High Alert (The Project Book 14) Page 9

  He'd done it to humor her. After several pointless sessions with the priest he'd stopped going. She'd been hurt and disappointed. Then she'd been murdered, and he'd never had a chance to make it up to her. That worthless piece of human excrement had taken away the opportunity.

  Soon she would be avenged.

  CHAPTER 17

  Nick swore under his breath when he saw the morning paper. It was going to be one of those days.

  CHINESE AMBASSADOR MURDERED BY NORTH KOREA

  The headline was followed by an article accusing the chairman of North Korea of ordering the assassination, based on confidential files leaked to the reporter. A gruesome color shot of the ambassador's severed foot lying next to his shattered vehicle added a distinctive visual touch.

  The phone on Harker's desk had four designated lights not found on most office phones, each for a direct line. One was for the Director of Central Intelligence, one for the Director of the NSA, one for the Director of National Intelligence and one for the White House. When the White House line began flashing, Nick knew it was going to be about that headline.

  How the hell did the press discover that Chun was a North Korean?

  Rice sent a car to pick him up. When he arrived, Nick was escorted to the Oval Office. Clarence Hood was there ahead of him. So was General Marcus Adamski, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

  During the Vietnam War, President Rice had been an athletic, young lieutenant in the Marine Corps. He still had the lean look but he was pushing seventy and showing it, worn down by eight years of backbiting politics, world crises and several assassination attempts that had nearly succeeded. His face was lined and tired. His hair was streaked with gray and thinning. But his eyes were as alert and piercing as ever. Few things escaped the attention of President Rice. Nick liked him and thought he was a pretty good president. For a politician, he'd managed to keep most of his integrity intact.

  Rice and the others were sitting on one of two facing couches placed in front of the President's desk. A circular rug with the presidential seal lay on the floor between them. Rice rose as Nick came in and offered his hand.

  "Nick, thank you for coming on such short notice."

  It was the kind of informality that encouraged people's loyalty, part of Rice's style. He made you feel that you were doing him a favor rather than responding to a direct order.

  "Good morning, Mister President. Morning, Clarence. General."

  "Please sit down. I'm afraid we have a situation."

  There's always a situation, Nick thought. Why else would he call me here?

  "Sir."

  Nick sat next to Hood. Rice took a seat across from them, next to General Adamski.

  Rice said, "Nick, I understand that Director Harker is awake and recovering nicely."

  "Yes, sir, she is. She's beginning to direct operations from her hospital bed and she should be back in the office soon if all goes well."

  "That's excellent news. Please brief her on our conversation today. You've seen the headline in today's paper?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Director Hood informs me that you identified the assassin as a North Korean security agent."

  "Yes, sir. We discovered a photograph that proves it."

  "And did you also discover information implicating Chairman Yun?"

  "No, sir. I was wondering where that came from when I read the article."

  "It came from the FBI. The material about Yun was found in a file on the assassin's computer," Rice said. "It looks as though someone in the Bureau leaked the contents."

  "Sir, of course that's possible."

  "You sound doubtful."

  "I don't doubt the information was leaked. What I find hard to believe is that an experienced security agent would have that kind of information on his personal computer. There might be something else going on here."

  "Go on."

  "It's possible a third party is manipulating events to create trouble."

  "What is the basis for that conclusion?" Rice asked.

  Nick told them about Stephanie's computer. "The program is able to correlate unrelated pieces of information in a way we haven't been able to do before. According to that analysis, the sinking of the California and the assassination of the Chinese ambassador are all part of a larger plot to provoke a war."

  General Adamski was a bull of a man. He looked as though he'd be as comfortable in a boxing ring as in the Pentagon. He had a wide, square head, topped by a high and tight military haircut. He reminded Nick of a large green bulldog, one with four stars on each shoulder.

  "War between whom?" Adamski asked. His voice was gravelly and deep.

  "It's not clear," Nick said. "Possibly a war between us and China, or between us and North Korea. Someone may have thought that sinking the submarine would cause us to intervene in North Korea. That would bring in China. That didn't happen."

  "So why kill the ambassador?"

  "Sir, I can only speculate. Killing the ambassador isn't enough to start a war, but if Beijing believes Yun is responsible, it creates serious problems between North Korea and her only ally. Perhaps that was the point."

  "Why would Yun do it?" Adamski asked. "He may be a psychopath, but he's not stupid."

  "That's just it, he wouldn't. It doesn't make sense. Which brings us back to the idea that a third-party is manipulating events."

  "If China believes the report, it will put a lot of pressure on Yun," Hood said.

  Rice leaned back and watched the give-and-take.

  "The last thing we need is for Yun to feel pressured," Nick said. "The rescue attempt humiliated him. He's liable to do something irrational if he feels threatened. It increases the risk of war."

  "That brings me to the main reason for this meeting," Rice said. "Clarence, tell them."

  "We have a highly placed asset inside North Korea's government. Yun is close to developing a working ICBM. Worse, our source says he's ready to test a thermonuclear device."

  "A hydrogen bomb?" Adamski said.

