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‘To translate. There aren’t many Mandarin speakers here. Most of the ultras regard your language as a symbol of foreign oppression.’

‘Okay.’

‘Just be very careful not to give any sign that you’ve met me before.’

‘Of course.’

They had hung up.

From the China–Korea border, Kai’s chopper was shadowed all the way by a Russian-made helicopter gunship, a model nicknamed the Crocodile for its menacing snout. It had a camouflage paint job but bore the roundel of the Korean People’s Army, Air and Anti-Air Force, a red five-pointed star inside a double circle in red and blue. The Korean aircraft kept at a safe distance and made no threatening manoeuvres.

Kai spent the time worrying over what he was going to say to General Pak. There were a hundred ways to phraseCan we make a deal?But which was the best for this occasion? Kai did not generally lack self-confidence – rather the reverse – but this meeting was exceptional. Never in his life had so much depended on his personal success or failure.

Each time he glimpsed the Crocodile he was reminded that he was taking a personal risk too. The rebels might decide to arrest him and put him in a cell and interrogate him. They could say he was a spy. Hewasa spy. But there was no point worrying about that now. He was committed.

Only he knew that he was ready to go beyond the simple finding of facts. He intended to negotiate with the rebels. He had no mandate, but they did not know that. And if he could strike a reasonable deal, he felt sure he could persuade President Chen to endorse it.

It was a risky strategy. But this was an emergency.

The helicopter approached Yeongjeo-dong along a narrow river in a wooded valley. Kai began to see evidence of the battle for control of the base four weeks ago: an aircraft crashed in a stream, a wrecked cottage, a burned stretch of forest. He heard his pilot talking to ground control.

As he descended towards the base, he saw that the ultras had put on a display for his benefit. Six intercontinental ballistic missiles, each more than seventy feet long, were perfectly lined up on their eleven-axle transporter-erector launch vehicles. Kai knew that they had a range of seven thousand miles – the distance from here to Washington DC. Each was armed with multiple nuclear warheads. The rebels were showing Kai their trump card.

Kai’s aircraft was directed to a helipad.

The small welcoming party was heavily armed, but the men relaxed when Kai got out empty-handed, wearing a suit and tie with an overcoat unbuttoned, evidently unarmed. All the same, he was thoroughly patted down before being escorted to a two-storey building that was undoubtedly headquarters. He noticed bullet holes in the brickwork.

He was shown into the commanding officer’s suite, a comfortless space with cheap furniture and a linoleum floor. Badly ventilated and poorly heated, it managed to be both cold and stuffy. Waiting to greet Kai were three men in the uniform of North Korean generals, complete with the oversize cap that always struck Kai as comical. A fourth general stood to one side, and Kai recognized Ham.

The middle one of the three stepped forward, introduced himself as Pak Jae-jin and named the others, then led the group into an inner office.

Pak took off his hat and sat behind a utilitarian desk with nothing on it but a phone. He waved Kai to a seat facing the desk. Ham took a chair in the corner and the other two stood behind the desk either side of Pak, framing him in authority. The rebel leader was a short, thin man of about forty with receding hair cut short, and he put Kai in mind of pictures of Napoleon in middle age.

Kai assumed Pak must be brave and smart, to have risen to the rank of general at a relatively young age. He guessed Pak would also be proud and touchy, sensitive to any suggestion that he was an upstart. The best approach would be to be as honest as possible while mildly flattering him.

Pak spoke in Korean, Kai in Mandarin, and Ham translated both ways.

Pak said: ‘Tell me why you’re here.’

‘You’re a soldier, you like to get straight to the point, so I’ll do the same,’ said Kai. ‘I’ll tell you the plain truth. The overwhelming priority of the Chinese government is that North Korea should not fall under American control.’

Pak looked indignant. ‘It should not fall under anyone’s control, except that of the Korean people.’

‘We agree,’ said Kai immediately, though it was not quite true. Beijing would prefer some kind of joint Chinese-Korean rule, at least for a time. But that detail could be left until later. He went on: ‘So the question is, how can we make that happen?’

Pak’s expression became disparaging. ‘It will happen without Chinese help,’ he said. ‘The regime in Pyongyang is on the point of collapse.’

‘Agreed, again. I’m glad we’re seeing the same picture. This is a hopeful sign.’

Pak waited in silence.

Kai said: ‘That brings us to the question of what will replace the government of the Supreme Leader.’

‘There is no question. It will be the Pak government.’

No false modesty here, then, Kai thought. But this was a front. If Pak had really believed he had no need of Chinese help then he would not have agreed to this meeting. Kai looked him in the eye and said simply: ‘Perhaps.’ Then he waited for the reaction.

There was a pause. Pak looked angry at first, and seemed about to protest. Then his face changed and he hid his ire. ‘Perhaps?’ he said. ‘What other possibility is there?’