Tom Clancy's Op-center_ Op-center Part 2

He lost the frown as he turned to look back toward the bar and saw Soonji running toward him. Her arm was raised in triumph, and he thanked G.o.d that at least something went right today.

Kim Hwan sat in an unmarked car on Sajingo, south of the Palace, two hundred yards behind where the podium had been erected. From here, he had a complete view of the square and of his agents on rooftops and in windows. He watched as Duk approached and then stepped back from the podium.

No sound from a bureaucrat: now there was his definition of a perfect world.

He raised the field gla.s.ses sitting beside him. Duk was standing there, nodding to acolytes in the crowd. Well, like it or not, this was what democracy was all about. It was better than the eight years that they had General Chun Doo Hwan running things as head of the martial law command. Kim didn't like his successor, Roh Tae Woo, any better when he was elected President in 1987, but at least he was elected.

He turned the gla.s.ses toward Gregory and wondered where Soonji had gone.

If any other man had won his former a.s.sistant, Hwan would have hated him to his last breath. He had always loved her, but KCIA policy forbid relations.h.i.+ps among employees; it would be too easy for infiltrators to get information by placing a secretary or researcher on staff and having her court an official.

She was almost worth quitting for, but that would have broken Gregory's heart. His mentor had always felt that Hwan had the mind and soul and sensitive political instincts of a KCIA man, and had spent a small fortune educating him and preparing him for that life. Even as thick as the red tape got at times, Hwan knew that Gregory was right: this was the life for him.

There was a beep to his left, and Kim lowered the gla.s.ses. A wideband radio was set in the dashboard of the car; when anyone needed to talk to him, a tone sounded and a red light flashed above the b.u.t.ton accessed their station.

A light came on from the operative stationed atop Yi's Department Store.

Hwan punched the b.u.t.ton. "Hwan here. Over."

"Sir, we have a lone figure in a red blazer running toward the sound truck. Over."

"Will check. Over."

Hwan picked up the portable phone and called the office of the event coordinator at the Palace.

A harried voice said, "Yes-- what is it?"

"This is Kim Hwan. Is that your man going to the sound truck?"

"It is. In case you didn't notice, our audio is down. Maybe one of your men did it when they were checking the stage for explosives."

"If they did, we'll take away their bones."

There was a long silence.

"Their dog bones. We had the sniff squad out."

"That's great," said the coordinator. "One of them might have urinated on a wire."

"Political commentary," Hwan said. "I want you to stay on the line till you hear something."

Another long silence. Suddenly a faraway voice crackled through the phone.

"My G.o.d! K-Two--"

Hwan was alert. "Turn up your radio. I want to hear what he says."

The volume rose.

"K-One, what's wrong?" the coordinator asked.

"Sir-- K-Two is on the floor. His head's bleeding. He must have fallen."

"Check the console."

There was a tense silence. "The microphones are off. But we checked them. Why would he have done that?"

"Turn them back on--"

"All right."

Hwan's eyes narrowed. He squeezed the receiver tightly and was already starting out the door. "Tell him not to touch anything!" he shouted. "Someone may have gotten in there and--"

There was a flash, and the rest of his sentence was drowned out by a ma.s.sive blast.

CHAPTER SIX.

Tuesday, 4:04 A.M., the White House

The STU-3 secured phone on the nightstand rang. The console had a rectangular, lighted screen on top with an LED display giving the name and number of the person calling, and whether or not the line was secure.

Not quite awake, President Michael Lawrence didn't look at the screen as he reached for the receiver.

"Yes?"

"Mr. President, we have a situation."

The President climbed to an elbow. Now he looked at the screen: it was Steven Burkow, the National Security chief. Below his phone number, it said Confidential-- not Secret or Top Secret.

The President dug the palm of his free hand into his left eye. "What is it?" he asked as he rubbed his palm into the other eye and looked at the clock beside the phone.

"Sir, seven minutes ago there was an explosion in Seoul, outside the Palace."

"The celebration," he said knowingly. "How bad?"

"I just took a quick look at the video. There appears to have been hundreds of casualties, possibly several dozen deaths."

"Any of our people?"

"I don't know."

"Terrorism?"

"It appears to be. A sound truck was obliterated."

"Has anyone called to claim responsibility?"

"Kalt is on the phone with the KCIA right now. So far, no one."

The President was already on his feet. "Call Av, Mel, Greg, Ernie, and Paul and have them meet us in the Situation Room at five-fifteen. Was Libby there?"

"Not yet. She was en route from the Emba.s.sy-- wanted to be late for Duk's speech."

"Good girl. Get her on the phone; I'll take it downstairs. And call the Vice President in Pakistan and ask him to come back this afternoon."

Hanging up, the President tapped the intercom beside the phone and asked his valet to take out a black suit, red tie. Power clothes, in case he had to talk to the media and didn't have time to change.

As he hurried across the soft carpet to the bathroom, Megan Lawrence stirred; he heard her call his name softly, but he ignored her as he shut the bathroom door.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Tuesday, 6:05 P.M., Seoul

The three men walked calmly down the alley. When they reached the window of the old hotel, the two men slid in while Eyepatch watched the street. When they were inside, he followed quickly.

Eyepatch hurried to the duffel bag he had left behind and pulled three bundles from inside. He kept the South Korean captain's uniform for himself, and tossed the noncom uniforms to the others. They removed their boots, stuffed them in the bag with their clothes, and quickly donned the uniforms.

When they were finished, Eyepatch went back to the window, climbed through, and motioned for the others to join him. Bags in hand, they quickly crossed the alley and walked away from the Palace, toward the side street where a fourth man waited in an idling jeep. As soon as they were seated, the jeep pulled onto Chonggyechonno and headed away from the explosion, toward the north.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Tuesday, 4:08 A.M., Chevy Chase, MD

Quietly shutting the bedroom door, Paul Hood walked over to his son's bed, lay a hand over his eyes, and switched on the lamp beside his bed.

"Dad--" the boy wheezed.

"I know," Hood said softly. He cracked his fingers to admit the light slowly, then reached under the night-stand and took out the Pulmo Aide. Flipping the lid of the lunchbox-sized unit, Hood uncoiled the tube and handed it to Alexander. The boy put one end in his mouth while his father eyedropped the Ventolin solution into the slot on top.

"I suppose you'll want to kick my b.u.t.t while you do this?"

The boy nodded gravely.

"I'm going to teach you chess, you know."

Alexander shrugged.

"It's a game where you can kick mental b.u.t.t. That's a lot more satisfying."

Alexander made a face.

After switching on the unit, Hood walked over to the small Trinitron in the corner of the room, turned on the Genesis unit, then returned with a pair of joysticks as the Mortal Kombat logo blazed onto the screen.

"And don't put in the pa.s.sword for the b.l.o.o.d.y version," Hood said before handing one to the boy. "I don't want my heart being torn out tonight."

His son's eyes went wide.

"That's right. I know all about the A, B, A, C, A, B, B sequence on the Code of Honor screen. I watched you do it last time, and I had Matt Stoll tell me what it was all about."

The boy's eyes were still saucers as his father sat on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah you don't mess with Op-Center techno-weenies, kid. Or their boss."

With the nebulizer mouthpiece held firmly between his lips, Alexander made a point of pressing just the Start b.u.t.ton. Soon, the room was filled with grunts and sharp slaps as Liu Kang and Johnny Cage battled for supremacy on the video screen.

For the first time, the elder Hood was beginning to hold his own when the phone rang. At this hour, it could only be a wrong number or a crisis.

He heard the floorboards creak, and a moment later Sharon poked her head in.