No other human being was allowed in this place. No guards. They guarded the elevators and stairwells and the roof. Not even a secretary, because the secrets of Kim Jong II were too secret even for a trusted secretary to know.
The office was the size of a city block and contained exactly sixty-seven telephones, all but one with their bells shut off.
Few persons were entrusted with that particular number. For Kim Jong II was master of every North Korean and beloved by none. Especially did the Korean military despise him, for he had been installed as their supreme commander despite having never served his country in uniform or worn a medal that he had actually earned.
Even his immediate family did not have the number.
Actually Kim Jong II found it necessary to avoid his family. His stepmother and her children also despised him. It was known that they lusted for the power that Kim II Sung held so firmly for so long and Kim Jong II had only lately touched.
In fact, in the halls of power that Kim Jong II controlled but dared not personally walk, it was being said that once Kim II Sung passed on, the reign of Kim Jong
It would wither as quickly as the kimilsungia flowers of spring.
Kim Jong II had heard these rumors. This was the chief reason why his entire existence was limited to the great office overlooking the future capital of the world.
The single phone with a bell began ringing. Heart leaping, Kim Jong II seized it. It was the direct line to the People's Hospital, where his father lay dying. He did not know whether to hope for good news or bad. In fact, he was not quite certain which was which.
"Yes? What news? Has my illustrious father died?"
"He has not," said a warm, generous voice in impeccable Korean.
"Comrade!"
"Yes."
"It has been a long time, Comrade."
"The supercomputer I supplied last time. It functions satisfactorily?"
"Indeed. I don't know how I would keep track of my enemies without it."
"I understand your father is near death."
"Alas, yes."
"And your enemies plot to usurp you."
"I have more enemies than friends now," admitted Jong.
"And I have a solution," said Comrade.
Jong gripped the receiver eagerly. "Yes?"
"The Master of Sinanju has returned to the village of his birth."
"The Master of Sinanju! My father told me that he died many years ago."
"He has been working for America." "I can see why my father would say such a thing. It is better that the Master of Sinanju had died than shame himself so."
"But he has fallen out with the West. This might be the solution to your quandary. With him at your side, your enemies would melt from view."
"This is a very good suggestion, Comrade."
"Which comes at a price."
"What price?"
"I had an arrangement with a Captain Yokang of the frigate SA-I-GU, and it appears that he has reneged."
"Arrangement? What kind of arrangement?"
"A salvage arrangement. The U.S. submarine that the world is wondering about lies sunken in the West Korea Bay, along with its secret cargo of gold bullion. Yokang was to split it with me."
"What do you want?"
"The gold. All of it. And Yokang's execution."
"Done."
"Do not renege on this promise, Kim Jong II."
"I will not. I wonder. Can you get me a 70 mm Panaflex camera? My latest opera gees before the cameras next week. It is about my illustrious father's glorious life, but I am thinking of changing the names and making it the revised chronicle of my own life, should he die before we roll."
"The camera will be shipped promptly," Comrade promised.
Kim Jong II hung up the phone and immediately grabbed the yellow hotline to the army. It was a good thing his father had the foresight to appoint him supreme commander. A very good thing indeed. And with his extensive directorial skill, he knew exactly how to crack the whip on these military types.
Soldiers, like actors, were but sheep. Especially in the last worker's paradise left on earth.
Chapter 25
Pyongyang huddled like a ghost town under the stars of the Silvery River—Remo had long ago stopped thinking of it by its Western name, the Milky Way— when the tank column rolled into it, with Remo and Chiun sitting on the rounded turret of the lead T-67 tank.
The broad avenues were silent. They passed rank upon rank of featureless gray apartment towers and office buildings that had sat uninhabited because they had been built to show the citizens of Pyongyang that North Korea was as advanced as any Western city—but there was no economy to support them.
From his perch in the turret hatch, the tank commander pointed out the stone torch that was the monument to the juche idea of Korean self-reliance, and Remo yawned.
He indicated with pride the seventy-foot bronze statue of Great Leader Kim II Sung, and Remo snorted.
When they passed the 105-story Ryugyong Hotel, the tank commander began to expound on its undeniable magnificence. "It is the largest structure in all Asia, containing three thousand rooms. The sports complex alone was erected at a cost of 1.5 billion U.S. dollars."
Remo looked at the great pyramid shape and asked, "Is it supposed to sag like that?"
The tank commander turned beet red.
"I have heard," offered Chiun, "that after only two years, it became uninhabitable. So defective was its design that the elevators cannot function."