The problems in Russia also tied in with a disturbing rise of nationalism and right-wing politics which was gaining ground throughout Europe, threatening the very stability of the EU. France was only one step away from electing a National Front government, and several other countries were not far behind.
But Trenter’s area of expertise wasn’t Europe, and he wasn’t paid to second-guess the director’s priorities. He had been at the CIA for ten years now, working out of different desks within the Directorate of Intelligence, but right now he was posted to the Office of Asian Pacific, Latin American and African Analysis, where he specialized in the Korean peninsula.
And whereas in the past, the majority of trouble in that area had stemmed from North Korea’s desire to reunify — violently if necessary — with the South, nowadays South Korea also had plenty of problems with Islamic terrorism.
It had all started when the South Korean military helped with the capture of Abu Haq Maliki, a leading al-Qaeda leader who had been travelling through the country for covert arms talks. There had subsequently been a public demonstration by South Korean Muslims, asking for Maliki’s release and denouncing the South Korean government as pawns of the United States.
The demonstration had got out of hand — nobody quite knew how — and soldiers had fired shots at the crowd. What followed was a bloodbath, with a dozen protestors killed in what the press deemed ‘a display of unbridled savagery’.
South Korea had been the target of terrorism ever since — attacks to both exact vengeance, and to improve Muslim rights in the country — and the CIA had been keeping an ever closer eye on the area, fearful that it could presage a new spread of terrorism throughout the Asian continent.
Trenter saw Director James Dorrell’s expectant face across the desk from him, and knew he had to give an answer to the man’s question. It was important enough, he told himself.
‘There’s been a lot of traffic sir, a notable increase in communications that suggests something big’s about to happen, perhaps a major attack of some sort.’
‘What sort?’
Trenter readjusted his tie again. ‘I’m afraid we don’t know that yet sir. Communications are scrambled, the NSA is still trying to decode it all, but there’s been a three hundred percent increase in message traffic between known terrorist groups in the Arabian Peninsula and cells we believe are operating within South Korea.’
Trenter swallowed hard. Traditionally, part of an intelligence officer’s job was to be cautious — if you constantly blew the whistle, exhaustion and even disbelief would soon set in. It was like the boy who cried wolf — you couldn’t set alarm bells ringing too often, or else people would simply stop listening to the alarm. And nobody wanted to be proved wrong.
But Dorrell was different, and he’d spelled out to his colleagues many times that he had an open door policy — if they thought something was happening, he wanted their honest opinion as well as mere reportage. And Trenter respected Dorrell immensely for this. He had been one of the few political appointees who had kept their jobs after the assassination attempt on President Ellen Abrams eighteen months ago, and her belief in him was a measure of his strengths as an important leader within the US intelligence community.
What Trenter had was thin, and not something he would have approached Dorrell’s predecessor with; but it was something, and his gut instinct told him that a major terrorist operation was about to occur within Korea.
‘Possible ramifications for the United States?’ Dorrell asked.
‘It depends on what exactly happens, sir. Obviously, South Korea is a major ally of ours; we denounced that attack on the demonstrators of course, but we’re very much in bed with them. They expect our protection, and if such an attack goes ahead, the entire world will expect us to help the South Korean government to respond.’
Dorrell nodded his head, deep in thought. And Trenter knew what he was thinking; helping the South Korean government to respond could involve a number of things, not the least of which would be military action. And with US forces already spread thinly on the ground, this wasn’t something the administration would want.
‘Okay Sam,’ Dorrell said at last, ‘obviously we can’t let this attack go ahead. You have authorization to pick another six officers to work on this with you — full time, round the clock. I’ll speak to the chief at NCTC,’ Dorrell continued, ‘and get them to assist. I want answers, and I want solutions.’
Trenter nodded in agreement. ‘Yes sir,’ he said, standing up. ‘Thank you.’
Dorrell acknowledged him with a wave of the hand. ‘Let’s just hope it’s a waste of time, son. For all our sakes.’
3
Wong Sheng peered out at the black waters from the port side of the Fu Yu Shan, lighting a cigarette as he scanned the view in front of him.
All quiet.
Wong knew it would be; for all Captain Yang’s worrying, there hadn’t been an attack on this shipping line’s vessels in decades.
Maybe it was just luck, he thought idly as he puffed on the cigarette, watching the end glow red against the black sea; and luck could always run out.
And yet he wasn’t worried. He believed in fate, and if it was meant to be, then who was he to waste time worrying about it? And if anyone was foolish enough to attack the Fu Yu Shan, he thought with amusement as his hand reflexively dropped to caress the cold steel of the assault rifle slung from his shoulder, then they’d be sorry. They’d be really sorry.
Wong took another hit off the cigarette, exhaling the smoke up towards where the stars would normally be. But not tonight; tonight, they were covered behind a blanket of cloud, cloaking everything in darkness. There was a heavy atmosphere, Wong decided, almost as if the dark was pressing in on him, wrapping him up in it.
A perfect night for a surprise attack, a part of his mind tried to scream at him; and yet it only came through as a whisper, his mind dulled by the monotony of the voyage and a diet of cigarettes and whisky, and was easy to ignore.
Wong peered back across the ship, the huge loading cranes above the cargo containers, the expansive high-rise of the bridge and watch tower looming above him. He knew there were other armed men out there, friends and colleagues of his posted around the ship at regular intervals.
But there was nothing else out there; nothing at all.
Wong started thinking about Karachi. The population was heavily religious, predominantly Muslim, and Wong had no time for any of that. Not drinking, not whoring, that just wasn’t natural, at least as far as he was concerned.
But it was all a false pretense, he’d found to his pleasure when he’d first visited the city; the men who lived there were no different from those anywhere else on Earth. And in the end, Karachi turned out to be more than cosmopolitan enough to cater for a man of his tastes; when he’d been there last year, a friend of his had found an exquisite place with the finest women. Cheap too, even for someone who’d grown up in the slums of Canton.
What was that girl’s name again? he wondered as he took another lazy drag of his cigarette. Adeela? Aisha? Something like that, he supposed, but it hardly mattered anyway; he was sure to be able to find something else when he was there, something equally exotic, equally alluring. And hopefully, equally able to –