The Last Phoenix

by Richard Herman

  “He works for us now,” the woman said. She leaned across the table and held his hand. “It is good to see you.” For all appearances, they were two old friends meeting after many years. “And the family?”

  “Got ’em all through college,” Butler replied. “And yours?”

  The woman beamed at him. “Alysha is married. A nice young man.” She sighed. “So long ago. We were young then.” For a moment the memories were back. Butler had been a young airman fresh out of language school and assigned to a listening post near Trabzon on Turkey’s Black Sea coast to eavesdrop on Soviet communications. It was during the height of the Cold War, and Turkish intelligence, not fully trusting its American allies, had sent her to recruit an informer in the American compound. She targeted Butler, and he immediately reported it to his superiors. They in turn told him to develop the contact in order to feed the Turks information. It was a most profitable relationship for all parties, and Butler was established in the intelligence game. But they did the one thing totally forbidden in intelligence—they fell in love. Butler was reassigned and eventually ended up in the Pentagon’s basement.

  She looked at Uri, who gave her a slight nod. They were clear. “What is of such importance?”

  Butler clasped her hand with both of his, palming off a mini-disk. “Your people need to read this.”

  She laughed, a clear bell carrying over the quiet room. “You know I’m lost when it comes to all this.” She spoke in a soft voice, barely audible. “Why is this important?”

  “It’s hot. Right from Baghdad.”

  “From the horse’s mouth, no doubt.”

  “We paid enough for it,” Butler told her.

  “The CIA or the Boys?” she asked.

  “The Boys,” he replied. Now she was very interested. “The Company gets it tomorrow,” he told her. “As soon as I get home.”

  “After which,” she said, “it will disappear into the black hole of Langley, never to be seen again. And you’re doing this because we once shared the same bed?”

  “Perhaps,” Butler replied. He strongly suspected he was Alysha’s father. He leaned into her. “It’s the UIF’s operations order for Kurdish Star. Tell your people to read between the lines.” He sensed she was not convinced. “You’re next.”

  “And your masters are desperate,” she said, seeing through him. But there was a look of concern in her eyes.

  “NATO’s not going to get involved, and you’re on your own.” For a moment he said nothing and only held her hand. Then he stood. “Read it—for Alysha.” He walked away.

  The woman sat for a few moments, paid the bill, and walked through the main lobby. Uri was standing outside, waiting for a taxi. He gave her a troubled look and a little nod. Now she was very worried.

  Central Malaysia

  Friday, October 1

  A thin trail of smoke drifted over the kampong as the first fire of the morning was lit. A barefoot soldier, his shirt open and pants half undone, walked out onto the veranda of the largest home and stretched, holding a small radio in his left hand. He barked a command, and a teenage girl emerged, a sarong wrapped around her frail body. The man grabbed her breasts as he spoke to her.

  Through the binoculars the girl looked very frightened. “One of the pigs,” Tel said, passing the binoculars to Kamigami.

  Kamigami studied the scene for a moment and then scanned the village. “How many?” he asked.

  “Seven,” Tel replied.

  “Do we know where they all are?”

  “Affirmative,” Tel answered.

  “On my command,” Kamigami said, still sweeping the village with the binoculars as Tel spoke into his radio. Below them, twelve men ghosted out of the nearby jungle and moved into the village, their weapons at the ready. A little boy ran out of his house and almost ran into one of the shooters. Kamigami saw it all and tensed. Then he relaxed as the man spoke to the boy, reassuring him. He gave him a little pat on his backside and sent him scurrying for the jungle and safety. The shooter turned in Kamigami’s direction and pointed to the boy’s house. He held up two fingers and then made a waving motion over the entire kampong. He held up five fingers on his left hand, closed his fist, and held up two more. Two soldiers were in the house and seven in the entire village. Their intelligence was good.

