“I’ve got it.” Symonds watched the missile’s growing smoke trail climb into the dull gray sky. Several seconds passed. She handed her binoculars to a nearby sailor. The missile was moving too fast to track through the glasses. It was easier to trace the smoke trail with her naked eye.

“Mach One achieved,” her executive said. “Vehicle attitude and flight path are as expected.”

Symonds’s head bent upward as the missile climbed higher.

“Captain, something’s wrong,” the executive said.

“What is it?”

“The flight path—it’s not right.”

“I’m on my way.”

Symonds bolted for the CIC.

What the hell was going on?

XICHANG SATELLITE LAUNCH CENTER

MISSILE EARLY WARNING FACILITY

PEOPLE’S LIBERATION ARMY ROCKET FORCE (PLARF)

XICHANG, SICHUAN, PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA

The steely-eyed People’s Liberation Army Rocket Force (PLARF) major stared at the satellite-tracking display, his face illuminated by the monitor’s amber glow. “First-stage separation completed. Two hundred and sixty-four kilometers and climbing.”

A PLARF captain seated at the adjoining console confirmed, adding, “Terminal velocity achieved, four thousand four hundred meters per second, and holding.”

A PLARF colonel stood above them, beaming. “Excellent!”

“Second-stage burn time, sixty seconds and counting,” the major said.

The small contingent of PLARF officers were clustered in a secured section of the civilian facility. They tried to contain their excitement. In less than a minute, the Americans were going to be very surprised.

The North Korean missile, misnamed by the Americans as the Pukkuksong-1, was performing exactly as designed. They should know.

They designed it.

In an adjacent room, a civilian engineer was also tracking the missile, avoiding the watchful gaze of the senior supervisor, a hard-line party official. The engineer lifted the receiver of his secured landline. He dialed a number, trying to hide his fear. The call he was making could land him in a secret PLA slave labor camp for the next twenty years—or worse. He let the phone ring exactly three times, then hung up.

He hoped the message got through. That call might have just cost him his life.

BUCKLEY AIR FORCE BASE, COLORADO

460TH SPACE WING

2ND SPACE WARNING SQUADRON (SWS)

The SBIRS GEO-3 infrared missile-warning satellite stood high in geosynchronous orbit over the Asian continent, monitoring the flight of the same North Korean rocket.

The SLBM’s trajectory and flight data displayed graphically in real time on the wide wall monitor in the SWS tracking facility, but in accordance with standard procedure, relevant data points were read aloud by the noncommissioned Air Force officers stationed in their specialized departments.

“Second-stage fuel burn complete.”

“Altitude four hundred miles.”

“We have warhead separation.”

The sergeant standing next to the commanding officer, a major, whispered aloud, “Hope it’s a dummy.”

The major ignored the comment. The sergeant was a real motormouth, especially when he was nervous. Of course it was a dummy warhead. This was a test launch, not a first strike.