James Barrington - Foxbat

Four pairs of eyes bored into Pak as he replied. ‘Yes, Ryu eliminated the target, as was done with every other unsuccessful approach.’

‘Good,’ Kim murmured, looking down at his notes.

Pak had been reporting to him at first on a monthly, then on a weekly, basis ever since this operation had started. And during every meeting he had hated looking into the man’s dead, black eyes, which seemed capable of stripping the very flesh from his bones. And at every such meeting he had dreaded having to admit even the most trifling error or delay.

Now Kim Yong-Su was eyeing him directly again, his face expressionless. ‘Exactly how many interceptors do you have now, Pak?’

‘Twenty-four.’

‘If Ryu fails to obtain another two aircraft, will your twenty-four be enough to complete the operation?’

Pak appeared to give the question serious consideration before answering, but there was no way he was going to say anything other than ‘Yes’. Given a choice, he would have preferred a hundred MiG-25s, simply because there’s safety – and reliability – in numbers.

At present, the aircraft maintainers at T’ae’tan were achieving about seventy-five per cent serviceability, which meant three out of every four Foxbats being able to get airborne at any one time. That proportion, he’d been assured by a couple of the Russian mercenary pilots, was pretty good for an aircraft as old as the MiG-25, especially as they didn’t possess a full inventory of spare parts. But it also meant that one out of every four of the aircraft could not fly, so his squadron of nominally twenty-four planes was actually a force of only eighteen at best. But he wasn’t going to tell Kim that. As it was, he just gazed straight down the table, not quite meeting Kim’s eyes, and said, ‘Yes.’

‘And the missiles, what of them?’

‘We have one hundred and fifteen at present, and another forty-eight currently en route from Bulgaria to Iran. When they arrive here in a few days’ time, that will give us an arsenal of one hundred and sixty-three. A full warload for each MiG-25 is technically four missiles, but some of the pilots have suggested that two might be preferable, simply to allow the aircraft higher speed, better agility at altitude and greater endurance. My inclination is to arm each aircraft fully, but our decision will ultimately depend upon the tactical situation when we need to launch.’

Kim nodded slowly, but he wasn’t yet satisfied. ‘Pak, let us consider the worst-case scenario,’ he said. ‘Assume that Ryu Chang-Ho fails in his mission, or that the arrival of the last two interceptors is so delayed that the aircraft will not reach us in time to be deployed. Assume also that our enemies by some means discover that the ship travelling between Varna and Bandar Abbas is carrying the missiles and that they then intercept the vessel and seize the cargo.’

Pak didn’t respond, just stared up the long table, waiting.

‘Now, with that scenario, with two of your interceptors unavailable, and with almost thirty per cent of your arsenal of missiles seized, could your squadron of mercenaries still achieve the task we will be setting them?’

There was a long silence in the room, and Pak Je-San wasn’t the only man present who had noted Kim Yong-Su’s repeated use of the word ‘your’. If this venture should end in failure, Kim was making it absolutely clear that the entire responsibility would fall on Pak’s shoulders.

Again Pak considered his options, such as they were. If, on the one hand, he said his force would be able to cope, Kim might simply advance the schedule. But alternatively, if he said they wouldn’t, then his own life might be forfeit. He swallowed twice, and opted for the middle ground.

‘I believe the squadron would be able to achieve its tasking, but I would be very reluctant to commit our forces until we’ve made every effort to obtain those additional aircraft and missiles. Once the operation begins, there will almost certainly be no chance of organizing any resupply, and it would be unfortunate if the missiles were all ready to be flown in to T’ae’tan only to be stopped in transit by an air embargo.’

Pak thought for a moment he’d gone too far. Kim’s eyes stared at him unblinkingly, and for a very long thirty seconds he did not respond. ‘You should not, Pak Je-San, concern yourself with the government’s overall strategy or operational timing. I am merely seeking an assessment of the ability of the forces you already control to carry out our bidding. That answer you have now supplied. We will decide when the operation should begin.’

‘I understand that,’ Pak said hastily. It looked as if he’d survived, for the moment, but he knew there was something else he had to say. Kim Yong-Su was a Party animal in the Communist sense and had, as far as Pak knew, absolutely no military experience or knowledge. If the operation was to succeed, there were some essential measures that must be taken in advance.

‘If I may, there is also the matter of the tactical deployment of my’ – he thought he might as well acknowledge that the squadron, and by implication its success or failure, belonged to him – ‘assets prior to the start of the operation.’

‘Explain.’

‘At present, for logistical reasons all the MiG-25s are based at T’ae’tan. That is where we constructed the accommodation for the pilots and the maintenance staff, and where we have stored the spares and weapons. Before the operation begins, I intend to split the force into four, leaving one quarter of the aircraft and weapons at T’ae’tan, and sending the remainder to Nuchonri, Kuupri and Wonsan.

‘That will give our enemies four different targets to engage, and also gives us greater geographical flexibility in our response to threats. By dividing our MiG-25 force between these airfields, we will be better able to respond to attacks from any direction.’

Kim looked at him, then nodded. ‘That is sensible, Pak Je-San. I will ensure that you are told the moment we decide to commence our operation.’

Pak inclined his head in thanks.

The Party leader continued staring at him in silence for a few seconds more, then looked at the other men sitting at the table. ‘Any other matters?’ he asked softly, and was rewarded only by shaking heads.

Ten minutes later, Pak Je-San walked out of the building and, as always, sucked in a deep breath the moment he stepped outside – like a drowning man coming up for air.

Hammersmith, London

The Intelligence Director knocked on Simpson’s door, waited for his response and then entered. Carrying a red file in his hand, he looked worried, but that was nothing new. The man normally looked worried, and not for the first time Simpson wondered why he hadn’t taken up a less stressful career, like teaching. Though, he had to admit, getting thrown into a classroom full of the aggressive little bastards that were today’s schoolchildren was hardly conducive to a quiet life.

‘What is it?’ Simpson almost snapped, as the ID sat down in front of his desk.

‘An interesting though unconfirmed report from Vauxhall Cross. It’s classified Secret and categorized as Grade Three intelligence that’s come from an asset in Sofia, and it relates to a possible theft of munitions that might impinge upon Richter’s current tasking.’

Simpson counted to three, very slowly. He had considerable respect for the ID’s breadth of knowledge, and his dedication to the service, and the fact that his suits and shirts were always clean and neatly pressed, his shoes polished, and that his tie always displayed a perfect Windsor knot, but the man’s slow and pedantic delivery of information never ceased to irritate him.