"What are we doing in response?"

"Matching them. General Norbom is shipping us just about everyone and everything he's got, direct orders from the President himself. Somebody sneezes up here and we're going to have ourselves a shooting war."

General Schneider excused himself then, leaving Hood sick and angry when he got off the phone. He felt like they'd been through a full season of winning football only to lose the championship on the last play of the last game. At this point, the only thing worse would be if Mike Rodgers and the Striker team did something that actually precipitated the final conflict. He thought briefly about recalling them, but knew that Rodgers wouldn't do anything rash. And there was still the fact that the missiles were pointed toward Japan. If Japan was hit, then war or no war the cry for remilitarization there would be unstoppable. That would cause China and both Koreas to build up their own military forces, creating an arms race that would rival the Cold War of the 1960s.

After bringing Ann and Coffey up-to-date, Hood asked them to brief the rest of Op-Center's department heads. When they were gone, he put his forehead in his hands- And it hit him. Pyongyang's not going to believe anyone from the South about this, but what about someone from the North?

He buzzed his assistant.

"Bugs, Kim Hwan is at National University Hospital in Seoul. If he's out of surgery and awake, I want to talk to him."

"Yes, sir. Secure line?"

"There's no time to wait for one to be brought in. And, Bugs? Don't let any of the doctors or KCIA guys get in your way. Go through Director Yung-Hoon if you have to."

As he waited for Bugs, Hood rang Herbert.

"Bob-- I want you to arrange for a broadcast to that frequency from Yanguu."

"To it," Herbert repeated.

"That's right. We're going to try to set up a game of telephone that may stop a war."

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

Wednesday, 8:10 A.M., Seoul

Kim Hwan was drowsing when Choi Hongtack touched him on the shoulder.

"Mr. Hwan?"

Hwan opened his eyes slowly. "Yes-- what is it?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a telephone call from Mr. Paul Hood in Washington."

Hongtack was holding the telephone receiver toward him. With considerable effort, Hwan reached over and accepted it. He lay it on the pillow beside his ear and turned his head toward it.

"Hello, Paul," he said weakly.

"Kim-- how do you feel?"

"It beats the alternative."

"Touché. Kim, time's short so I'll get right to the point. We found the man behind the bombing, a South Korean officer, and-- I'm sorry to have to tell you this-- but Gregory Donald was killed trying to apprehend one of his cohorts."

Hwan felt like he'd been stabbed again. He couldn't breathe and his insides burned.

"I wish there was some way I could have softened this," Hood said, "or at least waited. But the North Koreans don't believe that the group was acting alone and are ready to go to war over this. Are you with me?"