see that the answer is probably no because you did not know anything about them.” Sang-mi shook her head, as if she were disappointed in Dafoe. “Then, this morning, GreenSpirit spoke to me and said that I should try to get into your e-mail again, that it was very important to try one more time.”
“She talked to you?” Dafoe sounded like he’d been abducted by aliens.
Sang-mi nodded. “Just like you are.”
Dafoe glanced at Forensia, who nodded and said, “GreenSpirit is a powerful presence. I sense her all the time.”
“But she’s dead,” Dafoe insisted.
“To you, maybe,” Sang-mi said staunchly. “But she says a lot to me. This morning she said that if I found out that Jenna Withers didn’t know about the missiles, then I had to tell her about them so that she could tell everyone when she’s on TV. That’s what GreenSpirit wanted to do—tell everyone. And she said that Jenna Withers will tell the world, once she knows.”
“She will, will she?”
Sang-mi nodded patiently. So did Forensia.
“Why don’t you tell everyone?” Dafoe asked Sang-mi.
“Because no one would believe me. Think about it. A girl from North Korea says there are missiles that will turn the Earth into an ice cube? The daughter of a defector? They would think I was a double agent, or that my father was. Or they would just put me in a hospital for crazy people. But Jenna Withers? People would listen to her. She’s on the task force, and she’s a star on one of the biggest shows on TV. People will believe her. GreenSpirit said so.”
“But your father has told the CIA, right?” Dafoe asked.
“They’re making him keep it secret. GreenSpirit said dangerous secrets should be exposed. All of them. And this was the most dangerous secret of all.”
* * *
Jae-hwa holds a chilly handrail and steps down metal stairs into the heart of a vast missile complex. This is a hallowed place, for it was carved out of the mountain decades ago by men using only picks, shovels, buckets, and the undying courage of their nation.
We have lived in darkness like moles, but we will rule like golden kings, he tells himself.
Dim lightbulbs come alive one by one in row upon row, illuminating three-story-tall missiles mounted on heavy steel rails. Above them, Jae-hwa sees the hatches that will open for the rockets when the diesel generators come to life. Jet fuel for the missiles, diesel for the old railroad engines that move them into place. The past is always slave to a glorious future.
All around Jae-hwa rises a maze of monstrous power. It fills him with the deepest pride to know that the Supreme Leader has engineered the most deadly strategy in the history of humanity—and waited so patiently for the precise moment to strike. Now, with the world’s attention on a tanker in the Maldives that could release a massive amount of iron oxide, intense interest has finally been focused on technology that can change the world’s climate, just as the Supreme Leader knew it would someday. News people from all over the world are rushing to cover the story. Soon the time will come to tell the American puppet president about the missiles that will make the tanker look like a toy, and the West’s nuclear bombs like cheap guns.
Jae-hwa watches soldiers take their stations, then reaches up to rest his hand on the missile next to him. He loves the feel of the smooth metal, the icy cold that numbs his fingers almost instantly, as if the missiles are already spreading their deep chill, even before they explode.
When the Supreme Leader tells the American puppet president what we will do, the West will have to surrender or suffer a terrible fate.
Jae-hwa flicks a toggle switch, and the old generator, a gift from the Soviet Union when that nation was a strong and stalwart ally, shakes the floor.
He orders all the lights off and the hatches opened. Someday, he will tell his son about this historic moment when the missiles started moving into place, drawn by chains that were rusty but still strong. Like the great nation itself.
The night sky appears in the open hatches, a vast blanket of char stippled with the lights of stars and satellites.
We can see you, but you cannot see us. We hold the secrets of a glorious future. You know only the dead secrets of the past.
Diesel fumes thicken the air and a thin smile creases his taut face. Victory, the Supreme Leader says,