“Even more important, comrades, we still possess vast, untapped resources. Our Red Guard militia alone musters more than two million fighting men and women. With them fully mobilized, we shall be able to sweep down from the north and crush the fascists once and for all. This war is not lost! The final victory is within sight. We have only to reach out with both hands and seize it.”
Silence greeted his words. A silence broken only by a single, dry cough.
“Yes, Choi?” Kim couldn’t keep the disdain he felt from showing.
“A simple question, Dear Leader.” Choi coughed again, covering his mouth with a withered, wrinkled hand. “Do you propose to repeal the laws of mathematics during this final drive for victory?”
“What do you mean?” Kim’s uneasiness multiplied. These men were beginning to openly defy his judgment. Perhaps they were even mocking him.
“Only this, Kim Jong-Il.” Choi paused to let the insult sink in. “You say that we have two million men and women in our Red Guards. And that is true. But does not the South have twice that number of its own militia?”
Kim dismissed Choi’s question with an abrupt wave. “The oppressed masses of the South will not fight their liberators! America’s bandit mercenaries will be left to face our people on their own.”
Tai laughed harshly. “You seem to forget, comrade, that the ‘oppressed masses of the South’ have already been more than willing to fight our armies. Read the reports from your own commanders if you doubt my word.” The others nodded their agreement. “The truth, comrade, is that you are living in some kind of fantasy world, while the rest of us must live with the reality of the wreckage you are creating.”
Kim goggled at him, struck dumb by the man’s audacity. Tai must have a death wish, he thought wildly. So be it, I shall oblige him.
The minister of communications continued without letup, “This war is lost. China now stands ready to join forces with our adversaries. The truth is that we cannot afford your ruinous rule any longer.”
“Traitor!” Kim screamed, and saw spittle from his mouth spray out. He lunged back to his chair and stabbed a finger onto the security buzzer installed there. Then he straightened and smiled grimly, eyeing the rest of the men around the table. “Who else stands with this Chinese lackey? I assure you that there are unmarked graves enough for all of you!”
He heard the door open behind his back and heard footsteps. He spoke without turning around. “Captain Lew, you will arrest those two immediately.” He pointed to Tai and Choi, both of whom still sat calmly in their chairs. “Then you will stand ready by me. There may be more arrests to follow.”
Tai smiled easily. “Comrade Kim, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so tired before. I think you’ve been working too hard. In fact, I believe that you deserve a long rest, a very long rest. Don’t you agree, Comrade Choi?”
Choi nodded. “Undoubtedly, Comrade Tai.” He looked behind Kim. “Don’t you think so, too, Colonel Lew?”
Kim felt ice-cold fear stab clear up his spine as he heard a familiar voice say, “Certainly, Comrade General Secretary.”
He turned slowly and saw Lew standing there with his pistol drawn. It was aimed precisely at Kim’s face.
Tai’s smug, triumphant voice came from over his shoulder. “Take him away, Colonel. You know what to do.”
Lew nodded without lowering his pistol an inch. “Yes, comrade. I know what to do.”
Other uniformed men entered the bunker and seized the man once known as the Dear Leader by both arms. Without waiting for further orders, they dragged him silent and unprotesting toward the door. An unconnected thought raced through Kim’s frozen mind. Now he knew why rabbits sat motionless when trapped by the cold, glittering eyes of a snake. And it was knowledge he would never have the chance to use.
Behind him, he heard Choi speaking urgently to the others still in the room. “Come, comrades. There is no time to lose. We must signal Beijing immediately. We must tell them that their conditions for a cease-fire have been met. This foolish war must be ended while there is still time left to us.”
CHAPTER 43
End Game
None of those gathered in the Oval Office for early-morning coffee had slept save in brief, unconnected snatches. They’d been kept busy all night by a continuous stream of ever more urgent developments — trooping back and forth between the basement-level Situation Room and the more comfortable trappings of the Oval Office itself.
First had come fragmentary reports that the Soviets were reducing the alert status of their forces throughout the world. Those reports had been confirmed by a late-night hotline conversation between the President and the General Secretary — their first direct contact in weeks. The Russian had seemed strangely apologetic, and both men had agreed to treat the series of clashes between their armed forces as a series of regrettable accidents. Tensions were still high, but they seemed more manageable now.
Next, NSA, Japanese, and South Korean monitoring stations had all reported a sudden cessation of Radio Pyongyang’s normal mix of boastful propaganda and martial music. It had been replaced by a somber and uninterrupted medley of funeral dirges.
Finally, satellite photos and communications intercepts all showed unmistakable signs of a massive Soviet exodus from North Korea.
It all pointed to one thing, and Blake Fowler shook his head in rueful admiration as he glanced through the Chinese government’s proposal for what seemed the thousandth time. China was getting everything it had bargained for and more. Much more. He wondered how the Russians had ever come to believe that they were the world’s greatest chess masters.
Blake looked up as the President’s desk phone buzzed.
“Yes?” The President sounded awake, though he didn’t look it. “Go on.”
Blake and the others watched as the President listened quietly for several minutes without speaking. At last he hung up with a simple, “Thank you, Mike. Now go home and get some rest.”
Then he bowed his head for almost a minute, still silent. At last he looked up at Bannerman, Simpson, Blake, and the others waiting anxiously. His face was absolutely expressionless. “Admiral Simpson?”
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“I want you to contact General Carpenter immediately.” Blake caught the faint glimmering of a suppressed smile on the President’s face. He looked years younger. “Tell him I want those Military Airlift Command planes on their way to Beijing within the hour.”
Blake understood and grinned, but the others still hadn’t caught on.
The President saw their uncomprehending stares and care-lined faces and took pity on them. “Ladies and gentlemen, that was the communications room. Radio Pyongyang is reporting that Kim Jong-Il is dead. Kim Il-Sung is still alive but he’s an invalid. And Beijing has just announced that the new North Korean government has agreed unconditionally to the PRC’s ceasefire proposals. All hostilities on land, in the air, and at sea are scheduled to end in six hours. The Chinese have relayed a North Korean request that we end our radio jamming so that they can inform their forces trapped in the south.”
He smiled openly. “In other words, ladies and gentlemen, the war is over. The killing is over.”
Blake knew that wasn’t quite accurate, but it was close enough. The balance of power in the Pacific had shifted. The eternal seesaw between China and Russia in North Korea had ended, with the Chinese turning the north into a puppet state. Russia’s Pacific strategy lay in the same grave as Kim Jong-Il.
The Chinese wanted South Korea as a trading partner. To keep the trade flowing, they would have to lower the tensions, open the North’s borders, and stop the terrorism. It was a little early to talk about reunification, but there would be a lot less heat and a lot more light in that corner of the world.
Now he could rest. Now they could all rest.
