“The truth is, Mr. President, this war’s being fought on more than just the physical level. We’ve got to win both the international PR and global political battles as well.”
The President nodded again. “Agreed. Hell, I’d just like to win somewhere sometime.”
Blake stayed silent. He understood the President’s frustration and concern. He’d also begun to catch a glimmering of the strategy McLaren seemed to be pursuing and approved of it. He just hoped they could keep the lid on things outside Korea long enough for the general to put his plans into effect.
“All right then, we’ll send these up to New York by special messenger.” The President’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s not all I’m going to send. I want those Russian bastards to know just how seriously we view this.” He picked up the phone. “June, get me the secretary of state, please.”
He put a hand across the mouthpiece and looked closely at Blake. “Paul Bannerman helped get us into this mess. Now maybe he can help get us out of it.”
Before he could reply, Blake heard a voice from the receiver and kept quiet as the President started speaking. “Yeah, hello, Paul… Yes, I’ve heard them… Yes, we’re going to use them… When? Why, hell, tonight, that’s when. Look, Paul, I want you up at the Security Council for the debate … Yes, I want you to lead our side of it… Instructions? Give them hell… Nope, that’s it. Those are my instructions. You know what to do. Good luck, Paul. I’ll be watching.”
The President hung up slowly and looked steadily across the desk at Blake. “Now we’ll see just how far my so-called friend in Moscow’s ‘earnest desire for peace’ really goes.”
For once the scrambled phone connection to Beijing was miraculously free of atmospheric interference.
“Do you have any questions?” The Premier’s tone made it clear that he didn’t expect any. He sounded tired, worn out by an all-night debate that had lead to this call.
“No, comrade. Your instructions are clear and I shall carry them out without hesitation.” The ambassador stood holding the phone while watching the rush-hour traffic stream past below his Manhattan office. He eyed his watch. It was indeed fortunate that this last-minute call from the PRC’s Politburo had caught him preparing for the evening’s scheduled Security Council meeting. In another few minutes he would have been enroute to the Council chambers and out of reach of secure communications.
“Excellent. Speak with me when you are done. The time will not matter.” The phone went dead.
The ambassador hung up slowly and then reached out and activated the intercom on his desk. “Send Comrade Chin in at once. We have some work to do before the debate begins.”
The high-ceilinged chamber was packed, every seat and aisle filled with diplomats from around the world, reporters, and security guards. A hundred whispered conversations rose from the crowd and mingled in a murmuring roar like that of the surf crashing on shore. This would be the first Security Council meeting on the situation in Korea that could be expected to go beyond dry procedural squabbling.
Paul Bannerman, the U.S. secretary of state, settled into the seat normally reserved for the Chief of the U.S. Mission to the United Nations and mopped delicately at his brow with a monogrammed silk handkerchief. The White House had quietly alerted the major TV networks to the fact that major diplomatic fireworks were in store for this session, and they’d all risen to the bait. His speech would be broadcast instantly into a hundred million homes all across America and into hundreds of millions more around the world. And Bannerman knew that sweat was the price he would pay for that kind of audience.
TV cameras needed light and lots of it, and the harsh, white lamps brought in by the networks had already turned the Security Council chamber into a steam bath. Despite that, everyone around the circular row of desks reserved for the Council’s five permanent and ten elected members still wore close-fitting, immaculately tailored wool suits. As always, diplomatic formality took precedence over comfort.
Bannerman kept his eyes on the U.N. Secretary General as members of his technical staff wheeled in the audio equipment he’d requested. The Secretary General had been briefed on what he planned and hadn’t seen any alternative but to comply. Bannerman knew that the U.N. chief ordinarily disliked theatrics, but he’d had to admit that these weren’t exactly ordinary circumstances. He sat up straighter as the Irishman cleared his throat and leaned closer to the microphone. “Mr. Secretary, the Security Council is assembled. Please proceed.”
Bannerman nodded and slowly laid his prepared remarks on the desk, moving deliberately to ensure that all eyes were on him before he spoke. He stayed seated while speaking, as the rules prescribed. Keeping delegates in their chairs was supposed to help keep tempers in check and prevent passions from being inflamed. He wasn’t sure that it ever made much difference in the end.
He began simply. “Mr. Secretary General, fellow members of the Security Council, and people of the world. This meeting is being held in a time of great crisis. Not just a crisis in my country or for the beleaguered Republic of Korea. No, not just for us. The events of this past week concern all members of the United Nations interested in peace and liberty and justice.”
Bannerman paused, surveying the crowd around him. The Soviet ambassador sat quietly, with an expression of carefully uncamouflaged boredom plastered across his face. The secretary hardened his voice and looked straight at the Russian. “We’re meeting tonight to respond to the naked aggression launched by North Korea in violation of an armistice secured by this very body.
“But first, I must raise a related issue of the highest possible consequence. I speak now of the actions taken by a member of this Security Council to assist North Korea’s aggression — actions that violate the spirit, if not the letter, of the resolutions adopted by the United Nations in June and July of 1950.” Bannerman paused again, listening to the murmurs that swept through the Security Council chambers at his words. Then he continued, “To be blunt I’m referring now to the Soviet Union’s decision to intervene militarily against the United Nations forces defending the Republic of Korea.”
A roar swept through the chamber at his words, a roar of outrage, shock, and shouted disbelief.
“Mr. Secretary General!” The Soviet representative was on his feet now, all pretense of uninterest tossed aside. “This is outrageous. My country will not tolerate such preposterous allegations, wherever they may originate from!”
“Mr. Vlasov” — the Secretary General’s voice was firm — “you are out of order. The American representative has the floor at this time. You’ll have ample opportunity to respond when it’s your turn to speak.” He looked at Bannerman. “Please continue, Mr. Secretary.”
Bannerman dipped his head in gratitude. The Secretary General didn’t always see eye to eye with American foreign policy, but he was always scrupulously fair. Bannerman scanned the chamber and then focused his eyes on the Soviet ambassador.
“Despite the protestations of the Soviet representative, my government is most assuredly not making wild or unfounded allegations. We have proof. Categorical and undeniable proof. Proof that Soviet pilots have engaged in combat with American planes in both international and South Korean airspace. We’ll play this evidence for you now.” He gestured to a technician standing by the audio equipment.
The man flicked a single switch and the tape began playing, translated simultaneously into the five official languages of the United Nations. First, a flat American voice identified the source of the sounds that would follow. “The radio transmissions on this tape were made by aircraft engaged in combat with U.S. Navy warplanes over the Yellow Sea at thirteen fifteen hours on one January.”
Then the voices came on — urgent Russian voices carrying warnings of missiles or American planes and triumphantly reporting kills. All in the Security Council chamber sat quietly, listening intently to the entire recording. Only the Soviet ambassador paid scant attention, scribbling a note that Bannerman saw passed to the Chinese representative. The PRC’s ambassador read through it impassively and handed the note back to an aide without comment.
When the Rivet tape ended in a faint wash of static, Bannerman let the silence build. He was surprised to find himself actually enjoying this. It took him back to his days as a junior prosecutor, long before he’d stepped into the murky world of politics. He leaned closer to the microphone. “Fellow members of the Security Council. What you’ve just heard isn’t a fake or fabrication. It is a matter of the utmost concern to us all. By its actions, the government of the Soviet Union has involved itself in direct hostilities against American forces serving under U.N. auspices.”
Bannerman pulled a sheaf of paper out from the stack in front of him and adjusted his half-frame reading glasses. “Accordingly, the United States moves that the Security Council adopt the following resolution…” The language of the resolution was as dry and legalistic as all U.N. documents always were, but its meaning was clear.
