Third World War (9 page)

Mehta pushed himself back into his chair and stretched his arms behind his head. 'Fly the army into every affected area,' he said. 'Flag marches at company strength down every street. Troops will stand by in all places that are vulnerable. Curfew will be imposed. If no suitable troops are in the area, helicopter them in. If they are attacked, they will shoot to kill.'

'Yes, sir,' said Suri, picking up a telephone to forward the order. But before he got through, the light on another telephone flashed, the direct line to the head of external intelligence. Suri picked it up and spoke for only a few seconds.

'The PIA 757 landed in Pyongyang,' he said, replacing the receiver. 'Air Vice-Marshal Qureshi was on board.'

'Dear God,' Mehta whispered, mostly to himself.*

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Unlike previous prime ministers, Vasant Mehta had come to political life late after a career in the army and the intelligence services.

His career would have remained behind the scenes had his wife, Geeta, not embarked on a very public affair with a Bombay film star. For two months the press loved it, and as the story ran, so did details of Mehta's remarkable professional life. Not all of it was correct, but it was enough to propel him into that rare category of being an Indian hero. In the public eye, Geeta was transformed from a sophisticated and beautiful intellectual into a destructive hedonist, addicted to drugs and high-rolling parties. Mehta, on the other hand, was portrayed as a man of principle and a solitary figure, working alone late into the night in his South Block office to secure India against her enemies.

Mehta had loathed the press coverage against Geeta, but was grateful that the great nation he led could have open debate, even on his private life. He had understood that complexities and contradictions were what created literature, music, art, science and great civilizations. Yet never did he stop yearning for simplicity.

At the height of the scandal, Mehta had been persuaded to run for Parliament. His decisiveness and pragmatism soon led him to high office - particularly when American reliability was again questioned after the start of the 2001 War against Terror.

Single-mindedly, Mehta had pushed forward India's plans for a streamlined and independent defence system. Then he had announced in Parliament that India would not - under any circumstances - make a first nuclear strike against any nation, not even if it detected a launch from a hostile power, because such detections could be in error. In a nutshell, India would be prepared to sacrifice at least one city before it retaliated.

Almost unprecedented for any Indian leader, Mehta reinforced India's position in an essay in the prestigious Washington-based Foreign Affairs magazine. 'Should the tragedy of a nuclear attack on India or Indian interests occur anywhere in the world,' he had written, 'then my government would obliterate the nation responsible, whether the attack came from the government itself or from rogue elements being nurtured by that government. On this there will never be any negotiation. By stating this policy now unequivocally and with the widest distribution possible, we hope to avoid any confusion. No one will be able to claim misunderstanding.'

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Beijing, China*

The icy cold gave way to winter drizzle, and low cloud blended with pollution formed a dome over the Chinese capital Beijing. Air Koryo flights to Pyongyang were never full, but in the aftermath of the missile strike on Japan, the passenger list had been even further depleted. A business delegation from Australia, hoping to finalize long-term mining contracts, had shied away. A European Union Chamber of Commerce visit had been postponed indefinitely. A tour group run by a small travel agency in Britain had pulled the trip at the eleventh hour, leaving its clients kicking their heels in Beijing. Several were irritated journalists travelling under cover in bogus professions.

Only a handful of passengers were taken out by bus to the ageing TU-154 parked at a distant end of the airport tarmac. They included the Hungarian and British ambassadors returning from a few days' break in China; a Swedish couple, young aid workers whose organization had been helping famine victims now for almost twenty years; six North Korean diplomats flying back for consultations after the 'Yokata incident'; a low-ranking delegation of Chinese officials, ostensibly from the Foreign Ministry, but both key intelligence officials reporting to different units; two Russian diplomats, assigned to Russia's overseas intelligence service, the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki (SVR), and the Pakistani military attache, who also reported to his country's Joint Counter Intelligence Bureau (JCIB), responsible for running intellligence officers as diplomats through embassies.

