The Third World War: A Terrifying Novel of Global Conflict

65

Mary Newman, her eyes sore and her hands bruised from the Osprey winch cable, flung her arms around Jim West, not caring who was watching. Lazaro Campbell held back, just inside the door, and edged round to where Kozerski was.

'What does Dr Brock say?' said Patton, speaking into one telephone and, while listening to the answer, giving instructions into another. 'Every piece of thermal imaging equipment, with SWAT teams, on every central square in every city. Anyone carrying a suicide vest, we want to see them and take them out. State capitals first—'

'It'll be a hundred dead in Times Square,' said Kozerski quietly to Campbell. 'But the casualties in South Korea are already over ten thousand — that includes 2,500 American troops.'

'Japanese air and seaborne invasion at Najin and Chongjin,' said Pierce to no one in particular. A colonel lit up the two cities on the eastern North Korean coast on the huge map now displayed on the situation room wall. 'OK, we're getting satellite imagery in from Yanji. Chinese troops are — Mr President — the Chinese are going into North Korea on the eastern seaboard.'

'We hold with the Japanese,' said West, his hand resting on Newman's shoulder. 'Tell Yamada that Sato might have messed up. He shouldn't have done what he did. But our security treaty must hold.'

Pierce stepped towards the satellite-imagery screen to get a closer look. 'That looks like Chinese mobilization at Dandong as well. If they cross into Sinuiju they'll get the rail and road link down to Pyongyang.'

'Are we sharing this imagery with the Japanese?' said West.

'Yes, sir.'

'Good.'

'They don't have to fight each other,' said Newman. 'You can stop it, sir.' The 'sir' hung strangely after her affectionate entrance.

'Chris, how long have we got?'

'No Chinese planes are in the air yet. If they scramble, it'll be minutes. Otherwise, let's say an hour.'

West slipped his hand down to Mary's elbow and guided her towards the door. 'John, we're going to get some daylight for a few minutes. Campbell, you come and join us.'

'Sir,' said Patton. 'Dr Brock has confirmed interleukin-4 agent within the virus samples.'

West stopped and turned towards his Homeland Security Secretary. 'Do we know exactly what that means and how to deal with it?'

'Not yet, sir.'

'I don't want to know anything unless we know what it means.' West's anger filled the room. 'There are too many goddamn things happening for the President to be fed unprocessed data.'

West wasn't too sure where he was going. He needed a change of scenery. His short temper was a warning that either his thinking was becoming muddled or that there was too much for one man to decide on. And who was to say that his decisions were worth anything? Every step he had taken had led the world closer to its own destruction.

He walked on ahead, lost in his thoughts. As yet, none of the great powers had come into direct conflict with another. Could he keep it like that? If the trail went back to Zhongnanhai, would he want to keep it like that? Would it be a secret between him and Jamie Song which no one would know about until long after they were all dead.

He found himself heading for the residence. Maybe he was seeking a memory of Valerie's colours and something that would take him back to an era when he had a wife and the White House was an aspiration, a novelty, a prospect to be explored with pride. Today, Jim West would like to have been walking down a disused railroad in Oregon collecting firewood. He wouldn't listen to the radio or TV. If someone had told him about war, he would have muttered about 'those damn politicians' and kept walking, believing that the war would never reach him and his family. Whatever happened now, his aim must be to keep as much of the United States in that womb of self-assurance as was possible. Times Square had gone. The rest must hold.

'This OK for you two?' he queried humbly. Newman and Campbell, straight from the flight from Mongolia, simply nodded. They needed a shower and sleep. But first he needed their help. West opened the door to a stream of late-winter sunlight.

'Dad,' said Lizzie. She stood next to Meenakshi, the two of them facing West like warriors. 'Caroline's on the phone. She's been chasing you. And Tom Patton's been calling.'

'I'll take Caroline's call,' said West.

Lizzie handed him a cell phone. 'Caroline… George Washington?… when?… OK. And where are you?… and when will you be there?… Fine.'

