Third World War Read online

  'And brilliantly. To get to work in the Joint Security Area, you have to undergo rigorous psychological tests. Lee had no problem in passing them. He has a steady girlfriend in Seoul. He has an older brother who works for HSBC in Seoul and a sister who's training to be a doctor in Los Angeles.'

  'Have we talked to her?'

  'We're doing that now.' West walked back to Brock's desk, where they were sharing a pot of Chinese green tea. He topped up his cup. 'North Korea fires a missile into our base at Yokata. We threaten. The next thing we know is that a North Korean soldier is murdered at the most sensitive place in the most militarized area in the whole world. And we're being blamed for it.'

  'A diplomatic neutralizer such as we've never seen before,' said Brock, leaning down and pouring his own tea.

  'Like hell it is,' muttered West. 'You don't neutralize anything by spraying bullshit in our faces.'

  West drained his tea and caught sight of Caroline Brock, smiling nervously. From the tense expression on Brock's face, West realized the discussion was far from over.*

  *****

  'It might not be that simple,' said Brock quietly. 'That's why I've asked Caro to join us.'

  The three friends sat down, Brock at his desk, Caro and West in the leather armchairs.

  'As you know, Jim,' said Brock, 'Caro's work has taken her inside the world of weapons of mass destruction. That's chemical, nuclear and biological weapons, together with their delivery systems - mainly missiles. Since the nineties, rogue states have been looking to procure the technology and raw materials to make them. Iraq, before we took it back, got its anthrax from the Soviet Union. Pakistan got its nuclear capability from China. One of the key methods of procurement is through universities where research is taking place. In post-Soviet Russia, they were strapped for cash, the staff was unpaid, and the odd sale here and there would keep them afloat. In China, there has been a long tradition of institutions becoming self-supporting without the help of the central government, meaning also that when you have a weak central government, other institutions can operate with impunity. Academics are a fairly tight-knit group. We use them to keep us up to speed on what's going on, who is looking to procure what and why. We've had some spectacular successes in stopping procurement. But we might have let two crucial ones through the net.'

  Brock stopped his introduction and looked across the room to his wife. 'There's been a theft at the Pokrov Biologics Plant near Moscow,' said Caroline candidly. 'It's meant to be a vaccine factory for animals, but we have known for years that illegal supplies of smallpox are being kept there. During the Cold War Pokrov was what is known as a turnkey operation. It could do everything: research and grow viruses, weaponize them and stuff them in the bombs for delivery. There had been attempts before to take viruses out - strange Arab businessman, and that sort of thing, but none succeeded.'

  'Until six weeks ago,' said Brock.

  'Yes,' said Caroline softly. 'Until six weeks ago. Or to be exact, the same week the IL-4 agent was stolen from Canberra.'

  'And we only know now?' said West.

  'If you walk through the Pokrov laboratories, even today, you find rows and rows of incubators holding hens' eggs. This is a classic way of growing the smallpox virus,' said Caroline. It was important that he should know the whole story, so she didn't answer the President directly.

  'A week ago, a night watchman working at Pokrov had a heart attack. He survived but apparently underwent a religious conversion where he confessed to the priest that he had taken 500 dollars to let a man into the laboratory. Another 200 dollars was paid to the scientist on duty that night. To put it in context, Jim, a night watchman earns about 80 dollars a month; the scientist about 200 dollars.'

  'It wouldn't have cost a heap to put them on a decent salary,' muttered West.

  'The virus freezers are secured with a simple padlock. There's a clay seal that indicates whether they have been broken into. When the night watchman's story was checked out, three freezers were found to have been secured with fresh seals: they had been tampered with. The eggs which were taken were being used in tests to stabilize the smallpox virus during the trauma of weapons delivery. They were the most dangerous and durable form of the virus.'

  'Where'd they go?' asked West, putting down his fork and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  'We don't know,' answered Brock.

  'Russian intelligence?'

  'They don't know or they're not telling us.'

  West looked towards his National Security Advisor: 'But you do know, or Caro wouldn't be here now.'

  'The man who let the thieves into the Canberra laboratory is a scientist called Dr John Mason,' said Brock. 'He's young. He's brilliant. But he has a gambling, drink and unfaithful-wife problem. Lazaro Campbell has just come back from interviewing him.'

  'I see,' muttered West. He shifted uneasily in his seat, crossing, then uncrossing his legs as if his body language was bracing him for what he was about to hear.

  'Mason confirmed the story about the creation of IL-4,' said Brock.

  'It's actually a thin jelly which coats the egg so that sperm can't get into it,' said Caroline. 'The plan in Australia was to spread it among the population with the mousepox virus, rather like was done with myxomatosis on rabbits years ago, in order to render mice infertile and cut down the population.' She shrugged. 'But IL-4 turned out to be a lethal catalyst. She shrugged, casting her eyes to the floor. 'A complete accident of science.'

