Into the Fire

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The marshal of the Korean People’s Army sat huddled with his number 2, Vice Marshal Chung Su-yong, at KPA headquarters in Pyongyang. They had failed and failed miserably, and neither man dared speak of what might be ahead for them or for their families. And despite his vast array of political and military connections, General Choi Kwang was unable to learn of the supreme leader’s reaction when his aides had told him all the Americans were off the island and could no longer be used as bargaining chips. He could only imagine, but he imagined the worst.

He had just been given his new assignment: Contact General Hwa and tell him to contact a senior member of their U.N. delegation in New York. That man had all his normal diplomatic duties but was also Hwa’s conduit to the handler. The fact that the supreme leader had entrusted him to do this rather than going directly to Hwa himself did give him some slight hope he might salvage something from this ill-fated mission. But upon reflection, Choi knew this was but a rationalization. His fate was already sealed. All he could do was try to get his family safely out of the country. That would be difficult since he had every reason to believe they were already being watched by North Korea’s state security forces. Difficult, but not impossible, and he had already set that plan in motion. Now he had to carry out his orders. He trusted Chung enough to seek his counsel.

“You know what the supreme leader wants us to do,” Choi began, “and that General Hwa is the instrument. But I dread making that call.”

Chung was careful with his reply. He trusted Choi — up to a point. Yet he wasn’t certain where this conversation was going or whether this was to be a ploy where Choi was going to try to make him the fall guy to save his own skin. “Marshal, I understand completely,” Chung answered carefully. “If Hwa carries this through and they are successful, the Americans will almost surely retaliate, and we’ll lose more than just a few troops.”

Choi paused to consider the man’s response. Chung was good, but he was a consummate bureaucrat who had advanced in his career more for his administrative and technical skills than for his soldiering. The loss of their submarine with all hands; the complete annihilation of their first contingent of commandos, followed by the second; the loss of the Hinds and their crews; and, most recently, the final battle on the island all added up to more than “just a few troops.” On the positive side, he knew Chung’s career path had imbued him with good political instincts, and he needed to leverage them now. “General Chung, I trust your counsel, and I am just trying to anticipate questions General Hwa might ask. Why is the supreme leader ordering this attack?”

“Marshal, I have thought about it. While we can never be certain, consider this: We knew full well that, whether this attempt to seize the LCS crew succeeded or not, the United States would move to censure us in the United Nations for two reasons. One, the obvious one, for attacking their ship in international waters. But the other one would be for our attempt to extend our maritime claims. We need to have unopposed claims to the seabed if we are to—”

Choi interrupted. “Yes, but that’s all political. Why are we in the military even involved?”

“Marshal, you yourself have pointed out to our nation’s leaders more than once how antiquated our military equipment is becoming. Our political leaders want us to have modern military equipment, but they can’t pay for it. The recent debacle of trying to capture the American crew is but a demonstration of that. But now China wants our energy resources, and our political leaders want the modern arms and money, but mostly modern arms.”

“All right, I’ll give you that, but I still don’t understand what he hopes to accomplish in attacking the building, especially that building.”

“This is only a guess, but I will tell you it’s an educated guess based on what my political contacts are telling me. I think by attacking and attacking there, the supreme leader intends to tell the world that we will do whatever it takes to make good our claim on the territorial waters off our coasts. We need to make it clear to the international community we intend to mine that seabed and what the rest of the world — especially the Americans — think be damned. And now that the American president is scheduled to address the United Nations and condemn us, I think the supreme leader wants to deny him that pulpit. That’s probably why he wants this attack done now. You recall how absorbed Americans become when their territory is attacked. Look what happened in September 2001. They will be so immersed in mourning their losses they’ll all but forget we attacked their ship and are making these claims.”

“I see your logic, but I am dreading the consequences. Will you give me some privacy so I can call General Hwa?”

“Of course, Marshal,” Chung replied as he rose to leave.

General Choi called to summon Hwa to his office. He dared not speak of this over the phone, even a secure phone. He did not have his adjutant place the call, as was his custom. He wanted as few of his fingerprints on this madness as was possible.

