Park nodded and stepped aside, motioning for his uncle to step onto the platform. As he did so, Oh did his best to dismiss his nephew’s concerns about Major Jin. But a seed had been planted, and by the time Park had escorted him to the end of the platform, the general had already made up his mind to place the major under scrutiny. Yes, he had been quick to defend Jin, but, friend or not, there was too much at stake to let the man’s extracurricular activities go unnoticed. Oh knew of too many colleagues who’d succumbed to graft and had eventually placed greed ahead of loyalty. If it turned out the major was headed in that direction, Oh hoped he might be able to intervene and spare his friend from the grim fate of execution that had befallen the others.
Oh was snapped from his reverie when his nephew called his attention to the roofline of the building, where sky cranes had just begun to replace a network of tarpaulin riggings with roof panels. For the first time since coming to inspect the clandestine missile infrastructure back at the Changchon Rehabilitation Center, Oh saw something that struck him as fundamentally wrong.
“I thought the roof was going to be retractable,” he told his nephew.
“It was, in the original plans, but we decided against it,” Park responded. “Our concern was that if we rolled the roof away, there might be time for a satellite to spot a missile before we could launch it.”
“I understand,” Oh said. “But we can’t just launch the missile through the roof, can we? Wouldn’t it throw off the trajectory?”
Park shook his head and pointed at one of the metallic-looking partitions being secured into place. “The sections are made to appear is if they’re made of steel,” he explained, “but they’re really just plastic and barely an inch thick. The missile will go through them as if they were tissue.”
“But the rest of the structure will remain intact, correct?” Oh asked.
“Yes, of course,” Park said. “We’ll have men ready to clear away any debris that drops to the subfloor, then we follow up with more launches.”
Oh smiled thinly. “I doubt that we’ll be able to get away with more than one additional launch before our friends to the south wise up and turn their guns on us.”
“Perhaps,” Park said, “but that would still give us two launches before we lost our element of surprise. It’s better than nothing.”
“Far better,” Oh conceded. “And, of course, if no one forces our hand, we’ll have time to build more launch pads inside some of the other buildings.”
“I’m already drafting the plans,” Park said.
The younger man excused himself for a moment to supervise the placement of the first roof panel. Oh lingered on the platform and glanced southward toward the DMZ. Although the walls enclosing the launch site were thick and void of windows, he imagined being able to see the South Korean troops lined across the raised wall separating the two nations. He knew all about the ridicule South Korea heaped on Kijongdong and how they so contemptuously called the phantom city Propaganda Village. What he wouldn’t give to be able to see the look on their faces when an ICBM came roaring up out of one of the buildings.
“We’ll see who’s laughing then,” Oh murmured.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Chino Valley, Arizona
Mack Bolan stared coldly at the pool of blood surrounding the body of Shinn’s decapitated pet terrier. The dog had been slain just inside the front doorway of the trailer home, and the animal’s killer had left a trail of bloody bootprints leading toward the rear bedroom and then back again.
“We found the head in some kind of sand garden about fifty yards downhill from here,” reported Arizona Highway Patrolman Gregory Davis.
“There were at least five different sets of prints on the trail leading there,” he went on. “Near as we can figure, they must have grabbed the guy’s wife here, then hauled her down to the garden where he was raking the sand. My guess is they let him get a good look at the dog’s head, then told him his wife would be next if he didn’t play along with them.”
“Sounds like their style,” Bolan murmured.
“Look, I know you’ve got a ‘national security’ lid on this,” Davis said, “but we’re not talking about some nickel-dime street gang here, are we?”
Bolan shook his head. “These guys use gang-bangers for pawns. I can’t give you anything more than that.”
“Gotcha,” Davis said. “Well, whoever the hell they are, I hope I’m on hand when we bring them in.” He looked at the slain dog and shook his head with disgust. “You see something like this, it leaves you wondering who the animals really are.”