Mission Critical - Mark Greaney Page 0,50

her home. Sweden’s bitter cold reminded her of her past in this one regard, but the two nations had nothing in common when comparing North Korea with Sweden’s opulence, and its calm, happy people of diverse ethnicities.

No, other than the seasonal chill, Pyongyang and Stockholm were as different as two worlds could be.

As she bit into her sandwich she thought about her life here. Won excelled in her work. She studied Western preparedness for a biological outbreak of a size and scope she knew she had the power to deliver. The Russians wanted this information, ditto the North Koreans, and Won was perfectly trained and placed to provide it for them.

She sent in her periodic reports, kept at her job, and served her masters.

But Won had another goal. Not under orders from Russia or the DPRK, no, this was a quest of her own making. She wasn’t here to collect data to give to Russia or North Korea.

No, she wanted to act.

She wanted—she needed—to release bacteria in the West to punish them for their crimes against her homeland.

And this was why she was particularly distraught today. The North Koreans had recalled her a week earlier; she’d remain here in the West for only another three weeks, and then she would make her way back to Pyongyang, where she was all but certain she would spend the rest of her life in a laboratory working on theoretical schemes that would never come to fruition.

She normally had the picnic table to herself for lunch in winter, so she was surprised when a man sat down next to her and crossed his legs, gazing out into the street. She gave him a quick sideways glance and found him handsome and exceedingly well dressed, but somewhat severe looking. He wore fine Western clothing under his fur coat, but she pegged him as Slavic; two years living in Russia had taught her certain characteristics.

The man turned and looked at her while Won bit into her sandwich.

“How are you today?”

He spoke English; it sounded like a British accent to her, and he seemed relaxed.

But Won did not like small talk with strangers. “Fine, thank you,” she said, and took another bite of her sandwich.

“You are Dr. Won, are you not?”

Her heart began to pound. This stranger was initiating contact, and she’d been trained to report this to her control immediately. She quickly went on guard, told herself she had to remember everything the man said as well as his appearance. This was the first time in her travels through the West that any suspicious unknown Westerner had initiated a conversation.

She put down her sandwich and swiveled to face him. “How can I help you?”

He extended a hand. “My name is Roger Fox. I am an engineer working at the aerospace center up the street.”

She did not believe this for a second. When the hand remained in the air in front of her, she took it with a slight grimace, because of her loathing of human touch.

“And how do you know my name?”

“I believe you and I have a mutual friend.”

“Oh?”

“Alexi Filotov.”

Won remained on guard, but at least she thought she understood what was going on now. Filotov was Russian GRU, military intelligence; this she had determined after the day she showed him the video of the pneumonic plague strain trials conducted at the prison in the DPRK.

She had the common sense to know that this man in front of her was telling her he was affiliated with Russian intelligence in some capacity.

Guardedly, she said, “I have not seen Filotov for some time.”

“He sends his regards.”

“Fox,” Won said. “That’s not a Russian name.”

The man in the goatee smiled. “And Janice is not a Korean name, but it helps you fit in.”

“Why do you need a pseudonym?”

He smiled more broadly now. “Necessary for my purposes, Janice.”

“And what are these purposes? Nothing to do with the aerospace center, I imagine.”

“You are perceptive. The truth is I have been sent to extend to you an invitation for a short trip.”

Won returned to her lunch. “I’ve seen enough of Russia, but thank you.”

“Not Russia. London. Ever been?”

Won turned away from the sandwich inches from her mouth and stared at him for several seconds. “I suppose if you know Filotov it would be easy for you to know where I have and have not been.”

Fox gave an apologetic bow. “Yes. I’ve seen your file with FSB. Sweden is the only Western nation you’ve visited.”

“You have me at a loss. Perhaps I should

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