The day before General Choi Kwang made this fateful call, USS Greenville and USS Santa Fe had arrived in Okinawa with the LCS crew. The Ronald Reagan carrier strike group had escorted them the entire way. The vice president, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the PACOM commander, and Vice Admiral Bennett were there to meet them. Accompanying this assembly of senior officials were military medical personnel, chaplains, and grief counselors. After only a few hours on the Japanese island, the LCS crew was loaded aboard specially outfitted medical-evacuation C-17s to begin their 4,800-mile journey from Okinawa to Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii. The president wanted them on American soil ASAP. There, after being debriefed by military intelligence as well as by professionals from several three-letter agencies, they would be united with their families, which were being flown to Hawaii for a brief reunion. After that, there would be a welcome-home parade in Milwaukee’s home port of San Diego.

That would be the joyous part. It would soon be followed by memorial services for the Milwaukee crewmen who perished during the ordeal. Compounding the sadness, there would be no bodies to intern. The bodies left aboard had been incinerated. There was talk of refloating the hulk that was the Milwaukee, much as the USS Cole was salvaged and returned to service after it was attacked by terrorists. But at the direction of the president, a barrage of cruise missiles from Seventh Fleet surface combatants was launched at the grounded LCS. It was burned to the waterline.

Now that the LCS crew was safely on American soil, President Wyatt Midkiff was free to do what he knew he needed to do. The Joint Staff was working to come up with an appropriate military response, but for now the president was most focused on his speech at the United Nations.

Just when General Choi Kwang thought nothing else could go wrong, something did. When he called General Hwa’s office, the general’s assistant told him Hwa was “indisposed.” Choi lambasted the colonel and demanded to speak with Hwa’s number 2. He got a brand-new brigadier general he didn’t even know personally, and he, too, was evasive about where Hwa was. Choi was furious. He told the man to find him, find him now, and have him return his call. The supreme leader had told him when he wanted this action taken, and until he could track down Hwa, Kim would continue to simmer. That prospect filled him with dread and put him on the edge of panic.

At that moment, Hwa was with his mistress in one of the KPA’s “hospitality houses,” kept solely for just such liaisons. He had left strict instructions not to be disturbed except under the most compelling circumstances. For his brand-new brigadier, this was one of those moments. He dialed Hwa’s private cell phone from the secure phone in his command center. The call caught Hwa at an awkward moment. He disentangled himself, grabbing the phone on the fourth ring.

“What is it?” he barked.

“General, sir…” the brigadier stammered. “Marshal Choi just called. He says it is most urgent and for you to call him immediately. I think he wants you to come to his headquarters right away. Shall I send the staff car to you at, ah, your location?”

Hwa didn’t know whether this was just another routine summoning to Choi’s office or something more important. He looked across his companion’s body to his uniform that lay strewn over the floor. He liked this woman because she played rough, but the foreplay had taken a toll on his clothes, especially his heavily medaled coat. He knew one look at his rumpled uniform blouse and the marshal would know precisely what he had been doing when he was supposed to be at his office.

“No, I will take care of this myself,” Hwa snapped as he ended the call.

Hwa shook his companion and sent her into the bathroom to clean up. Once she closed the door, he punched Choi’s office number into his cell phone.

The marshal’s adjutant answered the phone. “Marshall Choi’s office. Colonel Muk speaking.”

“Colonel, this is General Hwa. I need to speak with General Choi.”

“I think he is expecting your call, but he wishes you to come to his office. Are you en route, General?” Muk was an efficient and officious gatekeeper who was well-practiced at anticipating his boss’s demands. He phrased what he said as a summons, not a question.

Sitting there in his boxer shorts, Hwa exploded. “You don’t need to know whether I’m en route or not, Colonel. That’s way above your pay grade. Is the marshal in, or not?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Then tell him I’m on the line.”

The officious gatekeeper wasn’t going to let some major general step all over him like this. Rather than just buzz General Choi on the intercom, he strode purposefully into the marshal’s spacious office.

“Major General Hwa is on the line, General. Apparently he’s not en route here yet.”

“Why not?”

“He did not say, sir, but he seems quite agitated. Shall I put him through?”

“Yes, put him through now! And close that door behind you.”

Choi was simmering already when Hwa came on the line. But when Hwa was terse with him, he exploded. “Where are you? I demand that you come to my office immediately!”

“It is just not possible, General. I can come in — in about two hours — but not right now.”

“Are you disobeying a direct order? I’ll have your rank for this. Get here now, at once!”

“That is not possible, General. Now what is it you wish from me?”

