by Bond , Larry
The President hung up slowly and looked steadily across the desk at Blake. “Now we’ll see just how far my so-called friend in Moscow’s ‘earnest desire for peace’ really goes.”
PERMANENT MISSION OF THE PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA TO THE U.N.
For once the scrambled phone connection to Beijing was miraculously free of atmospheric interference.
“Do you have any questions?” The Premier’s tone made it clear that he didn’t expect any. He sounded tired, worn out by an all-night debate that had lead to this call.
“No, comrade. Your instructions are clear and I shall carry them out without hesitation.” The ambassador stood holding the phone while watching the rush-hour traffic stream past below his Manhattan office. He eyed his watch. It was indeed fortunate that this last-minute call from the PRC’s Politburo had caught him preparing for the evening’s scheduled Security Council meeting. In another few minutes he would have been enroute to the Council chambers and out of reach of secure communications.
“Excellent. Speak with me when you are done. The time will not matter.” The phone went dead.
The ambassador hung up slowly and then reached out and activated the intercom on his desk. “Send Comrade Chin in at once. We have some work to do before the debate begins.”
THE U.N. SECURITY COUNCIL CHAMBER, NEW YORK
The high-ceilinged chamber was packed, every seat and aisle filled with diplomats from around the world, reporters, and security guards. A hundred whispered conversations rose from the crowd and mingled in a murmuring roar like that of the surf crashing on shore. This would be the first Security Council meeting on the situation in Korea that could be expected to go beyond dry procedural squabbling.
Paul Bannerman, the U.S. secretary of state, settled into the seat normally reserved for the Chief of the U.S. Mission to the United Nations and mopped delicately at his brow with a monogrammed silk handkerchief. The White House had quietly alerted the major TV networks to the fact that major diplomatic fireworks were in store for this session, and they’d all risen to the bait. His speech would be broadcast instantly into a hundred million homes all across America and into hundreds of millions more around the world. And Bannerman knew that sweat was the price he would pay for that kind of audience.
TV cameras needed light and lots of it, and the harsh, white lamps brought in by the networks had already turned the Security Council chamber into a steam bath. Despite that, everyone around the circular row of desks reserved for the Council’s five permanent and ten elected members still wore close-fitting, immaculately tailored wool suits. As always, diplomatic formality took precedence over comfort.
Bannerman kept his eyes on the U.N. Secretary General as members of his technical staff wheeled in the audio equipment he’d requested. The Secretary General had been briefed on what he planned and hadn’t seen any alternative but to comply. Bannerman knew that the U.N. chief ordinarily disliked theatrics, but he’d had to admit that these weren’t exactly ordinary circumstances. He sat up straighter as the Irishman cleared his throat and leaned closer to the microphone. “Mr. Secretary, the Security Council is assembled. Please proceed.”
Bannerman nodded and slowly laid his prepared remarks on the desk, moving deliberately to ensure that all eyes were on him before he spoke. He stayed seated while speaking, as the rules prescribed. Keeping delegates in their chairs was supposed to help keep tempers in check and prevent passions from being inflamed. He wasn’t sure that it ever made much difference in the end.
He began simply. “Mr. Secretary General, fellow members of the Security Council, and people of the world. This meeting is being held in a time of great crisis. Not just a crisis in my country or for the beleaguered Republic of Korea. No, not just for us. The events of this past week concern all members of the United Nations interested in peace and liberty and justice.”
Bannerman paused, surveying the crowd around him. The Soviet ambassador sat quietly, with an expression of carefully uncamouflaged boredom plastered across his face. The secretary hardened his voice and looked straight at the Russian. “We’re meeting tonight to respond to the naked aggression launched by North Korea in violation of an armistice secured by this very body.
“But first, I must raise a related issue of the highest possible consequence. I speak now of the actions taken by a member of this Security Council to assist North Korea’s aggression—actions that violate the spirit, if not the letter, of the resolutions adopted by the United Nations in June and July of 1950.” Bannerman paused again, listening to the murmurs that swept through the Security Council chambers at his words. Then he continued, “To be blunt I’m referring now to the Soviet Union’s decision to intervene militarily against the United Nations forces defending the Republic of Korea.”
A roar swept through the chamber at his words, a roar of outrage, shock, and shouted disbelief.
“Mr. Secretary General!” The Soviet representative was on his feet now, all pretense of uninterest tossed aside. “This is outrageous. My country will not tolerate such preposterous allegations, wherever they may originate from!”
“Mr. Vlasov”—the Secretary General’s voice was firm—“you are out of order. The American representative has the floor at this time. You’ll have ample opportunity to respond when it’s your turn to speak.” He looked at Bannerman. “Please continue, Mr. Secretary.”
Bannerman dipped his head in gratitude. The Secretary General didn’t always see eye to eye with American foreign policy, but he was always scrupulously fair. Bannerman scanned the chamber and then focused his eyes on the Soviet ambassador.
“Despite the protestations of the Soviet representative, my government is most assuredly not making wild or unfounded allegations. We have proof. Categorical and undeniable proof. Proof that Soviet pilots have engaged in combat with American planes in both international and South Korean airspace. We’ll play this evidence for you now.” He gestured to a technician standing by the audio equipment.
