Threat Level Black (9 page)

“The NSA has a good read on the e-mails,” CIA director Jack Anthony told the President. “We’ve verified that Dr. Park is at the complex. It’s possible that there is a bomb there, or at the airfield two miles away. Getting him and the weapon would be an intelligence bonanza.”

“It would be an important break,” said Thomas Brukowski, the Homeland Security secretary. “Because, from the intelligence we’ve been getting on this E-bomb plot, something’s going to shake out within a week to ten days.”

Blitz closed his eyes. Brukowski was always saying that something was always going to “shake out” within a week to ten days. Blitz had seen the same intelligence that he had, and the prediction was absolutely not justified. In fact, the DIA and Homeland Security team investigating it had been spinning its wheels for more than a week without coming up with anything new.

Now that he had been belatedly informed of the scientist and his offer to deliver an E-bomb—the latest promise—Brukowski naturally assumed that North Korea was the source of the weapon his people were hunting for. He was by far the most gung-ho member of the cabinet, which the President had gathered to discuss the National Security Council’s unanimous vote that the scientist be “rescued.”

“I don’t think that scientist is worth the risk involved in trying to get him out,” said Myron Pierce, the secretary of defense. “Too many lives would be on the line, and the potential for blowback is just too huge over there right now.”

“We have a plan that minimizes the risk,” said Anthony. “We may need some logistical backing, but it would be minimal. We’d use two CIA paramilitary agents, with some Special Forces backup. That’s it.”

“Korea is way too volatile,” said Pierce.

“I concur,” said Wordsworth Cook, the secretary of state. “We can’t do anything to upset the Korean teeter-totter.”

“What did you have in mind, Jack?” Blitz prompted, trying to get off the negative track.

“Infiltration from the coast. If we could deposit them via a submarine…”

Pierce scowled. “They’ll be picked up before they get a mile from the coast.”

“We have infiltrated agents before,” said Anthony. “The only downside is how long it will take them to get to the target area. I’d prefer using an airdrop, but, given the defenses, it doesn’t seem practical.”

“And how do they get out?” asked Pierce.

“They march back to the coast.”

“You think the scientist can walk that far?”

“No way of knowing unless we try.”

While Blitz was tentatively backing Anthony’s plan as a fallback, he preferred a more direct approach and had already put some feelers out to the military command responsible for Special Operations, as well as to some of the staff people who worked for the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He saw his opportunity now to push for a more aggressive plan.

“The location in Korea makes the planning problematic,” Blitz admitted, rising from his chair and leaning over the large table in the cabinet room. He glanced to his right, looking at D’Amici. The President wore his best poker face. “But the time sensitivity argues for an aggressive plan.”

“What time sensitivity?” said Pierce. “There’s no imminent threat here. This is just one more weapon—which they may not even have.”

“The situation in North Korea is deteriorating rapidly,” said Blitz.

“If we start a war, it’ll deteriorate even faster.”

“I’m not advocating a preemptive strike, or anything of that nature,” said Blitz.

“There are time constraints on our side,” said Brukowski. “They’ve given the weapon to terrorists. I’m sure of it.”

Pierce gave Brukowski a contemptuous scowl, then asked Blitz, “You buy the contention that the weapon has been smuggled into the U.S.?”

“I don’t know,” said Blitz, hedging; he actually didn’t. “The situation in Korea is such that a well-designed operation, be it Special Forces or CIA, should be able to retrieve our scientist. I think it would be worth the risk. The North Koreans have been making outrageous claims about intrusions by our forces for months without basis; even if they see something now, who will believe them?”

“The Japanese,” said Cook.

“Special Operations can put something together,” said General Grant Richards, the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “It would make sense.”

“Helicopters, even Ospreys, aren’t going to make it over the border from the south, given their present alert status,” said Pierce. “And they’d be pushing beyond their range. If we put an aircraft carrier or an assault ship—hell, even a destroyer—close to the Korean coast, the Chinese are going to be upset.”

“And we shouldn’t be upset that the Koreans are building terrorist weapons and giving them to murderers?” said Brukowski.

“My point is, a large operation is going to be noticed,” said Pierce. “Whatever you do. You use a ship to get close to the coast and use Ospreys or helicopters to land at the complex where he is, or you send a C-130 to the airfield. Either way, you’ll be seen. This is North Korea we’re talking about. There are only a limited number of ways to get by their radars and air defenses, and each one of them is very risky. As for getting a bomb out, forget it: It’s a pipe dream. I bet this guy isn’t even real.”

“I think the situation calls for finesse,” said Anthony. “I have a plan drawn up. I only need minimal help.”

“If he’s worth getting, we’re going to have to take some risks,” said Blitz.

“Let’s see what those risks are,” said the President. “Draw up some plans. I want to see your option, and I want to see what the Army thinks. By tonight.”

“You want to review the plans yourself?” Blitz asked. While he wanted it to proceed, he understood the need for the President to stand aloof in case something went wrong.

“I want to see the outlines, not all of the specifics,” said the President. “I don’t need to know how many gallons of fuel we’re using or how many clips of ammunition we’re carrying. In the end I’m going to get blamed no matter what happens,” he added. “I might as well deserve some of it.”

