say that?’
‘We’re installing a new regime.’ This was aspiration reported as achievement. ‘Don’t ask me for details, please.’
‘I’m glad you let me know.’
‘I presume your President Green will be talking to Prime Minister Ishikawa about how Washington and Tokyo are going to respond to the bombing of US bases in Japan.’
‘Indeed.’
‘So now you can tell them they can leave it to China to eliminate the regime that launched those missiles.’
Kai did not expect Neil to consent to that. As he foresaw, the response was non-committal. ‘Good to know,’ the Texan said.
‘Just give us twenty-four hours. That’s all I ask.’
Neil continued to be carefully neutral. ‘I’ll pass that on.’
Kai could do no more. ‘Thanks,’ he said, and hung up.
He felt bothered by that conversation. It was not Neil’s studied neutrality, which was to be expected, but something else that made him uneasy. However, he could not immediately put his finger on it.
He phoned home. Ting answered, sounding worried. ‘You normally call me when you’re going to be this late.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Kai said. ‘I was in a place where I had no phone connectivity. Is everything all right?’
‘Except for dinner, yes.’
Kai sighed. ‘It’s good to hear your voice. And to know that someone worries about me when I don’t show up. It makes me feel loved.’
‘You are loved, you know that.’
‘I like to be reminded.’
‘Now you’ve made me wet. When will you be here?’
‘I’m not sure. Have you heard the news?’
‘What news? I’ve been learning lines.’
‘Turn on the TV.’
‘Just a minute.’ There was a pause, then she said: ‘Oh, my God! North Korea bombed Japan!’
‘Now you know why I’m working late.’
‘Of course, of course. But when you’ve finished saving China, I’ll be keeping the bed warm.’
‘The greatest reward.’
They said goodbye and hung up.
Kai’s car reached Zhongnanhai, went through security, and parked at Qinzheng Hall. Kai pulled his overcoat closer around him as he walked to the entrance. Beijing was colder than Yeongjeo-dong today.
He went through building security then ran down the stairs to the basement Situation Room. As before, the large space around the stage was occupied by desks with workstations. The place was more heavily staffed than last time, now on a full war footing. It was hushed, but there was a faint background sound like the murmur of distant traffic. It was not possible that traffic noise could penetrate here, and Kai decided he must be hearing the ventilation system. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant, like a hospital, and Kai guessed that it was rigorously purified, for the room was designed to operate when the city above was infected or poisoned or even radioactive.
Everyone was listening in dead silence to both sides of a phone conversation. One voice belonged to that of President Chen. Another was speaking a language Kai identified as Japanese and a third was an interpreter, who said: ‘I am glad to have this opportunity to talk to the president of the People’s Republic of China.’ It sounded insincere even at second hand.
Chen said: ‘Mr Prime Minister, I assure you that the missile attack against Japanese territory perpetrated by the Pyongyang government was carried out without the consent or approval of the government of China.’
Clearly Chen was talking to Eiko Ishikawa, the prime minister of Japan. Chen, like Kai, was hoping to forestall an extreme Japanese reaction to the missile attack. China was still trying to prevent war. Good.
While Chen’s statement was being translated into Japanese, Kai tiptoed to the stage, bowed to the president, and sat at the table.
A reply came back from Tokyo: ‘I am most relieved to hear that.’
Chen made the key point quickly. ‘If you wait a few hours you will realize that this assault, grievous though it is, does not merit any reprisal by you.’
‘What makes you say that?’
Something about that sentence rang a bell with Kai, but he postponed thinking about it and concentrated on listening.
Chen said: ‘The regime of the Supreme Leader will come to an end within the next twenty-four hours.’
‘What will take its place?’
‘Will you forgive me if I don’t go into all the details? I only want to assure you that the persons responsible for what has happened in Japan today will be removed from power immediately and brought to justice.’
‘I understand.’
The conversation went on in the same vein, Chen being reassuring and Ishikawa being non-committal, until they hung up.
Kai thought again about the sentence What makes you say that? Neil had used the same words. It was evasive, a way of not responding, a sign that the speaker was being guarded, usually because he had something to hide. Both Neil and Ishikawa had expressed little surprise on learning that the Pyongyang regime was about to be overthrown. It was almost as if they already knew that Pyongyang was doomed. But how was that possible? Pak himself had not made his decision until a few hours ago.
Both the CIA and the government of Japan knew something that Kai did not know. That was very bad for an intelligence chief. What could it be?
A possibility occurred to Kai, one that was so surprising that he could hardly formulate it.
General Huang was speaking but Kai was not listening. He stood up and moved away – an act of discourtesy to Huang that caused eyebrows to be raised around the table – and stepped down from the stage. He called his office and spoke to Jin. ‘Look at the latest satellite pictures over North Korea,’ he said, speaking in a low voice as he walked away from the stage. ‘The skies should be clear; they were a few hours ago when I was there. I want to see from Pyongyang south across the border to Seoul just the other side. What I’m really interested in is what lies between the two cities, the road they call the Reunification Highway. When you’ve got a good picture, put it up on a screen here in the Situation Room. Make sure it’s aligned with north at the top.’
‘You got it.’
Kai returned to the big table on the stage. Huang was still speaking. Kai watched the screens. After a couple of minutes, one of them showed a night-time picture. The black was relieved by two clusters of lights, one in the south and one in the north, Korea’s two capitals. Between the two was darkness.
Mostly.
Looking more carefully, Kai saw four narrow streaks of light, far too long to be any kind of natural phenomenon. They had to be caused by lines of traffic. He calculated that each stretched for twenty to thirty miles. That meant hundreds of vehicles.