Jim DeFelice - Threat Level Black

“I’m sure it will go fine, Dr. Blitz,” Howe managed finally. “I know you’re busy-”

“Yes,” said Blitz. “Why don’t you tell me about North Korea? I’ve seen the report, but I would like to hear it from you.”

Howe summarized what had happened. Once again he remembered and mentioned the small aircraft, which he thought were UAVs.

“I’m not really sure I’m following you there,” said Blitz. “UAVs?”

“Unmanned aerial vehicles, like Predator and Global Hawk,” said Howe. “No report that I’ve seen says that North Korea had them.”

“I see.”

“These were fairly big. They’d have a good-sized payload. You might target them,” said Howe.

“I’m sure they’ve been targeted,” said the national security advisor.

“Well, good, then,” said Howe, not quite sure that Blitz understood. But obviously the man had a lot of things on his mind.

“Check with me at the end of the week. In the meantime you ought to find a house or something to rent.”

Howe realized he hadn’t even thought of that. He shook Blitz’s hand again, then left to find some breakfast.

It wasn’t as if Tyler had disgraced himself. On the contrary, the ground part of the mission had gone off as well as could be expected given the circumstances, and certainly there was nothing to be ashamed of. But he couldn’t get the feeling of failure to leave him. It felt like a heavy, oppressive thing, a monster sitting on his shoulder.

Tyler and his team had been picked up by Osprey as planned and flown to Kunsan Air Base, also known as K-8, near the western coast of the country well south of Seoul. But rather than the rest they expected, the soldiers were all ordered back to their parent units, which were preparing for a mission to look for refugees from the dictatorship near the Chinese border. Tyler was asked to join an evaluation team being put together by the Pentagon and the CIA; its primary task was to prepare estimates on the capacity of any insurgent groups to mount an offensive within a six-to-eighteen-month time frame.

He had to find his own transportation to a highly classified facility near Wonjun in central South Korea. Distance-wise it wasn’t that far, but the entire country was under what amounted to a lockdown because of the war. Just finding a car and getting gasoline into it was a major endeavor.

The Korea Joint-Mission Evaluation Group had space in a bunkered facility originally built as a backup command center by the CIA but occupied most recently by the South Korean army. It was therefore in scrupulously good repair and so clean that, before descending the double-wide concrete steps that led from the main entrance to the work areas downstairs, Tyler felt obliged to knock the dirt from the sides of his shoes. The masonry walls gleamed, and a visitor might be forgiven for thinking that he or she was descending into a chip fabrication plant or high-tech lab where clean suits and respirators were de rigueur.

Security was being provided by the U.S. Army, and the MPs made everyone show ID and submit to a weapons and bug search. Handguns had to be stowed in a locker under the security team’s control.

Cleared through, Tyler walked down the hallway and turned to the right, descending another set of stairs before reaching a ramp that opened into the operating center. Within a few hours he found himself sitting at terminals in a computer center, tied into various secure information networks so he could update himself on the situation in the North.

Inevitably, doubt about the mission began to haunt him as the hours went on, second and third guesses about his actions and then not even his actions but what he might have done in other circumstances, all seemingly designed by his conscience to convince him he was a failure. It was stupid and ridiculous, but he couldn’t get rid of the voice that nagged at him, calling him a failure.

Tyler read an account of a fierce tank battle about ten miles beyond the DMZ that had taken place on the first night of the war; a squad of American soldiers had become separated from the main body and found themselves confronting a Type 63 light tank. The men calmly and efficiently called in an A-10A, which within a few minutes (eight according to the report) obliterated the tank with its 30mm cannon. Tyler saw himself in the situation and began wondering if he would have handled it as smoothly.

Any objective observer would have laughed at such a ridiculous question. Of course he would have, if he hadn’t found a way to deal with the tank himself. He’d proven himself under fire countless times. Yet, he couldn’t seem to convince himself.

Tyler worked his way through a number of assessments, doing his best to focus on his task. By the time of his group meeting at three, he had a good enough handle on the situation to know where he had to look to get the data he needed. Arriving early for the session, Tyler sat and filled two pages of a yellow pad with questions that would be important to answer; he was starting on a third when the head of the group, a CIA officer named Clarissa Moore, came in with most of the rest of the members. There were several new faces, including a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff J-5 planning department and an Air Force historian who had been added to provide a broad context to the situation. The historian was dressed in civilian clothes and Tyler gathered that he was a retired colonel; his name was George Somers and he certainly looked the part of a historian, with white beard and hair around his balding head, and a heavy tweed sports coat even though it was quite warm in the bunker.

Moore made the introductions and then briefly summarized the situation in North and South Korea, along with some of the developments in nearby countries including Japan and China. She then turned to the group’s latest instructions from Washington. The NSC had asked them to prepare a report no later than the end of the week-and to base that report on “firsthand inspection of the situation on the ground.”

“Basically, they want to see the dirt under our fingernails,” said Moore.

She tapped her right hand on the conference table. Her own nails were clipped so tightly, there was no chance of any dirt hiding there. The CIA officer was about forty, with a trim body but a face that showed her experience. She wore no jewelry save for a simple set of earrings that peeked out amid the lower strands of her hair.

“So we need to put an itinerary together,” she said, “determine where we have to go, what we have to see, people to talk to. A lot of this will be the obvious, of course. And then I’ll need a small group of volunteers and someone to coordinate.”

“It’s pretty early to be going north,” said Colonel Yorn, an Army officer with extensive experience in both intelligence and artillery. “The situation there is hardly stable. I doubt there’s much to be gained from seeing it up close.”

“Should we discuss this?” asked Moore.

“I’d just like to hear the argument in favor of going up there,” said Yorn. “We’ll simply be diverting resources and attention from people who probably already have their hands full. It’s not a question of safety,” he added. “It’s a question of usefulness.”

“ Tyler?” asked Moore.

“I’ll go,” he said.

“That wasn’t quite the question,” said Moore. “Will we get useful information?”

Tyler ’s thoughts wouldn’t focus. He wasn’t an intelligence expert and wanted to say that; on the other hand he understood the importance of actually being on the ground so you knew what was going on.

“It makes sense to see what we see,” he managed finally.

“I agree with the major that it would be worthwhile,” said Somers, sitting next to him. “Colonel, you’re right that it’s pretty chaotic up there right now. But I’d like face-to-face time with some of the soldiers on the scene. Not just the commanders, mind you: You can’t get an accurate assessment from just the officers. No offense.”