Third World War (29 page)

'Could you give Jim's suggestion a chance?' prodded Newman who, with her left foot curled up under her in the rocking chair, looked a world away from her usual ordered image of Secretary of State.

'There's only one way you can do it, Mary,' said Mehta, 'and that's to occupy the country, take over its security agencies and root out the terror elements. Do an Iraq.' He took another sip, unable to hide his frustration.

'Prime Minister,' said Brock. 'You've vividly explained the position you are in. Do you have a solution, any policy which you believe will work?'

Mehta nodded and looked straight at the President. 'I have thought about this long and hard, Jim. You won't like it, but I see no other way out.'

'Trust me,' said West, forcing a smile. But even then, with scenarios swirling around his mind, he had never envisaged the one Vasant Mehta laid out. And as soon as the Indian Prime Minister had spoken he understood why Mehta had given his global audience the choice of deciding whether he was an honourable man or an enemy of the United States.

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35*

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Dukchun Palace, Pyongyang, North Korea*

Through the secured glass, Park Ho watched as two overweight middle-aged Caucasian men negotiated for their lives. Three guards lifted the British ambassador to his feet, walked him to an area next door, unlocked his handcuffs and pushed him inside. Bob Robertson, who had been posted to Pyongyang only two months earlier, tripped but managed to block his fall against the wall. A door slid across to secure the area into a separate room.

Jozsef Striker, the second man, was kept back, handcuffed to a chair. He had been in North Korea for more than five years. Park used to meet with him regularly. As Striker pleaded with the guards, Park heard his name mentioned: Park was the man the guards should contact to secure his release. If Park had been a sadist, he would have gone through and taunted the Hungarian ambassador. But he was not. He was a tactician, and inadvertently and unfortunately Striker had become a cog in the wheels of Park's war.

Robertson had been chosen to go in first because he was younger and fitter, although neither man was in good shape. He steadied himself and leant against the wall. The room created for the experiment was a mix of strange objects: bed sheets, writing paper, kitchen utensils; different flooring of concrete, tiles, carpet and other materials; a wardrobe of clothes; a tube of toothpaste; poured glasses of whisky, water and beer; and other examples of everyday life in the West.

Robertson tentatively stepped around the room, touching and examining. 'There'll be comeback, you know,' he shouted, his head automatically turning up towards the ceiling, where various curtain fabrics had been hung. 'Whatever you're doing violates every international law. We'll throw the book at you for this.'

'Just relax, Ambassador,' said Li in softly spoken, accented English. 'We have to conduct some more medical tests, then, of course, you can return home.'

'Bullshit,' muttered Robertson. He flung himself into an armchair, and stared at the wall as if he could see right through it. 'If you're going to execute me--' he whispered, not finishing his thoughts.

The nozzle of a household aerosol can was inserted in the partition. But just as Li gave the signal for it to be sprayed into the room, a radio crackled, calling Park Ho urgently to the telephone. Park raised his hand to delay the experiment and took the call.

The call had been directed to Park on a military line from the Chinese city of Yanji close to the northern border with North Korea. 'Mason is being sent to the United States to be interrogated with sodium pentothal,' said the caller.

'Thank you,' said Park, ending the call. If anyone had succeeded in knowing the general intimately, they might have detected a look of satisfaction.

Park himself had ordered the theft of a bioterror agent from a country where the rule of law remained intact and effective. Not only would Park get his hands on IL-4, but also he would sow confusion among the Western democracies. Yes, they would trace telephone calls and interrogate suspects. The more they suspected, the more the international media would play up the need for a military strike on North Korea. And, then, the more reason he would have to defend his nation.

'Go ahead,' he said to Li, pushing back the chair and standing up as the aerosol spray was released into Robertson's prison cell. By the time the virus took effect, the ambassador would be tired of his own whimpers and threats. Park would return shortly before rashes were due to show. If the IL-4 formula was working, that would be in less than a day. Once the rashes had broken out, Robertson, at his most contagious, would be put back in with Striker.

Key to the experiment would be the speed with which Striker was also infected. If it took several days, then the IL-4 agent would only be effective for the primary infection. But if Striker fell sick within twenty-four hours, the agent would remain with the virus, through secondary and tertiary infections and beyond, and Park would have at his disposal a genuine weapon of mass destruction.

Park had chosen smallpox precisely because it represented the dark unknown of bioterror. In 1995, after years of planning, a Japanese religious cult released the chemical nerve agent Sarin on the Tokyo subway. But only eleven people died, not exactly wholesale slaughter. In 2001, after the 11 September attack on New York, highly contagious military-quality anthrax was sent through the post to a senior politician and journalists. Only five had died.

The initial smallpox outbreak itself might be enough to paralyse America and Europe's health-care systems. If it spread, tripling and quadrupling from infection to infection, Park would regard it as an added bonus.

But at which stage should he hand over the vaccine? He was undecided. He was sure only that Robertson should be given it at the earlier stage, because he would need his testimony of both the brutality of the disease and the swiftness of the cure. Striker would get it later. And if it was too late, so be it. His English was heavily accented and would not be so well understood on television.

Deep in thought, Park took the lift and walked across the hotel lobby, alone and ignored by guests and staff. One day, he would be recognized. But at the moment, it was more important that he be proved right.

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36*

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Washington, DC, USA*

Lazaro Campbell helped Mehta out of the President's study. As they slowly made their way to the door West, Newman and Brock sat without speaking, stunned at what they had been told. West had suggested a fifteen-minute cooling-off period before getting together again with Lizzie and Meenakshi. He understood exactly Mehta's point. He could see how it would secure India's borders and allow its economy to grow without the constant threat of war. But as President of the United States, charged with protecting American interests, there was no way he could allow it to happen.

