Paul Hood had arrived at the west gate of the White House and, after passing 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 fastballs. 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.
“Passing 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. Hell, 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 goddamn 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 Ambassador Hall. He doesn’t want Americans moving into or being turned away from the Embassy 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 massive 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. Ambassador 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. Ambassador 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 Japan 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 glasses 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. assumes 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: