by Doug Norton
Ming looked at him, expressionless.
Rick’s anger surged and he didn’t banish it immediately. You sonofabitch! You’re not going to help me at all, are you? All right—let’s get this over!
Straining to keep his voice even, catching himself before hands clenched into fists, Martin said, “I will impose a quarantine on North Korea. If China does not support it, I fear military confrontations between our forces. I’m sure neither of us wants that, but it could happen, without either of us intending it.”
Pulling a battered cigarette case from his pocket, Ming said, “Military confrontation is possible, Mr. President, but my concern is greatest in another area, the Taiwan Straits.”
Martin waited, searching Ming’s round, bland face, hoping Ming would continue, but he did not. He was making Martin propose the betrayal. In the long silence, an aide lit Ming’s cigarette.
“So, let’s resolve both our concerns now,” said Martin. “It would resolve America’s concern if China undertook, at this meeting and at the UN, to support a quarantine of North Korea by sea, land, and air. If China did not challenge U.S. actions at sea and did not allow North Korea to use Chinese airspace or export through China, that would resolve U.S. concern. How might the United States resolve China’s concern?”
Eyes hooded, Ming exhaled, then replied, “If certain U.S. military undertakings with the rebel government of Taiwan Province were set aside, I would no longer fear confrontation in either area.”
Rick nearly choked on his words: “I see a clear alignment of our interests in this matter. I suggest we instruct our foreign ministers to work out the specifics.”
Burying the sound of victory beneath a glacial tone, Ming replied: “Yes. They should be able to do that in the next few minutes, do you not agree?”
Rick’s stomach flopped. Is there no way to build trust here? Then he nodded.
Ming dropped his cigarette, crushing it heavily as he spun away from Martin, then strode to the door. Martin followed him back to the conference room.
Ming made a short, graceful statement that China had concluded, reluctantly, that quarantine was necessary. At Kato’s suggestion he called it an outbound quarantine. Ming even managed to avoid saying China accepted American evidence of Kim’s culpability, terming the quarantine “a necessary interim step while evidence is gathered and evaluated.”
As Ming’s words were translated, Martin observed their impact. Gwon looked angry but also stricken. Kato remained unruffled. Volkov smirked, knowing he had forced Martin to crawl and pay a high price. To his left, he saw Battista huddled with her South Korean counterpart. He knew what she was saying: join us, or no ship or aircraft that has touched South Korea will be allowed to enter the U.S. Nor will South Korean companies be allowed to do business in America. They all knew the South Korean economy couldn’t withstand that.
Notes were passed and Gwon gave in. South Korea joined the quarantine.
President Gwon Chung-hee stalked from the meeting in a black rage. The Americans had ruined his presidency by accusing the north and today they had humiliated him. He felt a nudge; his foreign minister leaned close and whispered that President Volkov would like a few minutes. Gwon smiled and followed him.
Chapter 33
Shortly after seeing his other guests off, President Ming sat down in his study with Kim. Ming wanted to savor his success over a favorite meal, followed by puttering in his garden, but knew he could not relax in the long summer twilight until he had spoken to Kim.
“Comrade Kim, I trust you feel this has been helpful.”
Kim, who knew Ming didn’t like him, hid his own dislike, as he always did with the Chinese leaders. He replied in Ming’s language, “Indeed, Comrade Ming. I thank you for arranging my meeting with Martin.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Unsure of himself when confronted. He doesn’t know how to deal with a leader who doesn’t fear U.S. power.”
“Comrade Kim, I have been advised that the American scientists made a mistake; this bomb was not yours. But, the Americans are skilled at this analysis, as are we Chinese. It is unlikely they would be wrong twice. It would be very uncertain and very challenging if they were to point to you a second time.”
Ming stared at Kim, who returned his look unfazed, silent. “Comrade Kim!” he said, more sharply than he intended. “An elder cousin cannot protect a younger cousin, no matter how he may wish to, if the younger is foolish!”
