The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2)

by Chester D. Campbell

  Burke nodded. Mossad officers used "Institute" the way some CIA people referred to Langley as the "Agency." The Israeli service's official name was the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations.

  Shallit explained there were a few things so highly classified they were never even put into the computers. But, of course, if they were recorded on paper, they had to be logged through the document registry system. An old Mossad colleague was in charge of the registry and handled one of these super-secret documents in the not too distant past. Quite by accident, he got a peek beyond the cover sheet. Curious, he read on. Shocked at what he read, he had worried over it for months and finally confided in Ben Shallit.

  "A lot of Israelis are not too happy about the trend of events and the way our government has handled them," Shallit said.

  "Are you referring to the new move toward negotiations with the Palestinians?" Burke asked.

  "As you know, the question of peace with the Arabs has been a sore spot with your government. The hardliners in Jerusalem claim you're in bed with the enemy as a result of the Gulf War and its aftermath. There has been much fear that the United States will curtail its aid to Israel."

  That brought Lori forward in her chair. "Israel has received more American aid than any other country since World War II," she said.

  "True, but your Congress seems determined to cut spending, and foreign aid could be next. Post-communism and unrest in the Middle East have changed the playing field. I'm sure you're aware of what happened in Israel recently. Our government moved to create new markets and new sources of cash by concluding a pact with the new regime in South Korea. According to the announced terms, we provide them with the latest in civilian and military technology; they give us economic assistance and heavy machinery."

  "Frankly, I was pretty surprised at it," Burke said, tilting his head to one side. "I thought the Koreans had chosen to be on the Arabs' side to keep the oil flowing."

  Shallit gave him an indulgent smile. "That was the case, previously. But with all the realignments taking place around the globe, world politics has an interesting way of reversing the old order. The Russians badly need spendable cash. And since their former clients in Eastern Europe are short of cash themselves, they signed a hard currency deal to sell oil to South Korea. That freed the Koreans to negotiate the agreement with Israel."

  Burke nodded. "From what I've heard, the new bunch in Seoul is highly nationalistic. No doubt that's why they wanted to forge new alliances outside the old American protective umbrella. They're apparently making lots of changes. I don't know how good a move it was, but Congress sure jumped for joy when they asked us to bring the rest of our troops home."

  "From what my friend saw," Shallit said, his gaze growing more intense, his voice lowered almost to a whisper, "I judge they don't want Americans around looking over their shoulders. The document he read was a highly secret addendum to the agreement between Israel and South Korea. Under its terms, we're providing the Koreans an initial supply of weapons grade uranium, plus a reprocessing plant to separate fissionable materials from spent uranium."

  Burke stared at him in disbelief. "The waste that comes from nuclear power plants?"

  "Yes. It would give them the ability to build weapons quickly, and on a sustained basis. We're also providing technology. The project was to begin immediately, with the highest priority. The secrecy surrounding it, of course, is absolute."

  Burke's eyes widened at the gravity of what he had just heard.

  Nuclear weapons for South Korea? Why would they want such weapons? They had America's nuclear arsenal behind them. The bombing death of North Korea's dictatorial leadership should eliminate the threat from that quarter. Initially, the President had been reluctant to completely withdraw U.S. forces from the peninsula, but the decimation in Pyongyang would likely convince him there was no longer any excuse for keeping American troops there.

  "Do you think Seoul will continue to pursue this after what happened in Pyongyang last night?"

  "Absolutely," Shallit said. "I called home just before coming here and learned that a Korean official concerned with nuclear affairs, a man who came to Jerusalem when the agreement was drawn up, is due back this week. Apparently things are moving on a fast track."

  "Damn! We sure don't need any more card carrying members of the Nuclear Club. We've had more than enough trouble with that in the Middle East." Burke shook his head in dismay. How could responsible leaders act so blindly, trading a questionable gain in their own security for an act that could threaten the rest of the world?

