But if the table had any wisdom to offer, it wasn’t sharing any today. So the President cleared his throat and the subdued chatter around the table rapidly subsided.
“Good morning. You all know the topic of today’s meeting, so let’s get started. General Hayes, please give us the aerial surveillance update.”
Brigadier General Fletcher Hayes had never attended a National Security Council meeting before, and he was determined not to show it. More of an academic than a field officer, he was as conscious as the President of the historical precedents for the presentation he was about to give. Who, he wondered, had delivered the aerial recon review to President Kennedy in this same room at the beginning of the Cuban Missile Crisis?
Hayes rose from his seat, and nodded to the four subordinates that were standing next to the empty easels placed in the corners of the room. Each assistant placed a three by four foot satellite photo on his or her easel.
Hayes began to speak. “The picture you see was taken at 1200 local time today by one of our satellites over North Korea. What you are looking at is Launch Pad 10 at the North’s main military launch facility. As you can see, there is a missile in position next to the gantry, and the area is clear of any supporting vehicles. From this we conclude that the missile is ready to go, except for fueling. In other words, it can become fully operational within approximately twelve hours of an order to initiate the launch sequence.”
On signal, the assistants placed a nearly identical picture on the easels.
“And this is a photo of a missile in a similar state of readiness on Launch Pad 12. The question is, what sort of missiles are we looking at?”
The General motioned once more to his assistants, and this time they placed a large diagram on the easels that displayed a series of increasingly larger rockets, together with a map with concentric circles centering on North Korea.
“Here you see the four largest known missiles in the arsenal of the North, from smallest to largest – the Scud C Upgrade, the Nodong, both in yellow, and the Taepodong 1 and Taepodong 2 – the two missiles in blue. The map in the upper right shows the presumed range of each launch vehicle. As you will note, the largest circle shows that the range of the Taepodong-2 missile, carrying a conventional nuclear warhead, would reach Alaska. With a lighter payload, we assume it could reach the Pacific Northwest.
“Now let’s return to our surveillance photos.” The General nodded to his assistants, and a new blow-up appeared on the easels.
“What you see on the left half of this display is Launch Pad 10 once again, but this time the photo was taken later on the same day, at 1645 local time – just before sunset. The picture you see on the right hand side was also taken just before sunset, but this picture was taken on April 4, 2012. The missile in this picture is the Taepodong-2 missile the North launched with partial success the next day.
“Now if you open the folder in front of each of you, you will find a diagram with the outlines of two multi-stage missiles, with the larger of the two superimposed over the smaller. These outlines were created to the same scale, and were produced by measuring the shadows that you see on the pictures on the easel after compensating for the change of seasons.”
“As you can tell from the scale on the left side of the diagram, the larger of the two missiles is about 20% taller than the smaller one. If you look carefully at the silhouettes, you will see that this difference results entirely from the extension of the second stage. The third stage appears to be unchanged, with no increase in the size of either the delivery or the payload sections.”
“Finally, you will note that the silhouette of the first stage of the larger missile is much broader, by reason of the addition of a booster rocket on each side of the main launch vehicle.”
“Our assumption is, therefore, that what we see on the launch pads now are indeed the Taepodong-3 missiles that Jong Kim-Lo claimed a week ago he intended to target at the U.S.”
The General paused. “Are there any questions so far?” The room was silent. Then the President spoke.
“General Hayes, do we believe that any of the components of the larger rocket are new?”
“Excellent question, sir. Unfortunately, for all practical purposes the answer is ‘no.’ The first and third stages appear to be identical to those of the Taepodong-2, while the larger second stage is also the same as the one used with the Taepodong-2, except with larger fuel and oxygen tanks made possible by the added thrust supplied by the booster rockets added to the launch configuration. Increasing the size of those components presents no new engineering challenges of any significance. And the size and shape of the booster rockets is an exact match to the solid fuel rockets the North has been successfully launching for years.”
“Have they successfully launched mixed solid and liquid fuel configurations before?”
“Yes, sir, they have.”
“Thank you General. Please proceed.” Hayes nodded to his assistants.
“What you see superimposed over this map of North America are arcs that represent the ranges that we believe a missile of the size of the Taepodong-3 would have, based upon differing payload weights.”
The Council members peered especially intently at this map. The first arc approximately followed the line of the Rockies, while the second took in Chicago, St. Louis, Dallas, and Houston. The third arc included the entire United States, except for the bottom third of Florida.
“More specifically, these arcs relate to payloads equivalent to 4,000, 3,000, and 2,000 pounds in weight.”
The President spoke up again. “And how did you select those weights, General? Are they arbitrary, or do they have particular significance?”
The General chose his words carefully. “Mr. President, we were using a variety of educated guesses when we chose the weights for this particular purpose. Essentially, they represent a range of assumptions based upon the level of sophistication that the North Koreans may have achieved in the design of their nuclear weaponry as it correlates to weapon weight and force. If that sophistication is high, then the current weight of their nuclear warheads may be as little as half that of a crude device.