“Elder cousin, I am not foolish.”
Ming stood and extended his hand. “I’m sure you are anxious to return to your dear people.”
Kim smiled, shook hands, and took his leave. He took pleasure in remaining silent about the second bomb, the one Fahim was waiting for, the one that would show the world that he, Kim Jong-il, had brought the Americans to their knees.
***
“We got handed our heads!” said Easterly, making a chopping motion with his right hand that made ice cubes in his glass tinkle. He polished it off with a grimace, as if the tea were castor oil.
He was sitting with Secretary of State Anne Battista and National Security Advisor John Dorn in an area of Air Force One designated for senior staff. The richly furnished cabin contained a small table and four chairs and was next to the main galley. The aircraft rushed homeward through black subzero sky, making just over six hundred miles per hour at flight level four zero—forty thousand feet above the earth. Dinner had been served and cleared. The president was in his suite about seventy-five feet forward, maybe sleeping, maybe not.
The hard man continued, shaking his head. “Can you believe that Kim Jong-il? He’s decided we can’t get to him and is telling the United States to go fuck itself! And that’s what the South Koreans, Chinese, and Russians told us, too, just a hair less directly. We had to pay in blood to get Ming’s cooperation, and I’m sure when I talk with his defense minister about quarantine ops the haggling will start all over again. The ROKs will be even worse! Only the Japanese are really with us!”
“Come on, Eric—it wasn’t that bad!” Battista glared at the defense secretary, thinking that the man had absolutely no subtlety. “We did better than you think.
“The president reinforced his personal relationship with each of his opposites—excepting Kim, of course—and that will come in handy later on. You and I had some useful nuts-and-bolts conversations with our counterparts about ways to put military and diplomatic pressure on Pyongyang. Rome wasn’t built in a day. You didn’t actually think each of them would just salute”—she made a vague wave toward her temple—“and ask where to sign up to our plan, did you?”
“No, but I figured we’d at least get willing support for the quarantine.”
“At least? Eric, supporting quarantine is a huge undertaking for Gwon and Ming! They’ve had very little time to consider it. I’d have been stunned if they’d agreed easily, figured Scott’s boys and girls must have slipped something into their green tea!”
“How do you think the Kim meeting went down with the president?” said Dorn.
“I think he was surprised at how Looney Tunes the guy is!” said Easterly.
“Yeah, he was surprised, but he realized that he could outmaneuver Kim, that Kim’s world was unreal, that he could be manipulated,” said Battista.
“What about Kim’s threats?” said Dorn.
“That was the best news of the trip!” said Easterly. “When somebody who’s just murdered eighty thousand of your people tells you to your face he’ll do it again if you piss him off, it has to get your attention. I think the president needed to hear that.”
“What do you mean, Eric?” Battista said, her arms folded across her chest and her face wearing a skeptical look.
Easterly sighed and grimaced. “Anne, what I mean is that the president has, from day one, refused to discuss using nuclear weapons against North Korea. But those weapons are our best military option, in fact our only realistic military option. I mean, we sure as hell aren’t going to
invade and chase Kim out with our infantry—he’s got as many soldiers as we do, plus several million local defense forces, and they’ve spent fifty years digging in on some of the most rugged terrain you can imagine.”
“Can we make the quarantine work with the support we’ve got?” said Dorn.
“Yes and no,” said Easterly. He planted both feet on deck and gave a shove, tilting his chair and extending a footrest. Feet up, he went on: “We can seal them off pretty well by sea, especially if the president gives us a free hand. But stopping aircraft—that’s a big problem. To be honest, we probably can’t, at least not without shooting at civilian planes.”
“But can we look like we’re sealing them off?” said Battista.
“For a little while. But the press will dig hard to catch us out, to show we’re exaggerating. It’s what they do,” said Easterly with a shrug.
Dorn looked at him. “Eric, let’s go back to options. I’m wondering if there’s another one—short of bombing, invading, or using nuclear weapons.”
