“What’s so interesting about Lily’s collar?”
“Not the collar – the dog tag. I’ll let you know in a minute.” Carl pursed his lips, wiggling the screwdriver back and forth. Finally he succeeded in wedging the sharp point of the screwdriver into an almost imperceptible line that circled the outer edge of the disk. With a twist of the screwdriver, he popped the two halves apart.
“Aha! Now what have we here?”
Probing carefully with the screwdriver, Carl found that the tag had a chamber inside containing what looked very much like the workings of a digital watch, complete with battery. He also saw that the back cover of the tag was an extremely thin disk of metal – just like the diaphragm you would find in a telephone. Stuck to the middle of the side facing inwards was a small metal and plastic structure, which was connected to the electronic device by a thin wire.
George had joined Marla now at Carl’s elbow, and was watching intently. “Marla, do you know where that name tag came from?”
Marla picked up the collar, noting the fancy tooling and red lacing that ornamented it.
“It must have been a gift from Mrs. Foomjoy, across the hall. My grandmother would never have bought something this gaudy, and gosh knows my father wouldn’t have spent a nickel on anything for Lily he didn’t have to.”
“That’s that, then,” George said, beginning to repack his equipment case. “We’ve got our hacker.”
“But how? And what’s that electronic thing inside Lily’s tag?”
“Wireless microphone and transmitter,” Carl answered, as he reassembled the tiny device. “With an antenna and battery that small, it couldn’t have much range. So all roads lead to the apartment across the hall.”
* * *
President Rawlings scanned the faces around the table as he entered the Situation Room. Yes, the core members of the National Security Council were already seated. He nodded to all as he sat down and got down to business.
“General Hayes, thank you for joining us again. Please bring us up to date.”
“Of course, Mr. President.” General Hayes stepped to the easel in the corner of the room. No one to flip charts for him this time; today’s event was for the inner circle only.
Hayes reached into the large portfolio leaning against the wall and pulled out a wide aerial photo. The title at the top read “Demilitarized Zone plus 30 Kilometers North.” A zigzagging double red line crossed the bottom of the image, and above it, dozens of triangles, circles and squares had been applied. Some of the geometric shapes were red, others black.
“The purpose of this first satellite image is to show changes in troop deployments along the DMZ over the past five days. The black symbols mark the previous positions of significant North Korean forces. The more numerous red ones indicate North Korean positions as of 1800 local time today. The meanings of the symbols are as follows: each triangle represents one full division, each square represents one tank corps, and each circle represents one air combat wing.
“Two changes are immediately apparent: not only are there significantly more forces of each type now within thirty kilometers of the DMZ than five days ago, but they are also much closer to the line. The only forces of any magnitude not within three kilometers of the 38th parallel are positioned to guard known North Korean command and control positions. Not shown but included in your briefing package are the locations of numerous missile and anti-aircraft batteries that have been repositioned to the front lines.”
The General placed another photo on top of the first.
“In this version of the same photo we have removed the black symbols, and added a new set of markings in green. As you will note, these symbols are grouped in wedges. Each wedge is pointed at one of the areas of greatest troop concentration indicated in red. These green symbols represent divisions of the Red Guard.”
“Good God, General,” the Vice President interjected. “If those symbols indicate divisions, there must be over a million Red Guards within a few miles of the DMZ!”
“Actually, sir, we calculate the number to be closer to 1,250,000. They’ve been pouring into the area every night for the past three days, and continue to do so.”
There was a stunned silence. The President spoke at last. “General, is there any precedent for a troop concentration of this size along the DMZ?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. While it’s true that the game plan is familiar, the magnitude and composition of the forces massing just over the border are unprecedented. In particular, we have never seen such a concentration of Red Guards along the DMZ, or indeed anywhere, since the truce was signed over fifty years ago.”
“And what is the status of the two new, long-range missiles we have been watching?”
“Sir, we assume that they are now fully operational, except for loading liquid fuel. We have not yet detected any lox venting from the missiles, so we assume that fueling has not yet commenced.”
“Thank you, General, you may be seated. I expect we will have additional questions, but you’ve already adequately illustrated the reason I’ve convened this meeting.”
Hayes retreated to his seat, grateful to be only a spectator of the decision making to follow.
The President spoke again, this time to the Council. Hayes thought that his voice had suddenly become a bit unsteady.
“As you can see, we are faced with a fast-evolving situation without parallel since the Cuban Missile Crisis. And I draw that comparison advisedly. As you know, a disaster of unimaginable consequences was averted back then only by the calm judgment displayed by President Kennedy and his most trusted advisors. As we discuss our next moves, I would like each of you to keep their example in mind.”
As the Secretary of State spoke up to support the President, Hayes discretely scanned the faces around the table, trying to gauge their reaction to the President’s statement. There seemed to be two camps: those that seemed relieved to hear the President’s words, and those with frowns on their faces. The darkest frown of all was on the face of the Vice President.
