Red Phoenix Burning (25 page)

“We will send our army in, but under the guise of humanitarian assistance. We’ll set up refugee camps, bring in food and medical supplies and personnel, but the camps will be on Korean territory. To establish a proper defensive perimeter, we’ll advance fifty kilometers across the border. We may have to move further to ensure a safe operating environment for aid workers, but we’ll limit our advance for now.

“I expect the Americans will surge northward the moment they realize we’ve crossed the Yalu. We must exercise due caution to not provoke them, or the South Koreans if possible.”

“What about the North Koreans?” inquired Defense Minister Yu.

A cynical smile popped on the president’s face. “We retain the right of self-defense, Comrade Minister. If they fire on us, we will eliminate the threat.”

“I understand your wisdom now. Thank you, Comrade Chairman,” said the relieved general.

“One last thing,” added Wen. “Any territory we take will be used as a bargaining chip when this unpleasant crisis is over. We
will
be part of the discussion about what transpires on the Korean Peninsula.”

27 August 2015

Munsan Refugee Camp

Outside Dongducheon, South Korea

It was easy to stay concealed. The grassy path was filled with “tent-to-tent” people. Cho had no problem keeping his target in sight, while at the same time blending in with the throng of humanity that had filled the refugee camp. Besides, he was confident he knew where the individual was going.

When Cho first saw him two days earlier, an itch started between his shoulder blades. Nothing seemed right about the way the middle-aged man walked and talked, and he seemed very well supplied with American bills. Then yesterday, Cho had watched as the man bullied a young Korean girl. A passing military police patrol caused him to release her and disappear behind the tents. Cho discretely followed the young woman and listened in to her complaints to her father and mother. As he suspected, the man was “recruiting” for a prostitution ring. Then he heard the name: Jeon Yong-ha.

Finding where Jeon spent his time was elementary tradecraft for a seasoned spy. Now that Cho had verified the information he’d obtained was accurate, he spent the rest of the afternoon reconnoitering the area. Looking for avenues of escape, personal guards, and possible traps. By the time Cho finished, he was almost late for dinner with Fowler-
nim
. He found being around her refreshing; her concern for others was so unlike everything he’d experienced in his life. Being around her gave him purpose and hope. He’d discovered that he would do anything to make her happy.

It was well past ten at night when a darkly dressed and masked Cho crept back to Jeon’s tent. As he expected, there was only a single guard outside. The man was an amateur, a simple-minded thug. A small group of young women walked past the tent, catching the guard’s eye; he stared at them with desire. The man stared a little too long; he never knew what hit him.

Cho pulled the unconscious body into the tent and bound his hands and feet with duct tape. A strip wrapped around his head a couple of times and covering his mouth would keep him quiet. Cho then adjusted the bandana covering his face and took the guard’s position out front, intentionally staying in the dark shadows. Half an hour later Jeon came swaggering back with another guard and a young woman in tow. She didn’t look very happy, probably because Jeon was being rather rough. He didn’t even bother greeting his “guard,” and signaled for the other man to hold open the flap while Jeon threw the young woman inside.

“Now, bitch, we’ll see if you’re any good. And if you so much as squeak, the first person to die will be your mother!” he growled menacingly.

Suddenly there was a loud thud behind him as the guard who came back with Jeon fell face-first to the floor. “You fool! What kind of imbecile are you? Now get up—”

The sharp
clack
of a round being racked into a gun’s chamber interrupted Jeon’s tirade. He turned slowly to see a disguised Cho leveling a pistol squarely between his eyes. “Now, Jeon Yong-ha, I suggest you sit down, quietly. If you so much as squeak, well, I don’t think I need to tell you who will be the first person to die, do I?”

The stunned Jeon staggered back to a camp chair and sat down. His eyes were wide as saucers. Cho threw the roll of duct tape to the woman. “Bind his hands and legs to the chair. Make sure he is secured firmly, his right hand first.”

