Axis of Evil: Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction (The Lone Star Series Book 1)

by Bobby Akart

  He unconsciously caressed the folded leather pouch that rested in his lap as the Lincoln Town Car made its way through the security gates at the White House. His hands trembled slightly, but not out of nervousness, but rather, from becoming old. Very few people in Washington knew that Ambassador Lin was approaching eighty.

  A cold rain continued to fall outside, causing his view to be obscured by the rain-streaked windows. Not that it mattered, he’d come to the White House many times in his career to do battle. He’d learned the art to say the nastiest things in the nicest way, much to the chagrin of others. During his tenure, he’d always won these battles, even if his opponents didn’t realize it.

  As the car approached the final one hundred yards to the White House entrance, he managed a slight smile. China had been winning since that historic visit by President Richard Nixon in 1972. That seven-day trip ended twenty-five years of no communication or diplomatic ties between the two countries.

  Dubbed by Nixon to be the week that changed the world because of how it isolated the Soviet Union further geopolitically, it also opened up world markets to the Chinese. The result had been fifty years of economic dominance, which had built China into a communist superpower, dominating world trade with its exports, and manning one of the most powerful military machines on the planet.

  Ambassador Lin was proud to say that most of this success for China happened on his watch and was due to his unparalleled diplomatic skills.

  Despite his successes and an innate ability to read the American political tea leaves, he was puzzled by the scheduling of this meeting. Had it been a matter of import, he would not have been given five days advance notice.

  As the car pulled to a stop, Ambassador Lin fidgeted with his coat buttons and drew the collar tight around his neck. The cold, damp air didn’t suit the elderly gentleman, even for the brief time it took to enter the White House. Then again, it was the lack of knowledge concerning the subject matter that troubled him most, leaving a cold spot in his gut.

  He had no idea what the Americans were going to say, and how they were going to say it, so he readied himself for a variety of scenarios. Ambassador Lin had become a student of American protocol. Today’s meeting was a perfect example and was rich in tells, a poker term that described a player’s behavior or demeanor that gave off clues as to their intentions.

  The first such tell was the presence of President Harman, especially on a Saturday morning. He’d only met her once before, during a state visit by the Chinese president. Her presence today represented a disturbing twist in the normal diplomatic channels. Meeting with ambassadors was usually entrusted to the State Department.

  The second tell was the invitation itself. Ambassador Lin had been instructed to come alone. Under all circumstances, he would be accompanied by his deputy chief of mission. He made this his customary protocol to protect him from being misquoted to his superiors. In China, any traitorous activity would result in an instant recall and likely death. By their explicit instructions, the Americans were forcing him to come alone, which was within their right, but rarely exercised except under extreme circumstances.

  Finally, the tell was the choice of location. Protocol dictated a neutral location for diplomatic meetings, such as the Roosevelt Room, where a majority of the sessions took place. A meeting scheduled in the West Wing Lobby, located on the ground floor, indicated that the Americans were angry with your government. One could expect that to be a one-sided, brief conversation.

  Ambassador Lin entered into the warmth of the foyer and was escorted by Secret Service toward the Oval Office. This represented the third and easily the least common site for conferences. If the president wanted to ask for a favor of some magnitude, he’d call on the ambassador to meet in the Oval Office because it was seen as a rare privilege and a sign of respect.

  However, as Ambassador Lin surmised because he couldn’t think of any, there were no favors to be granted. Which led him to believe he was summoned alone to the Oval Office and a direct meeting with President Harman because she was very angry with China.

  Two topics ran through his mind—the brutal vote in the United Nations and North Korea’s upcoming missile test. He was prepared to respond to both matters. His instructions on the sanctions were clear. He was not to equivocate or concede any involvement in turning the other nations against the sanctions, which resulted in the landslide vote.

