Code Word: Paternity, A Presidential Thriller (16 page)

The president’s
smart phone chirped. He glanced at it, then dismissed the alert. He motioned to
Dorn, who said, “NATO foreign ministers told me that if we decide to use force,
we’re on our own. The French foreign minister, by the way, seemed to take it
for granted that we intend to retaliate by taking out at least one North Korean
city.
He certainly made it clear that’s
what Franc
e
would do!

“I
got some skeptical
questions
about our analysis of the bomb debris. The Belgians and the Germans think we’re
repeating our WMD mistake. The Turkish foreign minister was pleased that we
aren’t pointing to al-Qaeda, or another Islamist group, because that would push
Turkey
into a corner.”

Martin glowered, shaking his head.
When are they going to get
over it
? I’m not George Bush. The world has
changed!

 
“So, let’s hear from you, Anne,” he said. “How
do things look for the summit?”

Battista sat up straighter in her chair
in Beijing,
will overcoming fatigue. “Not great, but not impossible either, Mr. President.
As you know, since your speech there’s been violent unrest in South Korea.
Thanks to your call to President Gwon, his internal security forces were ready
and quickly forced back the protesters storming our embassy.”

At the bottom of the screen Battista’s
right wrist could be seen rocking up and down. Eric Easterly registered the
familiar mannerism: She was tapping a pen on the desk.

 
“Bottom line on the South Koreans: they are
very
conflicted
. Both the elites and ordinary citizens believe that Kim is
difficult but someone they can live with. They believe that he will die soon
and his son will be easier. Slowly, they’ll move toward clos
er ties between
north and south. Now,
suddenly,
they are presented with an alternative
universe where Kim has attacked the United States,
their own key ally, leaving North
Korea open to nuclear retaliation. The consequence
of a U.S.
nuclear attack on the north
is disaster
for
the south.
For most South Koreans this
must be
like an out-of-the-blue diagnosis of a fatal cancer, ‘Hello, you have only a
few weeks to live.’ Not surprisingly, they’re in denial. At the least, they
want a second opinion. And, until they accept that second opinion, they’re
furious at the U.S.
for, as they see it, putting them in danger.”

Martin rocked his chair back and
interlaced his hands behind his aching neck. That felt better. “Do you think President
Gwon shares my view that there’s a silver lining here, that it offers an
opportunity for unification?”

“No, sir. Quite the opposite. He doesn’t
want to unite the north and the south in a single, chaotic event, liking
marching across the DMZ as Kim leaves Pyongyang.
He fears that would impose huge costs, both financially and socially, as it did
when Germany
unified almost overnight. He wants a unification timetable of years.”

“So Gwon is someone else who doesn’t
realize the world has changed, that he’s out of his comfort zone whether he
wants to be or not?” The president scowled.

“I’d have to
agree with that, Mr. President.”

“Well, I guess I
have work to do, then! What about the Japanese?”
  

Battista’s expression said ‘that’s a
different story.’ “They’ve been wo
rking at
acknowledging
Kim is a threat for much longer than the South Koreans.
They’re worried about what Kim may do to them
to
force us to leave him alone
. Their defense minister told me that, if a
decision is made to remove Kim by force, it must be done quickly; otherwise Kim
will surely hit them with a nuke. Their price for supporting us is your
commitment to take Kim’s government down fast and hard if that’s what you
decide to do. Gradualism will cost the Japanese a city; that’s the way Minister
Sato put it to me.”

“W
ell, I may not give that commitment, if
‘taking Kim’s government down fast and hard’ requires killing a lot of North
Korean civilians!”

Dorn’s eyebrows shot up and he said, “Mr.
President, we should think hard about the consequences of failing to prevent Japan from
being hit with a nuke. Our larger goal—
your
initiative
—is to put the brakes on nuclear proliferation. If Japan and
others see that the result of forgoing their own bombs and trusting us to
protect them is not protection, but great pain, there goes nonproliferation!”

Slapping the table, Martin said, “Well,
I’m not going to murder a bunch of people who bear no responsibility for Kim’s
actions!”

In Washington,
Griffith looked
at Guarini and shook his head. He scribbled quickly and shoved the note to him.

Chapter 30

“Mr. President, we need Japan’s
support, and we won’t get it unless you make that commitment!” said Battista,
her eyes muted by the video screen but compelling nonetheless.

Silence.

Guarini stepped into his role as
defuser-in-chief. “Anne, what, specifically, do we need from Japan?”

