Robert Ludlum's (TM) the Janson Equation (23 page)

A
ccording to Yun Jin-ho, Janson had ten, fifteen minutes, tops, before the Guard's Command ascertained that their sentries were down and ordered reinforcements to move in to intercept the intruder and reestablish control over the premises.

Janson promised himself he wouldn't waste a second of that precious time. He marched straight to the center of the War Room, the design for which had apparently been stolen from the bridge of
Star Trek
's original
Enterprise
.

He sat in the captain's chair and worked the attached keyboard with his fingers as quickly as he could. Yun Jin-ho had told him precisely where to look. After navigating past several screens on the sizable monitor in front of him, Janson pulled up a file designated “15-4-1912” (Kim Il-sung's birth date) and clicked “Enter.” At the prompt Janson entered Yun Jin-ho's fourteen-digit pass code from memory.

In the glow of the monitor, Janson's eyes slowly widened. A deep chill ran up his spine. He shivered, felt the fine hairs on his arms rise like a synchronized army.

No, he thought. This can't be.

“O
NCE WE LEARNED
who the players were, Lynell and I decided it was too dangerous to return to our apartment. So we registered at the Sophia Guesthouse, a hanok in central Seoul.”

“I paid the hanok a visit when we first arrived in the city,” Kincaid said.

“We'd talked about switching off, with one of us sleeping and the other keeping awake and alert. In the end, we were both too exhausted. We had spent the past few hours planning how to get the hell out of South Korea and where to go—and the last half hour arguing like hell over all of it.”

A wall of water formed in front of Wyckoff's already glazed eyes. “I woke up when I heard a crash. Lynell had knocked over a lamp. It was the first thing I saw. At first, I didn't think much of it. I couldn't really
see
anything, just shapes and forms.” He rubbed the heel of his palms against his temples. “Then my eyes adjusted and I saw Lynell in the corner of the room. It looked as though she were being lifted off the ground by some invisible force. She was still kicking her feet. It was the most frightening thing I'd ever seen. Like something out of a horror movie.”

Wyckoff was breaking down.

“Take it easy,” Kincaid said, reaching out, placing a hand on his knee. “If you need some time, I'd understand. Would you like a glass of water? Some tissues?”

Wyckoff waved her offer away with his hands. “The guy who was holding her, as soon as he saw me lift my head, he spun his body around so that his back was facing me. I jumped up from the mat and ran at him. He smashed his elbow into my nose, and I hit the floor like a stone. I thought my nose was busted; I felt so much blood spilling out of me.”

Wyckoff stood. Paced over to the curtained sliding glass door and turned back. “When I finally managed to pick myself off the floor, the guy was still holding Lynell up by the throat but she wasn't kicking anymore. She wasn't doing anything; her body was entirely limp. I knew right away she was dead.” He paused to wipe away his tears and clear his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a rasp. “So I spun around and opened the door. Just as I did, I heard her body drop to the floor. But I didn't look back. I ran as fast and as hard as I could across the courtyard. Lynell's killer started running after me. I heard his feet slapping against the pavement. He was so fast. I was sure he was going to catch me.”

“What did you do?” Kincaid said gently.

“I remembered seeing a fire escape on our way to the hanok. I headed straight for that building. I turned down the alley, pulled myself up on a pipe, and reached for the ladder. I ran up the fire escape as quick as I could until I heard him coming again. I froze in place somewhere between the second and third floors. I figured that was my only chance. Sure enough, he slowed down, checked the alley. He even looked up, seemed to look right at me. But it was so dark, he didn't notice me. I waited for him to grab hold of the pipe to pull himself up. But he didn't. Instead he ran out of the alley and kept going. As soon as he did, I climbed up to the roof. It was freezing up there, but I stayed until morning.”

Kincaid's eyes narrowed. “You said it was pitch black in the hanok. Yet you recognized him today at Tiananmen Square, didn't you?”

Wyckoff nodded. “I only saw a flash of his face before he turned around. There was just a hint of moonlight seeping in through the shades. But it was all I needed. I have…” He paused for several seconds, gazing up at the ceiling as though he was contemplating the nature of the universe, then said, “I have a photographic memory.”

“A photographic memory? Really? That wasn't in your dossier.”

