Dark Winter

by Anthony J. Tata

  For the moment, he remained standing. Opposite them, the new North Korean leader, General Yung, strode into the biometric walkway from his waiting area, went through the same biometric confirmation process and then stepped aside for the North Korean Nuclear biometric key.

  “NoKo NBiC,” Gorham whispered to Shayne, nodding. NBiC was the acronym that Gorham had developed for the three nuclear biometric keys.

  “Yes.”

  Yung was an older general who had learned from Kim Jong Il to enjoy the company of young, blond women from Scandinavia. He had them imported on a regular basis. Gorham could track the social media accounts of these women after their return to Sweden. Several had committed suicide. Some apparently never made it back. General Yung walked through the biometric scanner, confirming it was him.

  The North Korean biometric key, a young woman with black hair and steel-gray eyes strode to the platform. Gorham was impressed. He had not expected a woman. He wasn’t sure why, but figured the trusted aide for the North Koreans would be a man. But if the general enjoyed the company of young women, then perhaps it stood to reason that he would choose a North Korean woman to always be by his side, as the biometric keys were sure to do. She was beautiful, wearing a black dress suit with a white silk blouse. Pearls hung around her neck, the largest just below her throat between her prominent collar bones. She gave off the air of a no-nonsense business woman.

  Gorham thought he detected a bulge in her carry bag—a small backpack—perhaps a gun. As she stood in the biometric chamber, the analytics were relayed to Shayne’s laptop. Gorham was distracted, though, transfixed by the beauty of the woman, yet wanting to look at Shayne’s iPad. The eye scan. The mouth swab. The handprint. Her lips moved as she said something in Korean.

  “Translated that means, To the victor go the spoils,” Shayne whispered. “Kal.”

  “Kal? That’s her name?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  Gorham stared at the woman then looked at Shayne’s iPad. An image of the woman was displayed in a sort of suspended, revolving 3-D. A green check appeared next to the legs, having already confirmed her gait. Then next to the mouth, confirming the voice. Then next to the hand. Then next to the body with the letters DNA. Because Shayne’s algorithm searched the entire database of known North Korean operatives, which he had stolen from the North Korean government, the name Kal displayed on the screen.

  “Kal?” Gorham whispered to Shayne.

  “Means knife in Korean. She’s a DPRK special operations commando. Don’t let the good looks fool you.”

  Gorham had an itch for Asian women and Kal couldn’t be as tough as she purported to be if she was this beautiful. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Says here her father saved her from a fire that killed her brother and mother nearly ten years ago. Father was given the Medal of Honor by Kim Jung Il. He’s a hero of sorts in the northern part of North Korea. Samjiyon.”

  “Samjiyon? Near our facility there?” Gorham asked.

  “Only Samjiyon in North Korea. So, yes.”

  The general sat down and stared at Gorham from his seat fifteen feet away. Between them on the floor were server racks and voice receivers that would simultaneously translate the conversation into four languages and display the spoken word on the monitors, like watching a movie with four subtitles, three of which you didn’t need.

  The general wore an olive military uniform with red epaulets. Kal sat to Yung’s left and crossed her bare legs slowly.

  Perhaps just for Gorham’s show?

  He licked his lips and stared at Kal, who returned his gaze with a sly grin. Come hither? An image of Draganova flickered in his mind. Was this all for his ego?

  “Focus, boss. She’s bad news.”

  “What’s on the itinerary after this?”

  “Not her,” Shayne said. “She was recruited by DPRK special ops after her father was incapacitated while rescuing her.”

  “How incapacitated?” Gorham asked.

  “Wheelchair. In a home in Samjiyon. She lives in Pyongyang, but visits him monthly. Quickly promoted not only because of her skill and intellect, but also because of her father’s status. That’s her connection. He made her rise possible. Though Top Secret, being the nuclear key is one of the most powerful positions in the country.”

