‘I have thought about it—we all have—and there are serious concerns,’ said Captain Chun, loosening his tie.
‘I’d be surprised to hear otherwise,’ said Garret.
‘Why do you think the communists will believe us?’
Hamilton fielded the question. ‘You won’t need to explain anything to Soviet air traffic controllers because you’ll be observing selective radio silence—when they call you, you won’t answer. Also, your transponder will be switched off so you won’t be broadcasting your call sign, altitude, heading or carrier details. If they pick you up at all, they won’t know who or what you are. At first, they might even think you’re one of theirs.’
‘We will have to explain these things to the US and Japanese air traffic authorities afterwards. What will we tell them?’
‘Everything will be put down to a combination of human error and malfunction, each compounding the other,’ Hamilton said.
‘Human error?’ First Officer Sohn appeared bewildered, like a kid lost in a crowd.
‘Human error is not plausible,’ said Captain Chun, speaking slowly, his English near perfect. ‘Let us begin with the divergence from Romeo 20. I am not sure which aircraft you flew, Mr Hamilton, but our 747-200B uses three inertial navigation system computers to get it from point to point. After I cross-reference the flightplan with an independent en-route chart, as the captain I would then enter into a keyboard the aircraft’s gate position at the airport in latitude and longitude, followed by the waypoint coordinates. These coordinates are immediately displayed on two other panels for the first officer and flight engineer to cross-check. And then each INS checks the other for errors. With respect,’ Captain Chun shook his head, ‘human error? No, I don’t think so.’
First Officer Sohn and Flight Engineer Kim nodded.
‘We will be asked why we didn’t spot these errors,’ the captain continued, ‘why we were so far off course. There’s no acceptable answer.’
‘This will ruin our careers,’ said Sohn.
‘No, it won’t,’ interrupted Pak, the fat KCIA agent. ‘We have influence with your management.’
‘There’s also the precedent of Korean Air Lines Flight 902,’ Garret said, tag-teaming with Hamilton.
The flight engineer grunted. ‘Right, the 707 back in ’78 that departed from Paris heading for Seoul and somehow ended up in Russia.’
‘The crew didn’t suffer for their mistakes,’ Garret said. ‘I believe the captain went on to command 747s.’
‘Yes, I know him. And you’re right, he did,’ Chun agreed. ‘But only because demoting him would have been an admission of fault by the company administration.’
Garret had studied every facet of KAL Flight 902. In fact, he was using it as a template for the mission now on the table. In the 902 incident, the flight crew had executed an inexplicable 180-degree turn above the North Pole, passing over the Soviet submarine base at Severomorsk, Murmansk.
‘The Russians shot it down,’ said Kim.
‘They forced it down,’ Hamilton countered. ‘The plane landed safely on a frozen lake.’
‘Passengers were killed,’ Kim grumbled.
‘902 was flying into the heart of the USSR,’ Garret reminded him. ‘You’ll be skirting the edges. In and out.’
‘And then back in again,’ said Sohn. ‘Was 902 also on a mission?’
‘No, it was not,’ Garret lied. ‘Look, don’t be concerned about how to explain your flightpath once you’ve landed. We will be controlling the flow of information and verification. When it comes to substantiating your actions, the relevant information will either become lost, we’ll fog it up, or the tough questions just won’t get asked.’
More silence.
‘The point is, you won’t be doing this on your own. We’ll be with you every step of the way. When you land in Seoul, no one will know what happened, not exactly. And the facts that are released will be done so judiciously, and by us.’
‘The course you want us to fly will have us deviating to the north almost immediately we depart Anchorage airport,’ said Chun.
‘Yes,’ said Hamilton.
‘But this deviation will be noted by air traffic controllers before we leave the Alaskan coastline,’ Chun continued. ‘The Regional Operations Control Centre in Anchorage will see our radar track. They will know instantly that we are way off course and ask us to correct it.’
‘That facility is at Elmendorf Air Force Base and we can therefore control it,’ Garret informed him. ‘In fact, that issue has already been taken care of. We also intend to decommission the Anchorage navigation beacon—put it offline for routine maintenance. The civilian controllers you report to will simply assume that you’ll correct your position at Bethel, the first mandatory reporting waypoint along Romeo 20.’
