Chapter 15
Just over twenty-four hours had passed since the President had set the plan in motion. In that time, the situation in North Korea had deteriorated to the point that neither the CIA nor South Korean intelligence knew where Kim Jong Il or his family were. Two armored units, each with about two dozen tanks, were guarding roads to the capital, though it was not clear who beyond themselves they were loyal to.
American troops were now on high alert, not just in Korea, but throughout the world. Two aircraft carriers and their assorted escorts were offshore, and two more were quietly but quickly steaming toward the peninsula. No less than six submarines with Tomahawk missiles and several surface ships were prepared to launch against North Korean targets on the President’s command. The Air Force had round-the-clock patrols and a host of contingency plans: With a single word from the President, an attack could be launched that would make the opening salvos of Gulf War II look like nothing more than a few rounds of target practice.
President D’Amici had ruled out the use of nuclear weapons, even as a retaliatory measure. He saw no point: America ’s awesome conventional capacity could level the country, and nuclear weapons would only complicate the aftermath, endangering the Americans and South Koreans who by necessity would have to pick up the pieces.
“If Truman didn’t use them, I’m not going to,” the President told Blitz as they strode downstairs to the White House situation room, actually a suite of rooms with secure links and access to intelligence gathering around the globe.
Under other circumstances Blitz might have asked the President if he thought Truman should have used the weapons. But this was not the time for what-if scenarios.
The demise of the North Korean dictatorship — however much that was a good thing for the world — meant considerable uncertainty and danger for the South Koreans, the Japanese, and the Americans. Blitz was overwhelmed with estimates, questions, reports, bulletins: Tacit Ivan seemed almost small potatoes in the context of the situation.
Almost.
Homeland Security, the FBI, and local police had raided a New York City apartment the day before, following up leads on the E-bomb situation. The raid had not yielded anything beyond what the specially prepared eyes-only summary declared “potential leads.” But the NSA had picked up several offshore cell phone conversations over the past ten days that used the words black out. One of the interceptions had been traced to a phone connected to a credit card believed to be used by Caliph’s Sons. The information remained maddeningly vague, the connections convoluted, and the evidence elusive. True intelligence analysis required time and perspective; neither was available nor likely to be in the coming days.
When they reached the wood-paneled conference room at the heart of the suite, the President walked over to a cluster of Air Force officers to discuss the latest target list that had been developed for the B-2 bombers stationed in South Korea. The Air Force was shuttling bombers into the air around the clock to maintain coverage of critical targets. The two warheads that the American forces knew about were triple-targeted; both of those weapons would be destroyed within ten minutes of the President’s direct and specific order to do so. Cruise missiles and air-to-ground weapons aboard other fighters would be aimed at nearly one hundred additional top-priority sites, including the suspected additional nuclear warhead missile sites. Missiles that managed to get off despite this would be handled by one of two airborne laser Cyclops aircraft, one over South Korea and one off the coast. An additional line of Patriot antimissile and aircraft batteries protected Seoul.
Twenty minutes for everything to be hit, one of the intelligence officers had said to Blitz. Minuscule in the history of warfare; an eternity if you were in the enemy’s crosshairs.
The President hunched over the shoulder of one of the military analysts going over the latest satellite photos showing North Korean troop movements. There were positive signs: One division near the border seemed to have mutinied and its vehicles were heading away from the demilitarized zone. They could see men following on the roads in the dust, and the sharpest-eyed analysts said a few had thrown away their guns.
“So, Professor, do we move ahead with Tacit Ivan or not?” asked the President.
“Yes, of course,” said Blitz. He put more confidence in his voice than he felt; somehow the atmosphere of the Pentagon always did that to him.
“Even in the face of a coup and mutiny?”
“That’s the best argument to proceed,” said Blitz.
“I agree.”
The President’s face changed momentarily, the heavy mask of responsibility melting. He smiled in a way that reminded Blitz of their much earlier days, ancient history now, spent discussing geopolitics in the dark days after Vietnam. Oddly, he could no longer remember the substance of the talks, but he could remember where they’d taken place: several watching the Orioles, a whole host in Syracuse, where the President spent a brief period as a college professor before running for Congress.
“You’re worried about Howe,” said the President.
“Yes, of course.”
“There’s no question he’s the right man for the job,” said the President. “It comes down to the people on the line. He’s the right man.”
“I don’t disagree,” said Blitz.
“Besides, this will remind him of how important duty is.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’ll take your job,” said the President.
“That’s the least of my worries right now.”
The smile flickered as the mask of command once more took over the President’s face. “Are we set, then?”
“Everything’s in place,” said Blitz. He looked across the room to Colonel Thos and nodded.
“They’re waiting to hear from you at the Pentagon, Mr. President,” said Thos.
Chapter 16
The MC-130 banked hard to the right, its wingtips coming within a few meters of the hillside. Turbulence off the rift in the earth pushed the aircraft downward, threatening disaster; the pilot had only a few feet to work with as he slipped the big four-engined craft through a hole in the North Korean air defenses. All the high-tech radar detectors and GPS locators in the world couldn’t overcome the basic laws of gravity and motion, and as the Hercules came through the narrow mountain pass the success of the mission and the lives of two dozen passengers and crew came down to the reflexes of the man at the helm, a veteran Air Force pilot who had passed up a parcel of supposedly better assignments to stay with the Herky birds and the Special Operations soldiers who relied on them.
Back in the cargo hold of the plane, Tyler waited with his team members as the plane stuttered over the terrain. He checked his watch. They had about ten more minutes of flying time before they would reach the drop zone. He knew from experience those would be among the longest minutes of his life.
And the shortest.
He’d been right to insist on the assignment, and lucky to get it.
Of course, if they augered in right now, he’d be neither. The plane’s nose bucked downward and the entire craft seemed to shift to the right, leaving Tyler temporarily hovering in space. His momentum caught up with that of the plane’s a second later, and he felt his boots slap against the metal decking. His stomach sloshed up somewhere around his gallbladder, then pressed against his lungs.
He’d made the right choice. Definitely.
“Almost there!” he shouted confidently to the rest of the team. “Almost there.”
The canopy exploded above him, its cells ripped open by the rushing wind. Tyler fought not so much to control the parachute but to control himself: He had a tendency to pull too sharply on the steering togs.