This was trouble.
Hana Sung had thought so, too.
She’d caught the instant of apprehension on the young girl’s face.
The bell rang, signaling they were leaving. She rose and headed back toward the rear cars where Luke Daniels was waiting. She found him engrossed in a conversation with an older man. When he saw her, he excused himself and came a few seats up to where she’d sat.
“A new friend?” she asked in whisper.
“I thought it would help blend me in. Getting down with the locals.”
“Howell is with Kim. Sung is on the move. And we’ve got company.”
She described the potential threat waiting three cars ahead.
“He’s the bird dog,” Luke said. “Here to get the scent and flush the fox forward. The hunters are waitin’ ahead.”
“There’s one more stop before Solaris,” she said.
“And our job is to get there in one piece. But there’s no tellin’ what the other side has in mind.”
She had to admit, this was way more exciting than a tax cheat. But she also realized she was a little scared. Contrary to what she’d boasted, this was her first street fight without gloves.
“All kiddin’ aside,” he said, his voice low, “keep sharp. Don’t get yourself hurt. Okay?”
“I will, if you will.”
He smiled and pointed a finger at her. “There’s that charm again. I could grow to like that.”
Back in Zadar she’d chastised his recklessness but, truth be told, she was now comforted knowing that Luke Daniels knew how to handle himself. What was about to happen was anybody’s guess. The not knowing was the worst part. But she was confident that they could handle things.
The train started to move, leaving the station, gathering speed.
“What now?” she asked.
“We give Howell the time he needs.”
FIFTY-FOUR
Malone kept working on the cipher.
He’d switched on one of the car’s interior lights and used its amber glow to illuminate the pages before him. The envoy from the embassy had informed him a few minutes ago that they were approaching Solaris. That meant the train was not far behind. He wished he could have been aboard himself, but realized that was impossible. Luke could handle it. So could Isabella. It was Howell that worried him. He’d warned the younger man about keeping his emotions in check, but understood the pain of losing someone you cared about. Though Cassiopeia had not died in a literal sense, she was still gone. And the anxiety that came from such a loss definitely clouded judgment. He was a pro, yet it still affected him. He could only imagine what it was doing to Howell. But he’d had no choice in the matter. Kim only wanted Howell. Hopefully Luke and Isabella would catch a break and have things under control before any outsiders managed to get involved.
He’d been slowly matching the 42 numbers from Mellon’s cipher with the corresponding words in the Virginia Declaration of Rights. Thankfully, he’d guessed right and found the key. After matching the last number in the cipher he read the finished message.
Edward Savage Eleanor Custis
Martha Washington 16
He didn’t have time to ascertain its meaning, which should be easy to determine given the Internet and search engines. He wanted to know what was happening on that train. But he had to stick to the plan, so he asked the envoy, “Exactly how far away are we?”
“Less than ten minutes. The train should arrive at 9:50.”
Which gave him a solid fifteen minutes of lead time. “Head straight for the station. It shouldn’t be hard to find.”
“I checked before we left and know precisely where it is located.”
He folded the page with Andrew Mellon’s decoded message and handed it to the envoy. “After you drop me off, find a landline and have the embassy transmit what I decoded to the Magellan Billet, through a secure channel. No cell phones on this one.”
The envoy nodded his understanding.
“I don’t want to spook anybody who might be waiting, so drop me a mile or so from the station and I’ll walk in.”
He checked his iPhone and saw that there was service.
Perfect.
Stick to the plan.
He dialed the number.
* * *
Stephanie was outside, on the Mall, in the sunshine, having fled the confines of the National Gallery. She’d taken half an hour and eaten something in the museum’s café, located belowground in a connector that bisected the street above. Chick-fil-A Man had disappeared and no one had followed her to the café or out. She was stalling for time, waiting for a reply to the message she’d sent Cotton through the State Department. Last she heard he was on his way to the Croatian interior, a town called Solaris. Everything depended on things playing out exactly as they’d anticipated. Thank God it was Cotton on the other end. He was the one person she could always depend on. He’d never let her down. The White House had called twice and she’d dodged both attempts. She realized that could only be done for so long, as the president of the United States was tough to ignore.
Her phone rang.
She was walking among the grass and bare trees just before the Smithsonian’s Museum of Natural History. The Capitol anchored the far end of the Mall behind her, the Washington Monument rising ahead. People milled back and forth in the afternoon sun, the air typically crisp for November in DC.
“I solved it,” Cotton said.
“Where are you?”
“Just about to enter Solaris and meet the train.”
“Tell me the message Mellon left for Roosevelt.”
“It’s a strange one. I’ll text it to you now.”
She waited a moment until her phone signaled receipt, then she read. “That is strange.”
“You can figure it out on your end. It shouldn’t be hard.”
“The secretary of Treasury is having me followed. Stupid me actually thought we were on the same side.”
“What do you intend to do?”
