Tom Clancy's Op-center_ Op-center Part 4

Kim Hwan saw Donald sitting on a curb, his forehead in his hands, his jacket and pants covered with blood.

"Gregory!" he shouted as he jogged over.

Donald looked up. There was tear-streaked blood on his cheeks and in his disheveled silver hair. He tried to rise but his legs shook and he fell back; Hwan caught him and hugged him tightly as he sat down. The agent pulled away just long enough to make sure none of the blood was Donald's, then embraced him again.

Donald's words were swallowed by his sobs. His breath was coming in gasps.

"Don't say anything," Hwan said softly. "My a.s.sistant told me."

Donald didn't seem to hear him. "She she was a blameless soul."

"She was. G.o.d will care for her."

"Kim He shouldn't have her I should. She should be here"

Hwan fought back tears of his own as he pressed his cheek to Donald's head. "I know."

"Who did she offend? There was no evil in her. I don't understand." He pressed his face into Hwan's breast. "I want her back, Kim I want her"

Hwan saw a medic turn toward them and motioned him over. Still holding Donald, Hwan rose slowly.

"Donald, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to go with someone. Let them make sure you're all right."

The medic put a hand on Donald's arm but he wrested it away.

"I want to see Soonji. Where have they taken my wife?"

Hwan looked at the medic, who pointed toward a movie theater. There were body bags on the floor, and more were being carried in.

"She's being cared for, Gregory, and you need care yourself. You may have injuries."

"I'm all right."

"Sir," the medic said to Hwan, "there are others--"

"Of course, I'm sorry. Thank you."

The medic hurried off and Hwan took a step back. Holding Donald by the shoulders, he looked into the dark eyes, always so full of love but now red and glazed with pain. He wouldn't force him to go to the hospital, but leaving him here, alone, was not an option.

"Gregory, would you do me a favor?"

Donald was staring through Hwan, weeping again.

"I need help with this case. Would you come with me?"

Donald looked at him. "I want to stay with Soonji."

"Gregory--"

"I love her. She needs me."

"No," Hwan said softly. "You can do nothing for her." He turned Donald around and pointed to the theater a block away. "You don't belong there, you belong with those of us you can help. Come with me. Help me to find the people who did this."

Donald blinked several times, then absently patted his pockets. Hwan reached into Donald's pocket.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, handing him his pipe.

Donald took it, his movements awkward and halting, and Hwan helped him put it in his mouth. When he didn't reach for his tobacco, Hwan took him by the elbow and walked him away, through the settling dust and increasing activity in the square.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Tuesday, 5:15 A.M., the White House

The White House Situation Room was located on the first sublevel, directly below the Oval Office. There was a long, rectangular mahogany table in the center of the brightly lit room; there was a STU-3 and a computer monitor at each station, with slide-out keyboards underneath. Like all government computers, the computer setup was self-contained; software from outside, even from the Department of Defense or State Department, was debugged before it was allowed into the system.

On the walls were detailed maps showing the location of U.S. and foreign troops, as well as flags denoting trouble spots: red for ongoing and green for latent. There was already a red flag in Seoul.

Paul Hood had arrived at the west gate of the White House and, after pa.s.sing through a metal detector, took the elevator down one floor. When the door opened, his ID was checked by a Marine sentry, who escorted him to a small table that sat beside a door with no handle. Hood pressed his thumb lightly on a small screen that sat on the table: a moment later there was a buzz and the door popped open. Hood entered, walking past a guard who had checked his thumbprint against the print on file in the computer; if the two hadn't matched, the door would not have been opened. Only the President, the Vice President, and the Secretary of State were not subject to this security check.

The door to the Situation Room was open, and Hood walked in. Four other officials were already there: Secretary of State Av Lincoln, Defense Secretary Ernesto Colon, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Melvin Parker, and CIA Director Greg Kidd were talking in a corner, away from the door; a pair of secretaries sat at a small corner table. One was there to take notes, in code, in a Powerbook, the other to bring up any data on the computer that might be called for. A Marine was putting out coffee butlers, pitchers of water, and cups.