Confused, the woman took the tape and began wrapping Jeon’s wrists and forearms. She used a lot of tape. Jeon slowly shifted his eyes toward the woman, but Cho immediately snapped his fingers to regain his undivided attention. “I wouldn’t recommend doing something so foolish, Jeon Yong-ha. I wouldn’t miss at this range.” Cho emphasized his point by assuming a marksman’s stance. Jeon swallowed hard. The unknown intruder had foreseen his move.

It wasn’t long before the woman stood and said, “I’m finished.” Then more fearfully, “What will you do to me?”

“Excellent,” said Cho as he quickly inspected her work. Jeon was completely immobilized. Reaching for the tape, Cho finally answered her question as he put a strip over Jeon’s mouth. “I won’t do anything to you, miss.” Cho used the proper Korean word for a younger woman, but spoke with a Southerner’s accent. No need to make it easy for Jeon, in case he tried to identify Cho later. “But I would greatly appreciate it if you would go and find an American military police patrol and bring them here. I’m sure they would be most interested in Jeon’s activities.”

The woman’s expression was one of surprise. Cho’s answer was completely unexpected. She carefully made her way to the exit, but before departing whispered, “Thank you, sir.” Cho nodded slightly, acknowledging her gratitude. As soon as the woman disappeared, Cho bound and gagged the other unconscious guard with duct tape and then went over to Jeon’s locked footlocker. He shook his head with disapproval. The padlock was a joke. He had it open in seconds. Cho dumped the contents onto the cot. There were several weapons, a couple of ledger books, and lots of American money.

“You really should be more careful with your important business documents, “ Cho teased as he looked through one of the ledger books. It contained a lists of his prostitutes and patrons, as well as transactions with several drug dealers. “Yes, the Americans will be most interested in all this.” Jeon grunted in frustration as Cho looked on with distain.

The young woman soon returned leading a squad of MPs. Cho observed them from a distance as the Americans went in and discovered all the gifts he had left out. He was particularly pleased when he heard the sharp yelp from Jeon as an MP peeled the tape off his mouth. Moments later the Americans escorted the ringleader and his two guards away. Cho doubted he’d be seeing Jeon Yong-ha any time in the near future.

It was nearly midnight when Cho returned to Kary’s office. She was still there, typing away on her laptop, trying to figure out how to order medical supplies with the US Army logistics system. Her frustrated muttering told him the system was still winning—for the moment.

Quietly he entered and placed the pistol on the desk. His stealthy approach startled her. “Oh! You’re back!”

“Of course, mission accomplished. Here’s your pistol.”

Kary eyed first the handgun, then Cho. “You . . . you didn’t shoot anyone, did you?”

“Absolutely not! I know you’d frown on such a thing,” replied Cho with feigned injury. “I merely used the weapon as my culminating argument in a moral debate. That’s all.” He took the pistol and wrapped it in a scarf she’d brought, and tucked it out of sight.

“Uh-huh,” she responded. The skeptical look on her face showed she wasn’t buying his explanation.

“I can assure you, Fowler-
seonsaengnim
, no one was physically injured in tonight’s activities. Although, several egos were completely crushed,” remarked Cho with a broad grin. Teasing Kary was a newly acquired pleasure for him; he found that he liked the way her nose wrinkled when she was slightly annoyed.

Kary frowned and raised her finger preparing to deliver a reprimand, when she was interrupted by a large yawn. She hadn’t realized just how tired she was.

Cho looked on with concern. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? You’ve been struggling with this program since before I left, and you’ve already had several very late nights this week. You need to rest.”

“And you’re trying to change the subject,” Kary protested, but her thin smile betrayed her appreciation. “But whoever came up with this program is a sadist!”

“I believe that is a mandatory trait for all computer programmers, everywhere,” declared Cho while stretching. “Anyway, I’m going to bed, and I hope you will too . . . soon.”

“I won’t be long. And thank you, Ho-jin
oppa
.”

Cho bowed slightly, gratified by Kary’s use of the term of endearment,
oppa
. It could be translated as “big brother.” She trusted him, and that simple acknowledgment warmed his heart.