‘You have reminded me,’ said Sohn, lighting a cigarette with trembling fingers. ‘As we deviate further north, we will eventually fly beyond the range of our VHF radio. We will not be able to make any of the mandatory reports along Romeo 20—at NABIE, NEEVA, NIPPI and so on. The authorities will have to investigate.’
‘You can use your HF radio, which has more range, and we’ll give you a relay,’ said Garret.
‘A relay?’ asked First Officer Sohn, confused.
Captain Chun nodded. ‘He means another KAL flight. We often fly the route with a KAL aircraft either just ahead or just behind us. This plane can relay our position reports. And if it flies behind and varies its speed, there’s a chance it could even be mistaken for us. The confusion would help.’
‘This is madness,’ said Flight Engineer Kim.
Captain Chun said nothing, his face a mask of calm.
‘What about the Shemya radar facility?’ the first officer murmured.
‘It won’t be a problem,’ Hamilton assured him.
‘Why not? It is company policy to take a fix on Shemya,’ Sohn said.
Garret was aware of the procedure. Korean Air Lines required its flight crews transiting Romeo 20 to get a fix on a type of radio navigational aid called VOR/DME, which was located on Shemya, an island at the end of the Aleutians chain jutting into the Bering Sea. The aid enabled an aircraft to verify its position relative to the NEEVA way-point adjacent of Shemya. Obviously, if the aircraft was 200 nautical miles to the north when it was supposed to be passing within a mile or two of NEEVA, this procedure would alert the flight crew to the fact that they were way off course. And the flight crew would then take steps to get back on course. At least, that’s what an innocent flight crew would do.
‘You will make your report at NEEVA as usual,’ said Hamilton. ‘And if you are out of range of the Shemya beacon, the relay aircraft will simply pass on your transmission.’
‘Yes, exactly,’ said the flight engineer. ‘But the reality is that we’ll be in one place while we’re claiming to be somewhere else. Surely you are forgetting the huge radar facility also on Shemya Island—Cobra Dane. It will detect our location, and our lie.’
Garret lit a Chesterfield off the embers of another. ‘You’re very well-informed, my friend,’ he said, drawing deeply.
‘I have to be.’
Garret had to admit, these were excellent questions—just what you’d expect from an experienced, top-class 747 crew. He exhaled smoke through his nostrils. Cobra Dane, the giant phased-array radar on Shemya Island, kept a constant eye on Soviet military movements across the Sea of Okhotsk. With it you could count the maggots on a carcass 2000 miles away.
‘Cobra Dane has two modes—surveillance and tracking,’ he said, carefully considering what he could say that wouldn’t compromise national security. ‘The facility is shared with a number of federal agencies and organizations. I can guarantee you that on the night of the mission, Cobra Dane will be in tracking mode, searching the skies for Soviet and other foreign satellites on behalf of the North American Aerospace Defense Command—NORAD.’
‘So, you have told us what you want us to do but not why you want us to do it,’ sa
id Captain Chun, who’d begun pacing again.
Garret glanced at the others. After interviews with three alternative crews, Hamilton and the KCIA spooks knew the drill. They got up and filed out of the room.
‘I think I’ll stay,’ Hank said.
Garret wasn’t going to argue about it in front of the flight crew. He waited until the door closed and said, ‘Drink?’
Captain Chun and First Officer Sohn said no. Hank shook his head.
‘Scotch,’ Flight Engineer Kim replied.
Garret fetched a brace of Johnnie Walkers from the minibar and poured them into a couple of glasses. He opened the fridge. ‘Rocks?’
‘Please.’
‘Let me just remind you of the secrecy agreement you signed before this briefing,’ said Garret, as he handed Kim his drink.