“You mean a special ops option? “
“Yeah, or CIA.”
Easterly grinned. “My question to you is, ‘to do what?’”
Dorn and Battista looked at him mutely.
“Yeah, you see the problem. The United States doesn’t assassinate leaders of other countries. When you eliminate that, what’s left for a special op or the CIA, kidnapping? No way that’s doable! We could kill him, maybe, if all the stars aligned. But grab him and hustle him out of his own country, a country he controls absolutely and where our guys are as obvious as Martians? Impossible!”
“What about using spec ops to destroy their nuclear capability?” said Battista.
“How?” Easterly’s hands flew wide, palms up. “The facility at Yongbyon is large. Spec Ops troops could never lug enough conventional explosive to seriously damage it. Plus, there’re probably other facilities that we don’t know about and couldn’t penetrate if we did. No, if we want to take out their nuclear weapons, it’s a job for missiles and planes, not spec ops. And, short of using nukes, it’s no sure thing”
Rick lay on his bed, mind churning.
The short-term, tactical thinking at that table today was shocking—crazy! Well, no, Ming’s thinking, and Kato’s, is strategic. But Gwon and Volkov were so focused on the pre–Six-thirteen universe I can scarcely believe it!
Kato—now there’s a clever guy! By explicitly expressing confidence in U.S. protection from Kim’s missiles when he supported me in that meeting, he obligated me to do just that. After I refused in private, he got what he needed by going public and daring me to refuse again.
Ming forced me to do something many will call feckless and disgraceful. Well, there was no choice. Now I have to figure out how to deliver the news to the Taiwanese government and how to announce it. That’s going to be a bitch!
No doubt—I put the needs of our tribe above the needs of outsiders. He smiled; Ella would approve. And, it was my decision. There wasn’t any “we” about this. I feel vulnerable but also good, and I’m sure it was the right call.
And Kim! I’ve certainly seen delusional thinking before—it’s not that rare in politics—but never someone who expressed his delusions with a nuclear weapon. With a jolt he remembered Kim yelling that he would bathe his opponents in nuclear fire.
But wait a minute. This isn’t just me and Kim, like two gunslingers. Messy and disappointing as it was, the summit produced agreement between four nations to a quarantine that will keep Kim from getting another nuke out of North Korea.
I’ve put Kim in a box. Still . . .
Rick shoved doubts into the lockbox where he kept unwanted realities, commanded his mind to go blank, and concentrated on deep breathing until sleep took him.
Chapter 34
Bruce Griffith bounded onto the platform as if he were campaigning, smiling and waving to the reporters gathered at Creech Air Force Base, followed by Fisher, Karnow, and Cantwell. The timing is great, he thought—this’ll get lots of coverage. Not only are the president and the White House press corps in flight, off the radar for sixteen hours, the president isn’t bringing home anything to celebrate. Sorry, Mr. President—I tried to tell you, but you didn’t listen.
“First question!” Griffith made a show of scanning the room, then chose the one he’d preselected for his pugnacity. “OK, Larry,” said Griffith, pointing to a reporter in the second row.
“Mr. Vice President, the administration’s response to Six-thirteen has had an ad hoc, make-it-up-as-you-go quality that has disturbed and angered many people. Many victims suffered because shelter and food were slow to arrive and distributed carelessly. Why were you so unprepared?”
Griffith stopped just short of licking his chops before saying, “Larry, of course our response was ad hoc! In the blink of an eye, about five hundred thousand innocent people were smashed into a mix of dead, wounded, and homeless persons, and in the desert at that! No government prepares at scale to deal with an attack of this size. We certainly had plans, well-practiced plans, but never rehearsed on this scale.
“I’m not apologetic that our response had an ad hoc quality, I’m proud that it did! Because, if it didn’t, we’d still be standing around with our thumbs you-know-where, waiting for someone to hand us a plan. The people led by these men with me have done a heroic and, I’d even say, inspired job of improvising. They continue to do that every day. I’m damn proud to be associated with their efforts!”
