Read Code Word: Paternity, A Presidential Thriller Online
Authors: Doug Norton
Code Word: Paternity, A Presidential Thriller (11 page)
Chapter 20
A burly figure pounded the treadmill in
the gym provided for members of the House of Representatives. It was 5:45 a.m.,
or 0545 to Ray Morales, who still thought in military time. There was a
scattering of others but Morales was alone, engrossed in thought.
I’ve
heard a lot about helping the victims but not much about how we’re going to
prevent more attacks. We haven’t got anything yet on who planted the bomb or
how, so preventing another attack is that much harder. Al-Qaeda probably did
it, but other than motive there’s zip connecting them so far. This thing could
have been done with far fewer people in the know than Nine-eleven, and some or
all of them were vaporized in Las
Vegas.
The
president laid out an ambitious plan in his speech, but since then I haven’t
observed, or heard from my Marine buddies, anything more than dealing with Las Vegas. Rick and Ella
were smart to make that quick trip to the scene. Video hit millions of bloggers
and crackberry addicts, plus saturating cable and network news programs and
social networking sites. Slick!
So
our president has shown us his compassion. I hope he’s about to demonstrate
leadership and fidelity to his duty as commander-in-chief. I figure the bomb
must have come from North Korea
or Iran.
When the scientists in DOE figure out who made it, what then, Mr. President?
Morales accelerated. Sweat streaked his
face and his pace drove his thoughts.
And
what, Mr. President, if the dragnets sweeping the country snare someone who
probably knows who did the deed, or who probably knows about another attack in
the works? What will you do, Rick Martin? If you stick by your statement that
the country doesn’t need to compromise its ideals in order to defend itself,
you’ll never find those answers.
Morales shifted to high gear. He felt the
regular rhythm of his stride seeming to give order and discipline to his
thoughts. A quick smile as he admitted that, secretly, he’d always liked
marching, its precision and certainty.
Ideals
are important, but if you stick to them while someone with a different set is
using yours to kill you, you’re gonna die. I know that from experience. If you
play nice, Rick, if you salve your conscience, how many more Americans will be
killed in an attack that you might have prevented or disrupted?
And
then there’s Ella, her life in Mexico,
her father—how he died and why. She believes that beyond a point, negotiation
and compromise won’t hack it; that it’s sometimes foolish to wait until struck
to strike yourself. She knows what it is to be stalked by an implacable killer.
One got her father and would have murdered her if he hadn’t sent his family to Los Angeles. I wonder what
she’s thinking and saying to Rick?
At the end of his workout, Morales
grabbed his towel and blotted his forehead, breathing heavily.
“Ray, glad I ran into you!” Fred Stanton
called out to him from across the way. Ray knew him slightly from the Armed Services
Committee, knew at least that he represented a district in Massachusetts. Fred came striding toward him
with an expectant look.
“Hello, Fred. What’s up?”
“I was wondering . . . you know . . .
since you’re a military man, what do you think of this situation?
Ray thought,
what the hell does that mean? I think it sucks—who wouldn’t?
“What I think of it is I’d rather we
weren’t in it! But we are, and now the issues are how we protect ourselves and
how we recover.”
“There are those
who say that we brought this on ourselves.”
Morales sucked from his water bottle,
swirled the liquid noisily before swallowing.
Well, Fred, if that’s what ‘those’ say, what do you say? Let’s cut to
the chase—I want my shower.
Morales said, “Does that matter much now?
Isn’t the point that it happened and we have to deal with it? Isn’t the point
that some group killed at least sixty thousand Americans living their daily
lives in one of our cities and that we can presume from what’s been said by
al-Qaeda and the president of Iran
that there’s more to come, unless we prevent it?”
Squaring his shoulders, Stanton looked eager as a terrier waiting for
his ball to be thrown. “It matters because if we know why they did it, we can
reconsider our policies; amend them in some way to address their grievances. We
can prevent more attacks by eliminating the anger, hopelessness, and alienation
that caused this one.”
Eyebrows raised, Morales said, “OK, but
wouldn’t you agree that while we’re doing all that we need to protect
ourselves?”