The flight crew nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘President Reagan believes that Moscow is planning something. Their anti-aircraft defenses are being bolstered in and around the Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky Naval Base, home of the Soviet Pacific submarine fleet, as well as the defenses at Sakhalin Island. Without a doubt, this activity is all related. And we don’t like the picture when we connect the dots. In the event of war, the President’s concern is that Moscow will undoubtedly target South Korea with its new SS-20 medium-range nukes. The proximity of the ROK to the launch sites on Kamchatka Peninsula means your country would have barely minutes to react.’
‘Moscow may even use the Korean Peninsula as an example,’ Hank interrupted. ‘Burn it to a crisp just to let everyone see that they mean business.’
Garret glared at Hank, then continued. ‘Frankly, we need to know what’s going on down there. If we send a military plane into Soviet airspace, it’ll get shot down.’
‘What makes you think that won’t happen to us?’ asked Kim.
‘You’ve accidentally strayed off course. You’re a civilian aircraft.’
‘If we’re darkened and not showing cabin or navigation lights, with no transponder transmitting, they will know we are trying to hide from them,’ said First Officer Sohn. ‘They will fire on us, just like they did on 902.’
‘Obviously, we don’t think it will come to that. We estimate you’ll be flying over the Kamchatka Peninsula for approximately thirty-three minutes. We believe you’ll be back in international airspace before Soviet air defenses can react.’
‘Thirty-three minutes is a long time. How do you know they won’t shoot first and ask questions later?’ Sohn asked.
‘The Russians are inquisitive. They’ll want to know what’s flying around in their airspace. They’ll launch interceptors to have a closer look at you. And then they’ll see that you’re a civilian passenger plane.’
‘That’s if they ever get the interceptors up,’ Hank said. ‘Our intelligence leads us to believe that the Soviets are a spent force, a rusted-out hulk. Most of the peasants out on those Far East bases are drinking the glycol out of their air-con units ’cause they’ve already drunk their month’s supply of vodka. Their pilots are damn lucky if they can find their planes, let alone fly them straight.’
Garret regretted not pushing Hank out of the room when Hamilton and the others had left. He took a breath and continued. ‘Thanks to your mission and the interrogation you’ll receive from the Soviet air defense network, our signals-gathering assets will collect a rich harvest, vital intelligence that will enable us to prevent the enemy’s first strike—at least from the Far East at the ROK. You’ll be helping to secure the peace and prosperity of your country and the world.’
‘What about Sakhalin Island?’ Chun stood and approached the projected map on the wall, still unconvinced. The islands of Japan rippled across the back of his shirt. ‘The defenses on Kamchatka will be able to call ahead. They will know we are coming. They will wait. How long will we be over Sakhalin?’
‘Approximately thirteen minutes,’ Garret said. ‘Just thirteen minutes.’
‘You’ll be gone before they know it,’ Hank added.
‘Ultimately, your defense is the truth—you are a civilian plane that wandered out of the commercial lanes,’ Garret reminded them.
‘Yes, intentionally,’ said Sohn. He turned to speak with Chun and Kim. ‘It will seem as if we took off from Anchorage, put our feet up on our instruments and went to sleep.’
‘The world will know we have lied,’ said Kim. ‘No one will be fooled. It will look like a spy mission and they will point the finger at you—the CIA.’
From his seat, Sohn followed the intended course across the map on the wall. Far out over the Sea of Japan to the southwest of Sakhalin Island, they were to alter course abruptly, turning forty degrees to the southeast, and announce to Tokyo Radio that they had suffered unspecified navigation and equipment failures. ‘At least you’re not asking us to overfly Vladivostok.’
‘This is an intelligence sortie, gentlemen, not a suicide mission,’ Garret said as he polished off the Johnnie in his glass, avoiding eye contact. Vladivostok was the home of the Soviet Pacific fleet, one of the USSR’s most secret cities and closed to all foreigners. It was also ringed with air defenses.
‘This is something we all have to think about,’ said Captain Chun. ‘Korean Air Lines has many crews. Why have you chosen us?’
‘Your government says you’re the best men for the job,’ Garret replied, neglecting to inform them that CIA shrinks had also earmarked three other crews for the same mission. ‘You’ve all flown high-stress military sorties for your country, in addition to which there are well over 20,000 hours of flying time between you, much of it on 747s. You have all flown this route many times. You’re also patriots, and right now your country needs you.’
