by Norton, Doug
The race doesn’t necessarily go to the swiftest. He smiled at his play on words, then dozed.
Chapter 31
Beijing
Rick’s temples screamed as if being squeezed by the tongs he used as a teenager working summers in the ice-making plant at Easton. His proposal that the five nations impose a quarantine on North Korea had been received coolly—by closed minds—with South Korean and Russian doubts that Paternity’s evidence was sufficient. Japan’s Premier Kato supported him strongly, and cleverly, too. Rick was grateful—as Kato had intended, the president wryly acknowledged.
Martin let his gaze rove the room as Ming Liu, their host and honorary chairman, spoke. Ming, whose face was dominated by a broad nose and topped by a thick head of perfectly controlled hair, fidgeted with his earphone, a bit uncomfortable but essential for a meeting conducted in five languages.
A plastic flower arrangement sat at the center of the large, circular table. It contained five tulips, each a different color, and at the moment four were lit. Each lighted tulip signaled that a translation was in progress. Observing them, a speaker could tell when the translation of his words was complete. It was an odd but useful device that had been a fixture in the talks with and about North Korea for years.
President Ming smiled like a beneficent teacher as he completed his opening statement, his teeth showing nicotine stains.
“Even from our brief discussion so far it is clear that this is a complex situation requiring careful study. We must not rush into something heedlessly. President Martin, we all offer our sympathetic support to the people of the United States in this difficult and distressing situation. We have a range of views on the table. China is not at odds with any of them. No nation knows better than China how, um, troublesome Comrade Kim can be at times. Still, we feel a great deal of fraternal unity with the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. This is a unity born of our common belief in communism as the best organizing principle of society and of the personal bonds between our two peoples, who together gave much of their blood to ensure the independent existence of the DPRK.”
OK, I know where this is going, thought Rick. This group is deadlocked, two to two, and Ming’s going to cast the swing vote. But not until he’s demonstrated that I can’t succeed without his support.
As he spoke, Ming’s mind probed for Martin’s. So, Rick Martin, do you feel my hand squeezing your balls? Of course you do. You know I’ve got you, that you cannot emerge from this meeting with what you need unless I grant it.
“It is a profound thing, President Martin, that you come here asking us to do, to join the United States in removing the leader of a sovereign nation. If that were not weighty enough, the leader you would have us remove has nuclear weapons. And your proposed quarantine is actually a blockade and as such is an act of war.
“You assert that the DPRK attacked the United States, destroying Las Vegas with a nuclear bomb. As proof of your assertion you offer a scientific analysis of bomb debris compared to nuclear material you tell us came from Yongbyon. China does not dispute the possibility that such an analysis could be accurate. Like America and the Soviet Union, China has made considerable use of such analyses in the past, and we understand that a great deal can be determined by analysis of fallout. But you are asking us—and indeed the world—to accept the United States’ assurance that the comparison sample is indeed from Yongbyon. All hinges on that. You will, I’m sure, not take offense when I say we must consider this most carefully.”
With an expression that perfectly suited a cat playing with a mouse, Ming continued: “Well, this has been a most useful opening session. I thank you all for your candid and helpful statements, each illuminating the situation faced by the United States from a different perspective, perspectives that I’m sure President Martin appreciates and will consider most carefully.
“The morning has flown; unless there are objections, I propose we adjourn for lunch.”
Ming looked at Martin challengingly and, hearing nothing, nodded and pushed back from the table.
In a large, airy room well provisioned with drinks and finger foods, the delegations swirled like schools of fish, now intermingling, now separating. The conversations in five languages were an interpreter’s nightmare, with those harassed individuals constantly scanning to see where they were needed and hustling to position themselves. President Ming, ever the genial host, worked the room. Approaching the Americans, who were in conversation with the Russians, Ming caught Martin’s eye and pointed aside with his chin. Martin took his leave and joined him, trailed by his Chinese interpreter and his Secret Service agent, Wilson.
