Red Phoenix

CHAPTER 13 Double Cross

The dry mumble of the clerk’s calling the roll ended, but it took the sharp bang of the Senate president’s gavel to bring Blake Fowler’s eyes back to the TV picture being broadcast on the C-SPAN cable channel.

He squinted up at the screen: 54–45. The conference version of the Korean sanctions bill had been passed by nine lousy votes. Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise. The margin had been the same two days earlier when the Senate passed the bill for the first time. Damn it. He knew for a fact that they could have switched at least six of those votes if the President had declared his opposition to the bill. Instead there’d been nothing but silence from the East Wing of the White House.

Blake knew the kind of pressure that was being exerted to win the President’s consent to the Korean sanctions. Phone calls to the White House switchboard. Telegrams. Weekly visits by the Speaker of the House and the Senate majority leader. Barnes and his allies were pulling out all the stops. Naturally. The congressman from Michigan was openly angling to become the next senator from Michigan, and it was no secret that he planned to ride the protectionist, anti-Korea bandwagon all the way into the Senate chamber.

What Blake couldn’t understand was the glacial pace that Putnam had set in orchestrating the administration’s internal opposition to the sanctions bill. He’d had the Working Group’s report in his hands for over a week now. Why hadn’t he briefed the President? With the congressional elections coming up in less than three weeks, there wasn’t much time left to pull the head of state’s mind back from domestic politics to foreign affairs.

He picked up the phone and dialed Putnam’s office.

Putnam’s secretary was apologetic but unhelpful. “I’m sorry, Dr. Fowler, but he’s tied up in a meeting right now. He’ll have to get back to you. Can I take another message?”

Blake knew there were already at least ten pink message slips with his name and number littering her desk. “No, that’s all right, Liz. I’m just trying to find out when he’s planning to meet with the President on this Korea thing.”

Putnam’s secretary lowered her voice. “Korea? I thought you’d heard. He’s briefing the President and the cabinet tomorrow morning. Didn’t he call you?”

Blake kept his voice level. “No. I guess it slipped his mind.”

“Hold on for just a moment. I’ll see if I can pull him away from his congressional guests long enough to ask him about it for you.”

He heard the line go silent as she put him on hold. That son of a bitch. What kind of games was he playing now?

Putnam’s secretary was back in less than a minute. She sounded embarrassed. “I’m sorry. He said the President has asked that this meeting be kept strictly limited. He’s going to do the briefing himself.”

Blake hung up slowly. He’d been shut out by Putnam before. But never on something so crucial. Just what the hell was going on over in the East Wing?

The President looked around the half-empty Cabinet Room while Putnam droned on. It might have been nice for once to have a full complement of his senior advisors present for an important meeting. But the world didn’t want to cooperate. Crises, both domestic and foreign, always seemed to drain people out of Washington at the damnedest times.

So, now that he needed to make a decision on this Korean sanctions bill, half his key people were scattered across the globe. The secretary of commerce was in Japan for high-level trade negotiations. And both the secretary of defense and the CIA director were off flitting around Europe briefing the NATO governments on the latest round of conventional arms talks. Even the vice president was out of town on a swing through Sub-Saharan Africa.

That left a small cadre of foreign and military policy experts to canvass — basically just the secretary of state and Putnam. He’d thought about putting this meeting off, but Putnam had assured him that the views of both Defense and the CIA were included in his Working Group’s report. The man had also managed to deftly remind him that polls showed a growing public impatience with what they saw as his administration’s reluctance to take swift, decisive action on important issues.

The President sighed. He’d campaigned on the promise of “hands-on” leadership and management. Didn’t people realize it took time to assimilate all the detailed knowledge that required? He was beginning to envy his predecessor’s seeming ability to make snap judgments that turned out to be more right than wrong.

“Mr. President? You had a question, sir?” Putnam had stopped in the middle of his briefing, pointer resting on large-scale map of the North Pacific.

“No, George. No questions just yet. Go ahead and finish your presentation.”

Putnam laid the pointer back on the table and stared down at his notes for a couple of moments before continuing. “Let me quickly summarize the Working Group’s findings and recommendations, gentlemen. First, the trade sanctions included in the bill would have a powerful impact on South Korea’s economy. Given that, it seems clear to me that no rational government would risk their full implementation.”

“And,” Putnam continued, “they would have little substantive impact on our own economy in the unlikely event that we have to put them in place. Korean products are a convenience — not a necessity.”

His eyes strayed over to the Defense secretary’s empty chair. “Finally, although the Department of Defense and the intelligence agencies are not especially happy about the bill’s troop withdrawal provisions, it’s clear that South Korea’s armed forces no longer need rely on our protection to deter aggression from the North.

