But of personal documents there was not a sign, or anything else that could identify them, where they came from, or what they wanted here.
Feeling defeated, Richter walked out of the hotel room and found Bykov in the corridor. The Russian smiled and held up his mobile phone. ‘We may have something here,’ he said. ‘The mortuary staff have recovered a notebook from one of the corpses. It’s waterlogged, but we may find something useful inside it, once it’s dried out. The car’s waiting for us outside. Let’s go.’
‘You were right,’ Walter Hicks said, looking down at the photographs Muldoon had placed on his desk. Both men had arrived at work much earlier than usual, precisely to check on any overnight images that the surveillance birds might have obtained.
The pictures were the raw ‘take’ from the Keyhole satellite, flashed to N-PIC via a ComSat bird over the Pacific Ocean, and forwarded from there direct to Langley. The fully annotated photographs would follow as soon as the N-PIC staff had completed their interpretation. But what these pictures showed was quite obvious, even to untrained eyes. Four aircraft were clearly visible, three waiting on the taxiway and one on the runway itself. And a fifth had just taken off and was opening to the north-east, away from T’ae’tan.
‘They’re all Foxbats,’ Muldoon said. ‘The only other aircraft they could possibly be is the MiG-31 Foxhound, but the ‘hound’s twin jet pipes are a different shape, and it’s got fairings at the leading edge of the wing root, so I’m satisfied these are Foxbats. We’ll have to wait for N-PIC to confirm it, but I’d bet my pension against them being anything else.’
‘Where are they going, and what were they doing at T’ae’tan?’
Muldoon shrugged. ‘My guess – and that’s all it is at the moment – is that the North Koreans have converted T’ae’tan into a maintenance or holding facility, and they’ve been storing the Foxbats there. I don’t think these aircraft we see are just getting ready to do a few circuits and bumps. They’ve probably been repaired or serviced or something, and are returning to whatever base they came from.’
‘Which is?’
‘Take your pick. If that aircraft opening to the north-east is already on track, it could be heading for the Air Command headquarters at Chunghwa, or else to the coastal airfields at Kuupri and Wonsan. Or maybe even the Third Air Combat Command base at Hwangju. If the North Koreans now have a squadron or two of Foxbats based anywhere, it means they’ve been very clever at evading the Keyhole overflights. We only got these shots because we’d already modified the orbit of a
‘OK, Richard, we now know that the North Koreans have obtained at least five Foxbats. What we still don’t know is what they plan on doing with them, and I can’t think of an easy way to find out. So what’s your recommendation?’
‘We kick this upstairs to the ODNI right now. Something’s going on over there, and deciding what to do about it is way above my pay scale, and probably yours too.’
North Korea is a country somewhat smaller than the state of Mississippi, has a population of a little over twenty-two million, and a Gross Domestic Product of about twenty-three billion dollars US. Over thirty per cent of that GDP goes straight into the military budget, and almost one in every four North Koreans is either on active service or a reservist.
Facing them on the southern side of the Demilitarized Zone is about the same number of troops. The South Koreans have around three-quarters of a million active-service personnel – including some forty thousand American forces stationed in the country – and four and a half million in the reserves. But the North Koreans have the advantage in armour and artillery pieces. Only in combat aircraft are the numbers more equal, both forces being able to field about eight hundred, but here the advantage lies very definitely with South Korea. Not only does that country enjoy a slight numerical superiority but, far more important, North Korea’s aircraft are older, slower and a lot less capable.
Instructions for the ‘Silver Spring’ exercise had been prepared and dispatched months earlier, but the ‘Golden Dawn’ orders had been sent only three weeks ago, sealed in envelopes with explicit written instructions that they were to be opened only when Pyongyang so ordered. In military bases, strung like beads on a string all along the northern perimeter of the Demilitarized Zone, active service troops now began preparing for the coming exercise and – though they didn’t know it – the invasion of South Korea.
Vehicle maintenance was given the highest priority – when the order was finally given by Pyongyang, everything had to work perfectly – so extreme care was being taken to ensure that all tanks and artillery pieces were ready for action. Communication systems were checked, and then checked again, because a battle could be lost if command and control functions didn’t work properly. Further down the line, foot soldiers were given extra practice on the rifle ranges. Reserve troops were called up and issued with equipment and ammunition, but not yet weapons. Those would be handed out at the last moment, as Kim Yong-Su didn’t relish the thought of having four and a half million armed men roaming the country, even if they were official reservists.
There had been a succession of exercises leading up to ‘Silver Spring’. Those had admittedly been just paper exercises, partly because the country didn’t have the fuel or resources to squander on real-life manoeuvres, but mainly to avoid the American spy satellites detecting their activities. As in all invasions throughout history, secrecy and surprise were essential.
Each such exercise had followed the same basic scenario: a blitzkrieg offensive followed by a rapid advance using overwhelming force. A pounding artillery assault to destroy and demoralize the enemy, then wave upon wave of tanks, followed by the infantry, because a war on the Korean Peninsula would be won or lost on the ground.
Overhead, the North Korean Air Force would engage and try to neutralize the opposition fighters, though the best they could have realistically hoped for was a draw. But that, of course, was before Pak Je-San had devised the radical concept behind ‘Golden Dawn’, and then secured his secret force of MiG-25s.
The Foxbat is the fastest interceptor ever manufactured, able to outrun any fighter or bomber, and it carries a formidable array of weaponry. That, plus the fact that, as far as Kim knew, neither the South Koreans nor the Americans had any idea these squadrons existed, should give them all the edge they would need. In one sense, everything now rested on Pak Je-San’s shoulders.
And the new instructions from Pyongyang were highly specific: each commander was to open his copy of the sealed ‘Golden Dawn’ operation orders, prepare his troops, and await the executive command.
But what none of them yet knew was the secret, hidden component of Pak Je-San’s plan that might ensure the invasion would be a walkover.
Mortuaries have a particular smell. No matter what air-conditioning or ventilation system they possess, there’s always the pervading odour of formaldehyde overlaid with faint olfactory echoes of urine, faeces and partially digested food. The Perm mortuary was no exception, and Richter could detect that same smell even before Bykov pushed through the double doors and they entered the building.
The Russian flipped open a leather wallet to show his identification, which the white-coated receptionist studied carefully, then gestured for them to follow him through another set of double doors and down a corridor. At the end was a small seating area, with half a dozen armchairs and a low table, brightened by a vase of wilting flowers. The receptionist pressed a button on the wall, invited them to sit, and retraced his steps.
Richter sat down immediately. He had spent long enough in the Royal Navy to subscribe to the philosophy that there’s no point in standing if you can sit. Or, for that matter, being awake if you can be asleep. Bykov stood or, to be accurate, paced.
A couple of minutes later a short, red-faced, cheerful-looking man pushed through the door to one side, drying his hands on a paper towel.
‘General Bykov? My name is Marshek, and I’m the pathologist.’ He extended his right hand and Bykov shook
