by Jeff Nesbit
The president leaned forward in his chair and eyed Susan directly. “Do you think he was serious? His threat to attack other targets in the Gulf, outside the military ones—do you think he was serious?”
Susan had replayed the conversation a hundred times in her head. She’d even reread her own words, and Zhubin’s, in the NSA transcript just to make sure. “Yes, Mr. President, I do think he’s serious. If we don’t move our 5th Fleet, I think Iran will follow through.”
“And the demand about moving Israel’s Dolphins?” the president asked.
“I believe he’s serious about that as well,” Susan answered. “To me, it’s a way for them to test how closely we’re working with Israel.”
Both Anshel and Camara nodded, as if they’d come to the same conclusion. “Which is why we’ll get back to them immediately that we have no sway—none at all—over what Israel does with their Dolphins,” Anshel said. “What Israel and Egypt do in the Suez Canal is between those two countries. We have no control over that.”
“Absolutely,” Camara said. “Israel is going to do what it’s going to do. It will make its own decisions, with or without our input.”
“Though,” Anshel added, “I am going to make a call and discuss it with them. If moving those Dolphins eases things, then it might make sense—”
“They won’t move them,” the president interrupted firmly. “We both know that. Those Dolphins protect their carrier in the Indian Ocean, and they offer protection to their IAF planes as well. They won’t budge.”
“True enough,” Anshel said. “But I’m still going to try.”
“Knock yourself out,” Camara shot back.
Clearly, there is some history between the two of them on this subject, Susan thought.
The president turned back to Susan. “What about the rest of the demands he made? It was a long list.”
Susan smiled politely. “Yes, it was a long list. But, you know, we’ve already answered one of their demands.”
“Yes, we have,” the president said. “Peter King was wonderful at the Security Council. His statement condemning Israel’s actions was pitch-perfect. I think people were surprised. What about the other demands?”
“Some of them are ridiculous, of course, and simply nonstarters,” Susan said. “We aren’t about to stop arming Israel. We’re not going to reopen Iran’s nuclear facilities for them and supply them with enriched uranium. And we aren’t about to speak ill of any of the Sunni states we’ve worked with for years.”
“No, we aren’t about to do any of those things—and Zhubin knows it,” Anshel said.
“As for a free Arab state on meaningful land, well, you would know more about that possibility than me,” Susan said. She’d heard about Dr. Gould’s plan, which had been quietly circulating among top national security aides in the White House for several days.
“We’ll see.” Anshel shrugged. “People have tried to solve that equation for as long as any of us can remember, without much luck. Perhaps the time is right for a bold plan. We’ll know soon enough if there’s an appetite for peace.”
The president settled back in his chair. “Which leaves the 5th Fleet, doesn’t it? It really comes down to that, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Mr. President, I believe it does,” Susan answered. She had her own thoughts on that subject, but she was curious where the president had come down on that question.
Camara reached up and massaged his temples. Susan could see that he’d wrestled with this decision already. “To be honest, I’m not sure we have much choice,” he said softly. “We can’t move the 5th Fleet away from the Strait. There isn’t a country in the world—outside of Iran and North Korea—that wants us to do that.”
“Have you heard from the Russians and Chinese on the question?” Susan asked.
“I have,” the president said. “They want us to stay. They both believe that reopening the Strait is the only option. We can’t move our ships away.”
“Which means that we’re going to test Zhubin and Iran?” Susan said. She did her best to keep her emotions in check. She knew what this meant.
“Yes, we are going to test them,” the president answered. “As I said, moving the 5th Fleet away from the Strait right now is simply not an option. That would put every other country that moves oil through those waters at risk if we capitulate and move now.”
Susan unclasped her hands on her lap. “Mr. President, I just want to say that I do believe General Zhubin is serious. If we don’t move the 5th Fleet, Iran will take a next step. We can’t be sure of that, but everything in his tone during our conversation leads me to believe he was deadly serious about that part.”
The president nodded. “I believe you. But, as I said, I don’t believe we have a choice. Our ships are going forward in the Strait—not backwards.”
45
CAMP 16
NORTH KOREA
The day had been especially brutal. Despite her efforts to keep her spirit from flagging—and to stay focused on the day that she might once again see her family—Kim Grace was losing hope. Her body was failing her. The many injuries she’d sustained before she’d even come to Camp 16 were starting to take a permanent toll on her mentally and physically.
Intellectually, she knew that this was, in fact, what the North Korean leadership wanted at Camp 16. The prison camp wasn’t a place where former government officials and political prisoners were reformed. It was a place where they were subjected to intense physical pressure and hard labor, where they were worn down until they literally died of fatigue and exhaustion.
Kim Grace knew that. Yet, she still persevered. The one flickering hope was that she could survive long enough to see her children again. That’s all she hoped for—nothing more. She could die once she knew, with certainty, that her children were not wards of the state and sentenced to the same inexorable march to death she now experienced on a daily basis.
You Moon, her friend, had graciously given her precious minutes of text messages on the Nokia cell phone he had miraculously managed to steal into Camp 16. They’d spent days before that working on the exact wording of the texts and where to send the initial messages in the mVillage system.
