“A couple of years ago,” Kim said as they ascended higher into the mountains that ran like a spine down the length of the country, “we gave permission for a company in the south to arrange tourist trips into these mountains. Some consider them sacred. We demanded they build the roads and trails as well as the restaurants and the hotels. They even had to construct their own port facility to dock their cruise ships. For a while the company had many people making the trip, but they had to charge five hundred dollars per passenger to recoup their investment. The pool of nostalgia seekers turned out to be a small one, and business quickly dropped off — especially after we posted guards along the routes and harassed the tourists any way we could. They no longer come here, but they are still paying us the one billion dollars they guaranteed our government.”

This elicited a smile from Colonel Hourani, the only Syrian who spoke English.

“The best part,” Kim went on, “is that their hotel is now an army barracks, and their port is the home to a Najin-class Corvette.”

This time Hourani laughed aloud.

Two hours after leaving the airfield, the limousine finally descended the Kumgang Mountains and crossed the coastal plane, swinging around to the north of Wosan, and arrived at the outer perimeter fence for the Munch’on Naval Base.

Guards saluted the limo through the gate, and the car crawled across the facility, passing several impressive maintenance buildings and over a half mile of wharf space. Four sleek gray patrol craft were tied to the quay, and a single destroyer lay at anchor in the mile-square inner harbor, white smoke from its stack coiling into the night. The driver swung around a rail-mounted derrick and parked alongside a four-hundred-foot cargo ship at the end of the wharf.

“The Asia Star,” General Kim announced.

Colonel Hourani checked his watch. It was one in the morning. “And when do we sail?”

“The tides are mild here in Yonghung-man Bay so you can leave anytime. The ship is loaded, fueled, and provisioned.”

Hourani turned to one of his men and asked in Arabic, “What do you think?” He listened to the long reply, nodding several times, then turned back to the general, who sat opposite him in the limo. “Assad Muhammad is our technical expert on the Nodong-1 missile. He would like to take a look at them before we depart.”

Kim’s expression didn’t change, but it was clear he didn’t like the idea of a delay. “Surely you can accomplish your inspection at sea. I assure you that all ten missiles your country has purchased are aboard.”

“I’m afraid Assad does not do well on boats. He would prefer to inspect the missiles now, because he will likely spend the voyage in his cabin.”

“Odd that you would have such a man accompany the rockets back to Syria,” Kim said coolly.