Debbie and Andrea say they are ready for the challenge. The people of Baltimore know you are. We are proud of you both.
Taken in isolation, the clipping was unremarkable, so unremarkable that if it hadn’t been for the mention of North Korea and the map in one of the other files, Coburn would have paid it little attention.
To cross-reference the two pieces of information he scrolled up the map again. It was in colour, centred on the west coast of the Korean Peninsula at Kyonggi Bay where the international Maritime Demarkation Line separated the waters of North Korea from the waters of the South.
Marked in red was the route to be taken by the USS Sandpiper between the dates of 1 August and 20 August.
This was a dotted line, showing that the ship would be keeping well inside South Korea’s territorial waters for the majority of its voyage, and only on one occasion would it be venturing anywhere near the heavily guarded and heavily patrolled waters of the North.
Printed along the bottom of the map was a warning:
This document is the property of the Government of the United States. In accordance with US Navy directive 473 the contents herein are classified as ‘Restricted’. Disclosure to any unauthorized person or persons is a punishable offence under US law.
‘Brigadier’s been busy,’ Coburn said. ‘How would he have got hold of something like this?’
O’Halloran shrugged. ‘You don’t need much in the way of security clearance to get your hands on stuff that’s only classified as restricted. He could’ve got it from anybody. What we need to figure out is why he wanted it.’
Coburn had a disturbing feeling that he might already know. Wary of jumping to conclusions, instead of going straight to the draft of the press release, he pushed a key to display the data sheets.
There were two: one providing a photograph and a description of a typical US Osprey Class Minehunter, the other providing similar information for high-speed, Russian-built missile-attack craft of the Osa Class.
The sheets were primarily specifications, listing the displacement, length, beam, draught, top speed and range for each vessel. Separate sections were devoted to electronic countermeasures, radar, sonar, and armaments. In the case of the Osa patrol boats, the number of countries using them was also given – including an entry for North Korea around which someone had drawn a box to highlight the fact.
There was nothing particularly secret or confidential about the data sheets, Coburn decided, which meant that, before he could confirm his suspicions, he’d need to somehow connect them with the map and Shriver’s draft of the press statement.
The draft showed signs of being an early attempt. Some of the rhetoric needed to be toned down, and the text was unfinished. But now Coburn had managed to assemble most of the puzzle, the picture it painted was as clear as it was chilling:
FAL SANCTIONED PRESS RELEASE (DRAFT 4)
11-08-09
In the wake of North Korea’s unprovoked attack on the USS Sandpiper on the night of August 9 in the Yellow Sea, the Free America League wishes to add its voice to those of all Americans in expressing outrage at Washington’s response to an incident that should have demanded the sternest possible retaliatory action.
Now that European and Russian satellite data has proved that the Sandpiper was at least two nautical miles south of the Maritime Demarkation Line at the time of the attack, and now South Korean radar, and GPS traces recorded by the US Navy have confirmed the ship’s position beyond question, have Washington and the families of the young men and women who lost their lives received an apology from Pyongyang?
No they have not, nor should they expect to receive such an apology in the future. North Korea has never, and never will, admit its mistakes, if indeed this was a mistake rather than a politically motivated demonstration of imagined strength. That is why, if America wishes to maintain its position as leader of the free world, the generals in Pyongyang must be called upon to account for their actions and why, if they are not stopped now, North Korea will become an increasingly serious threat to our nation and to the establishment of global peace.
Survivors of this shameful tragedy, some of whom report coming under machine-gun fire while they were still in the water, say that a single radio communication was transmitted by the Korean vessel instructing Commander Ritchie to change course. When he chose not to do so – having no reason to – without further warning, two SS-N Styx missiles were launched at the Sandpiper with a predictably fatal outcome.
To many Americans this incident is little less than an act of war – unwarranted aggression that our military leaders appear to be incapable of either understanding or opposing.
Has the Pentagon forgotten that as recently as last month the Russian supertanker Rybinsk was found to have been transporting radioactive material destined for North Korea’s nuclear weapons programme which Pyongyang claims to have abandoned? Does the US Administration care?
There is a time for diplomacy. This is not one of them. Committed though our forces are in Afghanistan and Iraq, the Free America League calls upon the government of this country to …
Busy thinking now the full significance had hit home, Coburn removed his hand from the keyboard and stepped away.
O’Halloran had taken longer to realize the implications, but now he too had reached the same conclusion he quickly brought the map back up on the screen. ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘What’s the date today?’
‘July 24th. Why?’
The American pointed at the red line. ‘August 9th – the day when the Sandpiper will be closest to the Demarkation Line. That’s twelve days from now.’
Coburn said nothing, still coming to grips with the ambitiousness of the plan. The Rybinsk had shown him what the FAL were capable of, but not once had he imagined them attempting something on a scale like this. Except it wasn’t just an attempt, he realized, not when arrangements were already so advanced that Shriver was preparing a statement for the media.