“Depending upon which of those assumptions proves to be accurate, the arcs therefore represent the current capability of the North to deliver a 1 kiloton nuclear warhead to the continental U.S., assuming that their delivery vehicle operates to full design potential.”
“One last question, General. Have your people formed any opinion on the probable weight of the payload the third stage of these rockets is intended to carry, based on the available volume of the third stage?”
“Yes, Mr. President, they have.”
“And that opinion is?”
“Between 1800 and 2100 pounds, sir.”
“Thank you very much, General. I’m sure we’ll be inviting you to join us again soon.”
* * *
Carl Cummings saw Marla sitting in the window of the coffee shop in Alexandria, Virginia where she had asked him to meet her. He paused at the counter to buy a cup for himself, and then joined her. Ever since their walk in the snow on the Georgetown campus, Carl had been finding his bachelor flat especially depressing. All of his good friends were married now, and his evening options had narrowed to not much more than channel surfing. Was this meeting intended for business reasons, or, dare he hope it, for getting re-acquainted?
One look at Marla as she glanced up to greet him answered that question.
“Ah, there you are,” she said. “Have a seat.” Carl did as he was told.
“Any luck?” he asked.
Marla looked around discretely and then in a low voice said “Yes!”
Carl stirred his coffee and considered his next question. He now knew from Marla that Frank and she were indeed communicating online, but he knew better than to ask how. He could tell that Marla was still of two minds over whether she could rely on him completely, and Carl was unsure how to gain her full trust.
“How much luck?” he asked qui
etly.
“We’ve got a location.”
Carl tried not to show surprise; there were people not far away. “That’s excellent. Where?”
Marla did not reply immediately. Instead, she stared out the window uneasily. Frank had decided to gamble on letting her work with Carl up to a point, but he clearly still had his doubts. The responsibility of being right about Carl therefore weighed heavily on Marla’s shoulders.
Still, what choice did she have? They needed to catch the Alexandria Project operatives before Frank could consider himself in the clear. But while cyber sleuthing was up Frank’s alley, physically catching potential terrorists was not. Anyway, so long as Frank stayed in hiding, what did they have to lose?
Best to go ahead and take the plunge then. Marla set her coffee cup down and pointed across the street with her chin. Carl looked through the window at the storefront he saw there. A sign over its door read “Alexandria Antiquarian Bookstore.”
“Where?” Carl asked, confused.
This time, Marla pointed unmistakably at the store front with one finger.
“There.”
* * *
23
Fancy Meeting You Here!
“There? That dusty old bookstore? That’s where you think the Alexandria Project that’s trying to take down all of western civilization is based?”
“Yes, ‘that dusty old bookstore’! And don’t talk so loud!” Marla snapped. “My father’s certain that’s where the attacks are coming from. We’re in Alexandria, right? So it all ties together. And in case you’ve forgotten, the first gripe the Alexandria Project mentioned in the letter they sent George Marchand was about the Library of Congress pulping books, so why not a bunch of book fanatics?” Marla gave him a hostile look as she blew her nose, and Carl noticed for the first time that she had a bad cold.
“Okay, okay. It’s just not what I had expected. But don’t worry, I’ll take it from here.”
“‘I’ll take it from here?’ What’s that supposed to mean?” Marla was more than annoyed now.
Carl looked surprised. “You know, I’ll report in to headquarters. We’ll comb the store without the owners knowing anything, and if we can find the right evidence, we’ll arrest them.”
“Right.” Marla said. “Now you’re using the right pronoun. That’s just what we’ll do – you, headquarters – and me.”
Carl looked as alarmed as he felt. “Now, Marla, come on – this is highly technical work, and dangerous, too! You can’t expect to be part of it.”
But Carl was now talking to the back of a newspaper, so he stopped. Okay, if that’s the way she wanted it, that’s how she could have it. He grabbed his coat and started to get up. He’d just to get a search warrant and….
Carl stood next to the table for a moment. Now exactly how would he get that search warrant? As of now, he didn’t know diddley squat what he might find in the Alexandria Antiquarian Bookstore. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have anything at all to tell the judge other than what he had just heard, and Marla could deny that if she wanted to.
Carl suppressed his annoyance with difficulty. He cleared his throat and then started speaking again, this time with a note of pleading in his voice. “Now please, Marla, let’s just be reasonable here….”
* * *
Half an hour later, Carl was sitting in his car, dialing George Marchand. Marla had declined to be reasonable.
“George, Carl. Good news, bad news time here. The good news is that Marla just gave me the location that Frank thinks the Alexandria Project’s operating out of. It’s an old book store in Alexandria.”
“How sure is Frank?”
“She says he’s dead certain, but she wouldn’t say how he knows. Anyway, it looks like it should be an easy place to check out. If we can get a warrant this afternoon, we could even get in there tonight – it closes at 1700, and it looks like the store takes up the whole building. No apartments or offices upstairs.”
“So what’s the problem? That’s why Homeland Security’s got its own judge on call, 24/7. Get down there with Marla and have her swear out an affidavit and let’s get cooking.”