  With respect to North Korea, the answer would be the same as always. China was doing its best, but the DPRK was a sovereign nation with a will of its own. As he was led through the West Wing to the Oval Office, he thought of the final tell that would reveal the attitude of the Americans—the parties in attendance.

  If they were pleased with China and were looking for an important favor, he’d be greeted by the deputy Secretary of State for China affairs and the National Security Council officer assigned to China.

  As the door was opened for him, he was greeted by a young woman whom he’d never met. This concerned Ambassador Lin, but he steadied his nerves. It was a ploy, but it would not work on him.

  “Madame President, may I present Ambassador Ho Lin, ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary of the People’s Republic of China to the United States of America.”

  President Harman stepped forward and extended her hand. “Good evening, Ambassador Lin.”

  He reached forward and shook her hand. “I’m honored to be of service to you, Madame President, and naturally, I bring greetings on behalf of the government of the People’s Republic of China.”

  Several people were in attendance, but none of them would speak, per protocol. The president would be the sole voice of the United States on this day.

  “Ambassador Lin,” began President Harman, as she gestured for the older man to take a seat as she did. “I’d like to discuss the matter of the rumored launch by North Korea of another ICBM missile. I hope you agree that Kim Jong-un has crossed the line in the sand agreed upon between China and the United States many times.”

  “Madame President, our country is committed to placing all the pressure it can to prevent such hostilities by North Korea, but as we’ve stated, they are a sovereign nation and China can only do so much.”

  Ambassador Lin relaxed in his chair, although he continued to rub his hands across his black leather pouch. China was very much aware of the DPRK’s intended missile launch and had no intention of instructing Kim Jong-un to do otherwise. North Korea was a useful tool in keeping the United States at arm’s length from any potential attack on China. Further, a divided Korean Peninsula was preferred by Beijing, as opposed to a unified Korea under the control of Washington via its puppets in Seoul.

  “Mr. Ambassador, this upcoming launch has dire consequences for stability in the region,” said the president.

  “Madame President, although I have no knowledge of any proposed missile test, might I say that the prior tests by North Korea were conducted safely without incident or threat to life.”

  “Without incident, perhaps. But not necessarily without threat to life. These missile launches routinely pass over Japan, and that must stop.”

  “Yes, Madame President, of course I understand your position. Again, let me reiterate our position. North Korea is a sovereign nation, and China’s capabilities and influence are limited.”

  President Harman leaned forward and smiled. “I understand your position as well. We see two alternatives, then. Here’s our first proposal. We’d ask that you use your considerable influence over Kim Jong-un, which you so deftly downplay, to redirect his ICBM missile test in the direction of the South China Sea.”

  For the first time in Ambassador Lin’s diplomatic career, he managed a smile and a spontaneous laugh. He really didn’t know how to respond.

  President Harman continued. “Mr. Ambassador, I can see by your reaction that you consider my request foolish. Perhaps you think that I’m crazy to ask the People’s Republic of China to allow an ICBM test over its sovereign territory. I can
respect that, but I need you to relay this to Beijing. The days of talk are over. Japan will no longer tolerate intercontinental ballistic missiles flying over its citizens. The United States will no longer allow the DPRK to threaten our nation with nuclear annihilation while they launch ICBMs toward our shores. If China cannot fix this problem and convince Kim Jong-un to stop these tests, then efforts at diplomacy end right here, right now. I hope you understand my meaning, Mr. Ambassador.”

  Ambassador Lin stood in silence as President Harman’s words hung in the air of the Oval Office. He nodded to each of the attendees and then finally to President Harman. “I will relay your message to the president immediately upon my return to the embassy, Madame President. Thank you.”

  President Harman rose and shook the ambassador’s hand. “Thank you for coming. Please extend my warmest regards to President Jinping and the esteemed members of the politburo.”