“A lot! Cutting off funds to Kim’s regime
from the significant Korean population in Japan;
supporting the blockade; continuing use of our navy and air force bases in Japan, which
Kim will undoubtedly threaten to attack. Next there’s supporting us at this
summit and in the UN, and then supporting nonproliferation itself.

“The Japanese could have a nuclear
capability in two-three years, wouldn’t you agree, Aaron?”

The director of national intelligence
nodded. “That’s a fair estimate. A nuclear Japan
would be a huge shock to China,
one that would surely drive them into increasing
their
nuclear forces.”

Silence reigned again. Guarini, reading
his boss, said, “OK, food for thought. What about Russia
and China,
Anne?”

“The Russians, ah, the Russians!”
Battista threw up her hands. “They’re the wild card. They’re less affected than
the other three; the Russians live in the neighborhood, but not on the same
block. Volkov is still angry about America’s
part in the dissolution of the Soviet Union.
So, I think he’s looking for an opportunity to make you squirm, Mr. President.
He probably also sees a chance to get something big in return for Russia’s
support. With each of the other four we have sticks to work with; with the
Russians, only carrots.”

“Well, Anne, you and John better work on
finding us some sticks!” said Martin, pointing at each. “And China? Anne,
what do you and Ambassador Caulfield think?”

“China will push for the status quo,
but President Ming knows we have to do
something
.
Foreign Minister Jia told Barton and me that he fears catastrophic consequences
if we attack North Korea.
He said under some circumstances, like invasion, China would be compelled to assist
Kim. And he said that a nuclear attack on North Korea would be
quote
unacceptable
unquote
. But, he implied that a conventional bombing campaign would
not necessarily trigger their military intervention. One way to read those
comments is that they describe the sticks we have to work with.”

Battista brushed her hair back and tucked
it behind her ears. “As for carrots, I’m sure President Ming will have a list.
One could be the withdrawal of our support for independent Taiwan so that they can take control of it as
they did Hong Kong. Another might be
establishing a preferred status for Chinese investments in U.S. Treasuries.”

“Do you think Ming will threaten to dump
their holdings, or to refuse to buy more?” said Griffith.

 
“Well, Mr. Vice President,” said Barton
Caulfield, “that’s certainly a possibility, but the GOC didn’t buy Treasuries
to do us a favor. They did it because it was a sound investment. They’ve got a
lot riding on our recovery—our success in preventing other attacks and our
economic health. They stand to lose not only those billions in Treasuries but
also a crucial export market.”

He paused then said, “Mr. President, as
the secretary and I have been discussing, we have another carrot, one I believe
is very high on Ming’s wish list! He wants to emerge from this conference as
the leader of America’s
superpower partner. Since the demise of the USSR, we’ve stood alone. If we now
acknowledge China as our
equal partner, clearly more important than Russia, it will be a huge feather
in Ming’s cap. With that, plus something significant on Taiwan, Ming’s
place in modern Chinese history would seem assured, not to mention his ability
to stay in power.”
                                                              

Martin perked up. Observing, Guarini
relaxed. “What do we need from Ming Liu?” said Martin.

Battista responded: “Mr. President, we
need a
lot
. We need China’s cooperation in the blockade of North Korea, just as we need South Korea’s.
Without either one, no blockade. We also need their cooperation at the Security
Council—at the very least, not using their veto.”

Caulfield added, “Also, Ming is in a
unique position to help us attain peaceful regime change. China is not only the DPRK’s most important
source of support; culturally China
is their elder cousin. If anyone can talk Kim into giving up his nukes or going
into exile, it’s Ming.”

Across the table from Guarini, the DCI
spoke: “There’s one more thing, something Ming is uniquely able to do.”
Hendricks paused for dramatic effect, then continued: “He can validate Paternity.
He can recount Albright’s assertion about China providing HEU to the Paks and
tell everyone it was true.”

Martin rocked forward in his chair and
planted his elbows on the table. “That would be huge!” he said. “If they did
that, and supported us in the Security Council, we could probably get the UN to
act.

“So, everyone,
how should I approach Ming?”

Dorn, who usually waited to sum up,
surprised Guarini by speaking immediately. “You need to two-step this, sir. At
this meeting you need to get Ming’s cooperation, but you can’t give him that
equal partnership. If you do, the Russians will surely block us at the UN. Once
it’s clear we are granting China
the status that the USSR
had, Russia’s
main objective will be to block the two of us in everything. They will be
obsessed with showing the world they still count. So, we need to get the
blockade going and get the necessary UN actions before you anoint China.”