  As Gorham sat, first checking the cushion, he looked to his left and saw the Russian president striding through his biometric walkway. Gorham thought of the bare-chested photos Konstantin Khilkov posted on his very own Manabook page, the new Facebook. The Russian leader was dressed in a dark business suit, white shirt with no tie. Khilkov held a leash in his hand. At the end of the leash was his prized Russian Wolfhound. It was a beautiful white and rust colored animal with the features of a greyhound, but long fur that had helped the animals adapt to the harsh Russian climate. To Khilkov’s left was a large man who had the build of a heavyweight boxer. His muscles pushed at the seams of a dark blue suit that was tight across the chest and shoulders.

  “He brought his dog?” Gorham spat.

  “Told you. Takes her everywhere,” Shayne said. “He also brought a gorilla.”

  The president, his Russian wolfhound, and the Russian biometric key, Sergi Borlof, walked along the corridor, each being scanned and swabbed, each receiving green check marks. The wolfhound snapped at Borlof and barked, evoking deep belly laughter from Khilkov.

  The computerized voice said, “Konstantin Khilkov. Sergi Borlof. Serena. Approved. Enter.”

  Emerging from the chamber and sitting in their seats to Gorham’s left, the president nodded at Gorham. His wolfhound sat on its haunches, erect, alert, protective.

  After the green check marks appeared, Shayne whispered to Gorham, “Sergi Borlof. Bodyguard to Khilkov. Run of the mill secret service kind of guy. Fought in the Ukraine. His family is close to the president.”

  “I brought my best friend,” Khilkov said, pointing at the wolfhound. “As you just heard the computer say. Serena.”

  After a brief pause for interpretation, the North Korean general laughed and said in Korean, “I think you are the only one with a true friend in here.”

  Khilkov seemed to enjoy the banter and followed with, “Yes, Serena. Beautiful name for a beautiful animal. However, I must admit, you have a beautiful specimen next to you.”

  Kal flicked her hardened eyes to Khilkov.

  Evidently he had not received his diversity training, Gorham thought. This was a stupid conversation. Kal was a beautiful woman, not a specimen.

  “You have refined tastes, Mister President,” Yung said.

  Kal’s lips clenched. Her eyes caught Gorham’s. He was looking at her with his best sympathetic look. She gave him a wry smile that he interpreted to say, Thank you.

  The last to walk into the arena were the Iranians. They entered the arena from Gorham’s right. Walking through the glassed-in portal, they looked like an odd pair. The President of Iran, Rah-mad Saedi, was short—maybe 5’6”—wearing a black suit with a white shirt and no tie. His closely shaved beard matched the suit in color. Walking next to him was a man rivaling the size of the Russian dog handler and biometric key. The Iranian biometric key looked like a boxer, bent nose, scarred face, shaved head with black stubble merging with the beard that covered his chin. He was pushing seven feet tall and 300 pounds. Saedi went through the scanner, followed by the hulking Iranian Key.

  After the check marks appeared on Shayne’s iPad, Shayne whispered to Gorham, “Alexander Persi. Olympic boxer and heavyweight wrestler. Earned a bronze in Rio for Greco-Roman wrestling. Something of a hero here.”

  Gorham thought for a moment that Persi and Borlof might make for a good wrestling match if the discussions got boring.

  “Get all three?” Gorham said.

  “Every bit. I’m uploading all the biometric markers to the ManaSat array right now.” After about fifteen seconds, Shayne said, “And it’s ours.”

  “Okay. When the principals start talking, be ready to make a big
deal about giving them back their nuclear access.”

  Shayne nodded.

  To his left were the Russian president, Serena the wolfhound seated upright on her haunches, and the security guard, Borlof. Across from him about twenty feet away were the North Korean general and his biometric key, Kal. To his right were the Iranian president and Persi, the Iranian biometric key. Each of their seats were like theater balcony seats but shielded by ballistic glass. When they spoke, the servers in the center of the floor automatically translated the spoken word and displayed the meaning in English, Russian, Farsi, and Korean for all to see.

  Transparency, as Gorham had planned it.

  The host began speaking.

