Park fired. Another can. “Who then? If not him?”
Greavey said, “You know he never did shit before all this? He likes to play soldier—all of them do—but he’s just some college kid. Now, he’s smart, I’ll give him that, but not as smart as he thinks he is. We need someone in charge who knows this army and who’s got real military training.”
“You then?” Park said.
Greavey shrugged. “Seems sensible.”
“I’ve got training,” Park said. Another shot. Another can.
“Look,” Greavey said. “You shoot real good, but come on. You just got here. Back me and I promise I’ll—”
“No.”
Greavey was silent a while. He raised his rifle, hesitated, lowered it. Finally: “What do you want?”
“Half,” Park said.
“Half what?”
“Half everything. The guns, trucks, troops—”
“No way.”
Park raised his rifle again. “Maybe I should see what he thinks about all this.”
Greavey stared as Park took down another can, then said, “Fine. If that’s the way it’s got to be. You and me. Full partners. All right?”
“All right.” Park glanced toward the palace. “Except… no one but him’s allowed to bring weapons in there. He’s always armed, obviously he never sleeps—”
“He comes out sometimes,” Greavey said. “To supervise things personally, or lead his army in the field. And like I said, you shoot real good.”
At this, Park nodded slowly. “I see,” he said, as he took down the final can.
Later, as Park strode through the palace, he thought: A good try. Convincing. Much of it likely true. Greavey plotting assassination? A lie. But the Commander too reliant on his legion of moaners? Eliminating clever officers who might become rivals? Probably yes. Also true: The Commander not as smart as he thinks he is.
Park turned a corner toward the Commander’s private suite. Two skull-faced men stood guard.
“I have to see the Commander,” Park said.
The men eyed him. One of them said, “Wait here,” and disappeared around a corner. A short time later he returned and said, “All right. Come on.”
They walked down the hall to an office, where the Commander sat behind a desk, his rifle leaning against a nearby wall. He held a combat knife, which he fiddled with absently as he said, “Talk.”
Park said, “Sir, Greavey is plotting against you.”
The Commander leaned back in his chair. “Give me details. Everything.”
So Park relayed the conversation, leaving out nothing.
Afterward, the Commander stood and began to pace. “This is good to know.”
Park said, “Sir, let me handle Greavey. I’ll—”
“Greavey’s fine.”
“Sir?”
The Commander pointed his knife at Park and said, “Listen to me carefully. Nothing happens in this city without my knowledge, without my order. Do you understand?”
Park feigned bafflement. “You mean it was… a test?”
“An exercise,” the Commander said. “I apologize, but it’s necessary. I’ve been betrayed before. I have to make sure.”
A few weeks later, just after dawn, Park heard a rumble from outside, as of distant thunder. He hurried to the window of his chamber and looked out. A giant plume of black smoke was rising from the southern end of the city.
A short time later the Commander’s recorded speech cut out abruptly. Then the Commander came on and announced, “The city is under attack. The south wall has been breached. Muster at the south wall. I repeat, the south wall.” The message continued in this vein, until the moaners got the idea and began to march to the city’s defense.
Park lay low, hoping to be missed in the confusion. He waited until he saw a column of trucks go speeding away to the south. Eight trucks—enough to carry most of the officers who lurked about the palace. Park knew he might never get a better chance to scout out the “petting zoo.”
He raced through the halls, but saw no one. The east wing seemed deserted. If anyone caught him—
No. They would not catch him. He’d make sure of that.
One time he heard footfalls approaching. He slipped into a shadowed alcove, and a guard passed by, heedless. Another time, as Park climbed a staircase, he imagined he heard wailing, but when he stopped to listen there was nothing.
He reached the top floor and moved quickly down a long hallway lined with windows. To his right was a door, open just a crack. He crept up to it and peeked inside.
On a nearby couch sat a woman with auburn hair, who was bent over something in her lap. She was murmuring, “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Mommy’s here.”
Park shifted slightly and scanned the room. The walls were painted yellow. He saw cribs, toys…
Children.
Living children, six of them, none more than a year old.
The petting zoo. It was a goddamn… nursery. But… why?
No, he told himself. Ponder later. Get out now. Mei’s not here.