“May we talk for a moment in private, Mr. President?”
“Of course, President Ming, and please call me Rick.”
Ming ushered Martin to a door and opened it. Following Ming into the room, Martin saw two men whose backs were turned. One wore khaki trousers and jacket; the other, a dark suit. At the sound of their entrance the two men turned.
Martin felt shock so profound he nearly stumbled—the man in khaki was Kim Jong-il.
Kim smiled and strode confidently toward Martin, who stood as if rooted. Ming spoke through his interpreter: “I thought it would be helpful if you two met.” Ming gave Martin an avuncular pat on the shoulder; then he and his interpreter left the room.
Rick’s brain exploded: Jesus! Here I am with this guy, and there’s no Korean interpreter except his. It’s now on record that we’ve met and talked, and there are no bilingual witnesses but his guy. Kim or Ming can later announce whatever they want about our discussion, and there’s only my word to contradict them. Maybe I should just leave the room . . . no, then Kim would figure I’m unwilling to listen; it might prevent a dialogue that could lead him to step down.
Ming, you bastard!
Suddenly Kim was in front of him, holding out his hand, smiling face masked by those trademark sunglasses. Reflexively, Martin took Kim’s hand and then almost jerked free as he wondered whether he should take the hand of someone who had recently killed about eighty thousand people. Martin was rattled, speechless. His interpreter was not and took out a notepad. Seeing that matter-of-fact action helped Rick get a grip.
Kim acted as if this were a normal first meeting between heads of state. He spoke and paused for his interpreter.
“Good afternoon, President Martin. I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m quite delighted to meet a serving American president, at last. This has been my wish for twenty years.”
Martin’s ability to begin speaking before he had decided what to say—sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse—kicked in.
“Mr. Kim, this is a surprise . . . I’m not sure how you wish to be addressed.”
“Oh, Kim will do.”
Finding his feet, Martin bored in.
“Kim, why did you do it? Why did you bomb Las Vegas?”
“I did not, Mr. President. You have made a very great mistake by accusing my dear people and me of attacking you.”
“Kim, we have proof that the bomb was North Korean.”
“No, you have only brazen lies! You concocted a so-called Yongbyon sample, making it match your sample from Las Vegas.”
Martin’s jaw dropped, then snapped closed, seeming to catapult his words. “Kim, I believe you and your regime are responsible and I am going to act on that belief! The United States and the other nations meeting here today will not allow you to continue to rule North Korea, nor will we allow North Korea to keep its nuclear weapons.”
Like the governor that keeps an engine from over-speeding, a voice spoke in Martin’s head: Watch it! You’re getting angry. Don’t let him turn this into a chest-thumping contest. You mustn’t let yourself care whether or not you face him down or what he thinks of you. The goal is a nuclear-free Korea ruled by someone less dangerous than Kim. Focus on that.
Kim adopted a pained expression. “Mr. President, my dear people depend on me. They would be lost without me. It would be very difficult to leave them
.
“We need not quarrel, Mr. President. The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea wants only to be the friend and ally of the United States. For many years I have tried to reach an agreement of mutual respect and nonaggression. Each of your predecessors ignored my offers.
“I am a patient man, and despite your false accusations I bear you no ill will. Eventually you will discover that a regrettable error was made by your scientists. I’m sure our countries can then reach an agreement.”
Holding a hand out, palm up, Martin said, “Kim, I share your concerns for your dear people. It is possible that they would, regrettably, be harmed if you refuse to step aside. Thinking of them, I ask you to consider this: Many Americans want me to order a nuclear strike on your country. Of those who oppose such a drastic measure, most believe you must give up power, if not by agreement then by economic and military force. We bear your dear people no ill will and will help them with trade and support for economic development after you leave and the country is nuclear free. But they will suffer if we are forced to compel you to go.”
Casually, Kim removed his sunglasses and held them out. His interpreter took them.