27 August 2015

White House Situation Room

Washington, DC

General Fascione struggled not to yawn while he briefed the president. It wasn’t that the information he was providing was inconsequential or boring; it was just that the last several days had been very long, and he was running out of gas. “And even though the ROK Army is starting to face more organized resistance from KPA units, they still anticipate securing Pyongyang within the next three days—five at the most.”

“What about China, General? Is there any indication from your end that the PRC intends to intervene?” President James Wyman was a worried man. The sudden collapse of the Kim regime had caught America unprepared, and the reduced US military presence wouldn’t be able to do much about a full-blown Chinese invasion.

“So far, Mr. President, they are staying massed on the border. They’ve sent in a reconnaissance flight or two, and I wouldn’t be surprised if some of their SOF people are in North Korea, but they’ve largely stuck to their side of the Yalu. The CMC is probably still trying to figure out what the best course of action is. This crisis took them by surprise as well, perhaps more so, since they had senior contacts in country.”

Wyman nodded. “I’ve spoken with President Wen, General, and he didn’t sound like a happy man. He was uncomfortable with our movement of troops and aircraft to the Republic of Korea. I reassured him that our reinforcements have been tailored toward helping South Koreans manage the huge inflow of refugees. I suspect the success of the ROK Army is not sitting well in Beijing.”

“Understandable. We’d be just as uneasy if there were a civil war in Mexico and a foreign country was sending in military forces. I know it’s not a great analogy, but it does capture how the Chinese feel about this. Do you have any other questions, Mr. President?”

“Just one, General. You mentioned the ROK Army has started an Operation Gang . . . Gang . . .” Wyman started thumbing through his notes

“Gangrim, sir. It’s a contingency plan by their special operations forces to locate and seize as much of the North Korean WMD stockpile as they can. So far they’ve done pretty well with the forward chemical weapons storage bunkers. The North had a lot of gas hanging around, not that this is a surprise.”

“I’m more concerned with Kim’s nuclear weapons, General.”

“Yes, Mr. President, I thought you would be.” Fascione smiled politely. He could understand the president’s higher priority about the nukes; chemical weapons would only affect those on the Korean Peninsula. “From what little I’ve heard, the ROK commandos haven’t found anything yet.”

“I see,” stated Wyman. His expression showed his displeasure. “General, I’m not very happy with this arrangement. I’d like to have a US observer as part of this Operation Gangrim.”

Fascione took a deep breath. He’d have to word his answer carefully. A US general just didn’t say no to his commander in chief lightly. “That may be difficult to arrange, Mr. President.”

“I understand it’s a sensitive topic, General. Give the South Koreans as much latitude as you can in approving our observer. Suggest someone they know and trust, and then do some light arm-twisting. It’s in both our best interests to find those nuclear weapons, and we can lend more ‘quiet’ assistance if we have someone on the ground, as it were.”

The general nodded. “I understand, sir. I’ll do my best to get someone directly involved.” Suddenly, the general’s face changed from uneasiness to confidence. “And I think I know just the soldier for the job.”

28 August 2015, 12:30 a.m. local time

Munsan Refugee Camp

Outside Dongducheon, South Korea

Kary laid dozing on her desk. Her stamina had all but vanished. She was abruptly jarred to consciousness when Cho’s cell phone started buzzing in her back pocket. Initially she thought it was her father, given the time difference, but a quick look at the number showed it was her friend Anita. “Hello,” Kary answered.

“Kary . . . Kary, it’s me, Anita.” Kary heard the excitement and fear in her friend’s voice. She was now fully awake.

“Anita, what’s wrong?”

“Kary, there are Chinese soldiers everywhere. They started coming through our camp a few minutes ago. There are hundreds of them, Kary, on the Korean side of the border.”

“What?” exclaimed Kary. “Anita, are you sure?”

