The Last Phoenix

by Richard Herman

  “Here,” Tel said in a low voice. Kamigami followed the sound and almost stepped on him in the dark. The big man dropped to the ground, and Tel pushed a low branch aside. The big open area was directly below them, and they could see lights in the three tunnels. The sound of the diesel engine grew louder, and finally an eight-wheeled, camouflaged vehicle carrying a missile emerged from the jungle. “Scud,” he said to Tel.

  “The Chinese don’t have Scuds,” Tel replied.

  “They do now.”

  Tel pulled out his camera to photograph it as Kamigami pointed to his radio operator and signaled for the detachable keypad. He punched at the keys with his blunt fingers. Frustrated with the small keys, he handed the keypad to Tel. “Re-transmit Delta Team’s message to GHQ. Also tell them we found a Scud at these coordinates.” Tel drafted the message to General Headquarters in Singapore and handed the keypad back to the radio operator. Kamigami motioned for the other keyboard to send a second message. He used a pencil to punch in a simple RETURN TO RENDEZVOUS ASAP and keyed the code that sent it to his four teams. He stood and motioned at Tel and the radio operator. “Time to get the hell out of Dodge.”

  Twelve

  Washington, D.C.

  Sunday, September 12

  The guard at the security checkpoint on the Pentagon’s main concourse recognized Pontowski and quickly came to his feet. “Good morning, sir.” He stood at half attention as Pontowski signed in.

  “Busy for a Sunday morning,” Pontowski said.

  “Hasn’t been like this since the Gulf War in ’91,” the guard replied. “The place is going crazy.” He glanced at his clipboard and noted the office Pontowski was visiting, then handed him a visitor’s badge. “Take the first set of stairs to the basement,” he said as Pontowski passed through the turnstile.

  Pontowski followed the basement corridor to the purple water fountain everyone used as a reference point. “Almost there,” he said to himself. He stopped in front of a heavy steel door and waited. The lock clicked, and he pushed the door open. Bernie Butler was waiting inside. “Thanks for coming,” Butler said as they walked down a narrow hall.

  “How bad is it?” Pontowski asked.

  “In the Gulf? I think we’re over the hump. We should stabilize in the next few hours.”

  “How’s Maddy doing?”

  “She’s a rock,” Butler replied. “But the casualties are causing her a problem. Over four hundred KIA in the last twenty-four hours. The media are starting to make it a major issue. But she’s handling it.”

  “I was thinking of the personal cost,” Pontowski said.

  “It’s high,” Butler replied. “I saw it when she told General Wilding that his son was killed fighting a rear-guard action. He held the center for ten hours with eight tanks. Completely stopped the UIF advance while a Marine battalion retrograded in force. He was twenty-three years old.” Butler pushed open the door to his cramped office, where a tall, elderly man was waiting. “Matt, I’d like you to meet Mr. Deng Shikai from Singapore.”

  The man extended his hand. “Please, call me Gus.”

  “I know who you are, sir,” Pontowski said, shaking his hand. Pontowski looked at the two men. “I’m not here because of the Gulf, am I?”

  Butler shook his head and motioned them to seats. “We have a problem on the Malay Peninsula.” He handed Pontowski a folder holding two messages Kamigami’s team had sent to Central Headquarters in Singapore.

  Pontowski quickly read the messages. “Your people send these?” he asked Gus. A nod answered him. “I’m not impressed.”

  Gus said, “Victor Kamigami identified the Scud.” Pontowski arched an eyebrow but didn’t respond. “Also,” Gus continued, “there’s a large contingent of regular PLA operating in the area.”

  Pontowski’s head came up at the mention of China’s People’s Liberation Army. Gus had his undivided attention. “How large and what are they doing?”

  Gus’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Their exact size is unknown, but special units destroyed several Malaysian villages. That set off a series of reprisals between Malay and Chinese villagers, which has turned into a full-blown civil war between the Malays and local Chinese. As a result, Chinese villagers are turning to the PLA for protection. In fact, Kamigami’s kampong was the first target, and his family was slaughtered.”

