THIRTEEN

In the City of Taraz, at the border of Northern Kyrgyzstan and Southern Kazakhstan

It was a fine day for planning death and mass destruction.

Particularly for the silver-haired Ivan Radinovad, Russia’s debonair chief of special operations. For several years he had headed up a secret project, something called — “Invisible Bear.” Now it was on the verge of final, devastating implementation.

Radinovad leaned back in his chair and looked around the room. He was pleased with his new strategic headquarters. He had taken over the old stone-walled museum situated on the ancient Silk Road. The museum was part of the mausoleum of Manas, who was a folk hero and an ancient mythical figure in Central Asia. Considering the discussion he was about to have, there was a certain poetic symbolism in his selection of this place. According to legend, Manas sported a variety of magical weapons, and when he died, his widow put a false inscription on his grave to trick his enemies so they wouldn’t desecrate his resting place.

So there it was. Advanced weaponry and deception. Nothing could epitomize Russia’s plan better than that.

And Kyrgyzstan was a good choice to house Russia’s secret meetings for dominance, which involved its partnership with Iran and North Korea. It was remote and would avoid the global scrutiny of Moscow or its other major cities. Over the years Russia had gathered back its union of former Soviet republics.

Russia’s concerns about a watching world were justified. It had provided missile technology to North Korea. And back in 2010, Russia had successfully defied the world and provided enriched uranium to Iran for its nuclear program and had even helped build its reactors.

But Iran wasn’t the focus of the meeting that day with Radinovad.

Today it was North Korea’s turn.

The Russian looked across the table at the emotionless face of Po Kungang, North Korea’s head of offensive nuclear ambitions. Po turned to his left and right. Both of his North Korean assistants gave him a quick head bow of agreement.

Po was a man of considerable power in his country. He had worked personally under Jang Song-taek, the man selected to insure the transition of succession from Kim Jong-il to Kim’s son, Kim Jong-un, shortly before the elder Kim’s death. But Jang had been more than just a pencil-pushing bureaucrat. He ran the National Defense Commission. He was cold, unstoppable, and brutal. And for Po Kungang, he had been Jang’s most promising disciple.

“So, then, it is done,” Po announced. “And you will implement this through … intermediaries.”

The Russian nodded. “Yes. We have good connections. Well-trained cell groups. And the scientific muscle to put this together.”

“Good. North Korea will have its revenge. But like your Russia, we need the cloak of anonymity. The international community will have suspicions about who’s behind this attack. But they must never have proof. Now these cell groups … they must not be sidetracked by their own personal zeal …”

“That won’t be a problem. They share a common purpose with us. They’ve always dreamed of a nuclear strike, and now it is going to happen. A great opportunity. They won’t disappoint.”

“And the ships?” Po asked.

“We have the final route picked out. It is still easy to transfer ownership and thus switch shipping names and flags at each port without raising suspicions. We will move your ship with the nuclear material and the detonator to the first port. Meanwhile, the weapon hardware, which has been quality-controlled by our scientists, will be on another ship. They will eventually meet up in Durban, and the components will continue on to the shores of the target. Then inland, the two bombs will be assembled and driven to their destinations.”

Po nodded vigorously. “And that …,” Po said, his granite face breaking into a rare expression of joy, “is when the great flower will bloom.”

The North Korean cupped his hands and slowly, delicately, expanded his fingers, like a street mime, in the graceful arching shape of a blooming flower. But that wasn’t it. Po was simulating the image of a nuclear mushroom cloud rising in the sky.

Now they were all smiling.