“I was just about to have dinner with my wife,” Fujima told him. “And this is an unsecured line.”

“I know that, Mr. Fujima,” Hood replied. “So I hope you will understand when I tell you that materials are missing from your backyard. Materials that should have been left at the 130-5 site.”

“I see,” Fujima said. Hood was referring to radioactive waste. Suddenly, dinner did not seem so important. Fujima used his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear while he lit another cigarette. “Please go on, Mr. Hood,” he said as he drew hard on it.

“We are looking for it with the help of Singapore and Australia,” Hood went on. “But someone is watching us. They’re using a Chinese satellite, and we don’t believe it is the Chinese. We think it may be the traffickers. We need to know who might have access to that platform. I thought you might be able to get that information.”

“I can tell you that right now,” Fujima said. “South Korea conducts naval maneuvers in that region. North Korea has full access to three satellites in the region. The satellite you’re interested in is called the Fong Sai.”

“Who would run that operation for the North Koreans?” Hood asked.

Fujima heard his daughter yelling from behind. “Father, my phone! That man had the operator break in!”

Fujima covered the mouthpiece. “A moment, Keiko,” he said. He returned to Hood. “The man you want is Colonel Kim Hwan of the North Korean Reconnaissance Bureau. He’s a very low-profile fellow.”

“Do you have any contact information for him?” Hood asked.

“We have his office telephone and E-mail,” Fujima said. “I’m sure you have that on file.”

“If not, I’ll let you know,” Hood said.

“Is there anything we can do?” Fujima asked.

“Not at the moment, thank you,” Hood said. “We have people on the scene and more en route. If anything happens, we’ll talk again.”

“You had best use my home phone,” Fujima said. He gave Hood the unpublished number. “It will help to keep peace here. You have a teenage daughter, as I recall.”

“I do,” Hood said. “Go and have your dinner. Again, I’m sorry to have interrupted.”

“Not at all,” Fujima said.

The intelligence officer clicked off the phone and returned it to his daughter. The young woman hit Redial and disappeared into her room. She closed the door with her foot. Fujima shook his head and ran a hand through his short black hair. It was damp with sweat. Anxiety never showed in his stoic expression, his dark eyes, his strong mouth. When he was worried, he perspired.