In the end, You Moon had decided to send the question about Kim Grace’s children to someone he’d met seven years earlier at a world student leader’s conference in Seoul. Pak Jong Un, You Moon’s friend, almost never traveled outside of North Korea, but his father had permitted it on this one occasion, and You Moon had accompanied the youngest son of the Dear Leader. No one at the conference knew who the two young men were.
While there, they met a young woman, Kim Su Yeong, from Harvard University in the United States. Kim Su had been friendly, and they’d struck up a casual conversation at a Starbucks after an evening session. Kim Su and You Moon had “bumped” their contact information together on their mobiles, exchanging mVillage account names with each other.
After an hour of discussion, You Moon and Pak Jong Un were both startled to learn that Kim Su Yeong’s father had once been the president of South Korea. She didn’t like to broadcast that fact, but their conversation had been friendly and meaningful, so she told them. Pak Jong Un said nothing about his own heritage and place in North Korea, and You Moon also kept it a secret.
Since then, You Moon had occasionally followed Kim Su Yeong through Google searches. It was amazing what you could find out about someone’s personal life that way. Nothing seemed to be private anymore. He’d learned, for instance, that Kim Su Yeong now worked at the State Department in the United States and that she was engaged to be married to a young man who had created and now ran mVillage. He’d filed that information away.
Now, at Camp 16, You Moon had decided that Kim Su Yeong would be just the right person to send a message to, inquiring about the whereabouts of Kim Grace’s children. If anyone could help, Kim Su could. So he and Kim Grace carefully formulated the message, then sent it to the mVillage address that was now seven years old. It did not
bounce back.
Three days later, You Moon received a message. It contained only five words, but they were inscribed on Kim Grace’s heart. I will look into it, Kim Su Yeong had texted back. Kim Grace was beside herself with indescribable joy. She prayed to God with every waking thought for an answer.
You Moon had grown close to Kim Grace in the months since he’d arrived at Camp 16. He did not despair as she did. He still harbored hope, Kim Grace knew, that his childhood friend would free him from the prison camp once he assumed ultimate power from his father. It was an unrealistic hope, she believed, but she said nothing to her friend. Who was she to dash hope and a will to live?
So, during the long, 16-hour days, You Moon would join her as they slogged through the mindless, physical tasks of the day. They’d learned how to converse with each other, despite the guards’ best efforts to keep the prisoners isolated. They carried on extended conversations as they walked by the other’s station. In fact, it had become something like a game. They would start a conversation, and the other would carry it forward as he or she passed by. On the next pass, the other person would talk. And thus the conversation would progress. On some days, they’d made a single conversation stretch for the entire sixteen hours.
But this day had been marked by stern warnings from the guards, tense moments with a few of the prisoners, and a general uneasiness throughout the camp. Clearly, something was afoot. All of the guards knew something, and whatever it was permeated everything in the region. The tension had made it virtually impossible for You Moon and Kim Grace to carry on a conversation.
So they compared notes late that night. They’d heard bits and pieces of information passed between the highly knowledgeable political prisoners at Camp 16 throughout the day.
It turned out that the Dear Leader was nearby, to inspect the very facilities Kim Grace had helped engineer. She was certain, in a way she couldn’t describe intellectually, that he was there to ensure the cesium doomsday device was ready and in place. There was no other reason for the Dear Leader to visit the nuclear facility in person, near Camp 16.
That evening You Moon used up precious battery time on his mobile to check the mVillage forums. With Kim Grace looking over his shoulder, they learned that North Korea was now at the very center of a growing worldwide confrontation with the United States over a nuclear attack against a 5th Fleet carrier near the Strait of Hormuz.
The Dear Leader and the North Korean military had made it very clear that they would consider certain moves by the American Navy an act of war. They were prepared to use nuclear weapons in defense of their country and military forces.
Kim Grace grew quiet and pensive as she read the accounts. She, perhaps more than anyone else in the world, knew what might happen next if the world’s leaders were not careful. She’d helped engineer the device that the Dear Leader was, even now, readying for possible use.
“We must tell someone,” Kim Grace had whispered to her friend in a corner of their dingy, cramped living quarters.
“Yes, but it will expose you here,” You Moon had answered back quietly. “It won’t take the security forces long to trace the information back to Camp 16, and then to you.”
“We can be careful. I can make the information very general,” she said.
“But how many people know of the cesium device?”
“Probably two dozen, maybe more,” she’d said.
“And how many of them would reveal the information—knowing they would be executed immediately for revealing it?”
“None,” Kim Grace had said grimly. “But I have nothing to lose. Not now.”
“You have your children,” You Moon had said.
Kim Grace had grown very quiet as she listened very carefully for the still, small voice that had guided her always. It was crystal clear right now. She knew what she must do. She knew what was right.
“I must tell someone,” she’d said finally.
“Even if it puts you and your children at risk?” You Moon had asked.