The man flicked a single switch and the tape began playing, translated simultaneously into the five official languages of the United Nations. First, a flat American voice identified the source of the sounds that would follow. “The radio transmissions on this tape were made by aircraft engaged in combat with U.S. Navy warplanes over the Yellow Sea at thirteen fifteen hours on one January.”
Then the voices came on—urgent Russian voices carrying warnings of missiles or American planes and triumphantly reporting kills. All in the Security Council chamber sat quietly, listening intently to the entire recording. Only the Soviet ambassador paid scant attention, scribbling a note that Bannerman saw passed to the Chinese representative. The PRC’s ambassador read through it impassively and handed the note back to an aide without comment.
When the Rivet tape ended in a faint wash of static, Bannerman let the silence build. He was surprised to find himself actually enjoying this. It took him back to his days as a junior prosecutor, long before he’d stepped into the murky world of politics. He leaned closer to the microphone. “Fellow members of the Security Council. What you’ve just heard isn’t a fake or fabrication. It is a matter of the utmost concern to us all. By its actions, the government of the Soviet Union has involved itself in direct hostilities against American forces serving under U.N. auspices.”
Bannerman pulled a sheaf of paper out from the stack in front of him and adjusted his half-frame reading glasses. “Accordingly, the United States moves that the Security Council adopt the following resolution…” The language of the resolution was as dry and legalistic as all U.N. documents always were, but its meaning was clear. By adopting the resolution, the Security Council would find the Soviet Union in violation of the U.N. Charter and of previous Security Council resolutions. Such a finding would authorize individual members of the U.N. to take any and all actions necessary to force the Soviets to end their support for North Korea’s invasion—actions up to and including economic and military sanctions. Bannerman secretly doubted that
the resolution could achieve that end, even if it were passed.
U.N. resolutions usually weren’t worth the cost of printing them. But it would be an undeniable slap in Moscow’s face, a slap that might awaken some of the less militaristic members of the Politburo to the risks they were running with this Korean adventure.
He finished speaking and sat back to wait for the Soviet ambassador’s response. It wasn’t long in coming.
“The Americans have spoken of proof and played a paltry few minutes of cassette tape as if that were sufficient. But is it? I ask you to ask ourselves this: What have you heard? A few voices speaking Russian. Some static. And a claim that all of this came from planes engaged in combat.” The Russian paused, and Bannerman had to admire his poise. Vlasov’s earlier show of temper had faded as completely as a summer storm, and now his narrow, handsome face showed only good-natured amusement.
“The Americans have a saying, my friends, ‘Is it real or is it Memorex?’ ” Vlasov continued, having deliberately misquoted the well-known ad line. “Well, I suggest that what we have all heard tonight is Memorex—a tape of deliberate falsehoods created by the electronic specialists of the American CIA and NSA.”
Bannerman started to object, but the Russian held him off with a waved hand. “No, no, Mr. Secretary. You’ve had your turn at this. Allow me mine.”
Bannerman shrugged and sat back in his chair. He had a ready response to the Soviet allegations of forgery. Some snippets of the same transmissions had also been picked up by Japanese radio listening posts, and the Japanese government had assured Washington that it was prepared to back American claims that the Soviets were intervening in the war.
“But even if these unfounded allegations were true, it would not matter, and this Security Council would not be justified in adopting the absurd resolutions proposed by the United States.” Bannerman started, suddenly realizing that Vlasov had stopped speaking off the cuff and was now reading from a prepared statement. He frowned. The implications of the switch were clear and unpleasant. Moscow must have been ready for its involvement in the fighting to become public knowledge. And that suggested that the Politburo’s hard-liners were prepared to go a long way to back Pyongyang’s war.
“Even if individual Soviet citizens were engaged in actively defending a fellow Socialist state against South Korea’s aggression, their efforts as volunteers would have nothing whatever to do with the Soviet Union itself. The precedents are clear, and I need hardly remind the United States of some of the more obvious ones—for example, the service of the American Abraham Lincoln Brigade in the gallant struggle against fascism in Spain.”
Vlasov smiled unpleasantly. “In any event, the position of the Soviet government is clear. We are not in any way involved in this struggle, but our citizens are perfectly free to do as they wish.” He looked up from his written statement and spread his hands. “That is, after all, the essence of a free society, is it not?”
Then, abruptly, he finished. “The Soviet Union urges the defeat of this ridiculous and insulting resolution forthwith. We stand ready instead to work for a real and lasting end to this imperialist aggression against the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.”
Bannerman was astounded. The Soviets were not only virtually admitting their involvement, they were practically daring the Security Council to try to do something about it. He’d expected them to make a more prolonged argument in an attempt to confuse the issue.
His chief aide leaned forward from the seat behind and touched his arm. “Looks like they’ve got the Chinese veto in their pockets.”
The Secretary nodded. No U.N. Security Council resolution could pass without the approval of its five permanent members—the United States, the Soviet Union, France, the United Kingdom, and the People’s Republic of China. Both the U.S. and the Soviet Union were parties to this dispute and therefore ineligible to vote, and both France and Britain clearly intended to side with the U.S. That left the PRC as the swing voter on the Council.