Choi felt his head was about to explode. He knew the supreme leader would have his rank, and likely a great deal more, if he didn’t get this done. Covertness and all this security crap be damned, and he said what he had wished to say to Hwa in person over the phone.

“It is not what I want, you fool,” Choi shouted. “The supreme leader wants you to unleash your people in New York. Their objective is the building of the United Nations. You have your instructions. Get it done, damn you!” And he slammed down the phone.

Now it was Hwa’s turn to worry. He anticipated the supreme leader would want to move and move quickly. He dared not question his orders, but these things didn’t happen with the snap of a finger. He had worked with, coached, and all but micromanaged Seung and his team, albeit through a cutout to Seung’s handler. It was a well-thought-out and well-crafted plan and one that would leave no fingerprints indicating this had been orchestrated by the Hermit Kingdom. But that would happen only if it was executed with precision.

But now these fools were meddling with his plan and asking for the impossible. Didn’t they understand the meticulous preparations and the volume of explosives that had to be moved into position? People and equipment had to be staged and the times of normal vendor deliveries had to be coordinated. A successful operation like the one they were planning depended on timing and a great many small but important details. He would do his best, but he would have to take shortcuts he didn’t like.

Trevor Harward had been asking for a meeting with the president since early morning, but Wyatt Midkiff was absorbed with fine-tuning the speech he was to deliver at the United Nations the next afternoon. Harward couldn’t blame him. The speech needed to condemn North Korea for the attack on an American ship and all that had happened during the attempted rescue of the LCS crew, but it also needed to do a great deal more. And the United States’ allies had to be aligned with what the president would say. It might well be the most important speech of Wyatt’s presidency, Harward found himself thinking, and he needed to support his boss in that effort.

President Midkiff felt much the same way. There was also the issue of retribution and, with it, the United States’ standing in the world. His predecessor had been raked over the coals, appropriately Midkiff thought, for being weak in crises as diverse as Syria, Rwanda, and Ukraine. Midkiff, in contrast, had been elected on a platform of giving the United States more backbone internationally. He had done just that with his actions after the two domestic attacks on the United States earlier in his administration. The attack on USS Milwaukee was of a different nature. It was not an attack on U.S. soil but one that took place on the other side of the world. Public opinion polls, however, were running two to one for punishing North Korea.

It was late afternoon when Harward finally managed to get some time with the president, and they huddled in the Oval Office’s small conversational area. The secretary of defense and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had briefed the president on a range of retaliatory options the day before. Now he needed to make a decision.

“Trevor, the secretary and the chairman laid out a good range of options, but I have to tell you I’m torn about whether we should act at all.”

“I could sense you were uncomfortable during the briefings, Mr. President. To tell you the truth, I’m torn also. On the one hand, North Korea attacked our ship on the high seas with the intent of capturing our crew and holding them hostage, and we lost many good sailors and several airmen in our A-10s because of their actions. But on the other hand, we took everything they threw at us, got our people safely out of there, and inflicted a high cost on their military. I don’t think it’s lost on anyone the North Koreans aren’t a first-rate military power. We can hurt them as bad as we’d like and there’s nothing they can do about it, short of invading the South.”

“I take your point, Trevor. But the American people seem to be inclined to extract a price for this.”

“Yes, I know they are. Now, here is an option you may not have considered,” Harward replied, as the two men lapsed into an extended conversation.

Aaron Bleich knew the situation between the United States and North Korea was still fluid, and he had his entire Geek Tank focused on that nation and especially on communications into and out of the various military headquarters in Pyongyang. He had divided the monitoring responsibilities for those networks across his entire team and had tuned up the automated collation algorithms to focus on a few key threads.

Now he waited. Would it be one of his Geek Squad rock stars or his prized machines that alerted them to any North Korean moves? No one had left the Geek Tank for the last twelve hours and takeout containers and plastic sports-drink bottles littered their crowded subterranean warren. Bleich was scrolling through a number of databases he had assigned himself to monitor when his question was answered with the door to his office springing open. It was Hasan Khosa.

“Aaron, I’ve got an intercept that may be something.”

“Okay, Hasan, whatcha got?”

“It’s North Korea. Someone there must have screwed up and made a transmission on an unencrypted cell phone. They have what I believe is a terrorist element in New York, and they intend to attack the United Nations.”

Khosa briefed Bleich on the text of the intercept, and soon the two of them were headed directly for Chase Williams’s office.