Battista leaped in. “I agree, Mr.
President. This is going to be very delicate, very subtle. In other words,
right up your alley!” She cringed at her blurted words, but Martin loved them.

“Right you are, Anne! This is a
challenge, but we’re up to it. Well, I’ve got a busy thirty-six hours ahead:
Premier Kato, President Gwon, and then on to Beijing. I’d better grab some sleep, unless
there’s something else right now? . . . Fine. Thanks everyone!”

The screens went
dark.

Rick tossed, sleepless, in his cabin in
the nose of Air Force One. The aircraft rode smooth as silk, but he couldn’t
drop off.

This
is a huge opportunity! It’s what I’ve been preparing for all my life. It’s one
of those rare moments when world politics shakes free from the web of
uncertainties and self-deceptions and short-term imperatives. It’s an
opportunity to hit the reset button. Many leaders haven’t realized that yet,
and my challenge and opportunity is to show them.

I
can do that! It’s what I’ve always done. And when I’ve done it, the world will
be safer and saner than it was before Six-thirteen.

The secretary of defense sat alone in the
senior staff compartment, a nightcap in his hand. Disdaining the spiffy Air
Force One leather flight jackets available, he wore an old, olive-drab nylon
jacket with a worn leather patch on the left breast displaying the Navy SEAL
insignia and “LT Eric Easterly, USNR” in faded gold. His gaze inventoried the
cabin: leather upholstery, indirect lighting, polished wood, thick carpet,
eagle glaring fiercely from the Great Seal of the United States on the bulkhead.

Here,
we’re
surrounded by all the trappings,
he thought.
It’s easy to believe that if you conceive a plan, the power this
airplane evokes will make it happen. But power is situational and IQ won’t stop
a bullet. I wish the president had the experience, like me, of being pinned
down by an illiterate peasant with an ancient rifle and every intention of
canceling my ticket.

The
race doesn’t necessarily go to the swiftest.
He smiled at his play on words, then dozed.

Chapter 31

Beijing

Rick’s temples
screamed as if being squeezed by the tongs he used as a teenager working
summers in the ice-making plant at Easton.
His proposal that the five nations impose a quarantine on North Korea had been
received coolly—by closed minds—with South Korean and Russian doubts that
Paternity’s evidence was sufficient. Japan’s Premier Kato supported him
strongly, and cleverly, too. Rick was grateful—as Kato had intended, the
president wryly acknowledged.

Martin let his gaze rove the room as Ming
Liu, their host and honorary chairman, spoke. Ming, whose face was dominated by
a broad nose and topped by a thick head of perfectly controlled hair, fidgeted
with his earphone, a bit uncomfortable but essential for a meeting conducted in
five languages.

A plastic flower arrangement sat at the
center of the large, circular table. It contained five tulips, each a different
color, and at the moment four were lit. Each lighted tulip signaled that a
translation was in progress. Observing them, a speaker could tell when the
translation of his words was complete. It was an odd but useful device that had
been a fixture in the talks with and about North Korea for years.

President Ming smiled like a beneficent
teacher as he completed his opening statement, his teeth showing nicotine
stains.

“Even from our brief discussion so far it
is clear that this is a complex situation requiring careful study. We must not
rush into something heedlessly. President Martin, we all offer our sympathetic
support to the people of the United
States in this difficult and distressing
situation. We have a range of views on the table. China is not at odds with any of
them. No nation knows better than China how, um, troublesome Comrade
Kim can be at times. Still, we feel a great deal of fraternal unity with the
Democratic People’s Republic
of Korea. This is a unity
born of our common belief in communism as the best organizing principle of
society and of the personal bonds between our two peoples, who together gave
much of their blood to ensure the independent existence of the DPRK.”

OK,
I know where this is going,
thought Rick.
This group is deadlocked,
two to two, and Ming’s going to cast the swing vote. But not until he’s
demonstrated that I can’t succeed without his support.

As he spoke, Ming’s mind probed for
Martin’s.
So, Rick Martin, do you feel my
hand squeezing your balls? Of course you do. You know I’ve got you, that you
cannot emerge from this meeting with what you need unless I grant it.