  Now the shooters were in position. Kamigami raised the gold whistle to his lips. He refocused his binoculars on the soldier standing on the veranda and gave one long blast that carried over the valley below them. The soldier’s head jerked at the sound, and he started to key his radio. But a single gunshot dropped him, the radio falling between the floorboards. At the same time the shooters burst into the houses. Sporadic gunfire echoed through the valley, and it was over in less than ten seconds. The shooters dragged six bodies out of the houses as Tel examined the soldier on the veranda. He looked in Kamigami’s direction and signaled that the soldier was still alive but unconscious.

  “Keep him that way,” Kamigami ordered. Tel spoke into the radio, and bent over the downed soldier, administering a knockout shot. Then he methodically bound up his head wound and stopped the bleeding. Kamigami came to his feet. “Call in the ’copters,” he ordered. He walked down to the kampong as Tel made the radio call.

  Camp Alpha

  Friday, October 1

  Colonel Sun paced the ramp as he waited for the helicopters to land. He kept looking nervously to the north, all pretense of calm shattered. “There is one very nervous man,” Janice Clark told Pontowski.

  “It’s not right,” Sun told them. “The general should be here, not on operations.”

  “That’s Victor,” Pontowski told him. “He leads from the front—always. That’s why he needs you, to hold things together.” They fell silent as two A-10s took off in formation. They turned out of the pattern, carving a trail against the early-morning sun and cloud-laced sky. “Area familiarization,” Pontowski explained. “We need a training range.”

  Clark made a mental note. “I’ll talk to Maggot and arrange something with the MA.”

  “Good luck,” Sun muttered. In the distance they heard the distinctive beat of helicopters. Sun tensed as he waited. “The general insists on radio silence,” he explained. Slowly his tension eased as the first two helicopters approached from the north and settled to earth. The lieutenant leading Tiger Red climbed out of the first helicopter and marched over to report while they discharged their precious cargo. He spoke in Chinese, and Sun breathed in deeply, the tension now gone. “Total success,” Sun said. “No casualties. The general is on the last helicopter.”

  Two more Warthogs took off as another two helicopters approached. Three trucks provided by the International Red Cross emerged from under the trees to load the villagers. “We’re relocating them to refugee camps near Keluang,” Clark explained. Keluang was the nearest town, ten miles west of Camp Alpha. They talked as they waited for the last two helicopters.

  “We’re settled in here,” Pontowski told her. “So I’m heading for Singapore today and checking in with the MAAG. I’m thinking of creating a detachment here to expedite logistics and maintain operational control.”

  “That’ll be a neat trick,” Clark said, “if you can bring it off.”

  “I’d like you to come with me,” Pontowski said.

  “It might expedite matters,” Clark said. She steeled herself as the last helicopter touched down and Kamigami got off. “There he is,” she said.

  “Let’s get this behind us,” Pontowski urged. They walked toward the helicopter. Kamigami recognized Pontowski and quickly shrugged off his equipment, shedding over sixty pounds. He handed his weapon and helmet to Tel and jammed a red beret onto his head as he walked toward them. They met in the middle of the ramp. “It’s been a while,” Pontowski said.

  “Not since China,” Kamigami replied, telling him the obvious. They shook hands.

  “I’ve got a problem we need to discuss,” Pontowski said. Kamigami nodded and waited. “When you cleared the sniper
s off the base,” Pontowski continued, “did you execute either of the two prisoners?”

  “No,” Kamigami answered. “I let them go.”

  “But your aide,” Clark protested, “said you did. He said it was better that way.”

  Kamigami shook his head. “Tel doesn’t fully understand. He’s still learning. He once saw me summarily execute a man who had butchered my family. At the time I set the other prisoners free so they could tell their comrades they met the vampire. I did the same with the two snipers we captured.”

  “But you did kill a prisoner?” she snapped.

  “He wasn’t under your jurisdiction,” Kamigami replied. His voice was very soft and matter-of-fact. He didn’t tell her that it made no difference who held the soldier. But he did owe her an explanation. “They did unspeakable things at my kampong.”

  “What’s this vampire nonsense?” she asked.

  “The Chinese tend to be very superstitious. I’m using it against them.”

  Clark turned to Pontowski. “I’m not sure I want them on my base.”

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” Pontowski told her. “For now they stay.”