“Absolutely, Kary. There are tanks, trucks, and other vehicles pouring through our camp right —”

“Anita? Anita?” Kary shouted. She looked at the phone’s screen. “Signal Lost” it said. The connection had been broken.

Chapter 13 - Precipice

28 August 2015, 7:05 a.m. EDT

Democratic People’s Republic of Korea UN Mission

New York, New York

The United States had never had diplomatic relations with North Korea, but the country did have a seat at the United Nations. The diplomatic mission that supported the DPRK representative to the United Nations was located in Manhattan, on East Forty-Fourth Street, near the East River. In the past, it had sometimes served as an informal, unofficial link between the two countries.

There was no sign marking the location of the DPRK mission, just a steel door at street level in a pale brick office building. Credit unions, restaurants, hotels, and other diplomatic missions crowded against it and each other in the commercial district.

Lieutenant Joe Vitale led the Emergency Service Unit for Lower Manhattan, and he hoped adrenaline could substitute for sleep, at least for another fifteen minutes. It had been a busy night. Federal agencies had piled onto his operation like he was giving away toasters—State, FBI, Homeland Security, even the CIA. The New York City Police Department was used to interagency operations, but it all took time. If he’d had his choice, they would have done this last night.

It had to happen quickly. He was in the lead van, with two more behind. As his convoy turned onto East Forty-Third, units blocked the incoming lanes off First and Second Avenues. Another unit was already covering the building’s parking garage.

A few startled pedestrians watched his assault team boil out of the van, but uniforms coming out of the second vehicle shooed them down the street, toward the corners, and made sure nobody else entered the area.

His team wired a charge to the door in moments, then waited impatiently for the “all clear” from the uniformed officers. Joe took that moment to check the big picture. His people were properly set, the investigators were standing by in the third van—well, okay, they were trying to watch, leaning out the side windows, but they were far enough back.

His headset radio buzzed with static for a moment, and the sergeant reported. “Clear, Joe.”

Vitale gave the command and plastic explosive along the hinge edge of the door detonated, sending the door clattering inside. It was made of steel, and they didn’t have time for half measures. The lieutenant was second in line, maybe twenty feet from the door, and even with the lead man holding a ballistic blanket, Vitale could feel the pressure wave ripple over him. The noise and blast reminded him of a flash-bang, but they were well back and tight against the wall.

They went in at a run, down a short corridor to a second steel door, just as stout as the first, and locked. They’d been expecting this, and Vitale called, “Breacher up!” then stepped back to let the man work. In fact, he kept right on backing up as the demo expert prepared the charge. Passing the word on his headset, he stepped outside, but stopped just past the entrance. The corridor would channel the blast. He’d be safe around the corner.

His demo expert was by definition the last man out of the corridor, but Joe still took one last look down the hall before pulling his head back and signaling again. This time the blast was not as bad, although hearing protection could only do so much.

The second door led into a large office complex. Joe found himself standing in a reception area, facing an empty desk. The walls were decorated with the North Korean flag, and photos of the three Kims were mixed with colorful shots of laughing children in traditional Korean clothing. The room was filled with a light gray haze that stung his eyes. There was nobody in sight.

His assault team was already pouring through the door. They knew the basic layout of the mission, based on the builder’s records, and Vitale stepped back and tried to be the big picture guy while the other six team members broke left and right.

Less than a minute later, he heard “Got one. Bringing him out” over the headset radio. Two team members emerged from the left-hand corridor almost dragging a handcuffed Korean, in his mid-fifties. Vitale didn’t even have to use the photo guide they’d assembled.

“Ambassador Soon Yeo-rim, I presume?”

Soon had not come willingly, and his rumpled appearance was not improved by his expression. Bright red with outrage, he shouted, “This is a diplomatic mission. The UN—”

Vitale tried to suppress a broad smile, almost succeeding. “The UN voted yesterday to disestablish the North Korean seat in the assembly. I’m sorry if you didn’t know, but according to the UN Secretariat, you haven’t been answering your phones for several days.”

The ambassador hardly listened. “You have no right to arrest me! I have diplomatic immunity!”