Iran also sent a delegation, which included a neatly dressed diplomat whose passport described him as Mashhoud Najari, first secretary at the embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran in Beijing. Najari was, in fact, Ahmed Memed. One of the men with him was Memed's bodyguard from the Philippines, Hassan Muda. The other was an Iranian special forces captain, attached to the embassy and employed by Iran's Ministry of Intelligence and Security known by its Farsi acronym as SAVAMA.

The aircraft took off in light drizzle and bounced uncomfortably through the cloud on its ascent. Once clear, however, the pilot turned due west for the ninety-minute flight to Pyongyang. When he cleared air traffic control at Dalian, flying at 33,000 feet, he reported nothing wrong. He called in, out of courtesy, to the control tower at Dandong on the border crossing between China and North Korea, although he was technically in North Korean airspace at the time over the Sea of Korea. It was then that he began his descent.

After that, no one outside North Korea was certain about what happened.

The air traffic controller at Dandong only glanced once at his screen after talking to the pilot, and the aircraft was on course. In Dalian, the controller said he had been busy with other aircraft. The North Korean announcement issued later that day from Pyongyang said the flight had crashed, and all those on board had died. It allowed no independent experts in to help with the investigation. There were no television pictures from the crash site.

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Pyongyang, North Korea*

'The landing was necessary,' said Park Ho, stepping into a bleak room in the suburbs of Pyongyang that looked more like an abandoned office than the guest quarters for a visitor. Park made no explanation, gave no apology and offered no handshake to Ahmed Memed. He spoke in English, but apart from a shared foreign language, he felt no common ground with the Islamic cleric. Men of God made him feel both suspicious and vulnerable. Park was an atheist and self-taught in areas of practical help such as languages and engineering. Memed was only his guest because Pakistan had asked for it.

Memed remained seated. He was cross-legged. Making use of the natural light, his back leaning against the wall and supported by a cushion, he had a laptop on a pile of books by his side. It was plugged into a satellite telephone. He looked up. 'The landing was as any other,' he said quietly.

Park lit a cigarette and opened a window which gave a view out towards a long-closed cement factory and a skyline of Soviet-style apartment blocks made more monotonous by drizzle from an overcast sky. He looked around at two rolled-up prayer mats, a pile of books and two suitcases, their lids open on a table by the door.

'Who's this?' he said, pointing the cigarette towards Hassan Muda. Muda was unpacking Memed's robes and trying to maintain the creases.

'He saved my life,' said Memed softly.

'He saved your life, so you brought him with you?' Park walked across the room to Muda. 'Look at me, boy,' commanded Park. Muda looked up, but only for a second. His features showed him as hardly being a boy; young perhaps, but with steel in his eyes.

'Not much of a bodyguard,' muttered Park, moving quickly off the subject. 'Air Vice-Marshal Qureshi has arrived from Pakistan.' He jerked his head in the direction of Muda.

Muda understood. He was fluent in Urdu, Hindi, Malay, Tagalog and English. He hurriedly refolded the robe, laid it on the top of the suitcase, headed for the door and left.

Memed had identified not only irascibility and brutality in Park, but also high ambition and intelligence. Park represented a formidable ally. If Islamic leaders displayed a common trait, it was to squabble among themselves. Park would not tolerate internal argument and Memed wanted him onside.

'The plan is going well, General,' Memed told Park, scrolling down the news pages of the BBC News website.

'Is it?' said Park.

'I am reading from the Internet,' Memed began. 'No doubt you have your own sources of information.

'Our biggest victory is the conquest of Brunei. The Sultan is in exile in London, and within twenty-four hours we expect to have secured the oil fields. A day after that, our forces will have taken Sarawak and Sabah, and will be holding the main cities of Miri, Kuching and Kota Kinabalu. Police have used live ammunition to stop riots in Kuala Lumpur. The casualty figure is more than a hundred dead. That is bound to bring on a second wave of rioting. In southern Thailand our people have risen up and taken over police stations. We have also managed to take the causeway between Malaysia and Singapore. For Singapore to tremble is symbolic in the extreme.' Memed looked up at the general who was pacing the room, his head down in thought, smoking a cigarette.