The men acknowledged Hood with nods and salutes; only Lincoln walked over as soon as Hood entered. He stood just under six feet, powerfully hewn, with a round face and thinning widow's peak. A former Major League pitcher and Hall of Famer, he moved from the baseball diamond to the Minnesota state legislature to Congress quicker than his blinding fastb.a.l.l.s. He was the first politician to get behind the candidacy of Governor Michael Lawrence, and the State Department was his reward; most agreed he lacked the diplomatic skills the job required, loved to treat the obvious like a revelation. But Lawrence was nothing if not loyal.

"How've you been?" Lincoln asked, extending his hand.

"Pa.s.sing fair, Av."

"That was a good job your people did at Independence Hall on the Fourth. Very impressive."

"Thanks, but it's never really a good job when hostages are hurt."

Lincoln waved a hand with disgust. "No one was killed. That's what matters. h.e.l.l, when you've got to coordinate efforts between local police, the FBI, and your own Striker personnel, with the media looking over your shoulder, that's a G.o.dd.a.m.n miracle." He poured himself a cup of coffee. "It's like this situation, Paul. Already on TV, experts flapping their lips in the media-- there'll be opinion polls before breakfast telling us why seventy-seven percent of the American public doesn't think we should even be in Korea or anywhere else."

Hood looked at his watch.

"Burkow rang down, said they were running late," Lincoln said. "The President's on the phone with Amba.s.sador Hall. He doesn't want Americans moving into or being turned away from the Emba.s.sy unless he okays it, or any statements or actions that show any kind of panic."

"Of course."

"You know it's easy for these things to become self-fulfilling prophesies."

Hood nodded. "Any word yet on who did it?"

"None. Everyone's condemned it, including the North Koreans. But the government doesn't talk for the extreme hard-liners, so who knows?"

The Defense Secretary said from across the room, "The North Koreans always condemn terrorism, even their own. When they shot down that stray KAL jet, they condemned it even as they were combing the wreckage for spy cameras."

"And they found them," Lincoln said behind his hand as he wandered back toward the others.

Hood reflected on the shoot-first policy of the North Koreans as he poured himself coffee. The last time he was here was when the Russians shot down a Lithuanian spy plane and the President decided not to press them hard on it. He would never forget the way Lincoln literally stood up and said, "What do you think world leaders would say if we ever shot down a foreign aircraft? We'd be crucified!"

He was right. For some reason, the rules were different for the U.S.

Hood took a seat at the northwest side of the table, as far from the President as possible. He liked to watch as the others jockeyed for authority, and this was the best seat in the house. Op-Center's Staff Psychologist, Liz Gordon, had told him what to look for in body language: hands folded on the table was submissive, sitting erect showed confidence while sitting forward was insecurity-- "Look at me, look at me!"-- and the head angled was patronizing. "It's like a fighter showing you his chin," she said, "daring you to hit it because he thinks you can't."

No sooner had he sat down than Hood heard the outside door pop open, followed by the resonant voice of the President of the United States. During the campaign two years before, one columnist had said that that voice was what won over the crucial undecideds: it seemed to start from somewhere around the knees, and by the time it reached his mouth it was full of Olympian grandeur and power. That, plus his six-foot-four-inch height, made him look and sound presidential, though he had spent a lot of that capital explaining two foreign policy fiascos. The first was sending food and arms to Bhutanese rebels opposing an oppressive regime, a revolt that ended with thousands of arrests and executions and left the regime stronger than ever. The second was kid-gloving a border dispute between Russia and Lithuania, which ended with Moscow not only taking land from the small republic but placing soldiers there as well. That forced a ma.s.sive exodus to the city of Kaunas, which resulted in food riots and hundreds of deaths.

His credibility in Europe was damaged, his clout on the Hill was hobbled, and he couldn't afford another misstep-- especially with a longtime ally.

National Security Adviser Burkow did everything but pull out the President's chair for him as they walked in. He poured coffee for them both as they sat down, the President speaking even before everyone else was seated.