Kim erupted in agitated, impassioned speech. “Mr. President Rick Martin, you are disrespectful to the people of Korea and to me! My patience has limits. You speak to me without sincerity, without honesty, and without respect! We will not accept this!”
His guttural words continued, incomprehensible to Martin, lava from Kim’s depths. Kim’s interpreter paddled valiantly in the torrent of Korean, trying not to get swamped by the fiercely swirling words.
He sounds like President Gwon, exploding because he feels disrespected! But what else could I say to him? Rick stepped back, stomach stabbing, sweat popping at his hairline.
Taking a step forward, Kim said, “We demand you respect us! You do not have the power to bend us to your will. If you attack us in any way, we will turn Seoul into a lake of fire! We will make Japan a radioactive wasteland! We will kill your invading soldiers in such number that their bodies will pile as high as Mount Baekdu!”
Kim’s face distorted. His eyes narrowed and their obsidian pupils glared at Martin, who was unable to banish the thought that this was like watching Jack Nicholson play one of his manic characters.
Wilson, who usually tuned out the president’s conversations, felt Kim’s hostility and went on the alert, planning what he would do if the man laid hands on Martin.
Gathering himself, Martin started to speak, but Kim hurtled on, fists clenched at his sides: “And do not think those you are with today will help you, Rick Martin! I have been listening. Gwon and Kato will not help you; they do not dare face my people’s weapons. Ming and Volkov will not either! China needs my leadership of Korea and the Russians hate you and want you to fail.”
Rick was hypnotized by the utter chaos and pure hate in Kim’s eyes, which seemed to attack his soul.
“No, I do not fear either your diplomatic efforts or your nuclear missiles!” Spittle sprayed. “Your people recently tasted nuclear destruction. The Japanese people remember their suffering. Neither will risk another bath in atomic fire, a bath that I promise them if you threaten—”
Ming reentered the room and Kim stopped in mid-sentence. An eerie calm settled across his face. He held out his hand to Martin, who ignored it. Pausing for a beat with hand outstretched, Kim said, in passable English, “A pleasure, Mr. President,” and stepped toward Ming.
“Thank you for arranging this meeting, President Ming. It was most productive.”
Ming nodded, grasped Martin’s elbow, and guided him out of the room.
Ming halted apart from the others in the reception room and spoke quietly through Martin’s interpreter. “Rick, I know you are angry with me, but I have done you a favor. I have given you an opportunity to take the measure of Kim in private so that you will know who you are dealing with. When your anger fades, you will appreciate that, I’m sure.”
Martin, tight-lipped, nodded.
“I leave it to you whether to mention this to the others.” Ming shook Martin’s hand with a smile and ambled off toward the South Koreans.
Chapter 32
Rick’s thoughts swirled as delegations resumed their places. Should I say something now? Yes. That’ll put me back in the driver’s seat; besides, if I don’t take the initiative, Ming will spring it whenever it suits him.
Ming, thinking to stir the pot by calling on Volkov, caught Martin’s motion and recognized him instead.
“President Ming, I now have even more to thank you for. Ladies and gentlemen, through our host’s good offices I have just had a brief meeting with Kim Jong-il.”
The many English speakers in the room went on alert like pointers, unsettling those awaiting translation.
“I can tell you I felt our meeting was useful but not productive. Kim denied his attack. After I rejected his denial and called on him to step aside for the good of Koreans, he became angry and started shouting. He threatened to destroy Seoul and Tokyo, as well as defeat any invasion and bathe the U.S. in atomic fire, as he put it. He also said that diplomatic efforts to remove him would fail. I’m summarizing now from memory, but my Chinese-language interpreter took notes of what I said and of the English translation as Kim spoke. I will make those notes available.”
Martin watched his counterparts as the tulips winked out one by one. Gwon looked alarmed, Kato concerned, Volkov eager to speak, and Ming wore a slight, wry smile.