He smiled sadly. “No, it wouldn't be. It's not something I boast about. My dad calls me a slacker as it is. If he knew I had a photographic memory, he'd expect me to become a brain surgeon or run for president. Probably both. No one really knows about my photographic memory. In school, I didn't want to risk being labeled a freak. Only Lynell knows.” He paused again, a fresh wave of tears spilling over his lower lashes down his cheeks. “
Knew
,” he corrected himself. “Only Lynell
knew
.”

Kincaid waited for him to calm himself. When he seemed to have control over himself she asked, “How did you learn of Yun Jin-ho?”

Wyckoff lifted his bloodshot eyes in surprise. There were questions in those eyes, but he didn't ask them.

“When Lynell and I first moved to Seoul, I hacked into the government's servers, looking for secrets. Specifically, I wanted to find South Korea's intelligence on the North's nuclear program. Everyone wants us to believe that North Korea is on the verge of becoming a nuclear power. Washington and Seoul want us to believe it to demonstrate that the Kim regime is a threat to the region and to justify suffocating economic sanctions. Pyongyang wants us to believe it because they're afraid of a future US-ROK invasion aimed at regime change. I think the claims being made by both sides are highly exaggerated, if not complete bullshit. Of course, the only ones suffering as a result of all the lies are the North Korean people. I thought if I could expose the actual intelligence Seoul has on North Korea's nuclear capabilities, the United Nations would have no choice but to lift their sanctions and allow the North's economy to collapse or thrive on its own.”

Wyckoff sat back down on the bed. “I engaged the help of the Hivemind and together we found nothing to prove or disprove my theory. But we
did
discover what appeared to be a list of agents the NIS is running in Pyongyang. Spies. In North Korea's Ministry of State Security, Kim Jong-un's Guard's Command, even one deputy director in the palace.”

Kincaid said, “Yun Jin-ho.”

Wyckoff nodded. “Code name: MALTESE. It took some work to figure out his true identity. But once I did I realized he was someone who might be willing to sell secrets to a third party like myself.”

“What made you think that?”

“There were extensive notes in his electronic file. Yun Jin-ho was obviously a reluctant spy. Not for ideological reasons—he clearly despised the North Korean regime—but because he didn't trust his handlers in Seoul. They'd apparently made him promises they hadn't kept.”

“What types of promises?”

“Promises to bring him in from the cold. Promises to get him and his fiancée safely out of Pyongyang and return them to Seoul, where Yun Jin-ho had originally defected to five years ago.”

Kincaid nodded as she took it all in. “So you made contact?”

“I first contacted him months ago, long before this happened. He was wary of me in the beginning, but that was perfectly understandable. I gave him time to check me out for himself. Eventually, we sort of became friends.

“The morning after Lynell was killed I snuck into a high school to use a computer. I hacked into the DIA's email system and pulled up the director's account. Albright had been a lot less secure than Ambassador Young. The details were sketchy but within a half hour I had a good idea of what Diophantus is all about. And why Lynell was killed for overhearing what she heard. I sent Yun Jin-ho an encrypted email, which is how we usually communicated.”

“You told him about Diophantus?”

“Actually, he had recently told me that he discovered something at the palace that might be of interest to me. He refused to turn it over to his handlers in Seoul. He said it was too big, too important to entrust to NIS. But he believed I was the perfect vehicle to deliver this particular intelligence. He told me if I published what he had, I could literally change the world. But he insisted on
selling
the secrets to me. They wouldn't be free.”

“What was his price?”

“He said, ‘Get my fiancée out of Chosun'—that's what they call Korea in the North—‘and I will give it to you.' Now I told him I had information for the palace too. I said, maybe we could trade. He refused. He just wanted me to send someone to help his fiancée escape. I figured it was the only way to get whatever information he had and to pass on the warning about Diophantus to the palace. So I did.”

“You sent someone to collect his fiancée?”

“I quietly hired an American expat I knew. A former Navy SEAL. He'd been a contractor with the Central Intelligence Agency in Kandahar after nine-eleven. Then he worked for Blackwater in Iraq. A few days ago he went up North, but I never heard from him again. I'd paid him half up front; he probably took the half I gave him and made himself scarce.”

“If you don't mind my asking, where did you get the money for something like that?”

“I took out a cash advance on a credit card number I stole online.” He looked up. “Don't worry, it belonged to a bad person.”

“So, you never learned what information Yun Jin-ho discovered in the North.”