“Yes. The world needs to know what North Korea possesses and is capable of,” she’d answered, her voice steady and unflinching.
You Moon had nodded. They’d spent the next thirty minutes formulating the message carefully. They’d described the genesis of the cesium doomsday device and how the underground atomic tests were the final confirmation of its capabilities. They’d then described the prison camp talk that the Dear Leader was on a final inspection of the device even now.
They’d added one final note, pleading with Kim Su Yeong to guard the source of the information as if her life depended on it. Kim Grace and her children would be executed, they wrote, if the information could be traced back to her and Camp 16.
As You Moon and Kim Grace sent the message, they both knew instinctively that they’d just placed their lives in the hands of someone half a world away.
46
BANDAR ABBAS
THE STRAIT OF HORMUZ
General Zhubin was impatient. He knew they had to move every ship and submarine still at their disposal, and they had only a couple of hours to do so. He wasn’t about to wait for the U.S. reaction to his demands. He had to put their mine-laying plans into place, regardless of the U.S. response.
“Is everything in place?” he asked, careful not to let his impatience sound like panic to those around him.
“Yes, sir,” one of his Revolutionary Guards commanders answered. “Two of our Kilos are ready to start laying mines. They’ll need to reload three times at Bandar Abbas, but they still should be able to put two hundred of them in place before the sun comes up.”
“Some of them will be at the mouth of the Strait?”
“Yes, sir. They’ll be at the narrowest part, east of the Tunb Islands and south of Larak Island.”
“And how many of our smaller boats do we have still in operation that we can use?”
The IRGC commander glanced down at a sheet. “More than two hundred, which should allow us to put another six hundred or seven hundred mines in place.”
“That includes Hovercrafts and Boghammers, along with the patrol boats?”
“It does. But we’ve also managed to outfit some fishing ships and other civilian craft to lay some of the older mines.”
“So we have enough to close the Strait?”
“We have more than enough,” the IRGC commander said confidently. “We will have more than one thousand mines in place at every chokepoint by morning.”
General Zhubin smiled. “Which will greet the 5th Fleet when it arrives.”
“You believe they will advance?”
“I do,” Zhubin said. “I cannot imagine them retreating. So we must be prepared. We must assure that there are enough mines in place to send a clear message to every tanker that it is not safe to pass through the Strait.”
“Will the MDM-6 mines be enough, do you think?”
Zhubin nodded grimly. “They will. No tanker will be able to withstand the detonation. They’re much stronger than the old mines from twenty years ago. No tanker will pass once they know we’ve laid down the mines.”
“How long will it take the Americans and the British Royal Navy to clear the mines, do you think?” the IRGC commander asked. He knew the planning scenarios, but he was curious what General Zhubin believed. He’d learned from long observation that Zhubin was a realist in private. He used bombastic language in public, but he was always candid with his own inner circle.
Zhubin didn’t hesitate. “Not long, to be honest,” he said calmly. “They’ve already taken care of many of our anti-ship missiles, and we just learned that they have the ability to shut them down electronically, in flight. So they’ll move into the Strait as quickly as they can with their minesweepers, knowing that we can’t directly challenge their ships. They’ll be able to take out our mines within a matter of a week or so. That’s why we’re going to add to the equation.”
Zhubin moved over to a large map of the Strait of Hormuz that he’d set out on the table i
n their own war room. He pointed to a spot on the map.
“What’s there?” the IRGC commander asked.
“A weak point,” Zhubin said. “One that will give the Americans and the British pause before they move their minesweepers into the Strait too quickly. We will strike here as well tonight, to make sure they understand our seriousness of purpose.”
The IRGC commander looked back at the spot that Zhubin had identified—the city of Doha in Qatar. It had no military significance whatsoever. But Iran had long pledged to target economic sites, and this one would make a point well, Zhubin knew. There could be no mistaking Iran’s intentions once they’d struck Doha and threatened to run over Qatar.
“The Americans think they can play their games in Dubai,” Zhubin continued. “They think they can shut down our economy by bringing Dubai to ruin and keeping us from going around their embargoes. Well, we can play that game as well. Their allies will think twice about crossing Iran when they see that we are serious in Qatar.”
The IRGC commander held up some additional documents. “The new J-10s we acquired from China through North Korea are also headed toward Riyadh tonight?”
“Not Riyadh,” Zhubin said. “They may be moving in that direction, but that isn’t their target.”
“What is?”
“They will close off the East-West pipeline long before they reach Riyadh,” Zhubin said.
“Ah.” The IRGC commander nodded. “To make clear they can’t simply divert their oil through another pipeline, to the Red Sea, once we’ve closed the Strait?”
“Exactly. Not only will they have to contend with mines and our anti-ship missiles, they’ll need to worry about Qatar and other vulnerable countries in the area. And even their backup plans to ship oil from the region will be crushed once we’ve disrupted the East-West pipeline through Saudi Arabia.”
“And then?” his aide asked.
“Then we will make sure our allies and partners move on Israel,” Zhubin said. “It is time to make sure they understand that we can strike at them, at will. We will unleash the storm.”