The call from his handler startled Seung Min-jae. As planned, the instructions from the man were short and cryptic. “Put your plan in motion and execute it tomorrow at the prearranged time and place.”

“It will be done,” Seung replied, and he clicked off his phone. But after he rang off, he immediately asked himself, Can we make final preparations this quickly? No matter, he had his orders.

Seung’s immediate reaction was to gather the others. But he paused to work out the plan in his own mind first. Calm down, Min-jae, there really is no more planning that needs to be done; this is simply execution of the mission in a compressed time frame. Still, now that it was “real,” Seung began to step through what needed to be done to see if there were any last-minute flaws with the plan or holes he needed to plug. He reflected back on their painstaking preparations and allowed himself a bit of self-congratulation. He knew they were ready and had no doubt of their success. Yet it would have been good to be given more time for the final staging of the explosives.

Once the decision had been made to attack the United Nations by exploding a van loaded with C-4 in the parking garage of the U.N. building, they had painstakingly put together a plan. Seung and the other members of his team had taken turns watching the entry of the U.N. garage early in the morning. They learned the names of all the vendors that delivered food and beverages to the United Nations each morning. There were almost a dozen of them, since there were thousands of workers to feed every day. Seung had recommended one vendor to his handler at the U.N., one that used a van just like theirs to make their deliveries. The handler had approved his selection and sometime later told him where to have the van painted. A few days ago, Seung and one of the others had followed one of that company’s vans back to their food store to determine its location. Several days after that, they mugged one of that company’s van drivers as he left work and headed home. It was staged to look like a simple robbery. They took his wallet, watch, and all other valuables, and, most important, his company identification, which allowed him access to the U.N. garage. That was enough for them to have an expert forger make badges for Seung’s entire team. Once that was done, they were ready, and had been for some time. Satisfied their plan was sound and there was nothing that needed immediate attention, Seung Min-jae decided it was time to gather the others.

At Op-Center, it was anything but restful. As soon as his two Geek Tank stars had told their story to Chase Williams, the Op-Center director called the watch commander and had him do a recall of the entire Op-Center team. Immediately, phones throughout the Northern Virginia, suburban Maryland, and greater Washington, D.C., area began to ring, and scores of cars rolled onto highways headed for Fort Belvoir North.

Once he finished giving instructions to Bleich and Khosa, Williams had two more things on his immediate list. First, he called Allen Kim’s number. The conversation was brief and to the point; he put the CIRG team on mission alert. That done, Williams texted a quick POTUS/Eyes Only memo and launched it on the secure circuit. He followed this with a call to the Situation Room watch floor. With that, all he could do was wait until his team converged on Op-Center.

Seung Min-jae gathered his team together in their tiny apartment. “We have received our orders, and the attack will happen tomorrow morning at the prearranged time.” This was met by smiles around the table. “Now, we had previously thought that we would have several days’ advance notice, but now we have to move more quickly than that. Yet we still have ample time to make our final preparations. Here is what I want us to do…”

A short time after Seung met with his team over their kitchen table, Chase Williams had his team assembled in his office. Anne Sullivan, Roger McCord, Brian Dawson, Duncan Sutherland, Rich Middleton, Jim Wright, and a few others filled every seat in his small office. Dawson had arrived in Washington only an hour ago, having flown across multiple time zones and experiencing numerous airborne refueling rendezvous on the Air Force’s fastest jets, which Op-Center had whistled up to bring him back from Okinawa.

“All right, thank you all for coming in,” Williams began. “Roger’s Geek Tank has done a fantastic job and alerted us about this probable attack. I briefed the president a half hour ago, and he’d like me to come over to the Oval later this morning. As you know, Allen Kim and his team are saddling up and getting ready to move north to a forward operating position in the greater New York City area. We’re still evaluating precisely where. We are fairly certain there’s going to be an attack on the United Nations building, but that’s about all we are sure of right now. I know you all haven’t had much time to think about this, but what do you have for me thus far?”

Roger McCord spoke first. “Boss, armed with what we do know, Aaron and his team are focusing all their collation architectures and anticipatory intelligence to try to narrow down where this attack will come from and how it will be carried out. I don’t need to tell you the options cover a pretty wide spectrum, but they’re working hard on narrowing it down.”

“You’ve engaged Adam Putnam’s folks at the National Counterterrorism Center?”