'I'm not having the damn Chinese in Pakistan, and I'm not having them in Camp David,' snapped West, as Newman asked the switchboard to connect her to Zhongnanhai in Beijing.

'You can't not,' answered Newman. 'It'd be the diplomatic equivalent of an act of war.'

'We're not asking the Brazilians?' said West, mockingly. 'They've got a big country, too.' His neck was bent down to hold the receiver as he waited to be connected to Stuart Nolan in Downing Street, hoping that the grizzled British Prime Minister was enjoying a nightcap and not asleep in bed.

'Very helpful,' said Brock, supporting Newman. 'I'm sure China would be flattered to be compared to Brazil.'

'Don't insult Brazil.' West was about to say more, when he was connected. 'Stuart, you got five minutes? I need a favour, and I hope your diary's flexible.'

As West hung up, Brock was talking to Alexander Yushchuk, the Russian President's adviser. 'Alex, if he feels it'll leak out, we can send Air Force One for him, and pick him up in Helsinki or something . . . Yeah, just don't get . . . and no, we won't bill you in six months' time like the IMF does.'

Newman was through to Germany, where the Japanese Prime Minister was overnighting on a tour of Europe. 'I can't give you the specifics now, Toru, but Japan's presence is needed . . . yes, I know you have a full diary, I know it is far away from your sphere of influence, but if China's here, I think you should be here.'

'Mary, you haven't confirmed that,' said West, as Newman finished the call.

Newman shook her head. 'Not yet, but Zhongnanhai is on the line now, and you've got to speak to him, Jim. This isn't one to delegate.' Newman thrust the telephone receiver in front of West. 'And don't forget,' she added with a smile, 'be humble and polite.'

'Jamie, sorry to chase you so early in the morning,' said West at his most modest. 'You were excellent in your BBC World interview. I envy you your polish . . . Thank you. Thank you . . . The reason I'm calling is that Vasant Mehta is with me now. Stuart Nolan is in town anyway as is Toru Sato . . . Yes, yes, one hell of a coincidence. Andrei Kozlov has agreed to come over, and I know you're busy, but if you've the time, I think we could all have a useful meeting, get this India-Pakistan issue dealt with once and for all and maybe, with you and Toru here, we could tackle North Korea as well . . . No. Absolutely private.'

He handed the receiver back to Newman who dropped it on the table, perched on the edge of the President's desk and sighed. 'Thank you, Jim.'

West took Newman's hand, squeezed it and withdrew. 'I hope, sometime soon, I can thank you for making me ask him.'

Newman dropped her head, not wishing the President to see her eyes aglow. Without Pierce, the atmosphere was completely different. She didn't know why West had excluded his Defense Secretary now. She didn't even ask. But she chose to enjoy it.

'You think Mehta's plan will work?' asked Brock.

'Sure it'll work,' replied West, full of sarcasm. 'Like Vietnam worked for us and Afghanistan worked for the Soviets.' He drained the last of his whisky. 'But we can't wait to try it and fail. We can't allow China to walk in and run Pakistan like a goddamn colony.' He stood up and slipped on his jacket. 'Mehta knows it won't work. But he's said to us: "Go in and take over Pakistan." We've said we won't. Now he's going to say to Jamie Song: "She's your monster. Go in, educate her, control her." But he knows that if we agree to that, we'll be handing China one of the most strategic pieces of territory anywhere in the world. And we can't do that for a nation that one day may be truly hostile to us. Never. Not in my presidency. Then, if China refuses - and this is what Mehta is telling us - India will risk a nuclear war with Pakistan in order to destroy it.'

He had his hand on the door handle. 'Mary, walk with me, will you? A woman's company makes me feel like a human being.'

Newman and West walked together down the corridor to his private sitting room. Brock ambled behind, giving them space. Campbell, coming from the washroom, fell into step with him.

'There's a plane for you at Andrews,' Brock instructed him quietly. 'It'll take you to Islamabad. The President wants you to be ready to go - the job done by the time this summit meets.'

As they stepped into the room, West turned and spotted Campbell. 'Meenakshi,' he said, 'this is a young protege of mine, Lazaro Campbell. I've asked him along to close the age gap with you two young women.'

'Protege? I hope so, Mr President,' said Meenakshi, wheeling her chair towards Campbell. 'Actually, Mr Campbell and I have met before. If it were not for him, I would now be dead.'

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37*

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Islamabad, Pakistan*

Lazaro Campbell lay face down on the grassless earth, listening to the fading throb of the helicopter. The dim shape, flying low against the rise of the hills, blended with the darkness and became invisible. Fifty-six thousand feet in the night sky above Islamabad, high enough to observe the curvature of the earth, a Global Hawk Unmanned Aerial Vehicle, or drone as it was more popularly known, loitered, its cameras fixed on one specific target. It sent back spot images which were relayed simultaneously to the United States Central Command at MacDill Air Force Base, Florida, the National Security Agency, the National Security Advisor's offices at the White House, the Defense Secretary's office in Room 3E880 in the Pentagon and the Oval Office in the White House.

Intercepts were running through voice-identification and code-breaking computers in real time. With the new Pakistani military command speaking on secure lines, the super-computers had now been programmed to find elements within the scrambled code. Each scrambler threw up its own distinct signature, which identified the single handset being used. With that they could pinpoint the location of the speaker, a probability of who it was and with whom he or she might be talking.