Wyckoff shook his head. “And he never received my warning about Diophantus.”

Kincaid felt her pulse begin to race. “What is it? What is Diophantus?”

“Like I said, initially I didn't know. There were very few details about the operation in Young's emails. But it seemed clear from the messages that Diophantus was purposefully shrouded in secrecy. And that there was a significant risk attached to it if someone found out.”

“Which you did the next morning.” Kincaid heard the impatience in her own voice. “So tell me, Gregory. What
is
Diophantus?”

Wyckoff took a deep breath then swallowed hard.

“In short, it's a plot to start a second Korean War,” he said. “A war meant to collapse the North Korean regime and reunify Korea.”

Kincaid took in his words. Was about to speak but Wyckoff beat her to the punch.

“I know what you're thinking,” he said. “That regime change in the North may not necessarily be a bad thing, especially for the North Korean people. I thought about it too. The problem is that this war would inevitably result in the loss of millions of lives, including the lives of thousands—maybe
tens
of thousands—of American troops.” He paused. “And the war wouldn't have the support of the American public. Regardless of your view on Iraq, this without question
would
be a war that the American public was duped into.”

J
anson couldn't believe his eyes. As he attempted to print the forty-five-page document, he tried simultaneously to comprehend its contents and calculate its consequences.

The invasion would commence with special forces, of which the Korean People's Army numbered almost two hundred thousand.

They would start with predawn airdrops and shore landings. As the soldiers struck land, they would immediately begin sabotage operations. They'd hit power stations and telephone lines, bring down cell and Internet networks.

While panic rose like a tsunami over the ten million citizens of Seoul, the North would strike with artillery at a rate of hundreds of thousands of rounds per hour.

All arteries out of Seoul would be choked with traffic as the South Koreans attempted to flee their city under fire.

Meanwhile, hundreds of chemically armed Scud missiles would be launched at targets ranging from Incheon International Airport to Seoul Station, making escape impossible.

To slow down US reinforcements, hundreds of Nodong missiles carrying chemical weapons would be targeting Japan.

Torpedoes launched from North Korean submarines and semisubmersibles would strike US ships carrying personnel and supplies to the peninsula, leaving the South Koreans' puppet masters with fewer than thirty thousand troops on the ground.

The printer paused for no apparent reason.

Goddamn it, Janson thought. Not now, not a fucking paper jam.

He cracked open the casing and ripped the offending sheet from around the toner cartridge. He slammed the tray shut, and the printer resumed printing.

Janson turned back to the screen. Here it was, right in front of him, the strategy for the actual invasion: 750,000 troops, 2,500 tanks. Hundreds of
drones
.

Drones. And not just the toy planes that US and South Korean intelligence
knew
the North possessed. Not just surveillance drones, but drones that could carry a 450-pound payload. Drones that could carry out attack missions, dropping Hellfire-style missiles from the sky like rain. Attacks like those being carried out by the US military in places such as Yemen, Afghanistan, and the tribal areas of Pakistan—only these deadly attacks would indiscriminately target heavily populated South Korean cities, slaughtering millions of innocent civilians.

Auster, Janson thought. Cal Auster. That's why the son of a bitch is in South Korea, so close to the demilitarized zone.

What had Auster said to Janson when they first met in Afghanistan?

“I serve a basic human need, man. You think votes are going to change the course of a nation like Afghanistan, you naive motherfucker? Hell no, not votes. The only things that are ever going to change this fucking country are bullets and more bullets. Lots of fucking bullets and bombs and bunker-busters. It's a new war, Paul. A new world. And I'm going to fucking arm all of it.”

Janson scrolled down.
Not much time now.
He had to get the hell out of here or he never would. Janson had to warn the South, he had to warn the Blue House.

Christ.
Not just the Blue House, but the White House as well. According to these documents, the latest version of the DPRK's Taep'odong missile had the capacity to reach the United States. Not just Hawaii and Alaska but also the continental United States, from the southern tip of California up to Washington State.

This wouldn't just be a second Korean War. Once China became involved, this would become the Third
World
War.

And the North would commence this operation at the slightest provocation. They'd have to ensure China's involvement, and in order to do that they'd need cover. They'd essentially need to say,
Look, the South started it
. But given what China had at stake—namely their border with North Korea—it wouldn't take a hell of a lot. Maybe nothing more than a stray bullet that crossed the demarcation line in the dead of night.

