He meant the decision to spy for China.
‘However, he has now surprised me by attempting to make peace.’
Kai knew that, of course, but he did not say so. ‘When did that happen?’
‘Kang phoned Yeongjeo-dong this morning.’
Right after he heard from President Chen, Kai calculated. That was quick. ‘Kang is desperate,’ he said.
‘Not desperate enough,’ said Ham. ‘He didn’t offer the rebels any incentive other than an amnesty. They don’t trust him to keep an amnesty and, anyway, they want much more.’
‘Such as?’
‘The leader of the rebels, Pak Jae-jin, wants to be made Minister of Defence and Kang’s designated heir as Supreme Leader.’
‘Which Kang refused.’
‘Not surprisingly,’ Ham said. ‘Designating a rebel as heir is like signing your own death warrant.’
‘Kang could have offered a compromise.’
‘But he did not.’
Kai sighed. ‘So there will be no truce.’
‘No.’
Kai was dismayed, though not much surprised. The rebels did not want a truce. Clearly they thought they only had to wait patiently for the Pyongyang regime to be destroyed, whereupon they would step into the power vacuum. It would never be so simple, but they did not realize that. In any case, why was the Supreme Leader not trying harder? Kai said to Ham: ‘At this point, what does Kang actually want?’
‘Death or glory,’ said Ham.
Kai had a heavy sensation in his belly. This was doomsday talk. He said: ‘But what does that mean?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Ham. ‘But keep an eye on your radar.’ He hung up.
Kai feared that the Supreme Leader might now be bolder than ever. He had done Chen’s bidding, albeit half-heartedly, and offered the rebels a deal; and he might now feel that their refusal vindicated his aggression. Kai’s peacemaking suggestion of this morning might even have made matters worse.
Sometimes, he thought, you just can’t fucking win.
He wrote a short note saying that the rebels had rejected the Supreme Leader’s peace offer and sent it to President Chen, with copies to all senior government figures. Such a note should really have gone out over the signature of his boss, Fu Chuyu, but Kai was no longer even pretending to defer to him. Fu was plotting against him and that was known by everyone who knew anything. China’s leaders needed to be reminded that it was Kai, not Fu, who sent them the crucial intelligence.
He summoned the head of the Korea desk, Jin Chin-hwa. Jin needed a haircut, Kai thought; his forelock was over one eye. He was about to mention it when he realized he had seen other young men looking like that, and it was probably a fashion, so he said nothing about it. Instead he said: ‘Can we watch North Korea on radar?’
‘Sure,’ said Jin. ‘Our army has radar feed, or we can hack into the South Korean army’s radar, which is probably more tightly focussed.’
‘You need to watch. Something may be about to happen. And put it through here, too, please.’
‘Yes, sir. Please tune to Number Five.’
Kai switched channels as instructed. A minute later a radar feed appeared superimposed over a map. However, the skies over North Korea seemed quiet after days of air war.
It was mid-afternoon before Neil returned his call. ‘I was in a meeting,’ he said in his Texan drawl. ‘My boss can talk longer than a Baptist preacher. What’s new?’
Kai said: ‘Is it possible that anyone could know what you and I discussed last time we talked?’
There was a moment of hesitation, then Neil said: ‘Oh, fuck.’
‘What?’
‘You’re using a secure phone, right?’
‘As secure as they get.’
‘We just fired someone.’
‘Who?’
‘A computer techie. He worked for the embassy, not the CIA station, but he was getting into our files anyway. We found out pretty quickly, but he must have seen my note of our conversation. Are you in trouble?’
‘Some of the things I said to you could be misinterpreted – especially by my enemies.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘The techie wasn’t spying for me, obviously.’
‘We think he was reporting to the People’s Liberation Army.’
Which meant General Huang. That was how Kai’s father had learned of the conversation. ‘Thanks for being straight with me, Neil.’
‘Right now we can’t afford to be anything else.’