“Plus, there’s a side strategic benefit to pulling our troops out of South Korea and basing them in Texas. By reassigning them to the Central Command, we can strengthen our rapid deployment forces and enhance our ability to respond to military crises anywhere in the world.”

Putnam turned his gaze on the President, a tall, slender man with thinning hair, an open, friendly countenance, and steel-blue eyes.

“All in all, sir, I think a consensus view would be that the bill is worth signing. A few agencies have expressed some minor concerns” — he flicked the bulky document in front of him — ”but I don’t believe that any of them are important enough to warrant a presidential veto — and all of the accompanying political heat.” He walked back to the table and sat down.

The President sat quietly for several seconds and then looked over at his secretary of state. “Well, what’s your view, Paul? Should I sign this thing or not?”

Like the President, the secretary was a big man. Unlike him, however, the secretary fought a constant, losing battle against gaining weight and still had a full head of curly, graying hair. He steepled his massive hands and glanced quickly over at Putnam before answering. “Well, Mr. President, I haven’t heard anything from my own experts that would contradict this version of the Working Group’s report.”

He paused. “I’d sign it, Mr. President. Our back-channel communications with the South Korean government haven’t achieved much of anything, and frankly, I don’t think this is the right time to anger the congressional leadership by vetoing a bill they’ve backed so solidly.”

“Damn it, Paul. I didn’t get myself elected to run scared from the boys back up on the Hill.”

“I’m not suggesting that, Mr. President. I’m simply saying that the situation in South Korea is intolerable and growing worse. I don’t believe this administration should have to wear that kind of albatross around its neck with an election coming up. Let’s pull the security blanket away from Seoul and see how they react.”

The secretary held up a single finger. “I’d be willing to bet that they’ll come running to us with the kinds of political reforms the bill demands. And in less than a month.”

The President looked back at the map of the North Pacific. “I wasn’t aware that you supported this legislation so strongly, Paul.”

“I don’t, Mr. President. I don’t like Congress trying to push its nose into our foreign policy any more than I suspect you do. But I also know that there’s a time and a place to fight that kind of interference.”

The secretary pushed his half-frame reading glasses back up his nose. “This isn’t either the time or the place.”

He started counting off items on his fingers. “South Korea’s in a shambles. The government is increasingly brutal and desperate. The students seem determined to stay out in the streets. There’s no denying that the Koreans haven’t been trading fairly with us. And two-thirds of the American people want us out of South Korea. Maybe it is time that we tried sterner measures. Certainly we haven’t gotten very far using ordinary diplomacy.”

“Hell, I can’t disagree with you there, Paul. But I don’t like this idea of pulling our troops out of South Korea. It could send the wrong message to our other allies. Not to mention Moscow.”

“Mr. President,” Putnam broke in, “it’s unlikely to ever come to that. It takes time to arrange a large-scale military movement. The South Korean government will almost certainly take the actions we’re seeking long before our first soldier steps onto a plane heading back to the States.”

The President raised an eyebrow and looked around the table at the rest of his cabinet. “Well, gentlemen. Anyone else have anything to add?”

A chorus of shaking heads greeted his question. That was about what he had expected. The secretaries of departments like Energy, Housing and Urban Development, Labor, or Education weren’t eager to step into the middle of the foreign affairs turf jealously guarded by State, Defense, and the CIA.

The President sat back slightly from the table and let his eyes slide back to the map. Decision time. He wasn’t particularly happy with the answers he’d gotten, but at least his key people were fairly well united for once. He could feel Putnam and the secretary of state staring at him. The President ran over the variables one more time. The bill’s economic impact on the U.S.: negligible. Military impact: minor and controllable, at least according to Putnam’s Working Group and the State Department. Political impact: positive. The polls showed that. And hell, maybe it would convince the South Koreans to get their act together. Okay, so be it.

He turned away from the map and brought his gaze back to the waiting cabinet. “Very well, gentlemen. I’ll sign this damned thing.”

Putnam smiled. “Yes, sir. We can arrange a Rose Garden signing with the congressional leadership for either today or tomorrow, Mr. President.”

The President frowned. “You’ll do nothing of the kind, George. I may be willing to accept this bill, but I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to give people like Barnes or the Speaker free publicity for having shoved it down our throats. Clear?”

Putnam turned red and nodded.

“Good. I’ll sign it tonight. In the Oval Office. You can have Jack put out a press release tomorrow morning.”

The President flipped to the next page on his agenda. “Okay, let’s move on to this housing bill coming up in the Senate.”