No measure it voted against could pass. And clearly the Soviets were confident that, in this case at least, they had China’s support. So confident that they didn’t feel it worthwhile to prolong debate.
Bannerman wasn’t surprised by that. China hadn’t openly sided with Kim Il-Sung’s war, but it hadn’t been very discreet about: its munitions shipments to him either. His Pacific Region specialists back at State had estimated the probability of a Chinese veto at around ninety percent. Only that NSC man, Fowler, hadn’t been so sure. At Fowler’s urging, they’d decided to avoid embarrassing China by dropping all references to the PRC’s support for North Korea in the proposed resolution or in his written statement. Well, thought Bannerman, the President’s new fair-haired boy was finally going to be proved wrong about something.
He turned his attention back to the debate. It didn’t last long. Two of the Soviet Union’s surrogates, Cuba and Poland, made fiery but pro forma denunciations of the resolution—denunciations that Bannerman found it easy to counter. Other countries around the circle made their customary speeches counseling the superpowers to show patience and restraint. And that was that. Neither side saw any advantage in a prolonged, confusing debate or in the intricate negotiations that often produced compromise resolutions without meaning or force. The United States wanted a straight up-or-down vote on its motion, and the Soviet Union saw little to fear in that.
The Secretary General looked bemused, as well he might, thought Bannerman. Chairing the Security Council emergency session must often seem more like running a marathon than supervising a debating society. But not tonight.
“Does any member wish to speak further on this issue?… No? Well, then, the question now arises on the resolution proposed by the United States.” The Secretary General arched a single, white eyebrow, obviously waiting for someone to object to his haste. No one did. The silence lasted until he began the roll call. “Brazil?”
“The Federative Republic of Brazil votes aye.”
“Poland?”
“The Polish People’s Republic opposes this needless and irresponsible resolution.”
Bannerman’s aide kept a quick, scratch-pad tally as the vote went on.
“The United Kingdom?”
“Her Majesty’s government votes aye.”
That put them over the top with nine votes. Now only China’s veto would stop the resolution from carrying. He folded his hands and waited for it. At least he’d gained the President a solid propaganda victory. And Bannerman knew that was about all the U.N. was good for these days. The Harvard-educated internationalist in him regretted that. The realist schooled in Washington, D.C.’s corridors of power knew such regrets were meaningless.
“The People’s Republic of China?”
Bannerman looked across the circle at the Chinese ambassador, a tall, spare man clothed in a fashionable gray suit and red tie. The man’s dark eyes met his as he spoke. “China abstains. We shall neither oppose nor support this resolution.”
The American secretary of state felt his jaw dropping open and closed it hurriedly. The room around him was in an uproar as the observer’s gallery realized what had just happened. The resolution had passed. He felt one of his aides clap him on the shoulder and saw the others grinning. He could also see the consternation on Vlasov’s face as the Russian grabbed one of his assistants and started working his way through the crowd toward the Chinese delegation.
Somehow the Secretary General’s soft brogue cut through all the hubbub in the Council Chamber. “The vote being nine to four, the motion is carried and the resolution is adopted. The Council will reconvene tomorrow evening at the same hour to consider its implementation.”
The Chinese ambassador stood calmly and began making his way out through the crowded aisles, ignoring the pandemonium all around him—a mass of shouting reporters, TV cameras, and stunned fellow diplomats. Bannerman watched him go and saw a broad-shouldered Chinese security guard shove Vlasov’s messenger bodily out of the way as the
Russian tried to get closer.
Bannerman sat motionless in his chair, his mind working furiously despite all the commotion surrounding the American delegation. He’d felt the pieces in the international diplomacy game shift under his hands just now. Not because of the resolution. That was only a simple scrap of paper—devoid of real power. But China’s abstention… now that was something real.
THE OLD EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Blake Fowler agreed wholeheartedly with the secretary of state’s assessment—something that would have surprised and disconcerted both men had they known of it. China’s position on the war seemed to have changed, however imperceptibly, and that had to be followed up.
He leaned across his desk and snapped off the small, portable TV perched precariously on one of his bookshelves. That done, he dropped back into his chair and rolled far enough away from the desk to poke his head out the door. “Katie, would you get Bob Gillespie, Harry Phelps, and that new guy, Kruger, up here right away? Say in”—he looked at his watch—“ten minutes or so?”
His secretary stopped in midyawn, nodded, and reached for her phone.
Fowler rolled back into his office, stopped, and then rolled back out. Katie was just starting to punch the Gillespies’ number into her phone. She paused as he stuck his head through the doorway again. “Yes?”
“Ask them to bring everything on the PRC they’ve got easily to hand—political data, economic status, military readiness, all that kind of stuff.”
“Right.”
Fowler went to work preparing for the meeting. It was tough to concentrate. His thoughts were jumping from one possibility to another and back again in a rapid, whirling sequence. He’d had an instinct about China and now it might really be panning out. He started paging through a pile of recent State Department, CIA, and academic analyses on China’s internal politics, but something nagged at him. Something he’d left undone.
It took him a few minutes to figure out what it was.