“Well, now, that takes us to the bad news. Marla says she’s not going to sign an affidavit unless I let her go into the building with us. She says she doesn’t trust us yet. She says she’s worried that we’ll just disappear the Alexandria Project guys and Frank won’t have any proof that someone else was responsible for what’s going on. She wants to be a witness to whatever we find so we can’t hang her father out to dry.”
George thought for a moment. Marla was his goddaughter, and she might believe him if he came clean with her. But that would mean revealing his other life with the CIA to her. He took a deep breath.
“Okay. So here’s what we’re going to do.”
* * *
At 4:45 that afternoon, a man in coveralls with “Able Locksmiths” embroidered across his back was sitting at the same table in the same coffee shop in which Carl and Marla had been arguing that morning. He took his time finishing his coffee as he watched the sales clerk through the plate glass window of the Alexandria Antiquarian Bookstore across the street. At last, two people were lined up at the cash register. Picking up the bag of tools by his feet, he left the coffee shop and walked quickly across the street.
Entering the bookstore, he interrupted the clerk with an apologetic smile. “Pardon me, ma’am. Where’s the lock with the problem?”
“Excuse me? What lock?”
“Back door lock. The one that’s sticking.”
The clerk looked confused. “There’s only one back door. It’s through the curtain in the back and down a few stairs.”
“Thanks – have it fixed for you in a jiffy.”
He walked away before she could reply. Once past the curtain, he knelt by the back door and examined its ancient lock carefully, looking for the name of the manufacturer. Finding it, he pulled an enormous ring of master keys out of his tool bag, and riffled through them till he found the right section of skeleton keys. He selected one and tried it; no luck; another; no luck.
On his third try, the lock opened easily. To be on the safe side, he tried it from the outside as well. Perfect.
He stretched a rubber sleeve over the key to mark it, and stood up. A minute later, he was walking past the clerk as she counted out the cash register for the day.
“I wish every repair was that easy,” he said cheerfully to the clerk, giving her a warm smile. “Couple shots of powdered graphite, and she was as good as new.”
“Do we owe you anything?”
“Nah, I had another job just up the street, so my travel time’s already covered. No charge – this’ll be my good deed for the day.”
And with that, he was gone.
* * *
Half a world away in Pyongyang, Jong Kim-Lo, Supreme Commander of the People’s Army and Chairman of the National Defense Commission of North Korea, was presiding over a strategy session with the top civil and military leaders of his government. He looked tired and detached as the ranking commander of the Korean Peoples Army, General Chan Bach Choy, finished his presentation.
“We can begin fueling the missiles the moment you give the order, Beloved Father. Just over eleven hours later they can be on their way – of course, only on your command.”
“And the troops, General? When will they be fully deployed?”
“As you know, 85% of the People’s Army, about 1,000,000 troops, are always deployed along the Demilitarized Zone. We’ve added another 50,000, but we’ve also been moving random companies closer to the DMZ to create uncertainty as to how many additional troops have been deployed and what we have in mind. This has forced the South to keep repositioning its forces defensively in response, keeping their leadership off balance. In addition, all leaves have been canceled beginning yesterday. Our forces will therefore increase daily as those already on leave return.”
The General looked at the Beloved Father confidently. “Of course we h
ave also activated and begun moving 2,000,000 of the Red Guards into position just behind the regular troops.”
Jong Kim-Lo looked back in surprise. He inclined his one good hand slightly so that the General would pause, and then beckoned Kim Lang-Dong, the President of the Supreme People’s Assembly to his side. “Did I order the Red Guard into position?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t recall authorizing that.”
“Of course you did, sir. At our meeting last week. And I must say that it was one of your most brilliant decisions. Never before in one of our manufactured crises have we called the Red Guard to the DMZ. Your daring took our breath away, and the West has reacted just as we hoped. Never before have they taken us so seriously....”
Jong Kim-Lo leaned back into his seat in confusion. He knew that his memory had become unreliable since his stroke the year before, and that he needed to rely on those around him for support. But lately his understanding of important matters seemed to be more frequently inaccurate or incomplete, and that concerned him. Hesitantly, he gestured to the General to continue.
“The Red Guards will be fully positioned by Friday. We will then be ready to conduct the missile tests when you give the word.”
Kim-Lo sat up in his chair and stared at the general, who paused. After a moment, Kim-Lo gestured to him to approach as well.
The Beloved Father felt confused; was he forgetting what the entire plan was all about? Hadn’t the intention been simply to scare the West by letting their spy satellites see the refueling begin? Wouldn’t that, plus the deployment of extra regular troops to the DMZ, be sufficient to bring the U.S. unilaterally to the bargaining table at last?
Bach Choy was now standing before him. “Tests, General?” Kim-Lo whispered to him.
“Of course, Beloved Father. Just as you described in your private instructions to me ten days ago. Is the time not ripe for me to reveal your master strategy to the others, sir?”
The Alexandria Project: A Tale of Treachery and Technology (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 1) Page 19