He fought down the urge to reconsider his decision. It was done and that was that. Wasn’t it?

“He’s gone where?” Blake couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“Up to the Greenbrier for the weekend, Dr. Fowler.” Putnam’s secretary sounded surprised, too. The Greenbrier was a plush West Virginia resort favored by many in Congress for retreats, conferences, and just plain getaways.

“Well, when do you expect him back, Liz?” Blake swiveled in his chair to keep the afternoon sun out of his eyes.

“Not for a week or so. He’s going straight from the Greenbrier on to a speaking tour out across the country. Election rallies. That sort of thing.”

“Shit.” Blake couldn’t believe it. The President signs that goddamned Barnes sanctions bill and Putnam heads out on some kind of victory parade. Something was not at all right in the State of Denmark.

“Look, Liz. Did he have you make a lot of changes to that report I gave him?”

Putnam’s secretary was silent for several seconds and then said, “Yes. He rewrote whole sections.”

That bastard. What had he done? “Can I get a copy of the latest draft?”

Silence again. “Uh, Dr. Fowler, he … well, he said I wasn’t allowed to distribute it to anyone but the President and the other people at the cabinet meeting yesterday.”

Bingo. “I suppose that counts me out.” Blake grimaced. He had to find a way to see what Putnam had done to the Working Group’s recommendations.

Putnam’s secretary said, “I’m sorry, Dr. Fowler. I’m afraid it does.” She stopped and then said, “But I do have an extra copy here on my desk. I haven’t had time to log it in yet. And I’m going to have to step out for a few minutes.”

Blake hung up smiling. Thank God for Liz Klein. She’d been around the White House through three different Administrations and she knew exactly how to play the game. He got up and stuck his head out his office door. “Katie, could you come in here a second. There’s something I want you to pick up for me over at the White House.”

He sent his secretary off on her semi-cloak-and-dagger mission and then sat down to consider his next move. Whatever he did, he was going to need allies. Powerful ones. People that the President couldn’t ignore. And if Putnam had monkeyed around with the Working Group’s report the way Blake thought he had, the next several days were going to be critical. He also knew that chances of his staying employed in the administration were just about nil.

He sat waiting for Katie to get back, looking at the picture of his wife and five-year-old daughter.

The camera view showed what were now almost routine scenes from the South Korean capital. Masked, chanting students throwing rocks and firebombs at police troops who retaliated with tear gas, water cannon, and clubs. Long-distance shots from a chartered helicopter showed the fine, white tear-gas mist billowing above Seoul’s city center.

The anchorman’s calm, dispassionate tones were in sharp contrast with the televised pictures of complete chaos and random violence.

“Thousands of South Korean students poured out into the streets of Seoul today — the seventh consecutive day of anti-government protests that have virtually paralyzed this city of ten million.

“The demonstrators once again clashed with government security forces in several hours of street fighting that left another sixty people injured, many in critical condition. And there are no signs that the riots will end anytime soon.”

The camera cut back to the anchor desk.

“In other Korean news today, a government spokesman lashed out at the new U.S. trade sanctions scheduled to go into effect within the month. According to the spokesman, South Korea, quote, utterly rejects this unprincipled attempt by the United States to interfere in the internal affairs of another freely elected government, end quote. The spokesman went on to say that South Korea’s coalition

government saw no reason to give in to the impossible demands made by the rioting students.

“However, informed sources report that the South Korean government will soon announce a series of cosmetic political reforms — in the hope that they will placate the rioting students and soothe the angry American Congress.

“Meanwhile, the European Economic Community announced that it would follow the example set by the U.S. in imposing sanctions on South Korean manufactured products. This European action is considered extremely significant by foreign policy and economic analysts because the EEC is the third-largest purchaser of South Korea’s exports, after the U.S. and Japan.”

The camera cut again, this time to pictures of a flag-waving political rally in Illinois.

“And in Chicago, today, presidential national security adviser George Putnam told a cheering crowd of union members that the U. S. sanctions showed America’s commitment to fair trade and to the cause of democratic reform in South Korea.

General Chang Jae-Kyu, commanding officer of the 4th Infantry Division, stepped carefully through the door of the Han Chung Kak kisaeng house. He smiled politely at the young woman who took his officer’s cap and overcoat. Charming. And so beautiful. He really must find out her name and ask for her the next time he came here. But not tonight. Tonight he had other business, business that made even the sophisticated pleasures of Seoul’s most attractive kisaeng pale in importance.

Chang followed the woman down a quiet corridor lined with precious paintings and silk screens. He shook his head, amused that he now found such luxury and beauty so commonplace that he could disregard it.