  "Agreed," said Shallit. "I've been wrestling with my conscience ever since I heard about this. I knew I had to do something to try and stop it. On the other hand, if it were to become publicly known, it could have very dire consequences for my own country. We have more than our share of problems as it is. News of something like this could make us an international pariah."

  "So you decided to get word to Kingsley Marshall and let him juggle the balls."

  Shallit glanced down as he rubbed his fingers together slowly, almost as if washing his hands of the affair. Then he looked back at Burke. "I thought I recognized you at the airport the other day. But I didn't make up my mind about this until I saw you over at the Hilton. Call me a follower of the prophets. I took it as a sign. If the Lord hadn't meant for me to tell you, He wouldn't have kept parading you in front of my eyes. I'm sure I don't need to say this, but if so much as a hint of what I'm doing were to get back to Israel, my wife would be an instant candidate for widowhood."

  Burke nodded. "Don't worry. We'll insist our source be protected above all else. I can't predict what the U.S. Government will do with this information, but I think it safe to say it will be treated with the utmost discretion."

  That was what he said, and that was what he hoped. But, privately, he was not all that certain. Some of the things that some of the poeple in the government had been known to do with highly sensitive information made him wonder. In this case, however, he would take it upon himself to insist in the strongest terms that Ben Shallit's neck not be put on the block. The information he shared was of such a critical nature it sent a shiver down Burke's spine. It was bad enough to contemplate countries like India and Pakistan possessing "the bomb." But a highly-aggressive, technologically advanced nation like South Korea, traditionally ruled by a dictatorial military. It would be extremely unsettling, to say the least.

  Back in their hotel room, Burke watched his wife undress slowly. They had skipped further plans for the evening and returned to the Duna-Intercontinental when Burke realized that Lori was wilting fast. When she reached back with some effort to unhook her bra, he stepped over to help.

  "May I be of service, madame?" he said, hoping a roguish note would lighten her mood.

  He kissed the back of her neck as she tossed the bra onto the bed, then reached his arms around to cup her warm, firm breasts in his hands.

  "Behave yourself," she said. "I'm a married woman. And great with child to boot."

  "Great with my children," he said.

  She removed his hands and turned slowly to glare at him. "I thought we settled this chauvinist thing a long time ago. You mean great with our children."

  "I stand corrected," he said, rolling his eyes upward. That had been a sore spot early in their relationship, a result of the generation gap that occasionally bedeviled them. He looked into her tired eyes. "I'd say right now you were one worn-out, liberated woman with child. I believe this day's been a bit too much for you."

  She put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's been an exciting and trying two days. I doubt that I'll be ready for anything like it for a good while." Then she pushed herself back and looked at Burke with a new concern. "Do you want me to check on changing our reservations, so you can get back to Washington?"

  "Don't be silly," he said, smiling. "You've waited too long for this trip. I'm not going to spoil it for you now."

  "But shouldn't you�
�"

  "I'll check in the morning and see if I can get a flight to Berlin. I can go to our office there and call Nate on the scrambler. He can pass the word on to the Director. I'm sure the White House will have to wrestle with this one."

  Nate Highsmith was the president of Worldwide Communications Consultants. After becoming a billionaire by age thirty in the rarefied atmosphere of Silicon Valley, he set up a foundation that studied public policy issues. Intrigued by an inside look at the intelligence establishment, he became a close friend of the CIA Director. That led to Kingsley Marshall's recommendation to the President that Highsmith head a company that would provide international public relations services while ferreting out information the CIA had difficulty obtaining.

  Lori plopped down in a chair near the bed. "Good thinking. I'm afraid my tired old brain is past rational consideration for one night."

  "Why don't you just lounge around and rest tomorrow. Then we'll take your gift to Grandma Szabo, and you can give me the grand tour of Budapest."

