they called them — McLaren Specials? He smiled to himself. He knew his officers hated those alerts, but it was good practice for them. You never knew just what those crazy bastards up in Pyongyang had up their sleeves. You had to be ready for the unexpected when you were stationed in South Korea.
His phone buzzed. It was the Signals Room. “Sir, we’ve got a priority, scrambled call for you. It’s Admiral Simpson.” McLaren’s eyebrows went up. It must be past midnight, Washington time. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was working late.
“Put him on.” He heard a series of clicks and then a faint wash of static. “McLaren here.”
“Hello, Jack, how’s tricks?”
“Phil! You old son of a bitch. What’s up?” There was a barely perceptible lag as the microwave signal raced twenty-four thousand miles up to a communications satellite in geosynchronous orbit and then back down to the chairman in Washington.
‘It’s this Barnes sanctions bill. The White House still says it isn’t going anywhere this year, but my gut tells me that it just might. Both the House and Senate are getting a case of the electoral willies, and you know how screwed up things can get when they start looking for a foreign policy ‘accomplishment’ to show the voters.”
“Hell, Phil. When did you get to be such a big political panjandrum?”
Simpson chuckled. “Goes with the turf. I’ve sat in front of so many congressional committees since last year that I’m even starting to talk like one of them.”
“God save us.”
“Yeah. Well, my wife says she likes it. Says it makes me sound more civilized.”
McLaren’s grip on the phone tightened for a moment. His wife, Elly, would probably have agreed with Caroline Simpson.
But she wouldn’t ever have the chance. Not anymore. He cleared his throat. There wasn’t time for sorrow. Not now. “Go on, Phil.”
“Anyway, I need ammo to give the President a reason to kick this Barnes bill in the head while it’s still young. And what I need from you, Jack, is your best analysis of the situation up North. I need your best guess as to what’s going on up there across the wire.”
“Hell, a guess is all you’ll be able to get.” McLaren reached across his desk for a pencil. “Don’t you Pentagon boys already get copies of all my intel reports?”
“I want a new assessment drawn up. I know it might not be much different from the last one, but I want something hot off the presses to take in to the President.”
“Okay. You’ve got it. I’ll get my J-2 to send an update over the wire ASAP” McLaren made a note. Colonel Logan, his intelligence officer, was going to be busy today.
“Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it. Look, I’ve gotta run. It’s nearly one in the A.M. back here, and Caroline’s going to have my butt for breakfast if I stay much longer.”
McLaren smiled to himself. He couldn’t imagine anyone, even the admiral’s formidable wife, putting the fear of God into Phil Simpson. He doubted if the thickset little man with the jutting jaw and impish grin had ever truly been afraid of anything or anyone. McLaren and the admiral had been friends since Nam. His battalion had been stationed down near the Mekong Delta, right beside Simpson’s detachment of river gunboats and patrol craft. They’d fought together against the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese regulars, and then they’d moved on to some truly mind-bending carouses in the back-alley bars of both Saigon and Hong Kong. Somewhere along the way they’d formed a friendship that had lasted through years of peacetime, promotions, and duty assignments around the globe. Each man appreciated the other’s guts and willingness to buck the conventional wisdom to get results.
“No problem, Phil. I’ll talk to you later. And that intel report will be sitting on your desk when you get there in the morning.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Simpson asked cautiously, “Look, are you planning on visiting Washington anytime soon?”
“No, why?” His daughter was supposed to come out to Seoul for Christmas this year. And his son would be at sea over the holidays.
“Well, it’s just that this might be a good time to keep out of the States. If you’re in town, some smart-ass congressional aide would probably call you to testify in some public hearing on the ROK. And Jack, don’t take this wrong, but you come across kinda raw on camera. Know what I mean?”
McLaren laughed, “Yeah, I know what you mean. I flunked Public Diplomacy 101 at the Point years ago, and I haven’t ever bothered to take a refresher course.”
“No kidding. I wouldn’t ever have guessed,” Simpson said dryly. “Later, Jack.”
“Give my best to Caroline.” McLaren hung up and pressed the intercom button. “Doug, get Charlie Logan over here, pronto. I’ve got work for him.”
Logan, his J-2, was a good officer, but he was a little too inclined to slack off if he thought no one was paying attention. McLaren had noticed a tendency to recycle old, approved intelligence reports if the situation hadn’t changed much. Logan’s laziness wouldn’t put his career at risk, but it would probably keep him from getting his star. Well, Charlie wouldn’t have a lot of time to goof off today. If the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs wanted a new North Korea intel assessment by breakfast Washington time, McLaren would make damned sure he got one.
OCTOBER 3 — THE PENTAGON, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Combined Forces Korea Intelligence Report: Update
Top Secret
Warning: Includes Sensitive Intelligence
SUMMARY: Recent political and diplomatic maneuvering by North Korea could significantly increase the military threat Pyongyang’s communist regime poses to regional and U.S. security…
Admiral Philip Simpson nodded to himself. McLaren’s J-2 knew how to write a good report. He’d have Carlson pass it on to the NSC staffer, Fowler, for inclusion into the Interagency Working Group’s final report to the President. The admiral skimmed through the document, looking for anything new that should be highlighted. He found it on page four.
North Korean Air Order of Battle (continued):
Accumulated evidence shows that an additional North Korean MiG-23 fighter squadron is now fully operational. Analysis of latest satellite photos (see Tab V-1) indicates they are based at the Wonsan airfield. However, recent data indicate that the MiG-23s may not be the only advanced Soviet aircraft now being delivered to the North Korean Air Force Command. Reconnaissance photos in Tab V-9 to 11 show the Soviet freighter
In addition, South Korean National Security Planning Agency (NSP) listening posts on random scan have picked up airborne Russian language transmissions that can be interpreted as showing that a new cadre of Soviet instructor pilots are now operating inside North Korea. Since North Korea’s MiG-23 squadrons are now operational, our conclusion is that the new Soviet instructors are training North Korean pilots to fly a new type of aircraft. (See attached transcript).”
Simpson flipped to the back of the report, looking for the radio intercept transcript.
Attachment C — NSP Monitoring Station 3, INT/A/R/4537 — 1235 Hours, 25 September:
Unidentified Airborne Transmitter (Pilot): “Tell that blundering idiot to keep his wings level! And to adjust his throttle. He’s wallowing all over the sky like a drunken cow.”
Unidentified Ground Control (Control): “(static)… Alpha Two reports… (unintelligible)… starboard engine … (static)”
Pilot: Nonsense. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Tell him to pull his nose up before he … (static)”
Control: “(unintelligible)… fuel feed… (static)”