  Twenty

  Atlantic City, Maryland

  Friday, October 1

  Maddy Turner sat at the head table in the new convention center, and for the first time in twenty-seven days she laughed heartily. The banquet was a major campaign event, with full TV coverage and all the required celebrities in attendance. Below her, the organizers had staged a fashion show satirizing politicians and were gently mimicking not only her but Senator Leland. The actor portraying Leland was a dead ringer for the senator. The only thing wrong was the red tip of the devil’s tail that kept sneaking out of his pant cuff with a mind of its own. The audience roared when the woman impersonating the president suddenly sprouted horns, with a pretty bow tied around one. The two actors ended the sketch by joining together to sing “I Got You, Babe” with a very different set of lyrics. Later on, her speech would bring them all back to the serious business of the times. But for now she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

  Richard Parrish moved to her side. “Madam President,” he said in a low voice, “we have a situation that requires your immediate attention.” And for added emphasis: “I’ll make the appropriate excuses.”

  Turner spoke to Maryland’s governor and thanked him for the wonderful evening. She rose and quickly followed Parrish out to her waiting limousine. “What’s so urgent?” she asked once they were inside.

  “The National Reconnaissance Office reports that a satellite monitored six missile launches in Malaysia. Shortly after that we lost contact with our embassy in Kuala Lumpur.” Parrish checked his watch. “That was twenty minutes ago. We should have more by now.” He spoke into a telephone. “Thank God we’ve got the first of the FIA satellites up ahead of schedule.” The FIA stood for Future Imagery Architecture, the innocuous-sounding name given to the new generation of spy satellites being launched by the NRO. He listened for a moment. “United Press International reports thirteen missile strikes in Kuala Lumpur. That doesn’t make sense at all. Our satellites are too damn good.” He spoke into the handset as they pulled up to the waiting helicopter for the flight back to the White House. “The ExCom will be waiting when we arrive.”

  “Please have Serick and Merritt there,” she ordered.

  Parrish listened on the phone for a moment. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “Madam President, CentCom reports the UIF is attacking in Saudi Arabia with tanks and APCs on a wide front.”

  True to her nature, Turner hated surprises and glared at him. “How did that happen?”

  “We’ll need to find out,” Parrish said.

  The White House

  Friday, October 1

  Shaw was the first to arrive in the Situation Room and found a seat against the back wall. Vice President Kennett was the second, followed by Mazie, the DCI, and Butler. Serick was close behind, and Secretary of Defense Merritt was the last. Only General Wilding was missing. They crowded into the small room and spoke quietly while they waited. The DCI sat at his normal place and nervously thumbed through a stack of reports. He kept shaking his head. Finally the Marine colonel who had briefed them so many times entered and stood by the big monitors opposite Turner’s chair. No one said a word. The door opened, and Richard Parrish announced the president. She walked in, still in evening dress, and sat down. She nodded at the colonel.

  “General Wilding,” Colonel Scovill began, “sends his regrets, but he’s fully occupied at the NMCC and will be delayed a few minutes. He’ll be here as soon as he can.” He pointed at the center display. A large-scale map of the front in Saudi Arabia appeared on the screen. “The UIF has initiated a major attack at these points.” The moving symbols on the screen indicated the tanks, APCs, and number of troops the UIF was throwing into the battle.

  “How did that happen?” Turner asked, looking directly at the DCI. Everyone in the room knew they were dealing with a major intelligence failure. He didn’t answer and only stared at the small computer in front of him.

  “We’ll get an answer to you as soon as possible,” Scovill said. His pointer flicked to the head of a big arrow on the map. “Please note that the spearhead of the attack is directed at the Saudi forces in this area. So far they appear to be holding as CentCom rushes in reinforcements, mostly British.” His voice was matter-of-fact as he explained what they were seeing on the screen, all bad. The three screens cycled to Malaysia.

  “Simultaneous with this attack,” he continued, “six Scuds were launched from this area.” A pointer circled the Taman Negara in the center of Malaysia. “Our tracking indicates that at least four were aimed at the Kuala Lumpur area and two launched on a southerly trajectory toward Camp Alpha. So far we have not received strike reports, but the press reports over a dozen explosions in Kuala Lumpur and widespread panic, fires, and looting.”