  'Mason maintains that he doesn't know who took it,' said Brock. 'He received money and instructions. That was all. They traced calls on his mobile and home and office phones, and found nothing. Then they were bright enough to check on the call boxes. A number of calls from two different boxes near his home and office matched. The outward calls went to Surrey University in England, a Korean-American organization in San Francisco, a similar society in Canterbury City near Sydney, Australia, where there's a big Korean community, and a Korean-Japanese scientific group in Tokyo. The single inward call came from a hotel lobby in Beijing, China.'

  West drew his hands down his face. 'I get the point. But there's still damn all I can do.'

  'This, the missile, the shooting,' said Brock, prompting West to glance at him, his eyes narrowed with irritation.

  'No.' He shook his head. 'There has got to be another way that does not risk the lives of our troops in South Korea.'

  'We're concentrating on the San Francisco call,' said Brock. 'If we can make something stick, we'll get Campbell and a couple of Australian ASIS officers to bring Mason over here, where we should be able to get more out of him.'

  ****

  21*

  ****

  Beijing, China*

  General Yan Xiaodong stood in the centre of the room, holding a file open in his hand, like a priest at a lectern. Jamie Song was by the window, his favourite spot in the Zhongnanhai compound, where he could watch the changing seasons play with the trees and flowers around the lake. From time to time, he glanced across at the flickering pictures on a television set in the corner of the room. Coffins of the victims of Yokata were being taken by pall-bearers off a transport plane at an American military air base, the Stars and Stripes draped over each one, and carried through a guard of honour to waiting vehicles. The sombre - often close-up - picture of the US President, hands crossed, head bowed, black tie and suit, standing completely still, intercut the ceremony.

  Yan spoke with his back to the television, as if it was of no interest to him at all. 'We have a record of Lee Jong-hee in the Investigation and Research Office,' he said, running his finger down the faded original sheets of paper in an intelligence file which dated back from before the Communist Party took power in China.

  'His grandparents were loyal followers of Stalin and Kim Il-sung. They were infiltrated into Seoul after the Second World War as sleeper spies. They are here on our files,' he said, tapping the paper. 'During the Korean War, they managed to keep their cover and to stay in the south, with two
children. The daughter, Lee Jung Hyun, registered the family as being separated through the war. It meant she would have legitimate access to organizations negotiating with the North for reunification. She made three trips to Japan, each to a different organization connected with the regime in North Korea. The last trip was in December 1999, where we actually tailed her. We believed she was involved in illegal money transfers through a company in Tumen on the border.'

  'Was she?'

  'It doesn't say.'

  'But she was an active agent for the North?' asked Song, part of his attention suddenly attracted to a blackbird trying to land on the melting ice of the lake.

  'The grandmother and the mother. Yes,' said Yan. 'She was active, then went quiet, then became active again. You never can tell with sleeper agents.' Yan brushed the lapels of his jacket and looked down at the file. 'Lee Jong-hee's upbringing was the same as any other South Korean child's. But at home, he was indoctrinated with the teachings of Kim Il-sung and the juche ideology. He was a North Korean agent.'

  'And he murdered a North Korean soldier in cold blood.'

  'Correct.'

  'Passed down from generation to generation,' mused Song. 'How many like him, Yan?'

  The general shrugged, closed the folder, walked across and handed it to Song. Jamie Song had asked Yan to bring him a file of raw intelligence so he could read the intercepts and HUMINT reports before they became distorted by analysts. But looking at it, Song realized that there was no such thing as raw intelligence. The documents and cables were there, but each was deciphered and explained. He leafed through the file, while Yan, standing close by, peered over his shoulder and explained.

  'Over twenty years, Park Ho has built up his loyalty in the Reconnaissance Bureau. Once he had secured the support of most party and military leaders, he used it to seize power. Two generals, who opposed and had threatened to mobilize troops, were executed; one in Kaesong and another in Sinuiju while trying to escape across the border to us. The leadership is being held at a palace north of Pyongyang. Park has made no announcement of the change of power. The border is open. Train, rail and air services are operating normally.'

  Song pointed to a paragraph on the report. 'So I can see. Who is this Air Vice-Marshal Qureshi from Pakistan who is on a train from Pyongyang?'

  'He has just arrived in Beijing,' said Yan. 'I think it would be wise if you found a few minutes to meet him,' he said. Song detected a rare hesitancy. Yan spoke both softly and slowly, indicating that he was on unsteady ground.

  Momentarily, Song saw Yan in a different light. His eyes were wide open, meeting Song's gaze, but looking beyond into something far more complex. He shifted his head to one side and let his mouth open, as if about to speak, but not sure what to say. Quickly, he recovered himself, straightening his tie. 'Air Vice-Marshal Qureshi ordered the assassination of President Asif Latif Khan,' Yan said, pulling down the cuffs of his jacket.

  'I see,' whispered Song, putting the file on the window sill. 'Then he went straight to North Korea?'

  'Pakistan is a very old friend of China,' Yan answered obliquely. 'It is better that you hear the facts from him.'

  'But you knew, General?' Song's voice was both doubtful and angry.