“You’re not under arrest, Ambassador. Since the US has no diplomatic relations with your country, and the reason for your presence no longer exists, you and your staff have been declared persona non grata. You’re in protective custody until we can return you all to North Korea, if there’s any of it left.”

His headset earpiece crackled. “Lieutenant, we’ve got some more. Two people, shredding documents.”

“Have them join us,” Vitale ordered cheerfully, then continued addressing Soon. “We also received word from a credible source that there might be illegal materials here, possibly including drugs or counterfeit currency. I have a warrant that allows us to search this establishment for evidence, including documents regarding such activity. There’s also the matter of over one hundred twenty thousand dollars in unpaid parking tickets.”

Two more Koreans appeared, a man and woman in their late thirties. Using the photo guide they’d prepared, Vitale identified them as one of the cultural attachés and his wife. Although handcuffed, they walked in under their own power, in time to hear the last part of Vitale’s speech. Their expressions shifted from worried to terrified, especially when they saw how furious Ambassador Soon was.

“Please, we wish to defect!” the woman said. Her husband, looking downcast, simply nodded agreement.

Soon looked like he wanted to say something to them, but by now had gained control of his anger. He was still furious, but remained silent.

29 August 2015, 1000 local time

Taedongmun Park

Pyongyang, North Korea

General Tae Seok-won watched through binoculars from a spot near the edge of the park. Two people had shown up. Jeup Do-bin was thin, even for a North Korean, and his lined face made him looked over sixty, although he was probably younger. His hair was only lightly threaded with silver. Jeup had been a deputy intelligence minister under the Kim regime, but had joined the party faction early on. Tae knew he’d become one of their most effective military commanders.

The other party faction representative was a woman, Lee Su-mi. General Tae knew of her. She headed the Pyongyang “Workers’ Union,” which had little overt power as a labor union, but massive influence throughout the party bureaucracy. She was younger than Jeup, perhaps forty, and had a broad, almost square face. It didn’t look like she smiled a lot.

The fact that Tae faced two people instead of one meant that the party faction was divided, unable to agree on a single leader or a single policy. It would make his task twice as hard.

General Tae had waited in his vehicle, a conspicuously unarmed and open-topped GAZ jeep, until the party representatives had entered the plaza. There had been no agreement on how they would arrive, or who would come. Or even that they would arrive unarmed. Tae wore his sidearm. The others, although in civilian clothes, had plenty of places they could conceal a pistol. Lee Su-mi wore a
hanbok
, the high-waisted flowing traditional Korean dress that Kim had decreed women should wear, and she could hide a grenade launcher under that.

Lee walked a little in front, so she must be the nominal leader, but either Jeup wouldn’t acknowledge her lead, or the faction didn’t trust her negotiating skills. Tae could accept that. Trust was in especially short supply these days.

When the two were about the same distance from the pavilion as the spot where Tae’s jeep was parked, he stepped out and motioned to his aide. The vehicle roared off, and Tae went to meet them, reaching the first steps almost the same instant they did.

Taedongmun Park lay on the north and west side of the Taedong River. Technically, it was party faction territory, and Tae had chosen the area for the meeting based partly on that point. He wanted the meeting, and was willing to come to them.

He’d chosen a pavilion near the water, originally meant to shade dignitaries during public events, including water displays. Without any walls or interior structures, it was completely open. He was sure there would be observers from the party faction watching for any sign of treachery, just like the men he had on his side of the river.

The pavilion had sustained some damage. The colorful tile floor was littered with rubble, and he’d noticed scorch marks on the steps. But while there might be a few holes in the roof, the structure was sound.

The general stepped gratefully into the shade and walked toward the center, stopping a few meters away from the other two. “Thank you for meeting with me,” Tae began in a polite tone.

“Get on with it,” Lee said harshly. “You asked for a cease-fire. You asked for us to meet here with only an hour’s notice. What is so urgent?”