  "Yes. Yun has claimed to have one before but we didn't believe it. Our asset says he's no longer bluffing. If the test is successful, he intends to launch it against the West."

  "We cannot let that madman have a hydrogen bomb," Adamski said.

  "Mister President," Nick said, "our computer analysis confirms that possibility."

  "Well, then," Rice said, "I guess we may have to do something about it. The question is, what? General, what are our current military options for dealing with this lunatic?"

  "They're pretty limited, sir. We could try a preemptive strike on his nuclear facilities, but all of his critical infrastructure is buried in an extensive tunnel system in the mountains. Our B-52s could drop 30,000 pounders on him and that might do it. It would be risky to use tactical nukes and they might not do the job. His main test facility is near China and Russia. They wouldn't take kindly to nukes going off next door. A strike would close off the tunnels and set him back, but I can't guarantee it would succeed. If he has a bomb, it could be anywhere. It's difficult to say where we should hit him. "

  "What about his launch sites?"

  "He has sophisticated mobile launchers, Mister President. He's not limited to a fixed site, unless he's sending up a satellite. We'd send F-35s and F-22s to take the launchers out but I can't guarantee we'd get them in time."

  "If he launches, can we shoot it down?"

  Adamski looked uncomfortable. "It depends. We're installing THAAD units in South Korea but Congress has done their best to cripple our antimissile capability. There's a high probability we can intercept, but I can't guarantee it."

  THAAD stood for Terminal High-Altitude Area Defense. The system was designed to shoot down missiles during their final approach. It had never been used in combat and Nick hoped it never was. THAAD was a last resort. If the missiles were coming in, it was already too late to stop a war.

  "You're not guaranteeing much, General."

  "No, sir."

  "Sir," Hood s
aid, "if we launch a preemptive strike it will mean war. It would bring in China. There must be a better option."

  "I'm listening," Rice said.

  "Bush took all our tactical nukes out of South Korea in '91. We could put them back. If Yun knew the South had nuclear weapons, it might act to deter him."

  "Or piss him off," Nick said.

  "You don't mince words, do you, Nick?" Rice said.

  "What about pressuring China, sir? It's not in their interest to have Yun playing games with nuclear missiles. Can they be persuaded to make him stand down?"

  "Trying to get them to intervene has never worked in the past. Beijing pays lip service to our concerns but goes right on supplying Yun with whatever he needs to build up his military."

  "We could get their attention," Hood said. "Announce that we support Japan developing a nuclear deterrent."

  "They wouldn't like that much," Nick said.

  "That might work in the long run," Rice said, "but there's not enough time for that if Yun is close to developing the bomb."

  "We don't think he has ICBM capability that can reach us yet." Hood scratched his nose. "Our best guess puts him several months away, possibly longer."

  "Damn it, Director, we can't risk nuclear attack based on a guess." Adamski was annoyed. "He can hit Japan with what he's got, can't he?"

  "Yes."

  "We can't let that happen. A preemptive strike is our best option. We know where his facilities are. They may be deep underground but we can sure as hell make it impossible to get into them. The least that will happen is it will set his program back by years."

  "What about China?" Nick asked.

  "What about them?" Adamski said. "They don't want a war with us. Not yet, anyway. They're too busy building up their Navy and upgrading their weapons. They're not ready to take us on."

  "I understand your point of view, General," Rice said. "I'm afraid I don't share your confidence that they won't come to the aid of their ally. What about Special Forces?"

  "A raid?" Adamski said. "First of all, we need to be certain where he's building this thing. Even if we know where it is, how are we going to get a team in without being detected? Our guys are good, but at the moment we're overextended, what with the Middle East and Afghanistan. There's only so much we can do. Yun's nuclear facilities are the most highly defended sites in North Korea. Taking one out with a team isn't going to be a quick hit and run. Just getting to any of the sites would be almost impossible. It's a suicide mission."

  Rice turned toward Nick. "What do you think, Nick? Is it possible to get a team in there, once we know where we need to go?"

  "Anything's possible," Nick said."

  "I can't send in a special forces unit," Rice said. "It has to be covert and deniable. Unofficial."

  He paused and looked at Nick.

  I can guess what he's going to say, Nick thought.

  "Nick, I want you to put together a plan to go in and destroy that weapon before he can use it."

  "Mister President, with all due respect, I can't plan anything that will succeed without specific intel."

  "I understand. Director Hood will get you the information that you need. Won't you, Clarence?"

  "I'll do my best, sir."

  "Meanwhile Nick, get your team ready to go in once we're certain of the target."

  Just what I needed. A suicide mission.

  "Yes, Mister President."

  CHAPTER 18

  Vladimir Orlov's private apartments in the Kremlin were like everything else in the ancient fortress, ornately decorated and restored to the excessive splendor of the Czars. Baroque paintings of angels and classical motifs covered the high ceilings. Moldings chased out in gold leaf ran around the white walls. Priceless Oriental rugs softened polished floors that had echoed to the footsteps of Catherine the Great. The double-headed eagle of Russian power graced every room.

  The dining room where Orlov was entertaining Valentina featured a long table big enough to seat forty people. It wasn't exactly the intimate setting she'd been dreading. Perhaps she'd been wrong about his intention.

