Code Word: Paternity, A Presidential Thriller

by Norton, Doug

  Studying Ming, Rick couldn’t read anything in his expression or body language, and Ming’s voice itself, rising and falling in the five tones of the Chinese language, was no help. It’s like I’m blind and deaf, he thought, trying to wring truth from Braille. He took a slow, deep breath, fighting panic.

  The continuing silence delivered Ming’s message. Doggedly, Martin turned to his proposal to counter nuclear terrorism.

  “President Ming, the United States will, one way or another, deal with the threat of the Kim regime. But I don’t believe that’s enough. The destruction of Las Vegas showed the danger, to all nations, of nuclear attack from foolish or nihilistic groups. That attack demonstrates the world has, truly, entered a new era. As I said the very day of that attack, the United States will do more than just deal with North Korea. We will work with others, through the UN and IAEA, to establish effective global safeguards against nuclear terrorism.”

  This Rick Martin is certainly bold and confident, thought Ming. A strong proposal, if agreed and enforced, would prevent nuclear terrorism. But that is not a serious threat to China, and, if we were attacked, China could absorb one bomb and then take such vengeance that we would never be attacked again. The bombing of Las Vegas did create a new day for China, but not as Martin believes. What’s new is America’s desperate need for China’s support. I can get a lot in return!

  After reading nothing in Ming’s appearance and glancing at his watch, Martin broke the silence. “Will China support this program?”

  “We look forward to learning full details. Might this approach resolve your concerns about Kim?”

  Always, Ming puts me over a barrel! thought Rick, jaw muscles working. Now, he wants me to defer dealing with a grave danger, one that threatens China, too, if only he could see that!

  “It certainly could, Mr. President, if the U.S. proposals are adopted quickly.”

  “China is always interested in exploring proposals to make the world safer.”

  Martin rose. “It’s time for us to go to the General Assembly, Mr. President. I’m glad we’ve had this conversation and am encouraged by your words.”

  Trailing her president into the corridor, Battista felt her heart hammer. Martin’s reversal on the DPRK had been as fluid and effortless as an Olympic swimmer’s flip turn. Does he have no scruples? she thought. And Ming—does he have no appreciation for the dangers?

  Chapter 37

  Kim Jong-il preened at the center of the UN delegation of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. The great auditorium curved away to his left and right, rows of nations before him descending toward the dais and ascending behind him. Seeing how often other leaders and delegations glanced his way, Kim thought, once again I have seen and done what others could not.

  I took an old TV spot from Lyndon Johnson’s campaign and adapted it using an American media company that thinks its client is Las Vegas Families for Peace. My video creation went viral, as I knew it would. It’s so easy to control others when you understand how simply they perceive the world! Primitive though it was in comparison to my work, that “Daisy” spot was a huge success in its day; by juxtaposing childhood innocence and nuclear holocaust, Johnson defined himself as the man of peace and his opponent, Barry Goldwater, as the man of nuclear war. It was the most effective piece of political priming ever produced—until mine.

  And my purpose is much more subtle and complex than Johnson’s! I’m not just trying to influence beliefs about me or Martin. I’m using emotion to create an alternate reality, in which Americans can be angered by the destruction of Las Vegas while being inoculated against the urge to retaliate with their own nukes. The emotions I’ve created act as a filter through which Americans interpret information from their government.

  And of course it’s working perfectly, allowing many Americans to feel anger and patriotism, while triggering their opposition to an attack, particularly a nuclear attack. Their so-called free press writes what I want: “Kim is despicable and dangerous and must go, but we have no quarrel with Korean children, who are already suffering under a U.S.-led quarantine that may well prove to have been unnecessary.”

  Kim smiled. I’m looking forward to the next few minutes.

  Anne Battista waited in the chair of the U.S. representative. For God’s sake! Back there Rick offered Ming the chance to put his own man in as Kim’s successor! Why didn’t he show some interest? I don’t know which is worse: the fact that Rick made the offer or that Ming seemed not to even notice.