“Of course, but not by nuking some country, or
bombing people with cruise missiles!” Stanton’s
prominent Adam’s apple worked vigorously. “We protect ourselves by
demonstrating we are ready to engage fully to find a negotiated solution, and
by finding better leadership for the intelligence community that failed again.
I’m not against using force in self-defense, but I do insist that it be used
discriminately, against the right targets.”
Flicking his towel as he spoke, Morales
said, “Well, Fred, let’s leave aside that I think that some of their
grievances, like the existence of Israel, aren’t things we should
yield on. How about this: if a nuclear attack leads us to change course to suit
the perpetrators,
and
they suffer no
harm, how do we deter other groups from doing the same thing?”
“By getting out ahead of the curve for
once! By adopting a forward-looking foreign policy. By engaging in a dialogue
with all who have legitimate grievances.
“Getting a nuclear weapon isn’t easy. At
the least it’s expensive. I think, given the choice, the others will prefer
constructive dialogue over bombing again.”
Morales draped the towel around his
muscular neck, grasping the ends in his hands, making fists. Anyone who didn’t
notice the towel would think he was about to punch Stanton.
“Fred, do you
know anyone who lost someone close to them in Las Vegas?”
“No.”
“How about in
Nine-eleven?”
“No, but—”
“Would you risk
the lives of the people who live in your district?”
“Of course not!”
Stanton’s face
puckered with displeasure.
“Then isn’t our difference really about
perception of risk? You don’t perceive high risk to people you know or feel
responsible for. I do. I hope the president does. Where you sit on risk and
responsibility probably determines where you stand on these issues.”
Forcing a smile, Ray clapped Stanton on the shoulder.
“Please excuse me, but I’ve got to get showered and out to a breakfast meeting.
Have a good workout!”
“OK, Ray, good to talk with you.”
***
As NSA Director Pete Hsu continued to
describe his Argus eavesdropping system, three stars glinting from his
shoulders as he gestured, Attorney General Ed McDonnell looked at others around
the table and wondered who else felt uncomfortable with the relentless slide
toward Big Brother that chilled him.
Wearing her usual, no-nonsense
pantsuit—this one in charcoal—Homeland Defense Secretary Sara Zimmer was
intense, McDonnell thought.
She still has
the mission focus the army taught her and her mission is prevention. She’s all
for prosecuting the perps, but not at the cost of letting them do their deed.
If Sara is concerned about the destruction of civil liberties occurring in this
room, it doesn’t show.
Head throbbing, McDonnell shifted his
eyes to red-eyed FBI Director Brian Leek, wondering whether his lips were
compressed in concentration on Hsu or in holding back exhaustion.
He’s been through the first World Trade
Center bombing, Nine-eleven and its investigations; Brian knows nothing remains
secret and everything will eventually be sliced and diced with the sharp knife
of hindsight. He’s a dedicated law enforcement officer, but also a proud man,
proud of himself and especially proud of his FBI. He’ll maneuver to protect
both of those interests.
It’s up to me.
“Thanks, Pete,”
said McDonnell. “That’s an amazing system. I don’t mind telling you that what
this government has the
capability
to
do frightens me a little.” No one reacted. Disappointed but not surprised, he
said, “Now lets get to our recommendations because it’s not long until we
conference up with Bart.”
McDonnell looked at his notes. “These are
the working group’s recommendations that I believe we’ve decided to send to the
president: We focus our defenses at our borders, where they’ll be less
disruptive to essential economic and social activities. Using our strength in
technologies, including Argus, we vet every person and every cargo on arrival.
This will cause backups, but better there than all across America.”
Now
comes the part that really worries me,
he thought. “Some problematic individuals and cargoes will inevitably slip
through this screening, so our second line of defense will be nationwide random
operations that stop people and transporters—road, rail, airliners, river
barges, subways—identifying the individuals and screening the transporters and
cargo for nuclear indications.
“These stop and search operations will
require new legislative authorities. We will propose legislation as necessary.
The first proposals are a national, biometric identity card and a modification
to
posse comitatus
to permit the
routine use of regular military units in domestic law enforcement.”
The attorney general looked up from his
papers, seeing agreement on their faces. With a sigh he pushed his reading
glasses up and looked at Zimmer. “Sara, are you
sure
it’s necessary to use the army? It’s for good reason that for
over two hundred years the government has severely limited the use of our
military in law enforcement.”