  'Of the assassination, I did not. I discovered it when Qureshi's aircraft flew into Chinese airspace without permission. The fighters scrambled to escort the plane down were picked up by Pakistani radar. The aircraft made no radio contact with us at all. Within minutes, though, I received a call on the military line from Islamabad. Our fighters escorted the aircraft to the North Korean border. In exchange for our hospitality, he agreed to return through Beijing to brief us.'

  'Hence the train?'

  'Correct. We would not allow him to return by air.'

  Song made no secret of his relief. China was an unwieldy nation with many competing institutions and an appalling record of choosing allies. In the fifties it was insulted by the Soviet Union, paving the way for the supremacy of the United States. Had Moscow and Beijing sorted out their differences, the end of the Cold War might not have been so decisive. Its lesser alliances were equally disastrous. The Cambodian Khmer Rouge had turned out to be mass murderers. Burma was run by sadistic, drug-peddling generals. Pakistan, to whom China had given nuclear weapons technology, was an ungovernable morass of Islamic fundamentalism. Africa, where Chinese engineers had built railways, roads and socialism, had fallen back into tribalism and corruption. Only Cuba, nestled a hundred miles from Miami, had pulled through.

  These relationships had been maintained because of the Chinese military. If Yan had chosen to keep Qureshi hidden from the President, it would have been easy to do so. Instead, he had gone to the other extreme of handing Song the file and insisting on a meeting with a man who had ordered the murder of a government leader and might well be connected with the Islamic uprisings that followed.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jamie Song saw a change of story on the television. It had moved from the ceremony in the United States to fighting in Brunei. He turned on the volume with the remote.

  'Fleeing Islamic rebels have sabotaged oil wells around the western town of Seria, before heading for sanctuary in the Malaysian state of Sarawak, where they still hold territory,' said the presenter. 'Australia, however, says the situation is under control and within forty-eight hours the flaming wells should be capped.' The picture changed to amateur footage of the British-led raid to recapture Bandar Seri Begawan. 'But there's still no word as to the whereabouts of this man, Colonel Joharie Rahman, believed to be one of the three ringleaders of the attempted coup.'

  Library footage showed Rahman at a military ceremony with the Sultan, King Charles of Great Britain and other dignitaries. He was a slight man, impeccably turned out, but as the camera moved closer, Jamie Song recognized a tightness and thinness of the lips, the head tilted slightly to the left, and the eyes cast down enough to make them look a little shifty. The face was one of a man with a troubled mind.

  'Britain is coming under strong pressure to reveal the whereabouts of Rahman,' continued the presenter, 'and of this man, a British special forces colonel' - her voice accompanied the now familiar pictures of Burrows, pistol drawn, stepping over the prostrate bodies of the defeated Bruneian troops - 'who is believed to have led the attack, and is being accused of carrying out summary executions of the ringleaders involved. The British Prime Minister, Stuart Nolan--'

  Song was about to mute the television again, when the presenter actually interrupted herself. 'I'm sorry we have to end that story for the time being to take you back here to the United States, where President Jim West, as you know, has been on the tarmac with the families as the coffins come in from Yokata. President Jim West is to make a live address.'

  Jim West cut a defiant figure, standing without notes or a noticeable microphone, with the dark-green camouflaged tail of a military aircraft as his backdrop. His hair was wet from the rain, blown about, and water was dripping down his face.

  'I share your grief,' he began, brushing away moisture with his right hand. 'To lose a loved one, to lose a child, to lose a wife or a husband, in such violent circumstances, is the most tragic experience any of us can imagine. When we grieve we like to both pay tribute and be with our loved ones, and that is why you are here, together, today. My job, as your President, is to tell you this. Right now, we do not know who is in control in North Korea. We believe there may have been a takeover of some kind. We do not know what, and we are asking our friends in Russia and China, who have a closer relationship with North Korea, to share their intelligence with us on this issue. We believe the missile was launched during the takeover. In other words, we do not believe it was deliberately targeted on Yokata or that any launch was authorized by the government of North Korea. Some of you may have seen that there has now been a shooting in the demilitarized zone at Panmunjom between the two Koreas. We are trying to get to the bottom of that incident as well. It shows us that things are not yet back to normal, and in th
is uncertainty I will not be authorizing any action that may result in the further loss of American lives. Having said that, I promise you that the person or people who caused that missile to kill your families will be brought to justice - or they will be killed while resisting capture. On that you have my word.'

  As applause drifted across the airfield, Song muted the sound. 'China and Russia, Yan? I will ask you what you think, when we finish.'

  Yan walked over to Song's desk and sat ramrod straight in an armchair on the other side. Song left the window for his desk as well. But he didn't sit down. He picked up two small marble balls resting in a tray there and rolled them around each other in the palm of his right hand. In late middle-age, it was a soothing technique to help him think.

  Song had picked Yan as one of his advisers when China had changed the power structure at the very top of government. Song now shared power with the General Secretary of the Communist Party, whose job was to keep watch on China's ideological conscience, and with the Chairman of the Military Commission whose task was to keep the borders secure. To most of the world, Jamie Song was the leader of China, but inside Zhongnanhai the balance was far more precarious.