  Secretary-General Park Chang-su concluded his introduction, and Battista gave her full attention to the scene before her. Applause for Martin was brief and far from universal. Besides Kim’s delegation and the Russians, most Middle Eastern delegations sat silent and impassive, as did the South Koreans, several African nations, and a few South Americans.

  As she thought about it later, Battista couldn’t believe how quickly things unraveled.

  Martin framed the destruction of Las Vegas in both American and universal terms, then built the case against North Korea. When he stated unequivocally that Kim was responsible, Kim stood and interrupted, angry but controlled. Like everyone else, Battista got the translation of Kim in one ear and the president in the other. Later, she would watch the video go to split-screen at this point, displaying both men in close-up. With two statements pouring into her ears simultaneously, Battista had difficulty understanding, but clearly Kim was calling Martin a liar and Martin was soldiering on with his speech.

  Kim took off his headphones, managing to appear both angry and dignified, and marched out, followed by the DPRK delegation. Martin deviated skillfully from his text to decry Kim’s departure and then returned to his themes.

  Minutes later, unbeknownst to Martin or Battista, Kim began a press conference that was covered by virtually every cable and network and was shown in split-screen alongside Martin’s address to the assembly. While Martin spoke to the remaining diplomats there, Kim spoke to the world about his unceasing efforts for peace despite years of American rejection and arrogance. Periodically an aide handed Kim notes of some point in Martin’s speech, and Kim did his best to ridicule and refute it.

  As Rick began describing his plan for countering nuclear terrorism, his eye caught a sudden movement to his left. Iran’s ambassador was on his feet. So he’s going to stage a walkout. That’s not too surprising, and it helps make my point.

  Another flicker of motion. He threw something! A shoe! Rick tensed to duck, but saw it fall short.

  The Iranian’s action was repeated by the representatives of Iraq, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Yemen, Sudan, Lebanon, Somalia, Congo, Nigeria, Uganda and Zimbabwe. Finally Hugo Chavez, acting as if this had never occurred to him before, heaved a shoe and left. None of the shoes reached Martin, who completed his speech, his shock becoming anger and finally, rage.

  As Battista left the auditorium, her British colleague pulled her aside. “Isn’t it about time you tell the emperor he’s naked? My god, Anne, Martin has been turned aside with fuzzy words by the UN, by NATO, by every country he’s asked, including mine. As we stand here, he’s being mocked by Kim Jong-il. He’s leading a parade, but no one’s marching behind him, except a few Left-wing loonies! His diplomacy has gained nothing, and it becomes ever more apparent that the United States has no adequate response to terrorists with nuclear weapons. Martin’s dithering endangers us all! Anne, you’ve got to do something!”

  Stunned, Battista nodded, shuffled out with the crowd and fled to Neumann’s office.

  When she got there, Martin, red-faced and shaking, was berating his ambassador. He glanced her way as she entered but didn’t interrupt his dressing-down. White-faced, Neumann said, “Mr. President, I didn’t predict this, didn’t warn you, because it was not predictable! Nobody in this room, nobody in the U.S. government, suspected this would happen! Who can know the mind of someone like Kim?”

  Neumann’s taken enough, thought Bart Guarini. He should have gotten wind of the shoe-t
hrowing plan, but he’s right about Kim. The man was not only unpredictable, he was clever. We all underestimated Kim. At least there’s a silver lining: this fiasco will help me sell Plan B.

  The chief of staff spoke: “Mr. President, I, too, fault the ambassador for failing to warn of the shoe throwing, but what if he had? It wouldn’t have stopped you from speaking or changed what you had to say. And we all—we all—underestimated Kim. That’s what we need to take away from this and incorporate into our planning going forward.”

  Bart’s right, Rick thought. I knew Kim was dangerous because he has nuclear weapons but dismissed him as a political force. That was a mistake. He understands the media all too well!