“Ed, I have no doubt,” she said bluntly,
“especially right now. There’s no mechanism to control and coordinate the use
of local police forces to do what’s necessary. The state police are more
centrally organized, but there aren’t enough of them, and anyway both local and
state cops still have their regular functions to perform.” She waved toward
Leek. “You know the Bureau can’t stretch any further! And even if there were
enough law enforcement to do this job alone, we couldn’t yank them away from
their normal duties without creating chaos.
“Mobility’s another issue. We’ve decided
that, to maximize effectiveness while minimizing disruption, these operations
must be unpredictable, quick hits. For example, suddenly seal off a section of
highway, inspect intensely for an hour or two, and then on to another,
unpredictable location. That means lots of helos and people, and only the
military has enough right now.”
Under Zimmer’s flat gaze McDonnell felt
like she was centering crosshairs on his head.
“I share your concerns and so does the
army. They do
not
want to do this.”
Zimmer rapped her fingers on the table. “We can sunset the authority after two
years, during which we build out the law enforcement capacity.”
As he looked without result for
objections, McDonnell thought,
I should
go to the mat against this, but . . . right now, prevention is the name of the
game. And it was my guys, the FBI, who failed to prevent “Six-thirteen,” as
it’s being called. And we still haven’t found evidence of the actual bomber.
These days, I have about as much wallop as a snowball in July.
Shoulders
slumped, McDonnell said, “OK, we’re agreed on the recommendations.”
Chapter 21
“OK, let’s get started.”
“Mr. President,” said Dorn, glancing at
the other NSC members, “Secretary Ramanna has information about a suspicious
transaction that Treasury uncovered.”
The president
beamed. “That’s great—what do you have for us, Vijay?”
“Mr. President, I persuaded the director
general of SWIFT to resume cooperation with us. You recall that group, the
Society for Worldwide Interbank Financial Telecommunication that handles
trillions a day in transfers. It’s in Brussels.
“They were pretty reluctant, because when
the
New York Times
outed them,
describing their cooperation with Bush, they got a lot of heat. Eventually,
though, I broke through their resistance.”
Ramanna paused,
preened, and took a sip of water.
“Using their data I was able to uncover a
suspicious transaction that happened last January. I confronted my Swiss
counterpart—also very reluctant—and got him to run it down for me.
“I
uncovered the transfer of a billion Swiss francs from Iran’s central bank to an account in a private
client bank in Zurich.
At my insistence, the bank revealed the account holder: a member of Kim’s
family!”
Ramanna’s
triumph filled his face.
“Great work, Vijay!” said the vice
president, smiling. “Mr. President, now that money corroborates the other
evidence, we’ve got an even stronger case!”
“If I may play devil’s advocate for a moment,
tell me what this establishes, besides the fact that the Kim family is stashing
money in a Swiss account,” said the attorney general.
Spots of color appeared on Griffith’s cheeks. “Ed,
it shows that Kim did something last January that earned him a billion francs.
He sure didn’t get that from the lousy movies he makes! It must have been from
selling the bomb—or bombs!”
“It certainly could have been, Mr. Vice
President, but not necessarily, said McDonnell. “We know the DPRK sells missile
technology and maybe missiles themselves to Iran,
Myanmar, and, probably, Syria. It also
hauls in money from counterfeiting and sells uranium ore. They may also be
selling enriched uranium or plutonium from Yongbyon. A billion is a big number,
but it could have come from those other sources, plus speculation in gold,
which we’re pretty sure Kim has been squirreling away for years. With gold at a
thousand an ounce and still climbing . . . you see what I mean?”
Griffith
’s face showed he did, and didn’t like
it.
Martin’s tone said he didn’t want to
listen to their sparring: “Vijay, this is really an important piece of the
puzzle! Keep on working those channels you pried open. That’s all we need for
now, thanks.”
Looking crestfallen, Ramanna left.
“I’ve reviewed your options from our first
meeting,” said Martin. “I’ve asked John to walk us through them, except for
nuclear.” He scanned the room, broadcasting his determination, then continued:
“I’ll tell you now I’m not even going to consider nuclear unless and until
every other option has failed!”
That
was pretty much in Bruce’s face,
he thought.