  Chapter 32

  November 12

  35th Fighter Wing

  Misawa Air Force Base

  Japan

  It was day four after they’d received their orders and redeployed to a specially designated, secure compound at Misawa Air Force Base. The base was shared with elements of the Japan Air Self-Defense Force, which had occupied the area as a military stronghold since 1870 when it was established as a stud farm for the Japanese emperor’s cavalry. Although the bulk of the facilities were utilized by the U.S. Air Force’s 35th Fighter Wing, a secured, high-clearance complex was set aside for the 373rd Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance Group, or ISRG.

  The ISRG provided Misawa and the Pacific Command with strategic intelligence and real-time monitoring of operations within the theater. Today, ISRG was hosting the deputy director of the Korea Mission Center, a division of the CIA dedicated to dealing with Kim Jong-un and North Korea. He was conducting a private briefing with Duncan and Park.

  “Gentlemen, my name is Walter Campbell, deputy director of the Korea Mission Center. I’m meeting with you in private for a reason. Over the last four days, you’ve been expected to familiarize yourself with your insertion point, the timetable and locales of your mission, and your extraction. Do you feel adequately prepared for what’s about to be asked of you?”

  Park and Duncan looked at one another and shrugged. Duncan, who’d learned from his father to hold his tongue, resisted the urge to respond with, yeah, I can now go sightseeing in North Korea. Other than that, the answer is most likely no.

  “Yes, sir,” responded Duncan, appropriately. Campbell looked to Park, who nodded as well.

  “Gentlemen, in three days, our source within the DPRK has provided solid intelligence that the North Koreans will be launching an ICBM test at Kusong. Do you know where that is?”

  Duncan bristled at the unnecessary question meant to ferret out whether they were prepared. He and Park had studied and drilled one another on the geography and history of the region, including the importance of the DPRK’s military base at Kusong as an ICBM launch facility. He decided to throw it back at the condescending spook.

  “Forty degrees north, one hundred twenty-five degrees, ten minutes east is the location of the ICBM launchpad, which was constructed in 2014, July,” replied Duncan smugly.

  Campbell didn’t reply or acknowledge Duncan’s obvious snarky response. “At 8:00 a.m. local time on the fifteenth, the DPRK has scheduled a launch of an ICBM missile. Kim Jong-un will be there to observe. Your orders are to assassinate him while he is available in a semipublic setting.”

  Duncan leaned back in his chair and allowed the directive to sink in. Killing a member of the Kim dynasty of leaders in North Korea had always ended in failure and ruin for the assassins. The Kim regime and its predecessors had fought off challengers since the days of Japanese colonialism on the Korean Peninsula in the 1930s. When communist regimes were collapsing around the world in the 1990s, the Kims’ hold on power continued.

  Despite geopolitical challenges and lethal attacks from within and without, the Kim dynasty had always managed to dodge would-be assassins using their uncanny survival skills and an elaborate network of bodyguards, informants, and undercover secret police.

  “I’ve assumed this possibility,” said Duncan. “A direct assault on the capital, whether covert or via special ops, would be suicide. Even if we could breach the defenses of their 3rd Corps or 4th Corps, he and his family would have more than enough time to escape.”

  “Why don’t you just drop a bunch of missiles on his head using the B-1Bs flying up and down the coast?” asked Park.

  “Mr. Park, that would be considered an overt military act,” replied Campbell. “Your successful mission will provide Seoul and Washington plausible deniability. The agency has a disinformation campaign ready to make Kim’s assassination appear to come from his own people.”

  Duncan pulled out a map of the Kusong base and studied the aerial of the ICBM launchpad. “I’ve seen images in our materials provided by Langley of Kim Jong-un watching his missile tests. Do we have one specific to Kusong?”

  Park began thumbing through the images. He slid out an eight-by-ten image, which was provided by the North Korean state media. He pushed it into the center of the table.

  “This image was from last summer. It appears to be at the edge of some woods overlooking the launchpad.”

  The image depicted Kim Jong-un sitting at a table with his fingers clasped on top of a map. He was in a jovial mood, grinning from ear to ear with two of his senior level officials dressed in their black politburo suits, and five tickled-pink generals, all smiling for the camera.