Bells in the distance chimed for 3:30 P.M.
She said, “I’m going to find what Mellon left and destroy it.”
* * *
Hana stayed one car ahead of the Korean who’d entered at the first stop, keeping a careful watch from afar. The train was slowing for its second stop, then it would be less than half an hour to Solaris. She assumed her father and Howell were still inside the first-class compartment. The man she was watching had yet to survey any of the other cars.
What should she do?
They were trapped, and he knew it.
For years she’d been thinking about her life, and over the past few days its future course had become clear. The Americans. The men at the hotel. The one here on the train. She resented all of their interference. What would happen here would be her choice and hers alone. So she decided to take the offensive. One man would be easy to contain.
The train stopped in another lit station.
People came and went, just like last time. Through the glass, into the next car, she saw three more Koreans enter and join the first man.
Four?
That could be a problem.
But the gun nestled at her spine reassured her.
* * *
Isabella sat as Luke Daniels headed forward through the cars, surveying who was coming and going on the final stop. She took a moment and checked her phone, discovering there was no service. Unlike trains at home this one did not come with any WiFi.
They were, literally, on their own.
Treasury agents were not schooled for this type of operation. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t handle herself. Daniels’ concern for her safety seemed genuine. For the first time his cocky façade had dropped and the man beneath had peeked through. She told herself to cut both him and Malone more slack. They were trusting her with their lives, each of them now dependent on the other. Three against whatever was thrown their way, and she was determined to do her part.
The bell rang, signaling a
nother station gone.
She glanced around the seat and saw Luke returning.
The train began to move.
He sat beside her.
“We’ve got four problems three cars ahead. Hana Sung is a car behind them. She has to know they’re there. This is about to get ugly.”
“You got any ideas?”
“Pappy taught me the direct approach is most times the best. So I think we need to take these guys out.”
She was ready to play with the team.
“I’m listening.”
* * *
Malone watched through the windshield as the car approached Solaris, the road passing through a rough defile between sharp, precipitous rocks. Dalmatia itself formed the southern part of Croatia, the coastal region a narrow strip about three hundred miles long. Shakespeare called it Illyria. Its fjords and islands had once been the haunts of pirates. Greece, Rome, Byzantium, the Turks, Venice, Russia, Napoleon, and the Hapsburgs had all left their mark. So had the 1990s civil war when thousands died. Many thousands more were slaughtered in ethnic cleansing, when Yugoslavia disintegrated into a snake pit of rivalries. Here, at the country’s extreme eastern boundary, had been ground zero.
Solaris sat on a hilltop amid a dense forest, its narrow paved streets crawling upward toward a brightly lit, twin-towered cathedral. A milky fog had formed and shrouded everything in a spooky mist. They’d driven in through one of the old city gates, a remnant from when thick walls had offered safety, a Venetian lion standing guard. Inside, he noticed lots of gray stone buildings, most in various stages of decay or renovation, signaling that Solaris just another workaday provincial town. Few people were in sight. Every shop was closed. They seemed to have chosen the right stage.
“The train station is about half a kilometer ahead,” the envoy said.
“Then let me out here.”
The car came to a stop.
He opened the door and cold, wet air invaded the cabin’s warmth. “Once you’re away from here, send that message I gave you.”
“It shall be done. Not to worry.”
“And hold on to these papers. Back at the embassy, scan and then send them electronically to the Magellan Billet. Keep the originals locked away.”
The envoy nodded his understanding.
He stepped out to the street and nestled the gun between his belt and spine, beneath a leather jacket.
“You take care, Mr. Malone,” the envoy said.
He shut the door and watched as the car eased away. He was left among the closed shops and empty streets, the cool misty air disturbed only by a solitary church bell signaling half past nine. The cobblestones beneath his shoes were slippery with moisture. Solaris was clearly not a night place. Howell had told him there were a few cafés, but they were located farther up the hill, near the cathedral. It was doubtful any were open this late. The train station sat close to the city walls, where the tracks pierced a break and skirted the highlands on their way east to the border and Bosnia, about fifty miles away.
Here he was again.
In the line of fire.
FIFTY-FIVE
Kim checked his watch and realized they were getting close to the train’s third stop at Solaris. So he asked, “Why are we going to this town?”
“All of my work is there. You’ll need to see it. This is more complicated than you realize.”
Howell still had not told him what he wanted to know, so he pointed again to the crumpled sheet. “What does this code say?”
“When I see Jelena, then you’ll know. Not until. I assure you, there’s no way you’ll ever figure it out alone.”
Unfortunately, that statement seemed accurate. And he assumed without the solution his quest would end so he decided to humor this American until they made it to Solaris.
“Where is Jelena?” Howell asked.
“I had her transported by car. She’ll be there. My employees are waiting for a call—after you produce what I want.”
“Do you have any idea the chaos you’re about to cause?” Howell asked. “Isolated or not, North Korea will feel the impact of an American collapse.”