  “Welcome gentlemen . . . and ladies. While Mr. Gorham called us all here, I am your host.” Saedi nodded at the North Korean woman. “At Mr. Gorham’s request, we have used facial, gait, eye, handprint, DNA, and speech recognition to confirm that each of you is who you say you are. And we each have brought our biometric keys for our classified strategic programs, which have been confirmed. I’m anticipating release of our strategic capabilities back to the respective nation-states. It seems that Mr. Gorham drives a hard bargain, but perhaps a necessary one, nonetheless.”

  Saedi was Harvard undergraduate and law educated. He spoke in precise, clipped tones.

  Gorham took that as his cue. “We are prepared to unblock the nuclear arsenals of your nations under one condition.”

  “There was only one condition,” Khilkov interrupted. “That we bring our biometric keys to confirm that each of us has the necessary precautions in place. Anything else is unacceptable.”

  “I only ask that like any collective security alliance, we agree when strategic launches will take place,” Gorham said.

  “As you did with North Korea?” Khilkov scoffed. “Please.”

  “It will be important that we act with one unified voice.”

  “Again, did we all agree on sending a nuclear weapon into Tokyo? No. We all have economic interests there that have been wiped out.”

  “The economic interests of each nation are irrelevant to the larger interest at hand,” Gorham said.

  “Our economic interests are all that matters,” Khilkov continued.

  “Please, please,” General Yung interrupted. “We are the ones who are under international scrutiny now. Whether we launched the nuclear weapon or not, we are to blame. The path forward is a united path, not a divided one. North Korea has led the way. We all must join together now. Our communications, our trade, our technology transfers implicate all of us. Even you, Mr. Gorham. You are as complicit as all of us.”

  “Thank you, General. Yes, I understand and agree. Though complicit is not a word I would necessarily use. We are reshaping the world. Unifying it under common purpose, which is a socialist agenda that should resonate well with each of your philosophies. The only thing left to do is to determine how we rule after North Korea unifies the Korean Peninsula. Iran unifies the Middle East under Shi’a rule and law. And Russia strikes the final blow against the West. The governing doctrine must be one of helping the unfortunate, not enriching the wealthy.”

  The men mumbled amongst their biometric keys.

  They also served as advisors, Gorham presumed.

  “Go on,” Khilkov said.

  “I don’t want any land beyond the United States. I want the United States to be burned to the ground so that I can rebuild it in the image I seek. Not unlike what you are doing with Europe, Mr. President.” Gorham turned to the North Korean leader who was listening to Kal.

  He waited for her to finish, then spoke to General Yung. “And just as you will have South Korea and Japan under your control, I will remove all U.S. troops—those that are still alive—from the western Pacific. Guam, Korea, and Japan. It’s all yours. We have no business being there. The farthest west we will be is Hawaii. It’s a state and we will keep it that way. You want the Philippines, Australia, whatever else? It’s yours. China is a different story. They’re neither with us nor against us. Waiting it out to see what happens. I don’t imagine you can do much there.” He let the concept of China being too big to get out of their own way to sink in.

  Gorham didn’t view China as prepared to interject militarily other than to protect their own borders and economic way of life. His calculation had been to rely upon the RINK alliance as an agile way of resolving the conflict in seventy-two hours. Lightning speed. China was slow, lethargic. Like an unwieldy fat man unable to get out of his own way.

  Gorham turned to his right. The Iranians. They were watching the monitor in the center. When he noticed Gorham staring at him, President Saedi nodded.

  Gorham said, “You have the entire Middle East. The new Persian empire is all yours. It’s your call on what to do with Israel and the northern tier of Africa. I’ve said all along that we can facilitate the attacks so that they are successful.”

  Turning back to Khilkov, Gorham said, “Just as we have enabled your attack against Belarus and Poland and countries beyond, we could enable their defenses against you. Our nanosatellites are staying in synchronous orbit above each of your countries’ attack axes so that our code writers can drop cyber-bombs everywhere your troops go, helping them bypass defenses, making NATO weapons systems inoperable, and easing the way for your soldiers to attack. A few years ago, you got bogged down in the Ukraine, but you seem to be making excellent progress into Poland. You think that’s a coincidence?”