  He looked forward to the remainder of their vacation and saw no need to shorten it. The word he had to relay to Washington was deeply disturbing, but once he passed it on, his responsibility was ended. This was something that would have to be dealt with at the highest levels of the White House and Langley. It wouldn't be of official concern to Worldwide Communications Consultants. Or so he thought.

  Berlin, Germany

  Chapter 6

  It was around eleven when the flight from Frankfurt settled onto the runway at Berlin-Tegel, the airport nearest the downtown area where the Worldwide offices were located. It would be a more convenient location for Erich Detring, the Berlin manager, to meet him.

  "I understood you were on vacation in Hungary," said Detring with a sidelong glance as he swung his shiny blue Mercedes onto the Stadtautobahn. His studious look, short beard and horn-rimmed glasses made him appear more like a professor than a PR type.

  Burke squirmed about within the limited confines of the seat belt and shoulder harness. He rarely budged from an airline seat except on a very long flight, and he'd been strapped in about enough for one morning. "I am on vacation, Erich. I just left my bride in Budapest. This is a long-delayed honeymoon. Nate hooked me for this job right after we were married."

  Detring nodded his understanding. "Know all about that. I got shipped out the day after Jane and I were married. How is Lori? She should be pretty thoroughly pregnant by now. What is it, five months?"

  "Six. I left her lounging in bed after a room service breakfast."

  "So what brings you to Berlin? Must be something hot."

  Just turned forty-one, he was the son of German immigrants who had settled in New Jersey after fleeing the Nazis in 1941. "My dad felt right at home there," he'd told Burke at their first meeting. "Hell, we have public officials in New Jersey who could teach the Nazis a thing or two about corruption." Of course, to a member of the post-war generation, the Nazis were only history book figures or caricatures from his parents' memories. And the memories of that period were too painful for them to speak of often.

  "My reason for being here is hot enough that it's not for me to handle," Burke said. "I'll pass it along to the Chief on the scrambler. He can kick it upstairs." Highsmith was known as "the Chief" to those down the line.

  Detring squinched his nose so that his glasses seemed to bounce up and down before his face relaxed into a rueful grin. "You're a brave man, Charlie Brown. Jane would probably kick my ass all the way back to Jersey if I bugged out on her in the midst of a second honeymoon."

  Burke had no doubt of that. Jane Detring was an Army brat, a redhead with a fiery temper and a commanding presence, most likely inherited from her father, a recently retired three-star general. It was the general who had recommended his son-in-law, a former intelligence officer, to his old friend Nathaniel Highsmith.

  Burke shrugged. "Lori needed a rest today anyway. So what's new in Berlin?"

  "Our overt business is getting so damned good we may have to give up the covert stuff," he said with a smug look. "We've signed up two new clients in the last two weeks. A bank and a manufacturer who wants us to help with a product planned for the U.S. market."

  "That ought to keep us looking legitimate. But I hope you've got an equally glowing operational report from the Amber side ready for the Chief. What's the status of that Czech problem?"

  "I sent Blair to Prague yesterday," Detring said. "He's our TV expert. He's scouting out locations and background for a video on how small manufacturers are progressing under the new regime. He knows the territory."

  The company's covert operational side was known as the Amber Group, a name that came from the color of the folders used to hold its classified files. The Amber Group had been asked to look into how light antitank weapons similar to the U.S. Army's Viper managed to show up among terrorists trained in Libya. The LAWs, which could obliterate a car or a small structure from a distance of 300 meters, were the product of a Czech small arms manufacturer. The democratic government had previously given assurances that the company would not be involved in any shady dealings. Obviously, something had gone amiss.

  "Keep me posted," Burke said, gazing out at the tall buildings in the distance. "What do you do for excitement around here, Erich?"

  Detring shrugged. "I've been hitting the cocktail circuit lately to try and keep up with what's going on in the old DDR. Talk about excitement, these Germans really know how to throw a party. Of course, they do tend to get a bit out of hand at times."

  "Glad it's you and not me," Burke said. "I'm no good at small talk."

