by Larry Bond
“He’s gone where?” Blake couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.
“Up to the Greenbrier for the weekend, Dr. Fowler.” Putnam’s secretary sounded surprised, too. The Greenbrier was a plush West Virginia resort favored by many in Congress for retreats, conferences, and just plain getaways.
“Well, when do you expect him back, Liz?” Blake swiveled in his chair to keep the afternoon sun out of his eyes.
“Not for a week or so. He’s going straight from the Greenbrier on to a speaking tour out across the country. Election rallies. That sort of thing.”
“Shit.” Blake couldn’t believe it. The President signs that goddamned Barnes sanctions bill and Putnam heads out on some kind of victory parade. Something was not at all right in the State of Denmark.
“Look, Liz. Did he have you make a lot of changes to that report I gave him?”
Putnam’s secretary was silent for several seconds and then said, “Yes. He rewrote whole sections.”
That bastard. What had he done? “Can I get a copy of the latest draft?”
Silence again. “Uh, Dr. Fowler, he … well, he said I wasn’t allowed to distribute it to anyone but the President and the other people at the cabinet meeting yesterday.”
Bingo. “I suppose that counts me out.” Blake grimaced. He had to find a way to see what Putnam had done to the Working Group’s recommendations.
Putnam’s secretary said, “I’m sorry, Dr. Fowler. I’m afraid it does.” She stopped and then said, “But I do have an extra copy here on my desk. I haven’t had time to log it in yet. And I’m going to have to step out for a few minutes.”
Blake hung up smiling. Thank God for Liz Klein. She’d been around the White House through three different Administrations and she knew exactly how to play the game. He got up and stuck his head out his office door. “Katie, could you come in here a second. There’s something I want you to pick up for me over at the White House.”
He sent his secretary off on her semi-cloak-and-dagger mission and then sat down to consider his next move. Whatever he did, he was going to need allies. Powerful ones. People that the President couldn’t ignore. And if Putnam had monkeyed around with the Working Group’s report the way Blake thought he had, the next several days were going to be critical. He also knew that chances of his staying employed in the administration were just about nil.
He sat waiting for Katie to get back, looking at the picture of his wife and five-year-old daughter.
OCTOBER 19 — THE NBC NIGHTLY NEWS
The camera view showed what were now almost routine scenes from the South Korean capital. Masked, chanting students throwing rocks and firebombs at police troops who retaliated with tear gas, water cannon, and clubs. Long-distance shots from a chartered helicopter showed the fine, white tear-gas mist billowing above Seoul’s city center.
The anchorman’s calm, dispassionate tones were in sharp contrast with the televised pictures of complete chaos and random violence.
“Thousands of South Korean students poured out into the streets of Seoul today — the seventh consecutive day of anti-government protests that have virtually paralyzed this city of ten million.
“The demonstrators once again clashed with government security forces in several hours of street fighting that left another sixty people injured, many in critical condition. And there are no signs that the riots will end anytime soon.”
The camera cut back to the anchor desk.
“In other Korean news today, a government spokesman lashed out at the new U.S. trade sanctions scheduled to go into effect within the month. According to the spokesman, South Korea, quote, utterly rejects this unprincipled attempt by the United States to interfere in the internal affairs of another freely elected government, end quote. The spokesman went on to say that South Korea’s coalition
government saw no reason to give in to the impossible demands made by the rioting students.
“However, informed sources report that the South Korean government will soon announce a series of cosmetic political reforms — in the hope that they will placate the rioting students and soothe the angry American Congress.
“Meanwhile, the European Economic Community announced that it would follow the example set by the U.S. in imposing sanctions on South Korean manufactured products. This European action is considered extremely significant by foreign policy and economic analysts because the EEC is the third-largest purchaser of South Korea’s exports, after the U.S. and Japan.”
The camera cut again, this time to pictures of a flag-waving political rally in Illinois.
“And in Chicago, today, presidential national security adviser George Putnam told a cheering crowd of union members that the U. S. sanctions showed America’s commitment to fair trade and to the cause of democratic reform in South Korea.
OCTOBER 20 — SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA
General Chang Jae-Kyu, commanding officer of the 4th Infantry Division, stepped carefully through the door of the Han Chung Kak kisaeng house. He smiled politely at the young woman who took his officer’s cap and overcoat. Charming. And so beautiful. He really must find out her name and ask for her the next time he came here. But not tonight. Tonight he had other business, business that made even the sophisticated pleasures of Seoul’s most attractive kisaeng pale in importance.
Chang followed the woman down a quiet corridor lined with precious paintings and silk screens. He shook his head, amused that he now found such luxury and beauty so commonplace that he could disregard it.
Chang was a farmer’s son, a man of the earth. His family had labored for countless generations, growing the crops that fed Korea’s elite city dwellers. The Army had changed all that. It had nurtured and protected him. It had given him a future, just as it had safeguarded the future for all of South Korea. He frowned. And now these effete city snobs, the corrupt politicians and radical students alike, threatened to destroy all that — to emasculate the bulwark of the state and the new order.