  Martin took a deep, shuddering breath. His determination never to let anger cripple him reasserted itself. “Yeah, Bart, you’re right on both counts. Ambassador Neumann, you should have done better about the shoe throwing, but you’re right about Kim. I apologize. I guess I should be thankful that nobody in that bunch but Chavez comes from a nation that plays baseball. All the others had lousy arms. Chavez had a pretty good peg, but he was farthest away. Come on, let’s go.”

  As she headed for the helo pad, Battista knew Guarini would have a receptive audience when he pushed Plan B, whatever it was.

  Congressman Ray Morales muted the three televisions, leaving a total of ten sets of jaws flapping soundlessly at him from the screens. It was just before seven, so the world had had about nine hours to react to the spectacle at the UN. That was plenty of time for story lines to be shaped and floated; now talking heads and bloggers were hard at work whipping up the mix of support and disagreement they needed to fire up their followers.

  Ray had scribbled a few notes as he watched in the morning, then decided he needed some brain time, as he called it. So he sent his chief of staff to the two cocktail parties he was slated to attend. When the last staffer was out the door, Ray locked it, went to the refrigerator, pulled out a beer, and dropped into the one truly comfortable chair.

  He took a pull on the beer. We certainly took a beating today. Kim really sucker-punched Rick Martin!

  Objectively, Kim’s performance wasn’t all that good. But at the time, the live images—Kim unafraid to go toe to toe with Martin—surely resonated powerfully in parts of the world. So did the shoe throwing. And I know, because I’ve humped a pack on patrol in some tough neighborhoods: there will be extra attacks on the grunts in the next few weeks because of those images.

  His cell phone rang. Caller ID was blocked. He considered ignoring it but then mashed the green button with a blunt finger. In his present mood, if it was a telemarketer, he would enjoy tearing the guy’s head off.

  “Morales!”

  “Ray, this is Bruce Griffith. Thanks for taking my call.”

  Morales’ eyes widened.

  “Mr. Vice President, how are you?”

  “You mean, other than the play, Mrs. Lincoln, how was your day?”

  Ray couldn’t help smiling. “Yes sir, I guess that’s all I could mean.”

  “Look, Ray, I’ll get right to the point. I know you don’t like to beat around the bush. I’m sure today’s spectacle sickened you, as it did me. I believe—and I’m going a bit off the reservation here—that you and a few others like you need to be in the loop, for the good of the country. So, I’m putting together what you military guys call a Red team. You know, some trustworthy, experienced folks who will tell me the unvarnished truth and, frankly, do some preliminary planning for other options that this administration isn’t willing to consider, even after this morning. What do you say?”

  Planning for other options? What other options? Assassinating Kim? A strike on North Korea? Could the man be talking about a coup? At the very least he’s trying to get me on the impeachment bandwagon!

  Carefully, Morales said, “Mr. Vice President, I know what Red teams can do. You’ve got a good idea there, but I guess I’m a traditionalist. I believe in the unity of command. I’d be honored to serve on a Red team that reported to the president, but this one sounds a little different. So thanks, sir, for thinking of me, but no thanks.”

  Griffith’s voice changed. Its tone said, ‘I’ve done nothing untoward here, and if you ever suggest that, I’ll tie you in knots.’ “Ray, the team reports to me for now but eventually will report to the president. You’d be a real asset and I’ll ask again as the situation develops. Listen, it’s nearly eight and you should get home to that lovely wife of yours, Julie—have a good evening and please remember me to her.”

  “I’ll do that, Mr. Vice President.”

  “Goodbye, Ray”

  “’bye sir.”

  Griffith is smooth and he’s got balls . . . I’ll say that for him. “Eventually will report to the president”—yeah, when he is president! Well, it seems there’s no end to today’s surprises. The question is what, if anything, I do about this call. I gotta say I agree we need to come up with some better plans for dealing with Kim. How can I get involved with that? Should I get involved?

  I need to talk to Julie!

  Morales deposited the bottle in the trash and headed home, oblivious to his surroundings as his mind wrestled with this problem.

