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he'd never seen before. It dawned on him that she was the voice who had called
him, and now his anger burned too.
"You asked him to cooperate?" she asked.
"Of course," one of the men said.
"And he refused?"
"That's right."
"Fine. Maybe this will help."
Rajiv suddenly pulled out a sidearm and aimed it at Bennett's head. "Last
chance, Jonathan," she said without emotion. "Help these men get their money,
or die. Make your choice. I'll count to three."
He realized it was Rajiv who had ordered him and Erin to go to Bangkok. It was
Rajiv he had refused.
"One . . ."
Which meant it was Rajiv who had ordered these men to kidnap him, and it was
Rajiv who had ordered Erin killed.
"Two . . ."
Bennett clenched his fists. There was no way he was going to speak to this
woman.
She had betrayed her country, set the world on fire, and robbed him of the
only woman he had ever loved. He felt his eyes blaze.
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"Fine, Jonathan," Rajiv said at last. "Have it your way."
And then he heard, "Three."
She pulled the trigger, and the explosion echoed through the prison complex.
Then she pulled it again, and everything went black.
8:23 P.M. EST-MOUNT WEATHER COMMAND CENTER
"It's time, Mr. President."
Lee James looked up from the latest draft of his upcoming address and found
General
Stephens standing beside him, a leather binder in his hands.
"Are those the orders?" he asked the general.
"They are, Mr. President. Are you ready?"
James nodded. "We don't have another option," he said, taking the binder and
setting it on the desk. "And it's not really a preemptive strike. They brought
the war to us. We have to respond."
"I believe you are right, Mr. President," the general replied, handing him a
fountain pen.
"Doesn't make it any easier, though," James admitted, signing the papers.
"No, sir, I imagine it doesn't."
And the deed was done.
* *
*
His ears ringing, Bennett opened his eyes.
But this wasn't heaven. Nor was it hell. He wasn't dead. The two men who had
threatened to torture him were, though, their bodies sprawled out on the
filthy white tile floor, each surrounded by a growing pool of crimson.
"They worked for the Legion," Rajiv said, holstering the smoking pistol in her
hands and walking over to check their pulses. Convinced they were really dead,
she released
Bennett from the handcuffs and the leg- irons, then backed away a safe
distance toward the door. "In case you're wondering, yes, they brought you
here from Jordan."
"Why did you kill them?" Bennett asked softly.
"Because they killed Erin," she replied.
There was a long pause. The fire in Rajiv's eyes was gone.
"I had ordered them not to," Rajiv explained. "I gave them explicit
instructions that neither of you were to be harmed. Please, Jonathan, you have
to believe me."
Bennett didn't. But he moved on.
"Where am I?" he asked, rubbing the circulation back into his arms and wrists.
"Camp 15," Rajiv said quietly. "Yodok."
The words just hung in the air. Bennett was stunned. Had he heard her right?
"The concentration camp?"
"They prefer to call it a 'reeducation center,"' she corrected.
Bennett had heard horror stories over the years about this place, North
Korea's most notorious prison, built in the rugged, forbidding mountains of
South Hamgyong province.
Surrounded by enormous walls, guard towers, barbed wire, and acres of
minefields, it was impossible to escape, and almost as impossible to survive.
To many, its very name was evocative of Dachau or Auschwitz. Upward of two
hundred thousand religious and political prisoners at a time were typically
condemned to serve there. One out of five prisoners died every year, some from
starvation, others by freezing to death in unheated cells, the rest by firing
squads and hangings.
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"Why?" he asked.
"Why are you here?" she asked. "Or why am I?"
Bennett was quiet.
"You're here because I'm here," Rajiv said at last. "I needed to see you you
and Erin. I
wanted to tell you what was happening, who was in on it, what was going to
happen next. I
couldn't do it over the phone. I needed to do it in person."
Bennett wondered how quickly he could get to her before she could pull the gun
on him. She was no more than fifteen yards away. But what then? What was he
really going to do to her?
"I'm sorry, Jonathan," she said at last, her face sullen, her once rigid
posture slowly deflating. "I never meant for any of this to happen certainly
not to you, not to Erin. I never meant any harm to come to you. I just . . ."
Her voice trailed off. She looked away.
"I have a story to tell you, Jonathan," she said, her eyes welling up with
tears. "I have a confession to make. When I'm done, you can go. I promise. I
have a helicopter and a crew. They'll take you wherever you want. You never
have to see me again. But please let me say something first."
* * *
The first cruise missiles launched at precisely 8:30 p.m. Eastern.
The B-52s, laden with thousands of additional Advanced Cruise Missiles, each
tipped with W80-1 nuclear warheads, launched moments later. James privately
conceded to General
Stephens that he didn't know how to square his responsibilities as president
to "preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution" with his newfound faith in
Christ and the teachings of the Bible. Was he really supposed to turn the
other cheek to America's attackers? Was he really supposed to love his
enemies, even if they committed genocide on American soil? He had hundreds of
questions with no answers, and he felt a great darkness spreading across the
earth.
Chuck Murray called. The networks were in a frenzy over the rumors of a coming
war in Venezuela. Coverage of the issue was wall-to-wall. A former U.S.
ambassador to Brazil had just gone on CNN to denounce the administration and
say that the real threat was
Pyongyang, not Caracas. The diversion was working. There was enormous
anticipation of the president's upcoming address. Ratings were going to be
through the roof. Everyone was going to be watching.
"Is it time to drop the next bombshell?" Murray asked the president over a
secure phone line.
James didn't like the choice of words, but as he glanced at his watch, he
realized there were only twenty-seven minutes left until his speech. He gave
Murray the go-ahead as
Ginny Harris entered the room with a new and hopefully final draft of his
remarks.
* * *
"The world is out of balance, Jonathan," Rajiv began.
Bennett just stared at her.
"That's what my parents always told me," she continued. "Their parents hated
imperialism.
They hated the British. They had done everything they could to drive the Brits
out and bring about a free and independent India. But when the war with
Pakistan broke out, they fled for
Canada and then to the U.S., and that's where they raised their children. My
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parents met in
Berkley in the sixties. They got married during the Vietnam War. They had me
after
Watergate. My father used to rail against American imperialism, saying it was [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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