Chang straightened his shoulders. They would not succeed. Not without a fight.
The kisaeng stopped outside a closed door and bowed. He bowed back and followed her with his eyes as she glided back the way they had come. Truly a study in elegant grace. Well, perhaps there were advantages to cities after all.
He turned, knocked once, and entered the small, smoke-fogged room beyond the door. He knew the officers assembled around the table intimately, well enough to trust them with his life. They were classmates, graduates of the Korean Military Academy.
Chang nodded to them. “Gentlemen. It is good to see you all here.”
They grinned back at his formal tone. He studied them for a moment before continuing. General Bae, commanding officer of the 9th Infantry Division, part of the Capital Corps that guarded Seoul. He was tall for a Korean, with a round, moon face. Colonel Kim of the 6th Interceptor Squadron was shorter and had quick, hurried movements. Colonel Min, G-2 for the III Corps, looked uncomfortable. He was as fat as a Korean Army officer ever gets, which is not much.
Most importantly, General Hahn, head of the Seoul District of the Defense Security Command was present. His angular face smiled in anticipation.
It was because of him that Chang and his small cadre could meet here in complete safety. The politicians expected the Defense Security Command to play watchdog over the armed forces. Chang smiled to himself as he looked at Hahn. But what happened when the watchdog turned on its supposed master?
“Are we secure here?” he asked.
“Yes, my men swept it for listening devices just this afternoon. It was clean.”
“Good. Then we can get down to business.” Chang looked over his assembled friends. “I apologize for rushing this, but time is not our ally. None of us can afford to be missed or brought under suspicion during this time of preparation.”
“So you’re convinced then that we must move against the government?” Lieutenant Colonel Min didn’t sound completely surprised.
“I can see no other
alternative.” Chang kept his voice low, but the others could hear the steely determination that had won him the nickname the Iron Man during his days at the academy.
He continued, “As officers, we are sworn to defend this nation against its enemies, foreign and domestic. And can any doubt that our country is under attack?”
The others, their minds full of images from the past two months of rioting and disorder, shook their heads.
“No, I thought not. But what have these politicians, these vote-buyers, done about it? Nothing.” Chang let the word hang in midair for a moment and then repeated it. “Nothing.
“Oh, they talk a grand game. But instead of swift, decisive action to crush this communist insurrection, the bureaucrats have spent their time running from one place to another, pissing on the fires only when the flames reach their feet.” The officers chuckled at his crude imagery.
“And now, what are they planning?” Chang asked scornfully. “I’ll tell you. They are preparing a surrender. A surrender to these young thugs and their calls for socialism. And a surrender to America and all its intolerable demands.”
The officers murmured to one another, and Chang could see the anger growing.
“So then, I ask you, what else can we do as men who’ve sworn to guard the nation with our very lives?”
General Bae answered for the others after glancing around the room. “You are right. We must reform the government. And soon.”
They all knew what he meant by “reform.” He meant a military coup. It was not unthinkable. Twice before in the forty-year-long history of the Republic of Korea, groups of young officers had acted to save the country from corrupt, feuding politicians. They would simply be following in that tradition.
Chang held up a hand. “You’re right. There is little time. But we must not act with undue haste. We six alone are not enough to topple the regime.”
He smiled and bowed to Hahn. “There are others in the armed forces who share our determination to save this country. With our friend Hahn’s help, I shall bring them into the fold in the coming weeks.” He paused for a moment. “And when we are ready, we shall move with lightning speed to oust the moneygrubbers of Seoul and restore order.”
That won approving nods and smiles from the group. Only Min still looked troubled. “But what of the Americans? Won’t they intervene?”
Chang didn’t bother to hide his contempt. “The Americans? They’ve washed their hands of us. Now we owe them nothing. They can do nothing. And once we’ve ended these disturbances, their corporations will be back begging us to trade with them once again.”
He looked squarely at Min. “So. Are you with us, or not?”
In the silence that followed his question, they could all hear faint sirens from outside as the police rushed to quell yet another riot.
Min listened for a moment and then stared straight back into Chang’s eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’m with you.”
Chang slowly smiled. Now they could begin.
CHAPTER 14
Riposte
OCTOBER 23 — THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Blake Fowler sat quietly in the antechamber outside the Oval Office, resisting an urge to pace. He glanced across the room at Admiral Philip Simpson, Chairman of the JCS, who sat conferring with an aide. He double-checked his briefing folder to make sure he had all the documents he would need for this morning’s show. Or maybe “showdown” would be a more accurate term for what he had planned.
“Dr. Fowler?” The dark-haired secretary had raised her head from her work.
“Yes.”
“The President will see you in just a couple of moments. He’s on the phone right now, but it shouldn’t take long.”
Blake nodded his thanks and sat back. This waiting was the hardest part. At least he hoped so. He was acutely aware that the next fifteen minutes or so would be the most crucial of his entire career. In fact, they could easily be the last fifteen minutes of his government career.