  Listening to their call a few hours later from an Argus intercept, General Hsu frowned. Morales’ refusal was predictable; Griffith shouldn’t have risked asking. Hsu thought nostalgically about the old days, when NSA only eavesdropped on the Soviets and their helpers. He was walking a fine line now and it scared him.

  Chapter 38

  Head up, smiling, Rick strolled along the South Portico. Things are breaking my way. That IAEA confirmation of Paternity was huge! We’re getting some momentum, and I’ll bet my numbers are up.

  After Bart and Sam were seated in the Oval Office, Martin said, “I think the IAEA announcement is a game-changer, Sam, don’t you?”

  Yu thought, that announcement is a big plus. A game-changer? Uh-uh—but I don’t want to burst his bubble.

  “It’s a great development, Mr. President—sure silenced the WMD-all-over-again crowd!”

  “It’s also taken away the Security Council’s escape hatch,” said Guarini with a grin. “They’ve had to call Kim’s actions a breach of international peace and security. Oscar’s done a nice job!”

  “Yeah, he believes that before the week is over the council will support our quarantine,” replied Martin.

  “So how’re we doin’, Sam?” said Guarini.

  “Well, it’s a little soon–only forty-eight hours—but even so, there’s a five point increase in people who feel the country’s on the right track. The newspapers that doubted you are at least no longer expressing those doubts, and some have explicitly changed their positions. With bloggers, less so; they tend to hold their opinions tenaciously.”

  “What about that war-is-not-the-answer video? You know, the one they call Daisy Two? Have we learned anything about Las Vegas Families for Peace?”

  “Only that the organization doesn’t exist; it’s a cover. That hasn’t reduced interest in that video or several others they’ve posted. The mystery and the power of their messages keep interest up and they spread like wildfire.”

  “I’m not surprised. I’ve seen them and they’re good! It’s pretty effective to use a clip from one of my campaign speeches, where I was pointing out that we don’t need to compromise our values to remain secure, and couple that with an assertion that nuclear retaliation would do just that. And, frankly, I agree with them.”

  “And that’s a point we should explore, Mr. President,” said Bart. “You might have to go beyond negotiation. Plan B. Remember Glenna Rogers cooked her goose by making a big course change in Iraq without preparing the public; might be we should start, just as a contingency.”

  “I remember, Bart!” Martin said with a glare. “But this is not the Rogers administration. Our favorables are much higher than theirs were, despite the blip caused by adjusting our Taiwan policy.”

  Adjusting? thought Bart, frowning. We threw them
to the wolves. And the reaction wasn’t a blip; it was an eruption.

  “Look, we’ve put Kim in a box!” continued the president, wagging a finger at Guarini. “He’s sealed off. He can bluster and lie all he wants, but that’s an irritation, not a danger. Now that there’s IAEA confirmation that Kim did it, the Chinese will seriously consider our ideas for removing Kim peacefully, especially since Ming knows I won’t push reunification. He can help us dump Kim and still have his communist buffer.”

  Yu read tension and frustration in Guarini’s face as he said, “But suppose Kim got several bombs out of the country before the quarantine? Suppose there’s a team here now, getting one into position, or waiting for it to arrive on some container ship or an eighteen-wheeler slipping in from Mexico or Canada? If we base our policy entirely on the assumption that we’ve rendered Kim harmless and then lose another city—”

  Interrupting, Martin wore a superior smile. “Bart, suppose you’re right? Suppose there is a team with a bomb already on the loose? Moving more aggressively against Kim wouldn’t change that; they’d still be out there. Where we need to be aggressive is homeland security, to break up any terrorist attack, and Bruce Griffith is certainly doing that!”

  Guarini recognized that Rick hadn’t accepted or even considered his point; he had just used the debater’s trick of redirection to slide by it. That worried him; he had fought to control his friend’s reflexive optimism as long as they’d been together.

  Seeing he wasn’t going to move Martin, Guarini said, “Speaking of the vice president, what are we gonna do about him?”

  “What do you mean, Bart?” said Martin, head tilting.