No surprise there, Hayes reflected. Henry Chaseman was as extreme a hawk as you were likely to find, and as strange a running mate match from that perspective for the dovish president as one could imagine. Moreover, Chaseman and Rawlings had become bitter rivals during the year running up to the primaries, badly splitting the party in the process. Only with great difficulty, after Rawlings had sewn up the nomination for the top spot, had party elders persuaded him to invite his rival to become his running mate in an attempt to reunite the party. Not that it made much difference to the two men involved. It was an open secret on the Hill that there had been no real reconciliation between them. No one doubted that the inevitable impotence of being Vice President chafed at Chaseman’s ego mightily.
Hayes turned to listen to the Secretary of State. But as soon as she was done, the Vice President jumped in.
“I’m sorry, Mr. President, but I must emphatically disagree. Of course it’s politically correct to talk about what great judgment Jack Kennedy showed back in 1962, but that’s only because we don’t know how things would have turned out if he’d given General LeMay permission to launch a preemptive strike – or even simply led the Russians to believe he intended to.
“At that time, we had the Soviet Union out-nuked three to one, and they knew it. They weren’t attacking us – they were testing us. Now think what the world could have been like if we’d drawn a line in the sand instead of playing cat-and-mouse at sea. We could have forced the Russians to the table to disarm them then and there, and saved twenty five years of Cold War uncertainty and sacrifice. We might even have avoided the Vietnam war.”
Hayes saw that while some advisors looked uneasy, others were listening to the Vice President with approval.
“I say this is the time to call North Korea’s bluff. What are we waiting for? For Jong Kim-Lo or his son to build twenty-five more nukes and then try a stunt like this again? We all know our missile defense system is crap. We’d be
lucky to knock one out of three of their missiles out of the air if they ever launched a real attack. Is that what we’re waiting for?
“And even if I conceded to you your point about the Cuban Missile Crisis, there’s no way we can have any kind of semi-rational negotiation with these lunatic North Koreans. Kennedy had Khrushchev to exchange signals with, but we’re stuck with Jong Kim-Lo – or whatever other maniac is really running the show over there right now.”
The Secretary of State broke in. “But what about the missiles? We already know North Korea has successfully tested atomic bombs. What if they have been able to make them small enough to deliver with these missiles?”
Chaseman shot back: “And what if they haven’t? Should we wait until they have, or act now while we can?
“But let’s say that I concede this point as well,” he continued, “Why should we think the North will have any better luck with these new missiles than they’ve had with their old ones? The only question in my mind is whether they’ll make it off the launch pad without exploding.
“But mark my words – we can’t rely on their poor engineering skills to protect us forever. Soon enough, the North Koreans will get the bugs out, and then what? How long will it be before they have dozens of capable, nuclear-tipped intercontinental missiles pointed at us? One year? Two?”
No one responded, so Chaseman pressed his attack.
“So I say the hell with moderation! I say it’s time to strike back, and strike back decisively while we can still afford to do so. If Jong Kim-Lo fires those missiles at us, I say we fire ours right back, missile for missile.”
Chaseman paused a moment for effect, and then added quietly but decisively, “And I say we arm ours with nuclear warheads as well.”
There was a gasp from more than one member of the Council. The Secretary of State spoke first.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious! The only reason we’ve never had to use nukes since 1945 is because we used them back then. Unfortunately, it seems like the lesson is getting stale. Maybe it takes a mushroom cloud in the news every fifty or sixty years to keep madmen like the North Koreans and the Iranians in line. And I’d a damn sight rather see that mushroom cloud over Pyongyang than Washington!”
With that, Chaseman folded his arms and leaned back.
Hayes saw that the Vice President’s forceful logic had connected with many of his listeners. Like the rest, he turned to hear what the President would say in response.
But Rawlings said nothing, because even as they watched, the President of the United States began slumping slowly down into his chair, his mouth slightly open, and his eyes staring blankly into space.
* * *
26
Just a Simple Walk in the Woods
Two can play the same game, Baldwin thought with a smile. Maybe this inter-agency database has something going for it after all.
“Do we have any equipment within range of Eureka, Nevada?” the CIA Director spoke into his intercom.
“Yes, sir. We’ve got units at our New Mexico test facility. We can send them in above commercial air traffic and then give you approximately five hours over target.”
“That will be more than I’ll need. I want two ready to go as soon as you can: one for the mission, and the second as backup. Can you get me on target by first light tomorrow?”
There was a pause this time. Baldwin heard computer keys clicking softly in the background.
“Not quite, sir. But I think I can guarantee target video a few minutes after sunrise.”
“That will do. I’ll also want a real time voice link to the remote pilot. And be sure I’ve got the video link at least fifteen minutes before arrival.”
“Yes, sir. That should be about 9:55 your time. Will anyone else need access besides you and the pilot, sir?”
“No. Make sure no one else has privileges. And be sure the archival footage is coded for my eyes only as well. Thanks.” Baldwin all but turned off the intercom with a flourish. It felt good to be directly managing a field operation again. Just like the old days.
* * *
FBI agent Ralph Johnson was jolting his way up a Jeep track winding its way up an anonymous Nevada mountain ridge. Next to him, another agent held a large satellite photo in his lap. Whenever the track forked, he compared it to the topographic map displaying on the GPS unit on the four wheel drive vehicle’s dashboard and called the turn.