Rick gave Volkov no opportunity. “Some of you—certainly President Ming—have experience working with Kim. We will all benefit from your observations and comments. For myself, I have the sense that Kim is off balance and fears that this group of nations can, indeed, force him to give up power. I find that encouraging and I suggest we redouble our efforts around this table so that we do just that.”
Watching the tulips flicker, Martin scribbled a note to Battista: When I write my memoirs, I’m going to call this chapter ‘waiting on the tulips.’
Battista smiled, nodded, and passed the note to the other Americans.
Dimitri Volkov watched them and wondered if a trap was being laid. Were Ming and Martin setting him up? Was that “surprise” meeting part of their plan to marginalize Russia?
Deciding to preempt any such move, Volkov seized the floor, barely waiting for Ming’s recognition. He asserted that Kim threatened South Korea and Japan because they had allowed themselves to become U.S. client states. This triggered a long, angry response from Gwon that amused Martin, who allowed himself a smirk. There, Dimitri—now you see for yourself how difficult it is to deal with Koreans!
While the heads of state were engaged, a group of officials nearby were struggling to agree on a communiqué. Anne Battista, part of her mind following the leaders’ discussions, reviewed the latest draft. This would never do! She could see the headlines: Leaders Fail to Reach Agreement. The document was a dollop of pabulum that deplored the attack but spoke only of “agreeing to consider appropriate measures” when the attacker had been “conclusively identified.” She murmured to Eric Easterly, then slipped out the door.
Martin was less than half-listening to Volkov about the critical uncertainties and grave dangers of taking action against a sovereign state on the basis of unverified information. I think I detect movement in our direction. When I put it all together, with allowance for Chinese subtlety, I believe Ming’s hinting that he could be convinced. Of course, he’s already convinced—he knows damn well it was Kim’s bomb and that we know it the same way we knew about China’s HEU in Pakistan’s bomb tests. I think he’s preparing the record for a shift in position and signaling me to come horse-trade.
Volkov rolled on, conveying in diplomatic terms that it would be a cold day in hell before the Russians supported the sanctimonious bastards who had lectured them about dealing with the Chechens.
Slipping into her seat, Battista passed a note to the president. Martin examined her under arched eyebrows. She nodded.
>
“Mr. Chairman, I wonder if we could have a short recess.”
Ming looked around and, seeing no objection, agreed.
After moving into a corner of the room—which, they assumed, was bugged—Martin turned to Battista.
“Anne, that’s good timing. I was thinking Ming is shifting and signaling it’s time for the two of us to talk. So what’s the problem with the communiqué?”
“We’re at an impasse. Let me show you” Warily, Battista wrote on a steno pad:
If you bring Ming, can force Gwon into line, leave only Russians out of quarantine. Without Ming, only Kato with us. Ming’s price probably Taiwan.
I’ve got to get a quarantine agreement, thought Rick. Lots of people are demanding a military response and I can’t ignore them, even though they’re wrong. Without quarantine, my softest military option is gone and I’m looking at invasion, bombing, or nukes. By protecting them from Chinese attack, we’ve given the Taiwan government over fifty years to work out an agreement with China. I don’t think history will judge us too harshly if I call a halt to that when the stakes are this high.
Martin scribbled “OK,” then scanned for Ming and saw that, although appearing to be in conversation with his foreign minister, Ming was watching him. Martin nodded and walked in Ming’s direction.
Ming met him and motioned toward the same door through which Martin had passed to meet Kim. Remember who you’ve got to deal with—you need my help.
Trailed by their interpreters, foreign ministers, and bodyguards, the two entered the room. Ming looked at Martin with a neutral expression, silent. Rick felt his heart accelerate.
“President Ming, history will not deal kindly with us if we fail to find a way short of nuclear retaliation to deal with despots like Kim.”
“President Martin, history’s verdict reflects the writer. China will write a lot of the history of the twenty-first century.”