Somewhere in the residence an alarm sounded.

Janson grabbed his stack of documents and stuffed them into his go-bag. He replaced the dart gun with his Beretta—the dart gun would be useless against the number of gunmen he was sure to encounter—and raced for the door.

He burst into the hallway and found no one. He took the stairs as he'd been directed to by Yun Jin-ho, still picturing the spy's crude map in his mind.

As he ascended, two soldiers from Kim's Guard's Command were hurrying down the stairs carrying firearms. When they spotted Janson they stopped and fired. Janson took cover then carefully placed two bullets in each of them and let their bodies tumble past him on the stairs.

He wouldn't be caught.

He wouldn't be killed.

Not here, not tonight.

He needed to make it to Seoul.

Janson burst through the door to the outside and immediately heard the crackling of at least a dozen AK-47s.

But there was mercifully little light. Janson looked up and saw that most of the floodlights above him had been destroyed.

He sprinted forward in the direction of the designated checkpoint, thinking,
There's no way this guard's going to let me pass, no matter how much he's been paid. He'd be shot dead right alongside me.

As he neared the checkpoint Janson saw something strange. Two bodies lay on the ground within a few yards of the booth.

Janson ran harder, faster, maybe harder and faster than he'd ever run before in his life.

Soon the lone remaining guard's face came into view.

It was Yun Jin-ho, a wide, crazy smile spread across his visage.

“
This way
, Janson,” he cried.

Yun Jin-ho. He'd taken out the guards. He'd taken out the lights.

“You're coming with me,” Janson called on the run, ducking below the bullets buzzing by them.

“
Impossible
,” Yun Jin-ho shouted.

As Janson passed the middle-aged spy, he looked back and saw at least two dozen North Korean soldiers coming at him from behind.

In front of him stood a wide-open gate.

Janson ran past it and spun around, hoping to persuade Yun Jin-ho into accompanying him.

But it was too late.

The soldiers were almost on him.

Yun Jin-ho had slowed them down by raising a hand grenade high above his head.

Several soldiers stopped to fire at him; others swerved past him in order to reach Janson before he made it to the road.

Yun Jin-ho pulled the pin.

As the soldiers riddled Yun's body with bullets, he screamed, “For
Mi-sook
!” then spiked the grenade against the pavement like a football in the end zone.

The blast knocked Janson off his feet.

His head smacked the blacktop; he was sure he'd suffered a concussion. He lifted his hand over his eyes to block out the ferocious heat from the explosion.

From his spot on the ground he could tell that nearly every North Korean soldier was either dead or critically wounded. Most had been shredded to pieces by the grenade.

Janson wasted no time. Pushing himself to his feet, he hobbled across the road and quickly spotted the black jeep.

Staggering, he crossed in front of the vehicle and ducked into the passenger side.

“
Drive
,” he shouted to Mi-sook.

Blindly with no headlights she pressed down on the accelerator, tossing Janson back against the hard vinyl seat.

“Are you all right?” Mi-sook said, glancing at his face.

He was about to tell her to keep her eyes on the road, but what was the point? She was literally flying blind.

“I'm fine,” Janson lied.

From the backseat Janson heard a strange noise. A wail, like the crying of a small infant.

He swung around in his seat and looked in the back. His eyes widened in surprise.

Shooting a stunned look at Mi-sook, he shouted, “
What the hell is that?
”

J
ANSON HAD DRIVEN
blind before. A long time ago. While he was still training to become a Consular Operations agent.

The training had taken place at a facility known as The Point, located on a peninsula in Perquimans County, North Carolina, along the Albemarle Sound. Owned by the Department of Defense, The Point was a sister facility of The Farm, training grounds of the CIA's National Clandestine Service. The Farm was located at Camp Peary, a nine-thousand-acre military reservation near Williamsburg, Virginia. There was a time when The Farm hosted Cons Ops trainees as well. But that was before. Before Jason Bourne. Before Cons Ops became known as the black sheep of US black ops.

But from all accounts, training for Consular Operations differed little from that for the Clandestine Service. Both included a defensive-driving course called “Crash & Burn.” In addition to learning evasive techniques, reverse driving, and how to smash through barriers, all trainees had to prove proficiency in navigating a motor vehicle blindfolded.