“So how much further, Jeff?”
“Half mile – maybe less. He should be somewhere in that pass you see ahead and to the right.”
“Okay. This would have been a whole lot easier if we could have had Bart Thatcher on board. Guy knows this terrain like the back of his hand. But I couldn’t get through to him.”
“Who’s Thatcher?”
“Retired agent that hangs out in Rachel.”
“Rachel? The hick town north of Area 51? Why the hell would anyone want to retire to Rachel?”
“Well, he’s not married; not sure if he ever was. Probably likes to hunt. Plus, we pay him to keep his ear to the ground. It’s not easy telling the UFO crazies from the people we seriously want to keep out of Area 51, and after a career in the field he’s got a knack for that.
“He’s kind of a strange old guy, too, which is just as well – he blends right in with the type of loners and odd balls you’d expect to end up in a God forsaken place like Rachel. And it’s easy money for him, since there’s only one place in town to rent a room or eat. All he has to do is drop by for a beer every night like he probably would anyway and chat up whoever is new in town. If he ties up with someone we might want to know about, he lets us know and keeps an eye on them for us.”
“Well, better him than me. I’ll stick with Vegas.”
“Maybe that’s where he is – blowing off some steam. Anyway, let’s walk from here so we can check things out before this guy sees us.”
The plan was no more complicated than the situation demanded. They would pose as bow hunters, and their baggy camouflage clothes would conceal their Kevlar vests and side arms. They wouldn’t look particularly threatening arriving on foot, and the huge pines would still provide plenty of cover to duck behind if things got tricky.
Likely enough all they’d have to do would be to knock on the camper door, and then handcuff Frank before he knew what had hit him. Adversego’s file didn’t indicate any violent tendencies, or that he owned a gun, or even knew how to use one, for that matter. They had checked back through the half dozen satellite photos that happened to have been taken of the area over the last two months, and had found no evidence that more than one person had been in the clearing since Frank had arrived. How hard could this be?
Walking through the widely spaced pines, it became obvious that the only way they wouldn’t be seen from a distance would be if Frank just wasn’t keeping a watch out for strangers. But then again, why would he be? Odds were, he hadn’t seen a soul since he arrived on the scene. Soon, they caught a glimpse of a white truck ahead, with what appeared to be broad, blue wings spreading out from its roof. They stopped and pulled out their binoculars.
“Geez, will you look at that?” the younger man asked. “What kind of crazy crap does he have on top of that thing?”
“Solar arrays. We saw them in the satellite photos. Makes sense, given how long he’s been up here. But it looks like he could fly to the moon with that many, doesn’t it?” There wasn’t much else besides the camper to be seen in the clearing – just a folding chair and a fire ring.
Ralph returned his binoculars to their case, and started moving. “So that’s that. Let’s walk straight up to the camper like we’re lost and need directions.”
They started walking again, trying to carry their compound bows in a way that looked natural but could be easily seen from a distance. About 75 yards from the camper, the solar arrays began to slowly rotate. A minute later, they stopped at right angles to the two agents; they stopped, too.
“Now wha
t’s that all about?” Jeff asked uneasily.
“I dunno, but let’s start walking again. Act natural and keep talking to me like we’re chatting about nothing in particular.”
But they had only gone a few steps before the array went into motion once again, this time swiveling its thirty feet of solar panels from horizontal to vertical, until they faced the agents broadside. Ralph and Jeff stopped once again.
“Ralph, I don’t know about you, but this is creeping me out. What the hell is he up to?”
“I don’t know, but we’ve got a job to do. Get walking.” But only two steps later, the camper’s engine roared threateningly to life.
Once more they stood stock still, watching as the camper began to slowly turn until it was pointing straight at them, the solar array remaining pointed at them all the while. The younger man felt like a first-time toreador in a bullfighting ring, watching his nemesis pawing the dust before mowing him down.
And now, a rhythmically repetitive, vaguely unsettling symphonic work began to play from speakers on the camper that they had not noticed before.
“Shit! What’s he planning to do, run us down?”
“Easy, Jeff. It looks like he only raises the ante when we move closer, so let’s just stand here for a minute.”
“Hello!” Ralph called out. The headlights of the camper flashed on, but there was no other reply.
The agents exchanged tense glances, and then Ralph yelled again. “Say – can you tell us where we are? We’re lost.” The emergency lights on the camper began flashing angrily.
The men stepped backwards involuntarily. “Shhhh!” Jeff hissed at his boss. “I think you’re just making him mad.”
But how could they tell? Adversego had propped one of those shiny silver reflectors up against the windshield that people use to keep the sun from heating up a vehicle’s interior. Or was it bullet-proof armor? Jeff wondered. A slit about two inches high and ten inches wide pierced whatever it was right where the driver’s eyes should be, but even with their binoculars the agents couldn’t see through into the darkened interior.
The Alexandria Project: A Tale of Treachery and Technology (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 1) Page 23