  “Four missiles and over a dozen explosions,” Turner said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “The situation on the ground is confused, Madam President. My guess is that the explosions are being double-or triple-counted. Please remember that Scuds are notoriously inaccurate.”

  Turner looked around the table. “The situation at our embassy?”

  The DCI was still looking at the small laptop computer in front of him. He coughed, but it came out more like a strangling sound. “Madam President,” he finally managed, “UPI reports it was hit by numerous explosions.”

  Turner stood up. “Can we assume those were Chinese Scuds?”

  The DCI gulped hard. “No, ma’am, we can’t. They don’t have Scuds and claim what’s going on in Malaysia is strictly local—indigenous farmers out to correct ancient wrongs.”

  Kennett scoffed. “And how do the Chinese know all this?”

  The DCI said, “They have admitted in private conversations that they’ve given limited support to the rebels, mostly encouragement, but nothing on this level. They also claim that the Libyans are more involved, since the rebels are supposedly Islamic.”

  Shaw snorted. “It’s payback time.” As one, every head in the room turned to him. “Yugoslavia, May seventh, 1999,” he said. “We bombed the Chinese embassy in Belgrade. Killed three people. Who just happened to be their key intelligence officers. We said it was a mistake and paid four and a half million to compensate the victims. A cheap price to take them off the board.” He looked at them as if they were all children. “The Chinese have very long memories.”

  “Ma’am,” Scovill said, pointing to the left monitor, “Camp Alpha reported two explosions approximately ten miles to the north. That correlates with the max range of the Scud, a hundred seventy-four miles.”

  “So they wasted two Scuds?” Turner replied.

  “If those Scuds were from North Korea,” Butler answered, “the North Koreans claim a max range of two hundred ten miles.”

  Shaw snorted. “Sounds like someone got hornswoggled. Sumbitch! Those people can’t even play s
traight with each other.”

  “They won’t make that mistake again,” Butler promised.

  “Madam President,” Scovill said. This time he pointed to the right screen. More reports from Malaysia were flooding in. “We have reports that units of the Malaysian Army guarding Kuala Lumpur are under heavy attack.” He stared at the screens for a moment. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He quickly cycled through various menus, calling up selected information bases. Then, “Madam President, the situation is unclear, and we need a few hours to sort it all out. The UIF is attacking at what may be the weakest sector. As for Malaysia, it’s much worse than we’re seeing. I expect Kuala Lumpur to fall within hours.”

  “Colonel!” Merritt barked, silencing him. Everyone in the room knew that Scovill had made a terrible mistake by giving the president his evaluation, not that of his superiors. “You’re not here to speculate.” Merritt exercised his authority. “You’re relieved, Colonel.”

  Scovill gave a curt nod. “Thank you, sir. Madam President, with your permission, I’d like to rejoin my old unit.”

  “Where is it?” Turner asked.

  “In Saudi Arabia.”

  Turner felt a lump in her throat. For a moment she couldn’t speak. Then a little nod. “Take care, Colonel. And thank you.” She waited until he had left. She looked at the secretary of defense. “Robert, I need a comprehensive evaluation of the situation. Please get one together, and I’ll take it to the NMCC. Given the circumstances, we don’t need General Wilding and his staff wasting time coming here. Bernie, I want a fresh look at the intelligence picture. Get one together. Sam, track the domestic spin-off and get with the press secretary. Patrick, I’ll need a new campaign strategy. Work one out. Mazie, Stephan, give me time to change and meet me in my study in fifteen minutes.” She looked around the room. “Go.”

  The DCI sat staring at the papers in his hands as they filed out of the room, fully aware that the president had totally ignored him.

  Mazie and Serick were waiting in the president’s private study when she joined them. She was wearing a dark blue pantsuit and low-heeled shoes. Her hair was pulled back into a chignon. She was ready to go to war and got right to business. “We need that second front. Any progress with the Germans and Turks?”