But he truly did not care. While that was happening he would be securing his birthright. Those generals who called him unreliable and reckless would flock his way, all eager to pledge their loyalty. His half brother would finally look the fool, unable to say or do anything to undo his ineffectiveness. His own return to Pyongyang would be triumphant. Finally, a leader who had made good and destroyed the great American evil.
He’d already considered his new title.
His grandfather was labeled Eternal, his father Great, his half brother Dear Leader.
He would be Revered.
A line from an Italian cantata was his favorite. Di lui men grande e men chiaro il sole. Less great and brilliant than he is the sun. It was a reference to Napoleon, but he’d adapt it to Korean and its intent would set him apart.
All he had to do was play Howell a little while longer.
* * *
Hana decided this was the moment. She was tired of trying to rid her mind of the camp, and she’d long ago given up any semblance of happiness. For her, crying or laughing or tears never came. Life presented no joy. Only the nightmares were constant. She hated to be touched, resented criticism, and lived in virtual silence. It was no matter that fourteen years had passed—she still thought of herself as an Insider, the camp her entire world. Accountability, anger, and revenge had all been learned on the outside, and those three now pointed her toward a singular path.
Time to empty the heart, shed its secrets, and expose her fears.
And though she did not regard herself as a Kim, that did not mean she could not act like one.
* * *
Kim faced Howell and said, “The destruction of the United States is the only way to prove my point. I actually think most of the world will enjoy watching America fall. You preach to us all about your openness and democracy, yet none of that seems to matter when it comes to your own people. You keep secrets, just like we all do. There’s deceit and corruption, just like everyone else experiences. This fraud is the perfect example of American hypocrisy. If your system is so precious, so special, so right, it will survive what I am about to unfold.”
“You’re insane.”
He laughed. “I think of myself as an innovator. That’s what you are, too. You just lacked the means. Luckily, I don’t have that problem.”
“You’re a murderer.”
The tone had changed. Howell’s eyes flashed white-hot and he suddenly realized that this man had been lying to him.
“You killed Larks. Then you threw Jelena out to drown. You murdered her for no reason.”
“So you were on the boat with Malone.”
Howell nodded. “And you won’t be getting off this train.”
He was curious about the bravado. Did that mean the Americans were here? The black satchel lay in his lap, his right hand inside the whole time he and Howell had been talking holding the pistol obtained back at the hotel. He withdrew the weapon and aimed it straight at Howell.
“Just know that when you shoot me, your little scheme is over because you’re not going to learn a thing without me. Fire away. You still won’t get off this train, and your grand plans will be over.”
A quandary, for sure, but not insurmountable.
The compartment door opened.
Hana had returned.
She entered, closed the panel, and said, “Four Koreans are here.”
Howell sat smug. “It’s easy to kill a defenseless woman and an old man. Let’s see what you do with them.”
He kept the gun aimed. “Mr. Howell knows that we’re running a ruse here, and he seems to think his life has value to me. Fortunately for him, it actually does.” His mind was racing. “Where are these four men?”
“Two cars back.”
“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll see what can be done.”
He slipped the gun back into the black s
atchel, but left the thick sheaf of clipped pages on his seat.
Hana found her own gun, which Howell now saw.
“Don’t tempt her,” he said. “She is less patient than I am.”
Then he left the compartment.
* * *
Malone walked the streets of Solaris, passing a jewelry store, rug dealer, and several closed food shops, the dark buildings all huddled close together. At an antiques store he hesitated before a picture window that displayed goblets, vases, tables, and drapes. He’d never been into antiques. He liked things to look old, but not necessarily be old.
He rounded a corner and spotted the train station at the end of a block. The building was one of the largest in town, a profusion of sculpted niches, doorways, arches, and iron grilles, its stone painted a pale pink and lit to the night. A few people came and went through its main doors. If Stephanie’s intel was correct there should be a foreign field team somewhere nearby. The note he’d read in the car from her had informed him that the Chinese or North Koreans had made a move on Kim, which meant they were here.
This was clearly a two-front war.
One was happening in DC with Stephanie, the other here. What they were doing seemed akin to trying to hold five balloons underwater at the same time. Difficult. But it could be done. Actually, it had to be done.
He clung to the shadows and used the mist for cover. Lights burned on the street before the station, their glow muted by the fog. Three cars were parked at the curb, and he watched as another vehicle appeared from a side street and cruised toward the station.
His watch read 9:40.
The train would arrive in ten minutes.
The car stopped and a man emerged from the passenger side.
An Asian.
No freelancers. But after all, this was a rush job, and they surely thought that the middle of nowhere would offer them a relatively safe haven. That might be true, except that they’d been lured. His main hope was that they’d yet to figure that part out.
Luke and Isabella were covering the train.
The station was his problem.
So as the one man entered the building through the double doors, he made his way toward the car.