  Detring laughed. "I got used to it when I was a defense attaché. The embassy parties were a great source of gossip, some of it really useful."

  "Have you picked up any juicy tidbits on the Berlin cocktail scene?"

  "Afraid not. I did run into an interesting character last night, though. You remember reading about the 'Hanover Hacker' a few years ago?"

  "Sounds vaguely familiar. Hanover, Germany?"

  "Right. A guy named Hess. He was going through a satellite network into the States. He broke into a lot of university and military computer systems."

  "Yeah, now it rings a bell. Wasn't there a book about it?"

  "The Cuckoo's Egg, by a computer security expert who tracked him down. They found he was selling stuff to the KGB."

  Burke nodded. It was all coming back now. "Don't tell me you ran into him?"

  "Not hardly. He got off with probation and has stayed out of sight. This guy was a friend of his from Hanover. He told me another hacker there recently tried the same trick just to see if it would still work. Want to guess what happened?"

  Burke gave him a pained frown. "Don't tell me—"

  "It worked. He got into some university laboratories and a military base before he got scared and signed off. Would you believe that? After all the talk about computer security, people are still too lazy or careless to use proper procedures."

  "I'd better make a note to warn our people when I get back," Burke said.

  He had a pretty good idea of what was involved, since he had been forced to acquire a basic knowledge of computers when he took the Worldwide job. His background in mathematics had helped.

  Near the end of the Ku'damm, Detring turned onto a side street, then swung into the garage beneath the building where Worldwide's offices were located. They took an elevator up to the top floor, which afforded an excellent view of the commercial and shopping complex called the Eruopa-Centre and the adjacent Zoologisher Garten, Berlin's midtown zoo. It was only Burke's third visit here, the first coming at the time of the office's grand opening. He spent a few minutes meeting and greeting some of the new people, Germans who had been carefully screened and thoroughly vetted before being hired. Then, having fulfilled the mandatory back-patting chores required of a home office executive, he borrowed Erich Detring's desk to use the scrambler. Before leaving him to his call, Detring switched on a small, highly-sensitive frequency sw
eeping device to assure Burke that the office was free of eavesdropping bugs.

  Glancing at his watch, Burke saw it was still early in Washington. But Nathaniel Highsmith was one of those early-rising, early-on-the-job men who had everything organized and rolling by the time the normal business day started. When Highsmith came on the phone, Burke got the same reaction he had experienced with Detring.

  "What the devil are you doing calling from the office in Berlin?" Nate asked in his animated, booming voice. "You're supposed to be taking it easy, vacationing in Budapest."

  "True," Burke said in his usual relaxed manner. "But things got a bit out of hand yesterday."

  "What do you mean out of hand?"

  "I was approached by an ex-Mossad officer I'd met in Tel Aviv during the Jabberwock investigation. He wanted me to relay a message to Kingsley Marshall."

  "Wanted you?" Nate asked. "Why you? Does he know anything?"

  "Not about the Amber Group. He saw Lori and me having lunch at the Hilton. He was there for a convention. I'm sure it was strictly accidental."

  He explained the circumstances of the meeting and then told Nate about the secret addendum to the Israeli-South Korean agreement.

  "Damn!" Nate's voice burst over the line. "It sounds like Israel is handing them a bomb on a silver platter. What the hell does South Korea need a bomb for? Particularly after what happened in Pyongyang."

  "My thoughts exactly."

  "You're prepared to vouch for this guy?"

  "Cam Quinn believed in him implicitly. He gave me the right answer on Jabberwock."

  "All right. If you're convinced."

  "There's one other thing, Nate. We promised him, practically on a blood oath, to protect his identity. If the Mossad finds out about this, he's a dead man."

  "Not to worry. I'll take it straight to Kingsley. I'm sure he'll go directly to General Thatcher or the President. They won't want to ruffle any feathers in the Middle East until we know a hell of a lot more about what this means."