Op-Center

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

Hood and his top aides were still in his office when the call came through from Rodgers. Hood put it on speaker and the others gathered around.

"Paul," said the Deputy Director, "I'm in the Nodong camp, using their radio through the TAC SAT up in the hills. South Koreans had taken over— we lost Bass Moore getting it back. Colonel Ki Soo here is being very cooperative… but he does not know the cancel code. The South Koreans changed it, and they're dead. We've got just over eight minutes until the things take off, headed for Tokyo."

"Not enough time to bring in planes from the South or North," Hood said.

"Exactly."

"Give me a minute," Hood said and punched up Matt Stoll on the computer. "Matty, bring up the file on the Nodongs. How do we stop them without a password?"

Stoll's face disappeared, replaced with the Nodong file. He scrolled through, past schematics and lists of specifics.

"Control circuits encased in two inches of steel to protect during launch… let me see. We've got three rows of numerals. The top row is a countdown clock. Middle row is the launch coordinates. The four numbers that allow you to change the target remain on display for one minute after inputting. That gives you a chance to change them before they lock in. After that, four numbers appear in the bottom row serving as a kind of double-lock system. You can't get to the middle numbers unless you input the bottom row first They leave after a minute too. So… all you have to do is set the first four numbers, the middle numbers, at zero-zero-zero-zero and they won't fire."

"But you need to get into the program to do that."

"Correct."

"And we don't have that second set of four numbers."

"In that case, you can't do anything. And to input every possible combination of four numbers from zero through nine would take—"

"I've got about seven minutes."

" — longer than that," Stoll said. Suddenly his voice brightened. "Hold on a second, Paul. I may have something."

The Nodong file disappeared, replaced with a photograph of the site.

"Give me a second," Stoll said.

Over the phone, Hood heard the keys of Stall's computer clicking. He looked at the countdown clock. He wanted to reach out and put his palms on the numbers, slow them down, give them more time to do this. Once again, to have come so far only to fail, for all those lives to have been wasted, was something you never found in the job description.

"Martha," Hood said while Stoll worked, "you'd better call Burkow at the White House. Brief him: the President may have to put in a call to Tokyo."

"Oh, they're both going to love that," Martha said as she walked to the door.

"I'll buzz you in your office when I have news," Hood said.

Bob Herbert said, "I have faith that somehow, the U.S. is going to end up getting blamed for everything that's happened today."

"Today's not over," Hood found himself pep-talking, refusing to allow himself to believe that the final gun had been fired.

Hood continued to watch the screen as the picture of the Nodongs was enlarged and enhanced. One of the missiles became larger by a factor of ten every five seconds.

"Damn, I'm good," Stoll said. "You see what we've got down there, Paul?"

"The Nodongs—"

"Yes, but this is the photograph I took when we came back on-line," Stoll said.

Hood learned forward. "You are brilliant, you son of a bitch." He examined the screen and frowned.

"Shit!"

They could read three of the four numbers in the bottom row: one, nine, eight. Whoever had programmed the numbers was blocking the last one on the right.

"My guess is the last number's an eight," Stoll said. "That's been a recurring theme today."

"Let's hope you're right," Hood said as he got back on the phone to Rodgers.

"Mike, you've got to program the missiles as follows: one-nine-eight-eight on the bottom row, zero-zero-zero-zero in the middle row. Repeat—"

"Nineteen eighty-eight on bottom, four zips in the center. Stay on the line."

"Don't worry," Hood said under his breath. "I'm not going anywhere."