West cut the call. 'A thirty-five-year-old woman arrived at the emergency room of George Washington Hospital with a temperature of 103 degrees Farenheit, that's just under 40 degrees Celsius. She complained of severe muscle aches. The first blood tests showed a slightly lowered white blood cell count. That was thirty-six hours ago. She's now been diagnosed with smallpox, having been infected by contaminated airborne droplets. Her name is Juliet Mary Diamond. Dr Brock says other similar cases are being reported and that the A&E files at George Washington show that some people checked in but were sent home having been diagnosed with a presumed viral infection.'

No one spoke. The hospital was barely four blocks away. From the window, West could see across the White House gardens to the streets beyond. He couldn't tell that anything was amiss.

Lizzie stepped over and stood next to her father. 'Dad, take ten minutes off and do nothing,' she said gently, squeezing his hand. He nodded, turned, walked over to a soft, flowered sofa and sat down, patting the cushion next to him for Lizzie to sit as well.

'Mr President, Jim,' said Newman, glancing across to Lizzie, too. 'I'd like to get a line up to Beijing. We think we can contact Jamie Song, and we think he is still in charge.'

West's eyes changed from dull defeat to curiosity. 'Still in charge?'

'As we headed out from Beijing,' said Campbell, 'I was able to log the different units deployed towards the centre of the city. They are still under satellite surveillance and the embassy compound has still not been breached, meaning that someone is holding them back. In fact, the Chinese troops are further away now than when we were there. On the flight from Mongolia to here, I got the Pentagon China desk to run an analysis on the Chinese military units. The main move against President Song is coming from a place known as the Second Department of the People's Liberation Army. It's the leading force behind China's expansion of intelligence gathering, and has moved into Myanmar, the Paracel Islands and Laos. It built the listening station in Cuba and was responsible for the deal that ended up with missiles being shipped there. Their office is above ground in North Andeli Street, Beijing. That building, sir, is surrounded by troops and police loyal to President Song. There are more soldiers there than around our embassy. What we don't know is what is happening in the main command and control centre in the Western Hills. I imagine they are keeping their options open, and waiting to see which way the political wind blows.'

West listened hard, forcing himself to absorb what Campbell was saying. He was both in control of himself and on the point of exploding rage. While the smallpox virus might be floating in the air around them, Campbell was talking in a cold, unflinching and purposeful way, on a topic which was so removed from the immediate catastrophe that West saw how it might be a solution, albeit one that had come too late.

'The police and emergency services in Beijing remain loyal to Jamie Song. The Mayor of Beijing is not under arrest and is making radio broadcasts. The self-financing military units are with Jamie Song as well. They cannot afford the economic collapse of China. The problem is coming from the Second Artillery unit, which runs the missile programme, and military command areas in the north, closest to North Korea and Japan. There is also rebellion in Fujian across the straits from Taiwan.'

'Can you get me Jamie Song?'

'Yes, sir,' said Newman. 'The Mayor of Beijing is on standby. We'll call him. He'll patch us through to Song. I have already spoken to Andrei Kozlov. He'll come across too.'

'OK. Let's do it,' said West, standing up and glancing down at Lizzie. 'Meenakshi, do you think your father would do a worldwide broadcast for us?'

Meenakshi looked up, startled. Her mind had been somewhere else. 'What do you mean?' she asked cautiously. 'I'm not sure Dad's in any state to talk to anyone.'

'As far as I can make out, Vasant Mehta is the only decent man among all of us. He took the risk for peace and lost. Why? Because we didn't do our jobs properly. In a few days, maybe a few hours, we're going to have a smallpox epidemic. There is no way we can cordon off Washington, New York or wherever else they've struck. That virus is going to spread. It's going to be down in Mexico, then through Latin America. It'll turn up in Europe, Africa and Asia. We cannot fight the virus and fight each other at the same time. We cannot afford to exact revenge. We have to contain the epidemic, eradicate it, and only then, if we really want to, should we pick up on the war.'

Newman was on her feet, taking off her glasses, with her hand to her chin. 'Mr President, you are not advocating a ceasefire on the Korean peninsula?'

'North Korea's the exception. Once Park Ho and his henchmen are neutralized, yes, I do propose a ceasefire. And if Jamie Song still has power, I think we can do it. If we fail, this world has only got one place to go, and that's on to the shit heap.' He put his hands affectionately on Newman's shoulders.

Forgetting where he was for a moment, and not caring who else he was with, 'Thank God you're back safely,' he said, kissing her on the forehead.