Seeing New York City from the air always filled Fisher with a certain indescribable sensation. Fortunately, he had come prepared, and so, with the help of four or five industrial-strength antacids and an Alka-Seltzer tablet he found in the seat cushion, the FBI agent made it off the plane in reasonably good shape. He was just starting to feel the light tingle of a nascent nicotine fit when he spotted Karl Grinberg of the New York office prowling the JFK reception hall. Fearing the worst, he turned right, hoping to make his escape—only to run into Kowalski’s extended arms.

“You better let me go or read me my rights,” said Fisher.

“Even with jet lag, you’re a pistol,” said Kowalski.

“I don’t have jet lag. I need a cigarette,” said Fisher, edging toward the door.

“Fisher. Your boss wants to talk to you,” said Grinberg, marching up.

“Which boss?” tried Fisher, though he knew it was no use.

“Hunter.”

“I work for Homeland Security now.”

“Yeah,” said Kowalski. “He’s going to swab the deck on a Coast Guard cutter.”

“You better stay away from their recruiters, Kowalski,” Fisher said. “I hear they have a tugboat shortage.”

“Yuk, yuk, yuk. Come on. Make your call and let’s get going.”

“You came for me?”

“That and the pizza. Macklin says it’s good here.”

“One question, Fisher,” said Hunter when Fisher called him from Grinberg’s car.

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Is the scientist legitimate?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was this scientist real?”

“Seemed to be breathing.”

“You know what I mean,” said Hunter. “Were they trying to snatch our gal, or was this guy really trying to defect?”

“I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

“No screwing around here, Fisher. The President wants to know.”

“I’m not sure,” said Fisher. “If I didn’t think he was real, I wouldn’t have gone in the first place.” He blew a smoke ring toward the car dashboard.

“People’s lives are on the line here,” said Hunter. “And my reputation.”

“Is that another question?”

“I’m asking you again: Was he real?”

“I think so. But maybe you ought to tell me what answer you want so I get it right.”

Hunter hung up.

HELLO AMANDA

I
ASK AGAIN FOR HELP
. A
T LEAST ONE WEAPON SOLD
. I
HAVE INFORMATION
.

P
LEASE
.

A
NSWER
.

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Howe celebrated his decision by walking against a brisk late-winter wind to Washington’s Chinatown section and having lunch. He even gamely tried eating with chopsticks, though he soon gave that up in favor of tried-and-true Western utensils. After lunch he headed back across the mall to the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, studying the World War I–era aircraft and just wandering in general through the vast halls of the museum. A new computer simulation booth had been set up, allowing visitors to practice their skill in simulated World War II dogfights. Howe blasted a Focke-Wulf 190 out of the sky with a Hurricane—no mean feat—but had a much harder time against the V-1 buzz bombs, pilotless terror weapons used by Germany at the end of the war. The trick was to fly next to them, then tip them off course with your wing. Howe gave up his spot to a twelve-year-old after several unsuccessful tries; the kid upended the V-1 on the first try.

The visit to aviation’s past made him feel as if he had let go of his own, and he arrived back at his hotel in good spirits, deciding to have one last meal in town at an expensive restaurant before leaving in the morning. He got into the elevator and held it open for a young mother and her child; the doors had nearly closed when a man in a blue pin-striped suit stuck his hand in, leveraging them back. The man leaned over and punched the button for Howe’s floor—seventeen—even though it was lit.

The child in the elevator looked to be about two. Spit dribbled from his mouth. As his mother bent to wipe it, Howe noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. For a moment he fantasized about striking up a conversation and inviting her to dinner.

The elevator stopped before he could think of anything to say. Howe reached to hold the door open for her; his gallantry earned him a smile from the woman, but he remained tongue-tied as the doors closed.

“Pretty,” said the other man.

“Oh, yeah,” said Howe.

“Instant family, though. Not for you.”

Howe turned to him.

“My name is Jake Elder. I’m with the Pentagon,” said the man. “Some people with the chief of staff want to talk to you about an aircraft you’re familiar with, and they sent me to get you.”

“What aircraft?” said Howe.

“Actually, I don’t know,” said Elder. “I think the nature of what they want to talk to you about requires compartmentalization. An Army major by the name of Tyler sent me,” added Elder. “He said you’d know him.”

The door to the elevator opened on Howe’s floor. Neither man moved to get out.

“He also said to make sure you knew this was strictly voluntary,” said Elder.

“All right,” Howe said. “Take me to him.”

Tyler met him in the Pentagon lobby, zipping him through security and filling him in as they walked upstairs to a suite of planning rooms.

“We were talking about Korea and your name came up,” said the major. “I thought I’d take a chance that you were still around.”

“I haven’t been in Korea since I was a lieutenant,” said Howe.

“It wasn’t really about your experience there.”

Tyler explained that he was working with a task force developing plans to target various North Korean advanced-weapons development sites in case of a war, facilities that might be difficult to bomb or worthy of study before being destroyed. The task force included CIA, DIA, and intelligence people.