“We have. We can count on his full cooperation, and he’s throwing all his resources at this.”

Williams continued working through his mental checklist. “Homeland Security? Attorney General? New York City officials?”

“All in play,” Dawson replied. “I’ve already spoken with one of the deputies at Homeland Security, and the secretary will likely be calling you later this morning. We anticipate they’ll be fully on board with our CIRG team leading this and will support us in whatever we need from them. Jim Wright is on the phone with New York’s mayor to bring him fully up to speed. It’s their city, and of course they want to be involved, but once Jim lays out our capabilities and our mandate, I think we’ll be working closely with them. They get it and have practiced for such events. More to follow, and Jim will come in and brief you as soon as he gets off the phone with the mayor.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Williams could sense Dawson was struggling to frame what he was about to say. He could also sense why. “And the attorney general, Brian?”

“Ah, boss, we’re still working that one. I called their watch commander myself about two hours ago and got a call from the deputy AG about ten minutes after that. Mind you, he had just been woken up early in the morning and was likely still processing what he had been told, but his initial response wasn’t, well, it wasn’t encouraging. They don’t share our sense of urgency.”

“Just what did he say?”

“He said, ‘He failed to see why Op-Center needed to be involved so soon.’”

“I see. I’ll call the AG myself later this morning before I head over to the Oval Office to ensure he has the full picture, or at least shares our concerns.”

“Boss,” Richard Middleton said, “we haven’t had a lot of time to study this, but we think the most important thing to do in the next few hours is narrow the options regarding how this attack might occur. Until we do that, we may never get Allen and his team in position in time to intervene. And short of completely evacuating the United Nations and cordoning off a several-block radius around the building, which is what I’d do if I were the New York mayor, we’re at a disadvantage. Until we can narrow the attack options regarding whether this attack will come from land, sea, or air, the CIRG team may not get there in time. And it would be nice to know if this planned attack is chem-bio, explosive, or whatever. You know the range of possibilities we need to consider.”

“That’s why I have my A team here in this room,” Williams replied. “Now let’s put our brains together and do just what you suggest.” Then, turning to Roger McCord, he continued. “Roger, please ask Aaron to come on in. I think we need him to be part of this process.”

A minute later, Aaron Bleich arrived, and Williams’s brain trust began their work.

Allen Kim looked up from his desk at the CIRG building at Quantico and motioned for his visitor to sit down. He had most of his team in motion and was now going over his personal checklist to ensure he was ready to lead his team north to thwart the anticipated attack.

“Sandee, do you know why I called you in here?”

Actually, I don’t, Sandee Barron wanted to say. But as the junior pilot in the CIRG’s air arm, her professional instincts told her it was better to just listen.

“We’re about to move out and do our first operation with Op-Center. I need to bring only A players. You haven’t been here that long. Are you up for this assignment?”

Hell, yes, I’m up for it, Sandee heard herself thinking. I may be the junior pilot in this outfit, but I’ve got more hours in the H-60 than anyone else. I’ve studied my ass off and trained like I’m going to fight. I know I’m ready. “Yes, sir,” was all she said.

“When I met with Op-Center’s JSOC team leader a while ago, he said you two worked together on an op and you were the kind of pilot I wanted with me on a tough assignment. I’ve taken that advice under advisement, but if I take you, I leave a pilot who has been with my team for years behind here. Trust me; no one wants to stay behind. Are you really ready?”

“You’ve seen me in training, sir. You’re gonna have to make that call.”

Kim considered this. He was looking for a reason not to take Barron and was waiting for her to pitch him on taking her north. But she didn’t do that. She was willing to let her performance speak for itself. Moxie, Kim thought, this pilot has moxie, and that’s what I’m going to need for this operation.

“Saddle up, Barron. Let’s get moving.”

Seung Min-jae was professional to the core. He told himself with all the planning and rehearsals they had done, he didn’t need to overmanage his team regarding how they were going to conduct this attack. That said, the combination of pent-up nervous energy and adrenaline rush pushed him to walk through the plan with his team several times so they had it just right.

“So, just humor me,” he smiled. “One more time, and then we’ll be at rest until late this evening.”

There was one sigh, and several eyes rolled. He ignored their grumbling and moved ahead.

“We know this neighborhood pretty much shuts down by about ten P.M. We’ll begin then. You’ll go to the garage and get the van a half hour before that and have it in front of our apartment at ten sharp.”