'Jakarta has erupted,' continued the cleric. 'The financial district is shut down. Aceh, Bali, Medan - I am literally reading them to you, General, as they come up on screen - Kupang, Yogyakarta, and all over Borneo.'

Memed pushed the laptop away a bit to give himself space and got to his feet. 'Don't you see how successful our partnership has been? Our area of control stretches from the northern coast of Borneo through the Sulu Archipelago to the southern Philippines. It is the distinct sovereign territory known as Daulah Islamiah Nusantara, the Sovereign Islamic Archipelago. We have been fighting for it for nearly five hundred years.' He walked towards Park, both hands outstretched. 'Share with me for a moment my joy, General, as I will share with you the expulsion of the Americans from the Pacific.'

Park stubbed his cigarette out on the concrete window sill. 'Joy is not a Korean commodity,' he said with disdain, tossing the butt outside. 'The level of support from other areas? I have heard of nothing there.'

Memed dropped his hands and stopped in the middle of the room. 'We agreed that would be the second stage,' said Memed, injecting authority into his tone. 'The key to our success is that the Americans will not know from where they will be struck next. It would be unwise to do all at once.'

Park nodded, but continued staring out the window. Not once had he looked at Memed.

'In public, Iran and Syria have spoken in sympathy for the uprisings,' said Memed. 'That is what we had planned. Other nations have said nothing. They have expressed only condolence for the murder of President Khan of Pakistan.'

A noise by the doorway distracted Park's attention, prompting a slight smile across his face. The man standing in the doorway was Air Vice-Marshal Qureshi. He was in full uniform, a tall, trim figure with a full head of dark hair, a thin moustache and a broad smile. He stepped into the room, cutting through the awkward atmosphere between Memed and Park. Both arms were outstretched to embrace Memed. Unlike Park, Qureshi understood the delicate balance between religious and military power. Pakistan had been forged on it and through its troublesome history those two parallel institutions had held it together and given it a focus.

Qureshi held Memed by the shoulders. 'Imam, it is so good, so, so good to see you again.' No sooner was the sentence finished than he spun round to Park, saluted, then held out his hands. 'I understand the business has been done. May I offer my most heartfelt congratulations.'

'Thank you,' said Park, awkward in the presence of the urbane Qureshi.

'I understand also that the uprisings are going to plan,' Qureshi continued. 'Do you think they will hold?' He looked to Memed for an answer.

Memed nodded. 'Stage two will need another catalyst. But certainly they will hold,' he answered knowledgeably.

Qureshi looked around the bleak room. The bare concrete floor was covered only with Korean handwoven rugs. Two oil fires burnt in the corner, where Memed and Muda had put their luggage. Four strips of fluorescent lighting flickered at different strengths from the ceiling. Two more strips were broken. A draught blew in from the open window to the door which he had left ajar as he came inside.

Park anticipated Qureshi's question. 'Come. Both of you follow me. We will go somewhere more comfortable.'

Park led. Qureshi made sure that Memed followed, with him taking up the rear. Outside the room were guards from the Special Reconnaissance Bureau, two on the door and two on each side of the curving corridor at intervals. A short way along, a guard pushed open the double doors of a room which began with a small marbled hallway and a cloakroom. Another set of double doors was open to reveal a high-ceilinged suite, carpeted, with pale-green freshly painted walls and a view over a river towards the monuments and parks of Pyongyang. As they came in, three women in bright blue and yellow full-length dresses appeared and bowed.

'We can talk here,' said Park, indicating that Qureshi should take the sofa. 'You must have had a tiring flight.'

'Certainly it had its excitements,' agreed Qureshi, who had taken off in the middle of a firefight against troops loyal to President Khan. One of his men bled to death in the aircraft. Two men were either dead or wounded on the tarmac and there had been three bullet holes in the starboard wing, luckily not puncturing fuel tanks or cables. Crucially his cargo, resting on specially designed suspension apparatus in the centre of the fuselage, remained unharmed. There was half an hour of slight turbulence as they flew over eastern Russia down into China and began their descent. But it passed quickly and Qureshi delivered safely the five tactical warheads, assembled apart from the insertion of detonators. Now, with luck, he would be able to catch the afternoon train back to Beijing, giving him twenty-four hours' rest, before joining the fray again.