  “That was a very bad mistake,” Pontowski said.

  Gus nodded. “That’s why I was able to recruit him for our Special Operations Service.” Butler handed Pontowski a map, and Gus pointed to the Taman Negara. “The Chinese have built underground bunkers at this location. Which is where Kamigami found the Scud.”

  “The Chinese don’t have Scuds,” Pontowski said. “So where did it come from? Why not a CSS-7? That’s a much better missile.”

  “North Korea supplied the Scuds,” Gus said. “We believe that the Chinese want to appear as indigenous rebels supported by radical Islamic factions.”

  “And the Scud is part of their cover,” Pontowski said.

  Gus agreed. “It appears so. We also have reports of numerous small Chinese ships operating off the northeastern coast of Malaysia.”

  “Why Malaysia?” Pontowski asked.

  “We have reason to believe,” Butler said, “that their objective is Singapore and the Strait of Malacca.” He was treading a thin line with Pontowski and was over the line with Gus. He could not tell either of them what he knew, and had to protect his sources at all costs. That was part of his business. It was only when Gus had contacted one of the Boys asking for help that Butler had gotten involved and asked Gus to come to Washington for “discussions.”

  Pontowski frowned. “From one of your unimpeachable sources?” Butler ignored the sarcasm. “I can see the Chinese stirring up a civil war,” Pontowski continued, “but chancing a major war to gain control of the Strait? No way. The Chinese coerce and punish, they don’t invade and occupy.”

  Butler thought for a moment. He wanted to involve Pontowski, but what would it take to convince him? He could never reveal that his source was Jin Chu, Zou Rong’s consort. “Let’s just say we believe there’s a substantial threat there.”

  Pontowski studied the map in his hands. “And you’ve got to honor the threat. Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because,” Butler said, “we want you to spearhead the U.S. response.”

  Pontowski was incredulous. “What U.S. response?” The pieces fell into place even as he said it. “I see.”

  “Do you?” Butler asked.

  “Yeah, I do. If China’s objective is to capture Singapore and control the Strait, we’ve got to get involved. Which right now we can’t do because we’re up to our ass in alligators in the Middle East. That means we have to adapt a win-hold-win strategy. Win in the Middle East while we hold in Malaysia—then redeploy to Malaysia in time to win there. I think that strategy, for lack of a better word, sucks. You say ‘response’ and I hear ‘hostage force.’ No, thank you very much. I’m not your boy.” He paused to let it register. “I’ve bounced between here and the West Coast so much I feel like a Ping-Pong ball that qualifies for frequent-flier miles.” He headed for the door. “I’ve got a library to run.”

  “Since you’re here,” Butler asked, “can you wait at least twenty-four hours?” Pontowski skidded to a stop and hesitated. “I’ll owe you,” Butler added, upping the ante.

  “Twenty-four hours,” Pontowski muttered. He disappeared out the door.

  The two men looked at each other. “What now?” Gus asked.

  Butler reached for the telephone and dialed a number. “How would you like to meet the secretary of state?”

  For one of the rare times in his life, Gus showed surprise. “What are you up to?”

  “Taking it one bite at a time.”

  Gus tried hard to be inscrutable, but he knew that Butler could read him like an open book. Both men believed that the United States would have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the coming conflict on the Malay Pen
insula. The best way to make that happen was to have a U.S. presence in place that could be quickly overrun, thereby forcing the politicians to do something. But it was a sword that cut two ways. By having a so-called hostage, or trip-wire, force in place, a potential enemy might be discouraged from attacking because it would guarantee a U.S. response. It had worked with the Berlin garrison during the Cold War. “You want Pontowski for the…ah, trip wire?”

  Butler gave him a hard look. “He’s no bleating sheep being led to the slaughter. He fights back.”

  Butler was waiting when Mazie arrived for the ExCom’s Sunday meeting in the Situation Room. Without a word he handed her a thin folder containing a threat estimate for the Malay Peninsula and the same two messages Pontowski had seen. She read through it and shrugged. “Worrisome but not critical.”