  Cheeks reddened from Gorham’s pointed words, Khilkov looked down and said, “We could do this alone, but choose to strategically align with you for the reasons you state.”

  Gorham chuckled. “Sure. Okay.” Then, with a firm voice, he added, “We can create a revolution in your country tomorrow, Mister President. Manaslu has billions of users interested in your policies. Not only can we render your weapons ineffective, we can create an uprising in your country that will chase you to your Georgian Black Sea retreat, if you make it that far.” He looked at each of the three RINK leaders. Left. Center. Right. “Likewise for each of your countries. To the point, the reason for the in-person meeting other than to unlock your nuclear arsenals is that we must trust one another.”

  “Trust?” Khilkov said. “You and your hackers have left us naked with no nuclear capability to respond if we are attacked. You come here talking about trust?”

  “I do, Mr. President. We’ve caught your hackers attempting to penetrate Manaslu and U.S. government institutions over two thousand times this month alone. You’ve hacked into the North Korean and Iranian systems. Care to share more? Want to discuss trust?”

  Gorham nodded at General Yung and President Saedi, who seemed surprised at Gorham’s insights about Russian cyber warfare. Russia had army units that executed the Kremlin’s cyber goals. Essentially, there were basements full of teenagers who preferred fighting the war from the comfort of a windowless cube as opposed to the urban warfare of Ukraine or, now, northern Europe.

  Khilkov’s unblinking eyes looked at Gorham, who guessed Khilkov was assessing how best to kill him and Shayne.

  Hopefully, Gorham thought, our precautions will be effective.

  “I think we will continue. It’s clear that none of us trusts the other. The only way to communicate what is about to happen is to look each other in the eyes. Sure, we can start a war, as we have, through remote communications and planning. But the spoils of war have a way of making people greedy. I want to clearly lay out the end game in person and have agreement. To the extent that each of you wishes to retain power and, perhaps, to live, then I suggest we roll up our sleeves and get to work.” Gorham gave the interpreters a minute to translate for their principals even though it was plain to see on the robotized monitor to their collective front.

  “I already know the success each of your militaries is achieving, so it is pointless in reviewing that. There is only one thing we need to discuss before we outline the end state.” He paused again and looked back at the Russian president. “A hack
er, perhaps from one of your countries, slipped away from our raid. He was in a bar in Detroit. Three of our best sleeper cell members attacked the bar and were repelled by a cell run by the U.S. Military’s Joint Special Operations Command. We have facial recognition of two members. One is Cassandra Bagwell, army captain. She’s a military intelligence officer and we must assume she had a heads-up. That somehow our Deep Web communications were breached.”

  “Maybe you’re not as good as you say.” Khilkov’s face was expressionless other than what seemed to be a permanent large frown, like a clown’s painted downturned lips.

  Gorham ignored the comment and continued. “The defector, Mr. President, we believe is from your country. This person risks the entire operation.”

  “Perhaps the defector worked for you?” Khilkov replied. “And believing someone is Russian is quite different from actually knowing this person is Russian.”

  “The skills we see are Russian techniques. Hacking skills, trained in your country. Cyrillic letters here and there, as if by mistake,” Gorham said.

  “If so, he is a simple hacker. Perhaps a good one. One would have to wonder what he saw in your operation that made him run.”

  “Yes. That is good question,” Yung said.

  “I think he saw the end state and got scared. Wanted no part in it,” Gorham said. “We have to assume that he is in American control. Americans captured this hacker before we could. Thankfully, the backlash from Guantanamo Bay and the torture in Iraq means there will be no torture of our defector.”

  “Torture or not, if he is Russian, he will never give up Russia. As for the rest, I cannot speak. I don’t know what he learned from the others.”

  “We shall see,” Gorham said. “I have a plan in action to find and capture him. If we do not capture him, he will be in hiding or on the run, unable to do us harm. However, Mister President, if you have contact with him, we would like to know.”