"Gentlemen," he said, "as you know, an hour and fifteen minutes ago a sound truck exploded in front of Kyongbok Palace in Seoul. Several dozen spectators and politicians were killed, and so far the KCIA hasn't a clue as to who, what, and why. There was no advance warning, and no one's called to take credit. Amba.s.sador Hall has made no request other than that we reiterate our support for the government and people of South Korea, and I have authorized Press Secretary Tracy to do just that. Amba.s.sador Hall will immediately issue a statement condemning the act in general." He sat back. "Ernie, in the event that it is North Korea, our standard operating policy would be what?"

The Defense Secretary turned to one of the secretaries and said, "File NK-AS." By the time he turned back to the table, the NORTH KOREA-ALERT SITUATION file was on the screen. He folded his hands.

"To summarize, Mr. President, our policy is to go to Defcon 5. We put our bases in the South and in j.a.pan on High Alert and begin flying over troops from Ft. Pendleton and Ft. Ord. If intelligence picks up any sign that Korean troops are mobilizing, we go immediately to Defcon 4 and start moving in our ships from the Indian Ocean, so the Rapid Deployment Forces will be in position. If the North Koreans match our movements with further deployments of their own, the dominos fall fast and we move quickly through the accelerated deployment of Defcon 3, 2, and 1." He glanced at the screen and touched his finger to the chapter heading WAR GAMES. "When we reach the point of no return, we have three possible scenarios."

Hood looked from face to face. Everyone was calm, save for Lincoln who was leaning forward and tapping his right foot quickly. This was his kind of situation, his kind of big stick response. At the opposite end of the spectrum was Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Melvin Parker. His face and posture were subdued, like Ernie Colon's. In situations like these, it was never the military men who advocated force. They understood the price of even a successful operation. It was always the politicians and appointees who were frustrated or impatient and wanted to get themselves a victory, however quick and dirty.

The Secretary of Defense pulled on reading gla.s.ses and studied the monitor. He ran his finger down the menu and touched the screen where it said DEFENSE WHITE PAPER UPDATE.

"If there's a war and the U.S. a.s.sumes a support role only, South Korea falls to the North in a matter of two or three weeks. You can see the matchup between the North and ROKA for yourself."

Hood studied the figures. They looked as bad for the Republic of Korea Army as Colon had said.

Military Balance of the North and South is as follows: Number of Troops South North Army 540,000 900,000 Navy 60,000 46,000 Air Force 55,000 84,000 Total 655,000 1,030,000 Force Tanks 1,800 3,800 Armored Vehicles 1,900 2,500 Artillery 4,500 10,300 Force Combatants 190 434 Support Vessels 60 310 Submarines 1 26 Tactical Aircraft 520 850 Support Aircraft 190 480 Helicopters 600 290 After a few seconds, Colon brought up the menu again and touched U.S. 8TH ARMY UPDATE.

"The second scenario has our forces in the South becoming involved. Even then, the odds are not in our favor."

Hood looked at the new screen.

United States Forces in South Korea, Number of Personnel Army: 25,000 Navy: 400 Air Force: 9,500 Tanks: 200 Armored Vehicles: 500 Tactical Aircraft: 100 "The only value of us joining the South Koreans on the battlefield is the deterrent factor: does North Korea really want a war with the United States?"

CIA Director Kidd asked, "Isn't that same deterrent present if we're in a strictly support mode?"

"Unfortunately, no. If Pyongyang thinks we haven't got the belly for a sc.r.a.p, he'll push to Seoul the same way Baghdad went after Kuwait when they thought we'd sit on the sidelines."

"And wasn't he surprised," Lincoln muttered.

The President said impatiently, "And the third scenario is a preemptive strike?"

"Right," Colon said. "We and the South Koreans together take out communications centers, supply lines, and nuclear reprocessing plants with conventional weapons. If the war games simulations are correct, the North Koreans go to the negotiating table."

"Why wouldn't they turn to China and retaliate?" asked CIA Director Kidd.

Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman Parker said, "Because they know that since the aid cutbacks of 1968, and the inability since 1970 of the twelve ROK and two U.S. divisions to successfully stave off an attack, our defense plans have been keyed almost entirely to the early use of nuclear weapons."

"Did we leak that information?" the President asked.