  “And if I said we had a very reliable source confirming the threat?”

  “It depends on your source,” Mazie replied.

  Butler knew what he had to do, and it grated on every instinct, every bit of tradecraft he believed in. He had to compromise his source to gain the support he needed. “Jin Chu. She contacted us.”

  “The ExCom needs to see this,” she told him. He didn’t reply. “You don’t want to reveal your source, right?”

  “You know how the CIA works.”

  “Unfortunately,” Mazie murmured. The CIA would “validate” Jin Chu and, in the process, reveal their interest in her. That, in turn, could be a death sentence. “I doubt if the DCI would buy it even if he knew.” They waited in silence. Wilding soon entered, and Mazie passed him the folder. “You need to read this.”

  The DCI slipped into the room. But before he could sit down, Secretary of State Serick burst through the door. “We have problems in Malaysia.” He stamped his cane for emphasis and then sat. “I’ve been in conversation with a Mr. Deng Shikai…very well connected in the Singapore government. He claims the Chinese are set to mount a major offensive on the Malay Peninsula to capture Singapore and the Strait of Malacca.”

  “Nonsense,” the DCI said. Wilding shoved the folder across the table for him to read. He did and then closed the folder with a firm finality. “Someone’s obsessing.”

  “We can’t ignore it,” Mazie told him.

  Wilding punched at a hand controller, and one of the computer monitors came to life with a listing of the United States’ order of battle that enumerated all the forces available for deployment. “We don’t have the capability to respond. We’re fully committed to the Gulf. At best we could mount a win-hold-win strategy.”

  “That would be political suicide,” Serick said. “Leland would see to that.”

  “So what do we tell the president?” Mazie asked.

  At that very moment Maddy was in the residence enjoying herself. It was a rare moment as she watched the vice president spar with Leland on Meet the Press. Kennett had effectively boxed the wily senator into a corner, making him choose between selling out America’s troops in combat, as well as its allies, and continuing to fight. “The choice is yours to make, Senator.”

  The camera zoomed in on Leland’s face. “That choice will be forced on the president,” Leland shot back. “Look at the casualties. She alone is responsible for this slaughter. And it is not a matter of selling out our allies. France has been against this from the very first and can still broker a cease-fire. We need to listen to our allies, not act unilaterally when it is against our best interests. The UIF will need a market for its oil. The industrialized West is that market. There are workable options here.”

  “Defeat is a workable option?” Kennett asked.

  The moderator interrupted them. “Gentlemen, we’ve just received a report from Malaysia that I believe you’ll be interested in.” He turned to the screen behind him.

  They watched as a reporter stood on the rooftop of a hotel and described the chaos below him. “Widespread rioting erupted today in Kuala Lumpur following nerve-gas attacks on three bus stations. Mobs of angry Malays blame the Chinese and are looting and burning Chinese homes and businesses. Farther south, Singapore police arrested eight terrorists at Changi Airport. All eight were from Malaysia and suspected of being involved with the attacks here.”

  Maddy gave a little grimace and clicked off the TV when her personal assistant entered the room. “Madam President,” Nancy said, “the ExCom is waiting in the Situation Room. Secretary Serick is with them.”

  The president read Butler’s threat estimate in less than thirty seconds and looked around the table. “How serious is this?”

  “Given the recent news from Kuala Lumpur,” Serick said, taking the lead, “I don’t think we can ignore it.”

  Turner came to her feet and paced the length of the room. “Why is it that we live in a world where we have to use force to make people live peacefully together?” There was no reasonable answer to her question, and she knew it.

  “This is a local problem,” the DCI said. “What we’re seeing is a combination of economics and ethnic hatreds. Rather than addressing the basic economic problem, the government is making a scapegoat of the Chinese minority. The Chinese are fighting back. It’s a situation that we do not—I repeat, do not—have to address at this time.”