That should keep him off the
topic!
Griffith
flushed, although his expression
remained politely expectant.
“John, please
take us through the other options.”
“All options are based on our belief that
absent a forceful U.S.
response to the Las Vegas
bombing, Kim—and perhaps others—will continue to supply nuclear weapons and
other hardware, perhaps ballistic missiles, to organizations or governments
that will use them against us.”
“Wait a minute!” said Martin, hand
raised. “Why would Kim
do
that?
What’s his motivation to run such a risk?” He looked challengingly around the
room. “Anne, you and Scott have both served in major positions focusing on the Koreas—do
you
agree with John?”
Hitzleberger, a former ambassador to South Korea, wanted to let Battista, who was
once State’s senior regional official for East Asia,
test the waters.
At his deferential gesture she began
speaking. “Mr. President, we believe Kim’s motivation is to remain absolute
ruler of a viable North Korean state. I feel pretty confident of that, but I
feel very little confidence in predicting how that motivation will translate
into action.”
Battista’s face became animated. “He and
his father did some amazingly provocative and dangerous things, which would
seem to fly in the face of his motivation. To begin with, in 1950 the first Kim
invaded the south, the Republic
of Korea. In 1968 the
North Koreans attacked and captured USS
Pueblo
,
an intelligence-gathering ship, in international waters, and they have kept it
to this day. They gave back the crew, living and dead, after about a year. In
1969 they shot down an unarmed U.S. Air Force surveillance plane, in
international airspace, killing everyone. The Kims have made several blatant
attacks on ROK leaders. One killed the wife of South
Korea’s President
Park. Another killed
several of the South Korean cabinet during a state visit to Burma and barely
missed their president. Some say this was when the younger Kim made his bones.”
Relishing their attention, she continued.
“The Kims kidnapped citizens of the ROK and Japan to satisfy what most would
say were minor, if not frivolous, needs. And they permitted famine that could
have destroyed the country and their own positions in order to hold fast to
their ideology of self-sufficiency, called
Juche
.
We’re pretty sure they’ve sold missile technology to Pakistan
and Iran.
In the midst of negotiations about their nuclear program, the current Kim, Kim
Jong-il, ignored both carrots and sticks and tested a nuclear weapon. Two years
later he did it again. He once ordered the test firing of a ballistic missile
right across Japan!
There’s a pretty good case that he contracted with Syria to help them build a facility
to produce nuclear weapons material. And of course during the Rogers
administration, the current Kim’s regime torpedoed an ROK patrol boat and
shelled South Korea
itself.
“It’s really a long record of acts that,
frankly, I wouldn’t have predicted from the Kims’ motivations.”
A gleam in his eyes, Martin pounced: “So,
Anne, if his actions don’t track with his presumed motive, maybe you really
don’t understand what they’ve been after! Did you ever think about that?”
Battista’s temper flashed through her
eyes. “Not often, Mr. President. Over the years I‘ve spent more time thinking
about how to
deal with
the Kims’
actions.”
Martin gave her
a professorial smile and turned to the CIA director.
“Mr. President, I agree with Secretary
Battista, and I, too, have sometimes been surprised by what they’ve done. I’ll
add that, in seventy-five or seventy-six, North Korean troops killed two U.S. soldiers
at the DMZ. But I don’t think we should focus on North Korea alone. Perhaps, as a
former ambassador to the ROK, I can make a few useful points.
“The Kims have about seventy million enablers:
the people who inhabit the two Koreas.
The people of the north suffer terrible conditions, but the great majority
genuinely revere Kim Jong-il, just as they revered his father, Kim il-Sung. We
tend to dismiss their reverence as forced and comical. Some is forced, but most
is not, and
none of it
is comical,
believe me! This tiny country has a larger army than we do, plus ballistic
missiles and nuclear weapons.”
Hitzleberger twirled his pen between
fingers, as if unrolling a scroll.
“The North Koreans aren’t a restive
people. There isn’t, and hasn’t been for about fifty years, any serious popular
opposition to the regime. In a twisted way the Kims’ power has come from the
people they rule, because they go obediently to work in factories, farms, and
in the army; concentrate on keeping themselves and their families alive; and
don’t look for opportunities to rebel.”