‘When would this mission take place?’ Kim asked.
‘Very soon,’ Garret said, fetching his suit coat. ‘Gentlemen, I know this is a lot to take in. Why don’t we break for half an hour or so? Feel free to talk it over without us looking over your shoulders—no one’s expecting you to agree to this right now.’
‘Thank you,’ said Chun.
Sohn and Kim came to their feet and exchanged wan smiles and slight bows with Garret and Hank.
‘I’m assuming this area’s clean,’ said Hank, scoping the hallway as he followed Garret to the elevator.
‘Swept every hour, random pattern. The elevators and shafts as well as floors four through seven. Standard practice.’
‘Do you think they’ve figured out what we’re really asking them to do?’
‘The real objective? No, but those boys aren’t stupid. We have to be careful what we say to them.’
‘What about the media?’
‘We’ll have plausible deniability,’ said Garret. ‘We can also play the national security card if the questions get hot.’
‘What if the mission doesn’t go to plan?’
‘You really need to ask? If this goes in the shitter, our Washington buddies will be looking for fall guys. I’ve already bought my one-way ticket to a small South American dictatorship. I’d do the same if I were you.’
The elevator arrived with a chime.
‘Where are we going?’ Hank asked as they stepped inside the empty car.
‘Sixth floor.’
Hank pressed the button. ‘What about compartmentalization?’
‘The only person who knows everything is me,’ said Garret. ‘Next on the list is you.’
‘What about Hamilton and those KCIA gooks?’
‘Watch your mouth, Hank,’ Garret warned.
‘Oh, don’t be such a fucking hypocrite, Roy. I see the way you look at them.’
‘Then do what I do and keep it to yourself. Those “gooks” are our allies. As for Hamilton, he’s retired but totally committed to the cause. The mission profile is his baby. And your KCIA pals have the highest clearance.’
‘They’re still weak links.’
‘What are you suggesting, Hank?’
The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Garret got out and stopped, patt
ing down his jacket.
‘Not what you think I’m thinking, Roy. Times have changed. Can’t throw people out of helicopters any more,’ Hank said with a grin. ‘The more people have got to lose, the more they’ll do to keep it. Hamilton will find himself getting some lucrative contract work, maybe even a board position with a major military contractor. He might even wake up chairman. And we’ll make sure the Koreans go home to corner offices.’
‘And what are they going to do for me? Give me Des’s job—make me the apple of the Judge’s eye?’
‘Pull this thing off and Ronny himself will bend over and let you fuck him.’
Garret’s lungs hurt. He took out a pack of Chesterfields and searched for a light.
A metallic ‘clink’ sounded and a flame appeared. Hank held the lighter.
‘Thanks,’ Garret said, sucking the fire into the cigarette. Hot kerosene fumes filled his nostrils. The tobacco crackled. He offered the pack to Hank, who pulled one free and then lit up, a hand cupped around the flame.
‘You get that in ’Nam?’ Garret enquired, indicating the zippo.
‘Yeah.’
‘Mind if I take a look?’
Hank gave it to him.
He turned the lighter over a couple of times. The zippo’s brass edges were worn smooth from years of use. On one side was a black horse’s head and a diagonal stripe inside a yellow triangle. On the other, an inscription.
‘First Cav,’ said Hank. ‘I was a gunner on Hueys.’
Garret turned the lighter over again and read the inscription. Killing is my business and business has been good.
‘A mamma-san gave us twenty of those for ten bucks, pre-inscribed. For an extra two she’d blow you.’
‘Those were the days,’ Garret said, handing it back.
‘They certainly were,’ sighed Hank as he pocketed the lighter.
Garret led the way, turning to his left. He stopped at a door, pulled out a key, and opened it. The room on the other side was identical to the one directly below, where the briefing had been held. There was, however, one big difference. In this room, the KCIA men were seated with headsets at a bank of black boxes with flickering lights and the needles of sound-level meters.
The Zero Option Page 4