The vice president’s eyes sparkled. He waved his arm as if painting a heroic mural on the wall behind the press, who were scribbling furiously.
“But what about the slow arrival of food, shelter, clothing, and other relief supplies?”
Griffith devoured the question like a hungry man eating breakfast.
“Slow? What’s slow when you’re working on this scale? Remember, folks, when you include victims and survivors’ family members, whom we’re also supporting out here, we’re dealing with a group about as large as the whole U.S. Army. Even the entire supply chain of Wal-Mart doesn’t hold enough food and bedding at one time to take care of that many! And even if it did, it would take every eighteen-wheeler in North America a month to move it here.”
Griffith didn’t know whether that was true or not, but he knew the press didn’t know, either. His stance challenged them, Wyatt Earp ready to clear leather.
“So you’re saying that everything that could have been done to prepare for this was done, and everything that’s been done since Six-thirteen was right—there are no lessons to be learned, nothing to do differently?”
“No, not at all! There are lessons in this. First, we must never again let ourselves get in such a position that a rogue state like North Korea would have so little concern for our retaliation that they attack us. And, if I may put on my other hat for a moment, my Homeland Security hat”—Griffith placed an imaginary hat on his head—“we need to realize that we can no longer permit our borders to be porous, and we are probably going to have to readjust the balance between civil liberties and national security.
“I know that’s not a popular thing to say in some quarters. But I think most people, whatever their feelings prior to Six-thirteen, if they dealt up close and personal—day after day—with the destruction, pain, suffering, and broken lives caused by this murderous attack, would agree: when you balance the possibility of abuse against the flesh-and-blood reality of Las Vegas, you give primacy to defeating new attacks over theoretical concerns that American officials might abuse temporary emergency powers.”
“Mr. Vice President, there are rumors that you had a very persuasive conversation with the CEO of a food service company that should best remain unidentified. Can you confirm that and tell us what happened?”
Griffith fought off the grin about to burst forth, holding it to a modest smile. “Well, yes, I did. I won’t accept business-as-usual responses in this crisis! Again, I suppose that comes from spending a lot of time with the victims of this
despicable attack. I felt that particular company wasn’t giving its all-out support, which we sorely needed, and felt the CEO probably didn’t understand our situation here. He needed to see for himself. I made that possible and also gave him an overview of the situation as I saw it. Armed with that new information, the CEO returned to his company and led them in much-improved performance, for which I am most grateful.”
When the appreciative laughter subsided, Griffith continued: “And that reminds me of a thought I had earlier, regarding the speed of our response. I guess I got off onto some other aspect. Anyway, someone commented about lack of speed in our response. I want to make another point about that.
“I’m well aware of the saying ‘when you want it bad, you get it bad.’ When it came to, say, temporary housing, we certainly wanted it bad. I had a choice. I could insist on rigorous contracting and quality control measures in order to avoid or at least reduce fraud, waste, and abuse. But that would take more time, too much time in my judgment. I decided to minimize processes in order to get tents and trailers here as quickly as humanly possible. As a result, we’ve had to discard some because of shoddy or unsafe workmanship, and, as sure as I’m standing here, there is someone listening on TV or radio that is cheating the people of Las Vegas and the nation. I say to that person and others like him, shame on you! If I catch you, you’ll bitterly regret your scamming at the expense of these sufferers. But I won’t let fear of the few like you delay us in getting aid to those who so desperately need it!”
The vice president performed for about forty-five minutes. His delighted press pool preened and lobbed targets into the kill zone of his rhetorical missiles. It was a win-win, with the media getting video that spread virally across blogs and cable and talk shows, and Griffith getting the opportunity to sound on top of things—decisive and inspiring.
Later it would be clear that on this day the tide of American opinion turned against the president’s strategy.