Hood regarded Bugs Benet's small image. "Put those in the Options Paper as a footnote under PROBLEM. Whenever the hell Rodgers gets here, he and Martha can hammer out an addendum." He looked back at the monitor. "Av, where do the Chinese stand in all this?"
"I spoke with their Foreign Minister just before the meeting. They insist they don't want war on their Manchurian border, but we also know they don't want a unified Korea there either. In time, it would grow into a capitalistic powerhouse that would spur envy and unrest among the Chinese. In the first case, you have refugees streaming into China, and in the second, Chinese trying to sneak into Korea for their bite of the apple."
"But Beijing is still providing money and military support to the North."
"A relatively modest amount."
"And if there's a war, will that increase or stop?"
Av flipped an invisible coin. "Politically, it could go either way."
"Unfortunately, we need a concensus on this for the President. Anyone care to commit?"
"What do you say?" Burkow asked.
Hood thought back to Liz Gordon's psych profile and took a leap of faith. "We assume they'll continue to support the North at present levels— even if war erupts. That would allow them to support their old allies without unduly antagonizing the U.S."
"That sounds reasonable," said National Security Adviser Burkow, "but— if you'll forgive me— I think you're missing an important point. If the Chinese do increase their support, and the President has relied on our paper, we'll all have egg on our faces. If, however, we urge him to move substantial manpower into the Yellow Sea— poised to strike at North Korea, but obviously keeping an eye on China— then he'll be greatly relieved when Beijing does nothing."
"Unless they perceive our sea power as a threat," said Defense Secretary Colon. "Then they might be forced to become involved."
Hood thought for several seconds. "I suggest we downplay the China role."
"I agree," said Colon. "I can see almost no circumstance that would cause us to attack supply routes in China, so there's no reason to move guns into their neighborhood."
Hood was glad, but hardly surprised, that Colon agreed. Hood had never served in the military— he lucked out on the draft lottery in 1969— and one of the first things he learned about officers was how they're typically the last advisers to advocate the use of force. If they did, they wanted to know very clearly and explicitly the exit strategies for their troops.
"I'm with you on that, Ernie," said Av. "The Chinese have lived with our military presence in Korea for nearly half a century: they'll look the other way if war erupts and we use it. They don't want to lose favored nation trade status, not with their economy starting to percolate. And anyway, it will suit them to play the role of Great White Father and try to settle this thing for us."
Hood pushed F6 on the keyboard, then Control/F1 to see the current document. As the transcription had scrolled by Bugs Benet, he had merged the pertinent data with a blank Options Paper file. When the meeting was over, Hood would be able to go over the rough draft of the form, add or detract as necessary, and get it right over to the President.
His quick scan of the document revealed that they had everything they needed— save for military options and the Task Force's opinion as to whether or not they'd be necessary.
"All right," he said. "Good work. Now let's hammer out the rest."
Relying mostly on Defense Secretary Colon and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Parker, and referring to on-file policy papers, the team recommended a measured approach to full battlefield integration: continued slow deployment of troops, tanks, artillery, and Patriots, with nuclear, chemical, and biological depots on alert and ready to move.
Without new information from the KCIA and McCaskey's incomplete check on international terrorists, the Task Force recommended in addition that the President work through diplomatic channels to contain and resolve the crisis.
Hood gave the team members thirty minutes to look over the rough Options Paper and insert additional thoughts before he got to work on the final draft. As he finished up, Bugs cleared his throat.
"Sir, Deputy Director Rodgers would like to speak with you."
Hood looked up at the countdown clock; Rodgers had been out of touch for nearly three hours. Hood hoped he had a good explanation.
"Send him right in, Bugs."
Bugs looked like he wanted to loosen his collar; his round face grew red.
"I can't do that, sir."
"Why? Where is he?"
"On the phone."
Hood was reminded of the funny feeling he'd had when Rodgers quoted Lord Nelson. His features darkened. "Where is he?"
"Sir— somewhere over the Virginia-Kentucky border."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Gregory Donald walked for a while after leaving the Embassy. He was anxious to get to the base, to look after his wife, and to call her parents with the awful news. But he needed time to compose himself for that. To reflect. Her poor father and younger brother would be devastated.
He also had an idea he needed to mull over.
He made his way slowly down old Chongjin Way, past the markets with their brightly colored lanterns, banners, and awnings, all of them alive under the streetlights. The area was more crowded than usual, packed with the curious who had come to look at the blast site, to take pictures and videos and collect mementoes of scrap metal or shards of brick.
He bought fresh tobacco at an open-air stand, a Korean blend; he wanted a taste and smell to associate with this moment, one that would always bring back the aching love he felt for Soonji.
His poor Soonji. She gave up a college professorship in political science here to marry him, to help expatriate Koreans in the U.S. He had never doubted his wife's affection for him, but he had always wondered how much she was moved to marry him by love and how much because it was easier for her to come to the U.S. in his company. He didn't feel guilty thinking that, even now. If anything, her willingness to sacrifice a career that was important to her, to take a husband she barely knew, just to help others made her seem more precious in his eyes. If he had come to realize anything about people in his sixty-two years, it was that relationships between them shouldn't be defined by society, but by the people involved. And he and Soonji had surely done that.
He lit the pipe as he walked, the glow of the flame playing off his tear-filled eyes. It seemed like he should be able to turn around, pick up the phone at the Embassy, and call her, ask her what she was reading or what she'd eaten as he did every night they weren't together. It was inconceivable to him that he couldn't do that— unnatural. He wept as he waited to cross the street.
Would anything matter again?
Right now, he didn't see how. Whatever the level of love they shared, they were also a genuine mutual admiration society. He and Soonji knew that even when no one else appreciated what they were doing or trying to do, they themselves did. They laughed and wept together, debated and fought and kissed and made up together, and hurt together for the hardworking Koreans who were being brutalized in American cities. He could carry on alone, though he no longer seemed to have the desire. It would be his mind and not his heart that drove him. His heart died at a little past six this evening.
Yet, there was still a part of him that burned, that flamed hotter as he thought about the act itself. The explosion. He had known tragedy and loss in his life, had lost so many friends and colleagues through car accidents, plane crashes, and even assassination. But that was random or it was targeted: it was fate or it was an act aimed at a specific figure for a particular deed or philosophy. He simply couldn't comprehend the shocking impunity that drove someone to commit a blind act like this, to snuff out Soonji's life along with the lives of so many others. What cause was so urgent that the death of innocents was the best way to get attention? Whose ego or ambition or singular world view was so strong that it had to be satisfied in this way?