O’Halloran leaned back in his chair. ‘So here we go again,’ he said. ‘Another excuse for the world to blame North Korea for something they didn’t do. I can see the headlines now. Sickening death toll after North Korea launches unprovoked attacks on US warship. If Washington’s searching for a reason to lose their temper, this might just do it – assuming the FAL can pull off their trick, of course. They might have trouble getting themselves a North Korean patrol boat.’
‘Is that all you have to say?’ Coburn looked at him.
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘We’ve got enough evidence here to indict Shriver for treason. Show this stuff to the right people and the FAL are history.’
O’Halloran shook his head. ‘Wrong. Think about it. We’ve got a newspaper clipping, a map of the Yellow Sea, specifications for a ship and a boat, and a press statement that could’ve been written by anybody with a grudge again Shriver. You could’ve written it; so could I. This stuff isn’t proof of anything, and it sure as hell doesn’t prove the FAL are going to be hijacking a North Korean patrol boat so they can use it to launch missiles at a US minehunter.’
‘Is that what you think – that they’re going to hijack one of those Osa attack boats?’
‘Don’t ask me. When you’re not working undercover for the International Marine Bureau, you’re they guy who’s the pirate. Stealing boats is more in your line of business than it is mine. How hard would it be?’
Not very, Coburn thought. Give Hari the job and he’d have it organized in an afternoon. ‘Forget about how the FAL are going to get the boat,’ he said. ‘That’s not the problem, is it? If you’re saying we haven’t got enough proof, how do we get more?’
‘I don’t know.’ O’Halloran stood up. ‘And right now I don’t care. I’ve done enough thinking for one night. I’m going to bed. If you want to stick around and play with my computer, help yourself.’
Coburn didn’t take up the offer. Instead he went to his room, kicking off his shoes before he slumped down in a chair, not ye
t certain that O’Halloran was right about having insufficient proof and even less certain of what, if anything, they were going to do about it.
By three o’clock, grappling with a new set of problems to add to all his others, and with no obvious solutions to any of them, he made himself think about Heather, wondering if he should phone her, but falling asleep before he’d decided whether to or not.
It was late in the morning when he was awoken by O’Halloran banging on his door.
The American was unshaven and looked as though he was either suffering from a lack of sleep, or worried about something. ‘Trouble,’ he said.
‘Like what?’
Pushing his way inside, O’Halloran tossed an envelope on to the table. ‘One of the maids just brought that round. She said it was delivered by hand, but she didn’t say who by. Have a read.’
The envelope contained a note, dated today and typed on FAL-headed notepaper:
Dear Mr O’Halloran
Since it would appear we have a conflict of interest, I believe a meeting may allow us to resolve our differences.
The diner in John Day where you had lunch on Wednesday would, I think, be a suitably public place. So, unless you are otherwise engaged, I shall look forward to seeing you and your colleague there at midday.
Until this morning, I was under the impression that Mr Coburn had met with an accident in Singapore, but now see that I was misinformed.
Should you prefer to meet elsewhere or at another time, my telephone number is in the local directory.
George W. Shriver
Brig. Gen. G.W. Shriver (retd)
‘Shit.’ This was the last thing Coburn had been expecting, made worse by it coming so closely on the heels of last night.
‘So much for us not screwing up,’ O’Halloran said. ‘The bastard knows we’re staying here, he knows where we had lunch the other day, and you can bet your fucking life he knows we’ve been out at his ranch.’
‘That doesn’t mean he knows you’ve downloaded nine of his files.’
‘If he doesn’t, why would he want a meeting?’ O’Halloran took back the note. ‘Good job we’re not overseas. From what you’ve said about the way Yegorov operates, if the pair of us were back in Bangladesh, we’d have been lucky to make it through the night.’
Luck had nothing to do with it, Coburn thought. It was because Shriver had something else in mind. And whether they liked the idea or not, in a couple of hours from now, they were going to have to find out what that was.
CHAPTER 16
SHRIVER WAS SEATED in a booth facing the open door of the diner. He wasn’t alone. His companion was Jüri Yegorov, the ex-marine who had been hunting Coburn down, and who on three occasions in the last three weeks had tried to have him killed.
In Hari’s photographs of Yegorov disembarking from the Pishan in Singapore, and in the smaller photo of him that had been attached to his application form for the US Marine Corps, his Russian ancestry had not been apparent. In person it was. His face was unnaturally pale, and his eyes and his features were those of a man not given to smiling and who had practised concealing his emotions. He also looked a good deal younger than he did in the photos.
The same could not be said of the brigadier. In his television appearances, Shriver had benefited from make-up that had hidden the liver spots on his cheeks and on the backs of his hands. In real life he looked his age. The silver-grey hair that on camera had added to his presence was thinning badly at his temples, and he had blotches on his face, giving Coburn the impression that his stars had been earned not in combat, but from behind a desk.
Unlike Yegorov whose face had remained expressionless at the sight of Coburn and O’Halloran, Shriver was making no attempt to disguise his contempt.
Instead of standing up or bothering to introduce himself, he stayed sitting, holding a thick white envelope and waiting for his visitors to join him in the booth before he spoke.