Chang was a farmer’s son, a man of the earth. His family had labored for countless generations, growing the crops that fed Korea’s elite city dwellers. The Army had changed all that. It had nurtured and protected him. It had given him a future, just as it had safeguarded the future for all of South Korea. He frowned. And now these effete city snobs, the corrupt politicians and radical students alike, threatened to destroy all that — to emasculate the bulwark of the state and the new order.

Chang straightened his shoulders. They would not succeed. Not without a fight.

The kisaeng stopped outside a closed door and bowed. He bowed back and followed her with his eyes as she glided back the way they had come. Truly a study in elegant grace. Well, perhaps there were advantages to cities after all.

He turned, knocked once, and entered the small, smoke-fogged room beyond the door. He knew the officers assembled around the table intimately, well enough to trust them with his life. They were classmates, graduates of the Korean Military Academy.

Chang nodded to them. “Gentlemen. It is good to see you all here.”

They grinned back at his formal tone. He studied them for a moment before continuing. General Bae, commanding officer of the 9th Infantry Division, part of the Capital Corps that guarded Seoul. He was tall for a Korean, with a round, moon face. Colonel Kim of the 6th Interceptor Squadron was shorter and had quick, hurried movements. Colonel Min, G-2 for the III Corps, looked uncomfortable. He was as fat as a Korean Army officer ever gets, which is not much.

Most importantly, General Hahn, head of the Seoul District of the Defense Security Command was present. His angular face smiled in anticipation.

It was because of him that Chang and his small cadre could meet here in complete safety. The politicians expected the Defense Security Command to play watchdog over the armed forces. Chang smiled to himself as he looked at Hahn. But what happened when the watchdog turned on its supposed master?

“Are we secure here?” he asked.

“Yes, my men swept it for listening devices just this afternoon. It was clean.”

“Good. Then we can get down to business.” Chang looked over his assembled friends. “I apologize for rushing this, but time is not our ally. None of us can afford to be missed or brought under suspicion during this time of preparation.”

“So you’re convinced then that we must move against the government?” Lieutenant Colonel Min didn’t sound completely surprised.

“I can see no other alternative.” Chang kept his voice low, but the others could hear the steely determination that had won him the nickname the Iron Man during his days at the academy.

He continued, “As officers, we are sworn to defend this nation against its enemies, foreign and domestic. And can any doubt that our country is under attack?”

The others, their minds full of images from the past two months of rioting and disorder, shook their heads.

“No, I thought not. But what have these politicians, these vote-buyers, done about it? Nothing.” Chang let the word hang in midair for a moment and then repeated it. “Nothing.

“Oh, they talk a grand game. But instead of swift, decisive action to crush this communist insurrection, the bureaucrats have spent their time running from one place to another, pissing on the fires only when the flames reach their feet.” The officers chuckled at his crude imagery.

“And now, what are they planning?” Chang asked scornfully. “I’ll tell you. They are preparing a surrender. A surrender to these young thugs and their calls for socialism. And a surrender to America and all its intolerable demands.”

The officers murmured to one another, and Chang could see the anger growing.

“So then, I ask you, what else can we do as men who’ve sworn to guard the nation with our very lives?”

General Bae answered for the others after glancing around the room. “You are right. We must reform the government. And soon.”

They all knew what he meant by “reform.” He meant a military coup. It was not unthinkable. Twice before in the forty-year-long history of the Republic of Korea, groups of young officers had acted to save the country from corrupt, feuding politicians. They would simply be following in that tradition.

Chang held up a hand. “You’re right. There is little time. But we must not act with undue haste. We six alone are not enough to topple the regime.”

He smiled and bowed to Hahn. “There are others in the armed forces who share our determination to save this country. With our friend Hahn’s help, I shall bring them into the fold in the coming weeks.” He paused for a moment. “And when we are ready, we shall move with lightning speed to oust the moneygrubbers of Seoul and restore order.”

That won approving nods and smiles from the group. Only Min still looked troubled. “But what of the Americans? Won’t they intervene?”

Chang didn’t bother to hide his contempt. “The Americans? They’ve washed their hands of us. Now we owe them nothing. They can do nothing. And once we’ve ended these disturbances, their corporations will be back begging us to trade with them once again.”

He looked squarely at Min. “So. Are you with us, or not?”

In the silence that followed his question, they could all hear faint sirens from outside as the police rushed to quell yet another riot.

Min listened for a moment and then stared straight back into Chang’s eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’m with you.”

Chang slowly smiled. Now they could begin.