“We’ve been asked to set up something special,” added Tyler. “Something a little complicated, and we have to put a plan together pretty quick.”

“I’ll help if I can,” said Howe.

A group of planners and intelligence experts, some in military uniform and some in civilian dress, were working in a large conference room Tyler led him to. Most had laptops open and sat around a pair of large round conference tables pushed awkwardly together, a large map at the center. The map was of North Korea. There were satellite photos and diagrams of a small airstrip known as Pong Yan and an adjacent installation.

“We want to pick someone up from this base,” said Tyler. “It’s in the northwest, fairly isolated, but a good distance from the coast.”

“And where does Cyclops come in?” asked Howe.

“Cyclops?”

“The airborne laser. That’s why I’m here, right? Because I helped develop it?”

“Not exactly,” said Tyler. “Let me explain.”

Their “target” was currently at the base, but had said he could make it to the airstrip. Two plans had been worked out. Both involved infiltrating Special Operations forces into the area. The first called for a force of two A teams—twenty-four men—to land at a point roughly fifty miles to the northwest. They would proceed overland—basically across mountains—meet the man at a prearranged spot near the camp, and then go back. The drawback was the fifty-mile trip: It was anything but an easy march, and while the soldiers could be expected to make it, the target was unlikely to be in very good shape.

“We’d probably end up carrying him out on a litter,” said Tyler, still speaking as if he led a Special Forces A team, which as a major he would not.

“Why don’t you use the airstrip?” asked Howe.

“That would be easier, but the goal is to make the rescue completely covert,” Tyler explained. He pointed at the map. “We don’t want the Koreans to know anything. And the problem here is that there are radars in this area that would catch anything approaching, and a barracks here and here. They would hear an aircraft or a helicopter.”

And possibly shoot it down, Howe realized, though Tyler didn’t say that.

“What about a Korean plane?” asked Howe.

“That’s plan two,” said Tyler. “Though there are some problems with it.”

Problem one was the fact that Korean aircraft were always strictly accounted for, and one suddenly appearing overhead would instantly arouse suspicions. Problem two was that the field at Pong Yan was short, which limited the aircraft that could land—and, more importantly, take off—there. What they needed was an airplane that belonged there, with reasonable range to get in and out while still operating on a short strip. At the same time it would be nice if it had decent speed and maybe the ability to defend itself against Korean SAMs and MiGs.

“Like a Korean cross between an MC-130 and an F-22,” said one of the civilian analysts.

“If you find a plane like that,” said Howe, “let me know.”

“Actually, NADT has something that might be useful,” said the man. “And it happens to look like a Russian aircraft that’s been operating over the country.”

The Berkut, thought Howe, finally understanding why they had called him.

“We’d still have people on the ground,” Tyler told him. “The team would go in and be prepared to secure the area if anything went wrong.”

“I don’t know if that plane can land there,” said Howe, leaning over the satellite photo.

“The engineers say it can.”

“NADT made it available?” Howe asked.

“That won’t be a problem,” said one of the civilians.

The Berkut was the NADT-built S-37/B, the two-seat American version of the Russian-made S-37 Sukhoi Howe had seen tarped in the hangar the other day. The American knockoff had several advantages over the real S-37, most notably in its payload and range, which could be extended with fuel tanks and an in-air refueling. Even so, the craft would have just enough fuel to make it from Japan, touch down, and then get out over the Sea of Japan for a refuel.

It had some drawbacks compared to the real thing, which was still in development. The American S-37/B was fitted with a Russian 30mm GSh-301 cannon, the same weapon used in the Sukhoi Su-27 series the original type was based on. This was a decent weapon, though of use only in a very short-range engagement. Because it had been built primarily to gain information about the Russian model’s capabilities, the NADT plane had only two working hard points, or spots where missiles or bombs could be attached. These points had also been plumbed for drop tanks—and would have to be used to complete the mission. Which meant it would be flying for a long time over hostile territory without much of a defense.

Howe suggested a pair of F/A-22Vs as long-range, stealthy escorts. While an excellent idea in theory, there were only three Velociraptors in existence and all were currently involved in a suspended NADT test program in Montana; obtaining the planes and making sure they were ready would take more than a week. A squadron of regular F/A-22s were envisioned as standby escorts, operating off the coast and only getting involved if needed. The planners believed—and Howe agreed—that the Berkut would have a better chance of reaching its target area and returning undetected if it flew alone; even if it was seen, the initial reaction would be that it was a Russian aircraft, and radio transmissions could be made to reinforce that. The Raptors, while stealthy, were not quite invisible, and some of the long-range radars the North Koreans used had a reasonable chance of finding them.

“We know it’s a long shot,” said Tyler. “The question is, is it possible?”

Howe folded his arms, realizing that the real question wasn’t whether it could be done or not: It could be. The question was whether he would do it. There were no other American pilots familiar with the plane. It would take several weeks to find another pilot and then train him to fly the aircraft.

“I can do it,” he said. “When do we go?”

Tyler smiled. “Choice isn’t ours, Colonel. We have to take the plan over to the White House in an hour and a half.”

“Well, let’s work out the details, then,” said Howe, pulling out a chair and sitting down.