The driver nodded ascent.

“We’ll work individually and begin carrying the explosives down to the van in large garbage bags. It will look like we’re bringing material back to the company. Wear your company badges, and in the unlikely event a passerby says anything, just say, ‘Big party.’ Got it?”

Heads nodded around the table.

Looking toward the driver again, he continued. “You’ll take the van back to the garage and lock it up once we have it loaded. Then we’ll wait.”

“Do we begin in the morning just like we practiced, at the same time?” one of the men asked.

Seung looked mildly annoyed that the question came up. “Yes. Just like we practiced. Beginning at four thirty A.M., three of us will head to the garage at ten-minute intervals.” Looking at the driver, he said, “You will drive, and I’ll be in the passenger seat.” Now, looking at the team’s only woman, he added, “You will ride on the floor right between us. We’ll begin driving at five fifteen and arrive at the U.N. garage soon after it opens for vendor deliveries at five thirty. We’ll park right next to the freight elevators, where all of the vendors park.” To the driver, “The two of us will get out of the van, grab the bags of food, and head to the freight elevators with any other vendors that are there that early. Once we get out of the elevators, we’ll leave the building and dispose of our bags in a Dumpster. You will walk back here to the apartment, and shortly after that I’ll use the remote detonator to blow up the van.”

After the driver nodded that he understood, Seung turned to the woman. “And you know your job?”

“Yes. After you two are gone, I’ll get out, lock the van, and, when no one is passing by, spill the contents of my purse next to the van’s right rear tire. Then, when I’m certain no one is looking, I’ll puncture the tire, then put the spare tire, tire iron, jack, and other material on the ground next to the van…”

“And put the paper on the windshield. ‘Flat tire, back in ten minutes’?”

“Yes, just as we have practiced,” she replied.

Seung turned to the other two men. “You two know what to do. We’ve gone over it often, so I know you won’t fail. You will begin immediately after the rest of us go to the van. Take all the material needed to make meth amphetamine that we’ve collected and stage it in the kitchen, just like we’ve discussed. Wipe down this apartment thoroughly so there are no fingerprints or anything else that could tie us to this place. Then incinerate the apartment so it looks like our meth lab exploded. After that, steal one of the cars in the long-term section of the Quik Park over on East Thirty-fourth Street and meet us at the prearranged place south of the United Nations at six forty-five sharp. From there, we drive to Newark Airport. We’ll have ample time to catch a flight to Buffalo just before noon.”

“And from there we fly to Tokyo and then to Pyongyang?” one of the men asked.

“Yes,” Seung hissed, “just as we have planned.” Seung Min-jae paused to remind himself why he was leading this group, not one of the others.

Yet even with these final talk-throughs, Seung was uneasy. The key to what they were about to do was precision — the kind of precision that comes only with thorough rehearsal. The original plan had them rehearsing each portion of the plan, followed by a full dress rehearsal without explosives. But he was not given the time for this. His superiors in North Korea seemed to think they were like rifle shells that could simply be loaded and fired. So with the order to attack immediately, he would have to be satisfied with these kitchen-table drills.

Chase Williams arrived in the Oval Office a few minutes late for their scheduled meeting. As Williams entered the Oval, he could see the president and his national security advisor were in a somber mood, and he understood why. The nation had endured two major domestic attacks on his watch, and now a third seemed imminent. Coming on the heels of the LCS crisis, Williams wondered how much the president could endure. And Williams could feel the pressure himself. After the last domestic attack, Williams had convinced the president to give Op-Center control of an FBI CIRG team. Now he had what he wanted, and he knew his president was looking to him for answers.

“Chase, what do you have for us?”

“Mr. President, first, my apologies for being late. I have my entire team mobilized to try to narrow down options as to where this attack might be coming from.”

“Yes, I know that. But I have to tell you, we don’t seem to be making a lot of progress.”

“I wish I could tell you we’ve narrowed things down with some certainty, Mr. President, but we haven’t. We are deploying our CIRG team to New York, and they are staging at the old Coast Guard base on Governors Island. The helo-borne elements should be arriving there in”—Williams paused to look at his watch—“in about ninety minutes. Other elements are traveling north from Quantico by ground.”

“Have you all been able to sniff out anything about where the attack might be coming from?”