  “We have to assume that this position is somewhere near the base facilities,” said Duncan. “If we can get a closer look at satellite recon images, we could pinpoint this spot.”

  Park pulled the picture back in front of him and pointed toward the mountain behind Kim. He then unfurled a large topography map of the Kusong area and laid it out for Duncan to see.

  “Let me find a ruler,” said Park.

  “Don’t bother,” started Duncan. “This will be close enough.”

  Duncan used a pencil and measured in increments against the scale of the map. “Two inches per quarter mile,” he mumbled. “This mountain range appears to be about a mile away, with plenty of elevation to take the shot.”

  “Are you accurate from a mile away?” asked Campbell.

  “I’ll need the right tools,” responded Duncan. “Can our British friends get me what I need?”

  “Most likely,” replied Campbell. “That doesn’t answer my question. Can you make the shot?”

  Duncan studied the image and the map again. He tapped his fingers on the pine trees and a dirt embankment behind the observation area. “There are always variables to contend with, including the fact that this location may be moved elsewhere around the launchpad. These pine trees pose a problem, as does this embankment. It’s something we’ll have to address when we’re on the ground there.”

  “What about the distance?” asked Campbell.

  “Park and I have successfully made longer shots. Thirty years ago, the thought of hitting a target at a mile or more was the stuff of legend. As the Barrett fifty-cal rifles became more sophisticated, and the optics more precise, even two-mile shots were attained. Out at the ranch, I could peg empty water barrels with my .308 at nearly a mile, but that required a lot of practice. In this case, hitting Kim from a mile or so will require the perfect combination of cartridge, rifle, optics, and accessories.”

  “And skill,” added Park. “You’ll have to pull this off using a never-seen-before rifle and a single well-placed shot. There won’t be any second chances, cowboy.”

  Campbell pulled out his phone and opened up his notes app. “Tell me your first and second choices of the tools you need, and we’ll get the message to MI6.”

  Duncan began to make some notes, and Park looked over his shoulder. He muttered a couple of suggestions, and Duncan incorporated them into the list. After a minute or two, Duncan’s li
st was complete, and he read it aloud.

  “First option is the Barrett assembly. Using the fifty-caliber Barrett cartridge, any of the bolt-action model rifles compatible with fifty-BMG such as Robar, Steyr, McMillan, or, of course, Barrett will do.

  “The second option is the .338 Lapua Mag cartridge. The Lapua is used by tactical law enforcement units in the States. My daddy’s Texas Ranger Company C had some dang fine shooters who could nail two-thousand-yard targets with their .338 rounds. If the Brits can rustle me up a Bushmaster chambered in the .338 Lapua, that would work well.”

  Campbell typed in the details and then looked up from his phone. “Will the optics choices be interchangeable between the two rifle platforms?”

  “Yes, because these rifles will have similar sixteen- to eighteen-inch rails for mounting scopes. I need a reticle with around 20X magnification. Anything larger is rough on the eyes and can mess with my adjustments. For a one-mile shot, I need a scope with a wide range of windage and elevation adjustments, especially for this time of year. We’ve been tracking the weather, and a front is moving in. If it arrives before we take the shot, it’s most likely gonna be a bust.”

  “Okay, give me some options,” said Campbell.

  “Leopold Mark 4, Nightforce NXS, and, um, Park, what’s that scope we used in Belarus?”

  “Horus. It’s spelled H-O-R-U-S, like hours, sort of, but pronounced ore-us. They’re based in Idaho and are great if we have wind issues.”

  Campbell made his notes, and then Duncan added a final item to the list. “Horus also offers a ballistic range system that would be a huge help. See if he can pick up their Vision Sighting System. We can input everything from atmospheric conditions to the size of the cartridge. I know that’s a big ask, but it could help us achieve success.”