  The meal had been a surprise, simple food that might have been found in the home of almost any Russian. Orlov was from peasant roots, as his predecessors had been. Unlike them, the President of the Russian Federation was a man perfectly at home in a barn or a salon. He could be as urbane and charming as any New York sophisticate. He could also be as cold and ruthless as Stalin. It was easy to underestimate him. Valentina knew better than to make that mistake.

  They'd finished eating and the dishes had been cleared away. A waiter brought a tray with glasses and bottles of brandy and vodka. Valentina and Orlov sat at one end of the enormous table. The waiter set the tray down and left the room. Two of Orlov's bodyguards were stationed outside..

  "A brandy, Colonel?" Orlov asked.

  "Please."

  Orlov poured one for her and one for himself, large snifters. He raised his glass.

  "To mother Russia."

  "To the Rodina," Valentina said. They drank.

  "How is your hand? That bandage looks uncomfortable."

  "Not too bad. It will heal."

  "You did well in Kiev, Valentina."

  "Thank you, Mister President."

  "Please. We are in private here. Call me Vladimir."

  Here we go, Valentina thought.

  "Of course, Vladimir. Thank you. "

  "Tell me, Valentina. What is it you wish to achieve in life? What is it that moves you? Provides motivation for you?"

  The question took her by surprise. It was the last thing she'd expected Orlov to say.

  "I haven't thought much about it," Valentina said.

  "Most people sitting where you are sitting tonight would tell me what they thought I wanted to hear. Something like 'serving the motherland.' This is why I appreciate you, Valentina. You are unpredictable. Your nature sets you apart from most people. We are alike, you and I."

  "How is that, Mister... Vladimir?"

  Orlov fixed her with his icy blue eyes.

  "We are both confident in ourselves, alphas in a world made up mostly of betas. Both of us can be predators but neither of us will ever choose to be prey."

  "No one would choose to be prey."

  "Not consciously, perhaps," Orlov said. "But we both know that some are destined to be exactly that. Even alphas like the Ukrainian Minister of Security, as you demonstrated. Tell me, what did you feel when you knew you had succeeded?"

  "I didn't feel much of anything," Valentina said. "I was too busy trying to stay alive."

  "And later?"

  "Later I felt glad to be out of there."

  Orlov topped off her glass and his own.

  "You prove my point. You don't have the kind of feelings that get in the way of what needs to be done."

  "There's no place for feelings in the kind of work I do."

  Orlov laughed. "You are so literal, Valentina. It is something else I enjoy about you. Come, let me show you the rest of my apartment. Bring your glass."

  He got up, taking the bottle with him. Valentina stood, feeling the brandy and the wine they'd had with dinner. With something of a shock, she realized she was enjoying herself.

  Orlov wasn't a bad looking man. He was powerfully built and moved like an athlete. He radiated an aura of power and confidence. In Valentina's experience, few men possessed the qualities that Orlov took for granted. In spite of herself, she found herself wondering what it would be like to bed him.

  She walked beside him down a long, wide hall lined on both sides with paintings. Most were landscapes. Orlov kept up a running commentary, pointing out a large van Gogh and a Monét.

  They stopped before the van Gogh. "This is one of his last works," Orlov said.

  The painting exploded with light. It was a field in the countryside. The background was all shades of white, but white like she'd never seen before. It was radiant, alive. Dark uneven lines in the foreground suggested plowed furrows in the earth. Abo
ve, half a dozen black birds circled. The canvas was almost empty, but it was the most powerful painting she had ever seen.

  "It's beautiful," she said. "How did he do that? Get it to glow like that? I feel as if I could step into it."

  Orlov looked at her and nodded. "Not everyone can see that."

  For some reason she felt as though she'd just passed some sort of test.

  "This way," he said.

  He opened a door into a suite of rooms. The first room was a study. It was a comfortable place, the kind of room where a man could think and relax. An antique desk of inlaid wood stood in front of a window looking out over the walls of the Kremlin and the Moscow River. The only other furniture was a leather chair and a couch. One wall was covered with a bookcase filled with books that looked as though they had been read. An open set of double doors led into a bedroom featuring a canopied four poster bed. Beyond, another door opened onto a bathroom.

  Orlov set his glass down on the desk. He took Valentina's glass from her and set it down next to his own. She could smell his scent, a faint, musky odor.

  "You are a beautiful woman, Valentina. It's difficult to be in my position," he said. "Difficult to find someone to share moments with that are not affairs of state."

  "I understand," Valentina said.

  "I thought you would," Orlov said. He put his hand on her arm and led her into the bedroom.

  CHAPTER 19

  Brigadier General Randolph Sanford, the man who had betrayed a hundred and sixty submariners to their death, came out of the toilet and saw two grim faced men in civilian dress going into his Pentagon office. They were accompanied by the colonel in charge of internal security. A panic surge of adrenaline stopped him in his tracks.

  They know. They know it was me.

  In a way, it was a relief. Without thinking, Randolph turned in the other direction and headed for the elevators. It was lucky he'd seen them. He had no doubt that if he returned to his office, he'd be arrested.