Tae refused to be irritated. “Do you have somewhere else you need to be, Lee-
dongmu
?” Tae used one of the words that translated as “comrade.” Under the Kims’ rule, they had replaced most of the other terms and honorifics Koreans traditionally had used. This particular word implied equal or lower social standing.

“Stop wasting my time!” Lee insisted. She looked at the opposite riverbank, as if she was checking for snipers. They were there, of course, but she’d never spot them.

“Don’t worry. The cease-fire will last for at least another hour,” Tae replied, “and hopefully longer than that. The Chinese have crossed the border in strength.”

“My grandmother knows that,” Lee replied coldly, “and she’s been dead for twenty years. Did you know the Southerners have crossed the border?”

Tae bit back his immediate reply, and forced himself to ignore the insult.
Stay on topic
. “Then why are we fighting each other? Foreign forces have invaded our country, and we are making their job easier.”

Lee looked as if the last thing she wanted to do was to join forces, but Jeup Do-bin spoke for the first time, asking, “What do you propose?” Lee shot her colleague a sharp look, but remained silent.

“Complete integration of both forces. Existing commanders retain in place up through battalion level. Brigade and higher commands distributed equally to both sides. I command, with one of your people as my deputy. One of your people can also have command of the unified artillery. We ration the supply—”

“And you have support of the rest of the General Staff?” Lee interrupted.

“I am the senior officer of what remains of the General Staff.”

“Your ranks have thinned somewhat,” Jeup remarked.

“But we are still more numerous than you.”

“We occupy most of the Kim faction’s territory now.”

“After we destroyed their leadership with our rocket attack,” Tae responded. He didn’t need to mention that the rockets had been armed with nerve gas. It was a gentle reminder that he’d done it once. He’d let them wonder if he could do it again.

Lee scowled and asked, “Why should you have command of the combined forces?”

Tae smiled, and almost laughed. “Because I’m a professional soldier. Because you allowed survivors of the Kim leadership to escape to the north while your troops were looting their headquarters.” He saw their surprised expressions and nodded. “We have many sources of information.”

“You think you would do a better job?”

“I already am,” Tae replied forcefully. “I’m looking at the overall situation, and I understand that if we immediately join our forces and reorient our defenses, we
may
be able to hold off the South Koreans, come to terms with them, and then present the Chinese with a unified force. Hopefully, the Chinese army will then withdraw without a fight.”

“Work
with
the Southerners?” Jeup asked, astounded. “That’s completely unacceptable.”

Lee Su-mi vigorously nodded her complete agreement. “It’s treason!”

“Against who?” The general looked at them, suddenly unsure of their grip on reality. He took a few steps, pacing back and forth, and finally turned back to face them. “What would you do?”

Lee looked over to her negotiating partner, and Juep explained. “Our military staff has discussed the problem, and we are not opposed to a nonaggression pact with the General Staff. We then meet the Chinese threat to the north, while you hold off the southern invasion. We turn the city into a fortress, and make them pay for every meter with a hundred enemy soldiers. Faced with unacceptable casualties, the invaders will come to terms.”

“That isn’t a plan,” Tae retorted. “It’s wishful thinking. And to what end? Do you think the Southerners will let us restore our country? The Kim dynasty is shattered. The entire mechanism of government has been torn apart, and can never be restored.

“And with which of us will they negotiate?” Tae continued, his tone sharper. “The Southerners will be here first. I’ll be fighting long before you will. They will wear me down until my troops simply can’t fight back. Do you expect us to fight while you sit and watch?”

Lee asked, “What price would you sell our country for, to gain the South’s cooperation against the Chinese?” Her expression indicated that she thought just discussing the idea was treason.

“What terms would I ask for from the Southerners?” Tae asked as if considering it for the first time. “We place ourselves under their military authority. They supply us with munitions, food, and fuel. They provide air cover during our operations against the Chinese.” He shrugged. “Some of their artillery wouldn’t hurt. We agree to set up a caretaker government under martial law in that part of the country we still control. With a nonaggression pact, of course.”