“Mr. President, first of all, while you asked Op-Center to lead this effort, we’re not flying solo. Trevor has mined the best talent on his national security staff, and Adam Putnam has the entire national intelligence community in overdrive to provide us with everything we’ve asked for. I spoke with the attorney general, and he’s agreed to have the FBI director mobilize their CIRG elements to back us up.” Williams neglected to mention that he had to all but threaten the AG to get his cooperation.

“And your intelligence tells you this attack is certain, Chase?” Harward asked. “At least that’s the gist we got from the two memos you sent the president.”

“As certain as we can be. And we’re playing it out just that way.”

“But have you narrowed down where it is coming from, Chase?” Midkiff asked.

“Only by conjecture, Mr. President. We know the intercepts that initiated this came from North Korea. We also know that North Korea has said it will make its case at the United Nations. We know they are aware the president will be addressing the United Nations General Assembly. That much we know. And while we don’t know with certainty whether this attack will come from the land, the sea, or from the air, we think we understand their capabilities and limitations.”

“We’re listening, Chase,” the president prompted.

“We’ll start with an air attack, Mr. President. We’ve ruled that out because we protect our commercial flights so well now and also because we can clamp down a no-takeoff mandate on all private airports within a large radius around the city. And they know we can scramble fighters to shoot down any aircraft that approaches the U.N., so we think an air attack is an extremely low probability.”

Williams paused to frame his thoughts. “As far as attack from sea, from the East River, we think that’s a nonstarter as well. Between the Coast Guard and the New York City Police Department, we have total control of the East River and no boat could breech those defenses. So we’ve all but ruled out that possibility.”

“That leaves the land,” Harward said, “and there are a number of possibilities there.”

“You’re right, Trevor, but here’s how we’ve narrowed the list. One option is a lone shooter armed with a semi-automatic or other weapon who gets past the building security personnel. Possible, but not likely, and also an unlikely choice as one gunman could inflict only so much damage. Or they could be planning an attack from near the U.N. with something heavier like RPGs or a similar weapon. Again, not a likely option, as it would do only limited damage. That brings us to what we think is the most likely option. If their goal is to poke the international community in the eye at the United Nations, we think they’ll try to conduct a major attack. But such an attack will have to let them have some degree of plausible deniability. They will want to do something dramatic but leave us unable to prove they did it. If they don’t, they know they’ll invite retaliation; even the Chinese won’t be able to protect them. So it will have to be well thought out and clandestine. We think they’re going to try a Timothy McVeigh — type attack. He killed over one hundred and fifty people and injured almost seven hundred others when he attacked the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City back in April nineteen ninety-five. And he almost got away. We think that’s the kind of attack they want to conduct.”

“So we could cordon off all the streets in New York leading to the United Nations, couldn’t we, Chase?” Harward asked. “We’re not defenseless against something like this, especially now that we know an attack is coming almost for certain.”

“You’re right, Trevor. That’s certainly one option. Yet I understand we’ve already discussed that with New York’s mayor, right Mr. President?”

“I have, Chase, and I think he and I are on the same page. We are balancing the need to take those measures against causing widespread panic throughout the city,” the president replied. “That and the business of the U.N. has to go on; it can’t be stopped because of a terrorist threat.”

“We are on the same page as well, sir. Our goal is to work outward from the United Nations building and discover where this attack vehicle is and nip this entire attack in the bud—”

“But this truck or whatever they’re planning to use could be coming from anywhere,” Harward blurted. “At this very moment, it might be outside Manhattan or outside the city altogether.”

“You’re right, Trevor, and all this is only our best educated guess at the moment, but we’ve got to start somewhere. And, frankly, while we’re all doing our best, we’re also hoping for a break.”

As the president considered this, Williams continued. “Mr. President, I’m mindful you’re scheduled to deliver a speech at the United Nations tomorrow afternoon. Needless to say, your safety is an equal concern to our finding these conspirators before they attack.”

“I discussed this with New York’s mayor, Chase. I’ll not change my plans and leave that building and his city to take a hit. If we don’t find these terrorists before tomorrow afternoon when I’m scheduled to speak, I can cancel my appearance then. But the building and the surrounding area will be evacuated at the same time. The mayor assures me there are well-thought-through plans as to how to do that and he’s confident it can be done quickly and without wholesale panic.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Williams replied. “That sounds like the prudent course of action.”