Once settled, Park took charge. 'How is the situation?' he asked, addressing Qureshi.

'As good as can be expected,' said Qureshi. 'The opposition is no more than we anticipated. So far dissent has remained within the military. Nothing has spilled over from the barracks to the streets. To the world outside, there has been a tragic assassination, but the same civilian government is in control.'

'And you can hold the military?' pressed Park.

Qureshi nodded slowly. 'I think so.' He paused while one of the hostesses sank to her knees and offered him coffee, which he took black. Memed had nothing and Park only water. 'When they understand what we want to achieve,' said Qureshi, 'and how swiftly we will be able to do it, they will come on board.' He sipped his coffee. 'Tell me, General, did you have opposition?' Qureshi had a genuine curiosity to compare.

'Yes, but it was dealt with,' said Park, giving only the barest information.

Irritated but patient, Qureshi turned to Memed. 'And you have done well, so well,' he said, smiling. 'He and I have taken control only of our own generals. You have won over a whole society. I hear there are celebrations of liberation everywhere.'

'Thank you,' said Memed humbly. 'By removing oppression anything is possible.'

'You spoke of a second catalyst,' said Park.

'Yes, yes,' agreed Memed. 'The first worked perfectly. You, General, by striking Yokata, showed how easy it was to deliver a wounding blow to the United States. The killing of Asif Latif Khan, the most pro-American leader of any Islamic nation, provided us with a symbolic call to battle. I know you have plans, General. I know that Air Vice-Marshal Qureshi has provided you with the means to conduct the next major stage of your operation. That was in the agreement. What I suggest now is perhaps a half-stage, a nudge to continue the momentum. I have a plan for Hassan Muda.' He glanced at Park. 'That is why he is with me. And you, General, should do whatever you think fit. But you will need another catalyst to win.'

'When will you declare independence?' Qureshi asked Memed.

'As soon as we know we have control,' said Memed. 'Key governments will recognize the sovereignty of Daulah Islamiah Nusantara, the Sovereign Islamic Archipelago or SIA as it will be known, a glorious Islamic homeland stretching right across northern Borneo, through the Sulu Archipelago, and into Mindanao in the southern Philippines.'

'We will recognize it immediately,' said Qureshi.

'Who else?' asked Park.

'Iran, Syria, Palestine, Yemen. These have promised. North Korea, of course. There will be a number of smaller developing nations who will readily recognize in exchange for aid packages. The SIA will become a viable nation.'

'And why will there not be a war to take it back?' asked Qureshi rhetorically, looking towards Park.

'Because they will be afraid,' said Park. Qureshi expected him to expand, but Park rested his glass of water on the arm of the chair, and ran his thumb and forefinger up and down the condensation on the side. His features were both unfathomable and determined, and his thoughts appeared to be somewhere else altogether, at some distant place within his own imagination.

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Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei*

The Sultanate of Brunei was an enclave shaped like a 'W' on the northern coast of Borneo. It had been ruled by the same family for more than six centuries, and since the 1960s it had been governed under a state of emergency. Rich in oil and small in population, it developed without effort, giving its citizens such a high standard of living that there was little reason to rebel.

Political dissent was banned anyway, as were alcohol and a free press. But with passports and money, Bruneians could travel abroad and return home to a sanctuary untouched by the frenzy of the modern world.

While Brunei had its own small army, navy and air force, the Sultan also maintained a garrison of Nepali Gurkhas for his own protection. When he was out of the country for a long spell, Gurkhas would head into the jungle for training. The British also kept two battalions of their own Gurkhas there, together with special forces troops. At the time of the coup, led by Islamic colonels, Britain had 1576 men from two Gurkha battalions, fifty men from the Special Air Service and twenty from the Special Boat Service, together with eleven Australian and five New Zealand special forces soldiers who were training alongside them in Brunei.