He’d spent the better part of a week preparing for this meeting. First, he’d had to persuade Mike Sinclair, Putnam’s deputy, to give him a chance to deliver the President’s daily national security briefing. Putnam was still away on his pre-election campaign swing, but he was due back in a couple of days, and Blake knew this would be his last opportunity to get in to see the President. Sinclair disliked Putnam as much as everybody else on the NSC staff, and he’d finally agreed — thinking that Blake, as one of the staffs rising young stars, just wanted a chance to impress the President while the adviser was away. Blake hadn’t disillusioned him. But he knew that Sinclair was going to be damned mad when he found out the truth.
Next, he’d sought out the kind of ally he’d need to persuade the President that this was more than just a quibble over words and staff procedures. Admiral Simpson had been the logical choice. He’d supported the Working Group’s original recommendations wholeheartedly. He was the nation’s senior military officer. And the admiral had a well-deserved reputation as a man who put the truth above political expediency.
But Blake had only met the admiral twice before, once at a Georgetown dinner party and once at a conference on grand strategy for the Pacific region, so he’d been surprised when Simpson agreed to see him the same day he’d asked for an appointment. He’d been even more surprised when the bull-necked little man had readily agreed to come to the Oval Office with him.
Simpson had grinned across his desk. “What’s the matter, Dr. Fowler? Haven’t you ever come across someone willing to gamble a thirty-year career in the military before?”
“Frankly, Admiral, no, I haven’t. At least not in this town.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, my friend, I’m willing to do this for two very good reasons. First, the President’s made a goddamn big strategic error in signing that sanctions bill. Someone’s got to try to do something about that, and that someone is probably me. The taxpayers should be able to count on something for the seventy-five thousand dollars a year I get paid. And second, George Putnam is a slimy son of a bitch and it’ll be a pleasure to put a stake through his heart.”
Blake smiled as he remembered Simpson’s words. He just hoped that the admiral’s optimism was justified.
The secretary’s phone buzzed softly, bringing him out of his reverie. She picked it up, listened for a moment, and hung up. Blake sat up and laid a hand on his folder.
“Dr. Fowler? Admiral Simpson? The President is ready for you now.” She got up from behind her desk to hold the door open for them. Blake could see the same blue carpet with its interwoven presidential seal, high-backed colonial chairs, marble-sided fireplace, flags, and paintings he’d seen a hundred times before in TV newscasts. But it felt different in person. The room seemed to breathe power.
As they walked into the Oval Office, the President got up from behind his desk and came to meet them.
“Phil, it’s good to see you again.” He shook hands with the admiral and turned to Blake. “And you must be Blake Fowler. Mike Sinclair’s been telling me good things about you.”
Blake heard himself mumbling something about hoping he deserved Sinclair’s praise. Then the President waved them both into chairs and settled back down behind his desk. He put his fingertips together below his chin.
“Now, gentlemen, I’m going to assume that this is more than just a routine briefing. I’ve only been here a couple of years, but I haven’t yet had the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs come in to fill me in on the latest news from Lower Freedonia.”
Blake glanced over at Admiral Simpson. The admiral nodded slightly. They’d agreed earlier that Blake should take the first stab at explaining the situation.
“Mr. President, you’re absolutely right. We’re here about the Interagency Working Group report you were shown before you signed the Korean sanctions bill.”
The President frowned. Korea was obviously still a sore spot. Blake had seen some of the private messages that had passed between the White House and the South Korean government and cou
ldn’t really blame him.
Blake took a deep breath and pushed on. “The truth is, sir, that the document you saw had been altered.”
“Hold it right there.” The President held up a hand and glared at him. He looked at his watch. “I’ve got better things to do than listen to some goddamned staff squabbling. That’s what I pay my senior people for. If you’ve got some beef with the way your copy got rewritten, take it up with Putnam or the chief of staff. Now let’s get on with the rest of your briefing. I’ve got an important meeting in half an hour.”
Blake could feel himself flushing. They couldn’t leave without at least getting a hearing on Putnam’s treachery, could they? He fought an urge to rearrange his notes. Anyway he looked at it, his days with the administration were numbered. Better to be damned for something he’d done then for something he hadn’t. But would the admiral stick with him?
The admiral did. “With respect, Mr. President, Dr. Fowler and I aren’t here to complain about the way a few words were changed here or there.”
Simpson leaned forward in his chair. “We’re here because your national security adviser took it on himself to drastically alter the conclusions reached by the Working Group. I’ll be blunt. The recommendations you were shown bore about as much resemblance to what I and the other Joint Chiefs approved as horseshit does to roast beef. And that’s got direct consequences for this nation’s security.”
The President looked up from his desk and Blake could see the curiosity in his eyes. Curiosity and something more. “Go on.”
Blake asked him, “Did the report you saw recommend signing the Barnes bill?”
The President nodded.
“Then I think you ought to take a look at what the Departments of Defense and Commerce, the CIA, and the NSA all originally recommended.” Blake reached into his folder and pulled out several pages highlighted in yellow.
“These are from the draft we submitted to Putnam.”
The President reached over and took the papers out of Blake’s hand. He spread them out in front of him and started reading. They could see his frown growing deeper as he read. It took him just a couple of minutes to finish.