“It is a profound thing, President
Martin, that you come here asking us to do, to join the United States
in removing the leader of a sovereign nation. If that were not weighty enough,
the leader you would have us remove has nuclear weapons. And your proposed
quarantine is actually a blockade and as such is an act of war.

“You assert that the DPRK attacked the United States, destroying Las Vegas with a nuclear bomb. As proof of
your assertion you offer a scientific analysis of bomb debris compared to
nuclear material you tell us came from Yongbyon. China does not dispute the
possibility that such an analysis could be accurate. Like America and the Soviet Union
, China
has made considerable use of such analyses in the past, and we understand that
a great deal can be determined by analysis of fallout. But you are asking
us—and indeed the world—to accept the United States’ assurance that the
comparison sample is indeed from Yongbyon. All hinges on that. You will, I’m
sure, not take offense when I say we must consider this most carefully.”

With an expression that perfectly suited
a cat playing with a mouse, Ming continued: “Well, this has been a most useful
opening session. I thank you all for your candid and helpful statements, each
illuminating the situation faced by the United States from a different
perspective, perspectives that I’m sure President Martin appreciates and will
consider most carefully.

“The morning has flown; unless there are
objections, I propose we adjourn for lunch.”

Ming looked at Martin challengingly and,
hearing nothing, nodded and pushed back from the table.

In a large, airy room well provisioned
with drinks and finger foods, the delegations swirled like schools of fish, now
intermingling, now separating. The conversations in five languages were an
interpreter’s nightmare, with those harassed individuals constantly scanning to
see where they were needed and hustling to position themselves. President Ming,
ever the genial host, worked the room. Approaching the Americans, who were in
conversation with the Russians, Ming caught Martin’s eye and pointed aside with
his chin. Martin took his leave and joined him, trailed by his Chinese
interpreter and his Secret Service agent, Wilson.

“May we talk for
a moment in private, Mr. President?”

“Of course,
President Ming, and please call me Rick.”

Ming ushered
Martin to a door and opened it. Following Ming into the room, Martin saw two
men whose backs were turned. One wore khaki trousers and jacket; the other, a
dark suit. At the sound of their entrance the two men turned.

Martin felt
shock so profound he nearly stumbled—the man in khaki was Kim Jong-il.

Kim smiled and strode confidently toward
Martin, who stood as if rooted. Ming spoke through his interpreter: “I thought
it would be helpful if you two met.” Ming gave Martin an avuncular pat on the
shoulder; then he and his interpreter left the room.

Rick’s brain exploded:
Jesus! Here I am with this guy, and there’s
no Korean interpreter except his. It’s now on record that we’ve met and talked,
and there are no bilingual witnesses but his guy. Kim or Ming can later
announce whatever they want about our discussion, and there’s only my word to
contradict them. Maybe I should just leave the room . . . no, then Kim would
figure I’m unwilling to listen; it might prevent a dialogue that could lead him
to step down.

Ming, you bastard!

Suddenly Kim was in front of him, holding
out his hand, smiling face masked by those trademark sunglasses. Reflexively,
Martin took Kim’s hand and then almost jerked free as he wondered whether he
should take the hand of someone who had recently killed about eighty thousand
people. Martin was rattled, speechless. His interpreter was not and took out a
notepad. Seeing that matter-of-fact action helped Rick get a grip.

Kim acted as if this were a normal first
meeting between heads of state. He spoke and paused for his interpreter.

“Good afternoon, President Martin. I’m
very pleased to meet you. I’m quite delighted to meet a serving American
president, at last. This has been my wish for twenty years.”

Martin’s ability to begin speaking before
he had decided what to say—sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse—kicked in.

“Mr. Kim, this is a surprise . . . I’m
not sure how you wish to be addressed.”

“Oh, Kim will
do.”

Finding his
feet, Martin bored in.

“Kim, why did
you do it? Why did you bomb Las Vegas?”

“I did not, Mr. President. You have made
a very great mistake by accusing my dear people and me of attacking you.”

“Kim, we have
proof that the bomb was North Korean.”

“No, you have only brazen lies! You
concocted a so-called Yongbyon sample, making it match your sample from Las Vegas.”

Martin’s jaw dropped, then snapped
closed, seeming to catapult his words. “Kim, I believe you and your regime are
responsible and I am going to act on that belief! The United States and the other nations meeting here
today will not allow you to continue to rule North
Korea, nor will we allow North Korea to keep its nuclear
weapons.”

Like the governor that keeps an engine
from over-speeding, a voice spoke in Martin’s head:
Watch it! You’re getting angry. Don’t let him turn this into a
chest-thumping contest. You mustn’t let yourself care whether or not you face
him down or what he thinks of you. The goal is a nuclear-free Korea ruled by
someone less dangerous than Kim. Focus on that.

Kim adopted a pained expression. “Mr.
President, my dear people depend on me. They would be lost without me. It would
be very difficult to leave them.

“We need not quarrel, Mr. President. The
Democratic People’s Republic of Korea wants only to be the friend and ally of the United States.
For many years I have tried to reach an agreement of mutual respect and
nonaggression. Each of your predecessors ignored my offers.

“I am a patient man, and despite your
false accusations I bear you no ill will. Eventually you will discover that a
regrettable error was made by your scientists. I’m sure our countries can then
reach an agreement.”

Holding a hand out, palm up, Martin said,
“Kim, I share your concerns for your dear people. It is possible that they
would, regrettably, be harmed if you refuse to step aside. Thinking of them, I
ask you to consider this: Many Americans want me to order a nuclear strike on
your country. Of those who oppose such a drastic measure, most believe you
must
give up power, if not by agreement
then by economic and military force. We bear your dear people no ill will and
will help them with trade and support for economic development after you leave
and the country is nuclear free. But they will suffer if we are forced to
compel you to go.”

Casually, Kim removed his sunglasses and
held them out. His interpreter took them.

Kim erupted in agitated, impassioned
speech. “Mr. President Rick Martin, you are disrespectful to the people of Korea and to
me! My patience has limits. You speak to me without sincerity, without honesty,
and without respect! We will not accept this!”

His guttural words continued,
incomprehensible to Martin, lava from Kim’s depths. Kim’s interpreter paddled
valiantly in the torrent of Korean, trying not to get swamped by the fiercely
swirling words.

He
sounds like President Gwon, exploding because he feels disrespected! But what
else could I say to him?
Rick stepped back, stomach stabbing, sweat popping at his hairline.

Taking a step forward, Kim said, “We
demand you respect us! You do not have the power to bend us to your will. If
you attack us in any way, we will turn Seoul
into a lake of fire! We will make Japan a radioactive wasteland! We
will kill your invading soldiers in such number that their bodies will pile as
high as Mount
Baekdu
!”

Kim’s face distorted. His eyes narrowed
and their obsidian pupils glared at Martin, who was unable to banish the
thought that this was like watching Jack Nicholson play one of his manic
characters.

Wilson, who usually tuned out the
president’s conversations, felt Kim’s hostility and went on the alert, planning
what he would do if the man laid hands on Martin.

Gathering himself, Martin started to
speak, but Kim hurtled on, fists clenched at his sides: “And do not think those
you are with today will help you, Rick Martin! I have been listening. Gwon and
Kato will not help you; they do not dare face my people’s weapons. Ming and
Volkov will not either! China
needs my leadership of Korea
and the Russians hate you and want you to fail.”

Rick was
hypnotized by the utter chaos and pure hate in Kim’s eyes, which seemed to
attack his soul.

“No, I do not fear either your diplomatic
efforts or your nuclear missiles!” Spittle sprayed. “Your people recently
tasted nuclear destruction. The Japanese people remember their suffering.
Neither will risk another bath in atomic fire, a bath that I promise them if
you threaten—”
  

Ming reentered the room and Kim stopped
in mid-sentence. An eerie calm settled across his face. He held out his hand to
Martin, who ignored it. Pausing for a beat with hand outstretched, Kim said, in
passable English, “A pleasure, Mr. President,” and stepped toward Ming.

“Thank you for
arranging this meeting, President Ming. It was most productive.”

Ming nodded,
grasped Martin’s elbow, and guided him out of the room.

Ming halted apart from the others in the
reception room and spoke quietly through Martin’s interpreter. “Rick, I know
you are angry with me, but I have done you a favor. I have given you an
opportunity to take the measure of Kim in private so that you will know who you
are dealing with. When your anger fades, you will appreciate that, I’m sure.”

Martin, tight-lipped, nodded.

“I leave it to you whether to mention
this to the others.” Ming shook Martin’s hand with a smile and ambled off
toward the South Koreans.

Chapter 32

Rick’s thoughts swirled as delegations
resumed their places.
Should I say
something now? Yes. That’ll put me back in the driver’s seat; besides, if I
don’t take the initiative, Ming will spring it whenever it suits him.