‘This won’t take long,’ he said. ‘Before we start, should you be foolish enough to pretend you don’t know what this is about, you should see this.’ Opening his envelope he took out a photograph and slid it across the table.
The photo showed a partly melted and distorted fragment of a propane cylinder, at the side of which lay a twisted section of one of the braided hoses Coburn had used to feed gas into the munitions store.
‘The picture was taken at first light this morning,’ Shriver said. ‘It prompted me to make some phone calls – which is how I obtained a description of two men who yesterday bought propane cylinders from the sporting-goods store in John Day. The owner of the store is a family friend who was able to supply the name on the credit card that had been used to make the purchase. Once I had a name, of course, finding out where you’re staying was equally straightforward.’
Coburn was smarting, knowing how stupid they’d been, and at the same time irritated by Shriver’s attitude and tone of voice.
O’Halloran was more interested in recovering lost ground. ‘You need to remember who you’re talking to,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you know who I work for, and in case you’ve forgotten, Coburn works for the International Marine Bureau in London. So, seeing as how it was you who wanted to see us, why don’t you cut out the crap. Whatever it is you have to say, let’s hear it.’
‘If that’s what you want.’ Taking more photographs from the envelope, Shriver placed them face down on the table in front of him. ‘I have no idea what it is you think you may have learned,’ he said. ‘But since you insist in meddling in affairs that are not of your concern, this is a warning. After the explosion in Mr Coburn’s Singapore apartment, I hadn’t expected a warning to be necessary, but the last twenty-four hours have put a rather different complexion on things, haven’t they?’ He selected two of the photos and handed them to O’Halloran. ‘In the interests of protecting the FAL from just this kind of interference, I went to the trouble of obtaining those some time ago. You should study them with care.’
Coburn had seen one of the pictures before. It had been in a frame, standing on a bookcase in O’Halloran’s Maryland apartment – a snapshot of the American holding his children on his knees. The other photo had been taken more recently. The children were two or three years older, playing together in a garden somewhere while they were being watched over by a slim African-American woman who, Coburn presumed, was O’Halloran’s wife or ex-wife.
The American’s body language was giving him away. He was doing his best to stay calm, but gripping the photos hard enough to have creased them, and willing himself not to reply.
So he wouldn’t have to, Coburn answered for him. ‘You listen to me, Shriver,’ he said. ‘You’ve taken out insurance against the wrong guy. I haven’t got any kids, and I don’t have a wife. That means I don’t have to give a shit who you are, or how much influence you think you have in Washington. I know what your agenda is, so make all the threats you want. Whichever way you look at it, you’re fucked.’
Shriver’s expression remained the same. ‘Have you finished?’ he said.
‘No, I haven’t. I was at Fauzdarhat when your sick friend here ran down those Bangladeshi kids in the shipyard. I was on board the Pishan when his men opened fire and started dropping hand grenades over the side. And I was at the village in the Panjang estuary when he handed out my photo to a bunch of fishermen and half-stoned pirates who’d been told they could make a quick twenty thousand ringgit for one night’s work. He might’ve got away with it in Bangladesh and Indonesia, but he’s not there now, is he? And you’re not either. Try the same kind of stunt in the US and I’ll make sure you, Yegorov and your precious FAL end up in shit so deep you’ll never get out of it.’
‘I see.’ Shriver produced a further two photos. ‘Before you go on, perhaps you should look at those.’
‘What are they?’
‘Satellite images of the village you mentioned. The detail they show is quite surprising, don’t you think?’
It was an understatement. So good wa
s the resolution that Coburn could identify individual huts, see the intersection of drainage ditches and pick out shadows of radio aerials on the shipping containers. Out in the estuary, the number of launches and the position of the Selina told him roughly when the shots had been taken, and by looking at the length and direction of the shadows he was even able to make a guess at the time of day.
‘Where did these come from?’ he asked.
‘Since my influence in Washington is of no interest to you, I won’t bother to answer that. What I can do is show you a sworn affidavit that Mr Yegorov was able to obtain from the Captain of the Pishan – the freighter you attempted to raid on the night of July 7th. I’m sure you remember him.’
‘Celestino,’ Coburn said. ‘Juan Celestino.’
‘He’s been most helpful. Would you care to see his statement?’
‘Not particularly. What does it say?’
‘It says that during the raid, after members of your boarding-party started complaining about the difficulty of off-loading the zinc ingots, Captain Celestino overheard several of the men discussing whether travelling so far from their base on the Panjang river was a worthwhile way for them to fund their fight against the Indonesian Government.’ Shriver paused. ‘Understandably, the captain reached the same conclusion that anybody else would have done – that his ship had been boarded not by pirates, but by terrorists who’d come from what he could only assume was some kind of training camp in the Panjang estuary.’
‘Like the village in this satellite picture,’ Coburn said slowly.
‘Precisely.’ Shriver placed his hands on the envelope. ‘In the event of the Indonesian Government being given this information, I think you’d agree they’d find it of the greatest concern – especially now al-Qaeda are known to be moving in to Sumatra and attacks by Aceh insurgents have started up again in the region.’
The Rybinsk Deception Page 17