“But hear me out, both of you,” Midkiff added. “If I cancel my speech at the United Nations — a speech that is widely anticipated to be a strong condemnation of North Korea — because I’m afraid to go to the United Nations in the face of a possible North Korean terrorist threat, then they’ve won, haven’t they? I’m not cavalier about my safety, but I am mindful of ensuring the international community knows the United States stands for something.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Harward replied. “I think Chase and I get it.”

The three men continued their earnest conversation, knowing they needed to blunt this attack at all costs. For Trevor Harward, he would continue to offer the president his best counsel — he was a patriot above all else. But, deep down inside, he knew Chase Williams now owned this problem.

At Op-Center, Aaron Bleich had his Geek Tank humming like a Google marketing team. They had focused their collection efforts on Manhattan Island figuring the control-centric North Koreans would want their team ready to assault the United Nations on a moment’s notice and would brook no delays. They also assumed whoever was coordinating this attack would receive orders directly from somewhere in Pyongyang, most likely KPA military headquarters, and he focused his team and his beloved computers on phone, e-mail, and text messages coming into our going out of Manhattan. In other words, he had taken every measure to cover the range of likely possibilities to narrow down the location of whoever was going to carry out this attack.

That was the good news. The bad news was over a million and a half people lived in Manhattan’s twenty-three square miles, and it was likely that anyone over the age of twelve was calling, texting, and e-mailing every day. Yet Aaron Bleich was not one to shrink from a challenge, and he, his team, and his computers were bent to the task. And, almost as an afterthought, the logical Aaron Bleich did admit he needed a bit of luck.

On Governors Island, the rapidly growing Op-Center/CIRG team was up and running under the capable eye of Allen Kim. Jim Wright and Brian Dawson were on scene with them and had set up a secure communications link with Op-Center as well as with the New York City Police Department command center.

Their team on the island was bolstered by assets they had borrowed from other FBI CIRG units at Quantico, especially air assets. There were four dedicated Op-Center — CIRG H-60 Blackhawk helos. One of those ready-service helos was flown by Sandee Barron. As part of their rapid-action planning, Allen Kim and his team were mindful of how gridlocked Manhattan could become. They understood if their team was on the ground in Manhattan trying to intercept the assault before it reached the U.N., they would need to move quickly — and that meant by air.

Another option would have been to stage CIRG-SWAT elements on the ground near the United Nations, hidden but ready to make an interdiction on the U.N. grounds. After consultation with New York City’s mayor, that option was rejected. They were all mindful of the damage McVeigh’s ammonium-nitrate-fertilizer-laden Ryder truck had done in Oklahoma City. The city’s mayor was fearful if the attackers saw a goal-line defense near the United Nations, they would attack another nearby building in the area, causing equal or worse damage and loss of life.

So Kim and his CIRG element waited on Governors Island, their helos preflighted and ready for launch, their SWAT teams suited up and on hair-trigger alert. They could cover the less than five miles to the United Nations building in half as many minutes. Like most of the rest of the CIRG pilots, Sandee Barron felt most comfortable not near but inside the cockpit of her H-60.

It was not lost on Paeng Min-ju that she was the only woman on the team. She always felt her four male companions were looking at her. It wasn’t because she was pretty, since she knew she was not, but because they resented her being on the team. They never said it. But, at twenty-six, she was not naive and recognized that North Korea, in addition to being a totalitarian state, was also a male-dominated society. Her four comrades did not see the value of having her on the team, and no matter how hard she had worked or how obedient to Seung Min-jae she had been over the past months, they didn’t consider her an equal but a second-class citizen who’d been inflicted on them by the higher-ups for appearance’s sake or to serve as the team’s servant.

Because of her desire to prove herself, let alone her conditioning to obey without question, she had wrestled with her decision for some time. But in the final analysis, two considerations dominated her thinking. One was the fact that she was not as sanguine as Seung Min-jae that they would ever leave America. She knew how the Americans reacted to attacks on their homeland and how they retaliated. They would never get out of New York alive, she thought. The second consideration concerned someone on the other side of the world, someone living alone on the outskirts of Pyongyang. Her mother was a widow and was dying of cancer. She wanted, no needed, to say good-bye. The day before, when she had been sent to the market to buy food, she had furtively bought a disposable cell phone as well as an international calling card. Now she waited until it was morning in Pyongyang, when her mother would be awake.