Janson remembered a series of traumatic tests that involved maneuvering through simulated border crossings and hostage situations while behind the wheel of a gray Monte Carlo with a burlap hood securely fastened over his head. He also remembered complaining to a fellow student that these bizarre exercises were a complete waste of time. Because “
When the hell are we ever going to find ourselves in that fucked-up a situation?
”

Well, lo and behold, it was Janson who was now behind the wheel, blindly punching through obstacles as Mi-sook sat in back, cradling her baby. When Janson realized the infant was on board and that the old jeep was equipped with neither air bags nor a child safety seat, he insisted Mi-sook pull over so that he could take over driving duties. Now, twenty minutes after he lost what he hoped would be the last of their pursuers, the jeep raced blindly north up National Highway 65 toward the city of Hyesan.

Hyesan would provide them with two distinct paths out of North Korea. One, crossing the frozen Yalu River on foot, was risky. It was a well-known route that would lead Janson and Mi-sook and her baby into Changbai, China's autonomous Korean region. Janson had little doubt that North Korean soldiers would have set up a roadblock in the vicinity of the Changbai-Hyesan International Bridge, making crossing the river undetected a practical impossibility.

The other path—which Janson considered Plan A—was nearly as dangerous because it hinged on the cooperation of at least two other individuals. They were both friends of Yun Jin-ho and they were expecting Janson and Mi-sook's arrival. But if alarms had sounded from the palace, it was possible these North Korean soldiers would decide not to put themselves at risk—especially if they had already learned that their friend Yun Jin-ho was dead.

Janson hoped that the infant would warm their hearts enough to persuade them to assist. If that didn't work, Janson was ready to provide them with vast sums of cold, hard cash. If that didn't work…

Well, Janson was still armed to the teeth.

H
OURS LATER,
J
ANSON
and Mi-sook arrived at Hyesan Airfield. A military airport with a single gravel runway, Hyesan Airfield underwent perpetual construction. So there were few lights and fewer personnel on-site in the wee hours of the morning.

As Janson rolled the jeep past the southern gate, they were given the all-clear signal by the first of the two accomplices supplied by Yun Jin-ho before his untimely demise. Mi-sook, who had moved to the front passenger seat with her child, rolled down her window and spoke to the guard in Korean.

She turned to Janson. “He says that KPA units are stationed along the Yalu River in Hyesan and along the Tumen River in Musan.”

Janson said, “Is the plane fueled up and ready to go?”

Mi-sook spoke to the guard again, then looked back at Janson. “It is a very small plane, but yes.”

“What kind of a plane?”

Janson heard the guard say, “Antonov An-Two.”

“Christ,” Janson said.

Mi-sook looked a question at him. “You have heard of it?”

“I've read about it,” Janson said. “In history books.”

The Antonov An-2, or “Annie,” was a mass-produced single-​e
ngin
e aircraft designed by the Soviets in the 1940s. It was designed for light utility transport and agricultural work like crop spraying. It was notoriously slow.

Mi-sook said, “We can leave the jeep. Chang-bo will drive it north and destroy it somewhere south of the Chinese border.”

As Janson and Mi-sook exited the vehicle, Janson got his first look at the Annie. It was the Y-5 version, built by license in China. North Korea possessed a number of them. If Janson's military history was right, they'd flown them during the Korean War, for parachute missions and sabotage operations behind enemy lines. They were equipped with wooden propellers and canvas wings, which gave them a low-radar cross section and thus a narrow degree of stealth.

Looks like Snoopy's archnemesis, the Red Baron, he thought as they crouched behind a troop transport to remain hidden from the two soldiers in the control tower.

“How are we going to make it to the runway without the air controllers spotting us?” Janson asked.

Once Mi-sook translated, Chang-bo removed a walkie-talkie from his belt and spoke into it. Suddenly the Annie's lights flared brightly, and Janson noticed they were aimed directly at the control tower. Over Chang-bo's walkie, Janson could hear the air controllers squawking loudly about the pilot's error.

But it was no error. The pilot had purposefully blinded them.

Janson grabbed Mi-sook and together they hustled toward the Annie, the infant wailing in Mi-sook's arms.

Once they were aboard, the Annie began moving backward until the plane's lights were no longer directed at the control tower. Janson and Mi-sook strapped themselves in, Mi-sook gripping her child tightly.

The plane started down the small gravel runway. The jarring bumps and jolts were instantly forgotten once the Annie lifted them into the air.