  “Madam President,” Serick said, his voice calm and reasoned, “in conversations with a representative from the Singapore government, a Mr. Deng, I have learned that Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, and Indonesia are very concerned. In fact, they are forming a military alliance—Southeast Asia Command, SEAC—under the provisions of the Southeast Treaty Organization.”

  “I thought SEATO was alive in name only,” she said.

  “Indeed it was,” the secretary of state replied. “But this threat has breathed new life into it. Singapore is taking the lead.”

  “Chinese fighting Chinese?” the DCI scoffed. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “The Singaporeans know what’s at stake here,” Serick replied.

  Vice President Kennett entered and sat down. Mazie handed him Butler’s threat estimate to read. “We don’t need this,” he said, thinking about his recent argument with Leland.

  The DCI decided it was time to set it all in perspective and establish his authority. “Madam President, I have analysts spending twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, monitoring every area of the world. They are area specialists and intimately familiar with local conditions. Neither they, the NRO, the NSA, nor the State Department has turned up any evidence to even suggest that this is more than an indigenous group of angry farmers and dissatisfied ethnic groups.”

  “Who have Scuds and nerve gas,” Butler said in a stage whisper.

  The DCI ignored him. “We have more important things to consider and are wasting too much time on this.”

  Mazie sensed it was the right moment to intervene. She glanced at Butler, and he gave a little nod. “Can SEATO handle this alone?”

  “Absolutely,” the DCI said.

  “They’re going to need help,” Butler said.

  “After talking with Mr. Deng,” Serick said, “I agree.”

  Wilding thought for a moment. “We have a Military Advisory and Assistance Group attached to the Singapore diplomatic mission. We can funnel aid to SEATO through it.”

  Butler felt like cheering. But, true to his nature, he said nothing.

  “Sam,” Mazie said, “what’s the political downside with Leland?”

  The vice president considered it. “He’ll howl a bit. But we can handle him.”

  Mazie turned to the secretary of state. “How do we signal to both sides that we’re serious?”

  “It’s quite simple,” Serick answered. “We send a high-ranking and prominent officer to head the MAAG.”

  “Who do you suggest?” Turner asked.

  Mazie glanced at the president and took her cue. “Matt Pontowski.”

  Butler gave a little cough, gaining their attention. “Matt’s not really an administrator. He’s more operationally oriented and at his best in com
mand of a combat unit. I doubt if he’ll be interested in a MAAG.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Mazie replied.

  “Sweeten the offer. Say, reactivate the AVG?”

  The DCI was shouting. “The American Volunteer Group? Not necessary!”

  As one, six heads turned to the president. “I’ll ask him,” she said.

  A uniformed Secret Service agent escorted Pontowski down the long corridor to the national security adviser’s office in the Old Executive Office Building. The number of guards was mute testimony to the increase in security. The agent held the door and stepped back, allowing Pontowski to enter. Butler was waiting inside. “I should have known,” Pontowski said.

  “My apologies,” Butler said. “I handled it wrong. Mazie will fill you in.” He led the way into Mazie’s office. “I don’t believe you’ve met General Wilding,” Butler said, making the introductions. “And this is Colonel Prouder.” An Air Force colonel stood. “Colonel Prouder is from Checkmate.” Checkmate was a shadowy organization in the Pentagon that hovered in the background, always present when trouble reared its ugly head. Originally Checkmate was formed to integrate intelligence, threat assessments, targeting, and weapons capabilities into effective air campaigns. But in the international chaos following the demise of the Soviet Union, it had grown into much more.

  “I didn’t know you were involved with Checkmate,” Pontowski said.

  “Since its inception,” Butler replied.

  “When you wake up in the morning,” Pontowski asked, “do you know who you work for?”

  “He knows,” Mazie said. “Matt, the situation in Malaysia has the potential to escalate into a full-fledged civil war that could threaten the stability of the entire region. Fortunately, our allies in the region are aware of the danger and responding. SEATO has activated SEAC, South East Asia Command, and formed a unified command. But they need help.”