Pyongyang, North Korea
President Kim Jong II sat at his desk, studying his pompadour in a handheld mirror, which he tilted so he could view his haircut from various angles. Generals Yang and Tog stood at attention before him. Jong had not spoken for five minutes, having studied his image while he listened to his generals' report.
Kim set the mirror down with a sharp clatter upon the glass-topped desk. "Very well, then. We shall cooperate with their retrieval of the spacecraft."
"I fear that we have no choice," said Tog. "All they re quest of us is that we stay out of their way."
Tog snorted. "Our humiliation is unspeakable."
Kim gestured indolently with one pudgy hand. "Patience, General. A day of reckoning will come. The great America will be brought to its knees. But this is not the time." He returned to examining his pompadour in the mirror, patting the coif for effect. "On another matter, I've taken some time to render my decision, what with all of these recent distractions, but this new fellow, the young man who styled my hair, he will do, yes. A most pleasant-natured boy, and he does good work, don't you think?"
"Indeed," said Yang.
"I'm sure he will be most gratified," said Tog.
"See that his life is spared, and have him brought up here after you leave." Tiny air bubbles burst at the corners of Kim's fleshy lips. "I, uh, find myself in the mood for some relaxation."
Beijing, China
Huang Peng stared at his reflection in the night-darkened window of his office at the Defense Ministry. Beyond his solemn reflection were the sparse lights of Tiananmen Square as viewed from the top floor of the Great Hall of the People: the lights of military patrols, mostly. Since the student uprising of more than a decade ago, a strict curfew had been imposed on the square. But it was his somber reflection, and his thoughts, which occupied him. He felt as old as he looked in the reflection of dark glass. He felt every one of his seventy-three years.
He had dismissed General Chou after his military affairs commander finished briefing him. The North Koreans, thought Huang. Isolated peasants, led by a simpering fool.
As second ranking member of the Politburo, it was Huang's responsibility to inform the chairman of the incursion of an American force into North Korea, and their claiming possession of the space shuttle. He also informed the chairman of North Korea's decision to, for once, behave prudently and not be confrontational with the United States. Huang had concluded by reporting the death of General Li in the mountains of North Korea. The chairman had listened to Huang's briefing without comment, and had then responded promptly by issuing orders to Huang to smooth ruffled feathers in diplomatic circles and the world media. Much was at stake, Huang had been reminded, from trade status to arms talks.
He swiveled his chair around, away from his contemplation of the old man in the window. He reached for the telephone on his cluttered desk.
Washington, DC
The president received his update from the White House chief of staff while bench-pressing 185-pound weights in his private workout gym on the second floor of the residence quarters. The president wore a snow-white T-shirt, blue athletic shorts, white socks and tennis shoes. He was working up a mild sweat.
Wil Fleming informed him that Trevor Galt, Kathleen Daniels and Robert Paxton had touched down in Yokohama. "For all their bluster," he concluded, "the North Koreans are in no position to take us on unless they have a complete death wish, which they don't."
"Not yet," said the president.
Fleming wore the mandatory West Wing conservative jacket and tie. "China will lean on North Korea to cool it. Beijing has too much to lose for them to want a hot war in the region, what with things so on-track between China and America economically."
The president rested the weights and sat upright. He dabbed with a towel at perspiration on his forehead.
"Galt made all the difference. Him going maverick like he did, the ballsy bastard, going to Japan on his own, is really what forced our hand to initiate the covert op. Today he again took personal initiative and averted what could have escalated into World War III."
"Yes, sir."
The president set down the towel and commenced some knee bends. "Wil, I know that you and Galt are often at odds. You're my right hand, because you're so damn organized and by the numbers. But Wil, this operation illustrates exactly why it's good to have a kick-ass wild card on our side, even if he is too loose-gaited for the West Wing."
Fleming cleared his throat. "Uh, that does bring us to one remaining problem, sir. I, uh, received a communication from General Tuttle in Yokohama just before coming in to see you."
"What's the problem?"
"It's Galt, sir, and Kate Daniels."
The president paused in his knee bends. "What about them?"
"Put simply, sir, they've disappeared. General Tuttle is not pleased. We have absolutely no idea where they are."