The pen became a baton, flicking upward.
“And here’s something else that’s
twisted: While ambassador to South Korea
I saw and heard every week that people there think they have an
American
problem rather than a
North Korean
problem: America periodically
upsets the north, and American troops are present in the south. Most South
Koreans aren’t worried about Kim. They just want to be left alone to make the
economy grow and enjoy its fruits—and believe if we leave, they will be.”
Martin nodded.
“So, naturally, politics in the ROK is
about riding the voters’ beliefs. Keep the north placated, usually by providing
food and fuel, and push back at U.S.
policies that upset Kim.”
He downed the pen with a distinct smack.
“Oh, and one more thing: unification.”
Hitzleberger pointed to a map. “Both governments say they want unification, but
nobody who matters in either country means it. They all know it would be too
hard and too disruptive to their personal interests. Everyone pays lip service,
but it’s the last thing they want.”
Martin’s eyes sparkled with interest. “So
Scott, how do we change the playing field, in the north and south, to something
we can work with? What we’ve inherited isn’t good enough!”
“Right now, I can’t say, sir. We’ve got a
lousy hand, but it looks to me like we’re going to have to play it.”
“Anybody else? Does anyone have ideas?”
The president looked slowly around the silent room. “This simply isn’t good
enough! I need—the country needs—fresh thinking. We can’t just keep on doing
the same old things and hope that somehow they start working. The families of
about eighty thousand dead expect—and deserve—more from their government!”
He rapped the table.
“OK, John, let’s hear those options, and
hope I get some original thinking as we discuss them.”
Dorn glanced nervously at his papers.
“Mr. President, Option A is to force Kim out, using economic, political, and
military pressure. We wouldn’t insist on his prosecution for any crimes, either
against the U.S. or against
the people of North Korea.
Behind the scenes we assist in finding a country that will take Kim and his
cronies. This is the ‘Regime Change without War’ option.”
Dorn looked up to safe, noncommittal
expressions.
What
the hell,
thought Griffith.
I’m not going to be intimidated. Somebody
has to take the lead; why shouldn’t it be me?
Looking at Martin, the vice president
said, “This option probably won’t work, but it does some things for us. First,
it shows we want to avoid using force. Second, it gives us an opening gambit
with the Chinese, who are certainly going to play in any deal that involves
regime change.”
Rick grimaced. He wanted to sideline Griffith, but here the
man was emerging as first among equals, or at least making a play for it.
Guarini sensed this and, if he could have
reached Battista’s shin, he would have nudged her. Since he couldn’t, he said,
“Anne, how do you think the Chinese would react—would they help?”
“Well, I don’t think this will work,
because surely Kim anticipated discovery and made up his mind to tough it out.
But that’s no reason not to try, particularly since it helps us avoid a
rush-to-war charge. As for the Chinese . . . I’m sure Ming Liu’s position will
be driven by the succession question: who will rule if not Kim?”
“And what do you say to him, Anne? What’s
the successor government we have in mind for North Korea?”
“Huge issue, Mr. President, and I’ll
admit I haven’t reached a conclusion yet. Some options that have occurred to me
are rule of some sort under a UN mandate leading to self-government, unification
with the south, or a Chinese protectorate.”
Throwing a warning glance at Griffith, Martin said,
“Anne, at first glance the most attractive is unification. How do you think
that would play with President Ming?”
“He wouldn’t like it, Mr. President,
although I can perhaps see him eventually deciding it’s his least bad choice.
But our problem in working with the Chinese is that they don’t want any change.
Kim is just fine with them; he gives them a client state on their border, a
communist buffer that reduces the visibility and influence of the capitalist
economy booming in the ROK. Not that Ming is completely happy with Kim—he
doesn’t like it at all that Kim has nuclear weapons. But pragmatically, Kim’s
DPRK is better for Ming than anything else available.”
“Well, a new world began on June
thirteenth, and surely Ming will come to see that the old solutions won’t work
anymore!”
“Mr. President,
if I may?” Martin made a go-ahead gesture to Aaron Hendricks.
“I wonder whether we’re putting the cart
before the horse. We haven’t asked the key question: is the United States going to hold North Korea as
responsible for the bombing as we do those who carried it out?”