"No, sir. They read it in military journals. Christ, in 1974, Time or Rolling Stone or someone who hated Nixon did an article on our nuclear plans for Korea."

Kidd leaned back. "That still doesn't give us any kind of a.s.surance they won't turn to China, and that Beijing won't support them with nuclear weapons."

"We just don't see that as happening." Colon went to the menu and touched the heading CHINA OPTION. "Mel, the CONEX games are your area--"

"Right." Despite the comfortable air-conditioning in the room, the diminutive Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was perspiring. "We ran a Conflict Exercise of a scenario similar to this a while back, after Jimmy Carter went to North Korea for his little chat with Kim Il Sung. Given the military situation in China and psychological profiles of its leaders-- which your people provided, Paul-- we found that if we loosened restrictions on business investments in China, and concurrently authorized the shipment of arms to anti-Chinese factions in Nepal through India, the Chinese would be unlikely to become involved."

"How unlikely?" the President asked.

"Eighty-seven percent chance of sitting on the sidelines."

"We came up with a slightly different percentage in our own SAGA simulations," Colon said, "about seventy percent. But the Studies, a.n.a.lysis, and Gaming Agency didn't have up-to-date psych profiles, so I'm inclined to go with Mel's findings."

Though Hood was listening intently, his expression impa.s.sive, he found himself somewhat anxious about Liz's findings. He had a great deal of respect for his Staff Psychologist, just as he held his Operations Support Officer Matt Stoll in high regard. But he put computer a.n.a.lyses and psychology in the place and show slots, respectively, after good old-fashioned intuition. His Press Officer Ann Farris joked that he never met a gut feeling he didn't like, and she was right.

The President glanced at the clock on the bottom of the monitor, then steepled his hands. Colon motioned to the secretary to clear the screen, and Hood watched as screen saver missiles flew left and right across the monitor.

"Gentlemen," the President said after a long silence, "I would like all of you to serve on the Korean Task Force for the duration, and Paul"-- he looked squarely at Hood-- "I want you to head it up."

He caught the Op-Center Director off-guard-- as well as everyone else in the room.

"You'll bring me an Options Paper in four hours. Barring further acts of terrorism or aggression, you'll proceed under the a.s.sumption that there will be some level of graduated deployment but no military action for the first twenty-four hours. That should give your people and the rest of the Task Force time to evaluate intelligence and write me an addendum." The President rose. "Thank you all. Av-- meet me in the Oval Office at six so we can discuss the situation with our allies. Ernie, Mel-- we'll brief the cabinet and members of the Armed Services Committee at seven. And, Paul, I'll see you at nine-thirty."

The President left, trailed by the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Av Lincoln walked over to Hood.

"Congratulations, Paul. I sense an a.s.s-kicking." He leaned close. "Just make sure it isn't your a.s.s that gets kicked."

He was right. The President had never given Op-Center a foreign crisis, and doing so now meant that he intended to strike hard and decisively, if given the chance. Should anything go wrong, he could pin it on the new kids on the block, shut down the agency, and suffer only minimal political damage. Then Hood could take a low-paying position at the Carter Center or the United States Inst.i.tute of Peace, a convert to pacifism, a reformed sinner trotted out for public scourgings at dinners and symposia.

Av gave him a thumbs-up as he left, and after collecting his thoughts, Hood followed him to the elevator. In addition to having to take the fall for any failure, Hood wasn't keen on having to spend the next four hours playing ringmaster to a bureaucratic turf war as he teleconferenced with everyone who had been in attendance, formulating a cohesive strategy from six people with six very different agendas. It was part of the job, and he did it well, but he hated the way people did what was best for party and agency first and second, and for the country a distant third.

Still, there was the bright side to look at, the chance that he might just pull all this off. And as he contemplated that, the adrenaline began to flow. If the President was willing to take risks with Op-Center, Hood had to be willing to take greater risks to make sure that Op-Center earned its international credentials once and for all. Like one of his heroes, Babe Ruth, when you got your turn at bat you swung for the home run, not the double, and you didn't think about striking out. Even if, like the Babe, you did that sixty percent of the time you stepped to the plate