Red Phoenix (21 page)

He stopped for a moment. The President’s eyes didn’t move away from his face. “The bill doesn’t set a specific timetable for our withdrawal, Mr. President. Instead, the language calls for a pull-out to be carried out, quote, as expeditiously as possible, unquote.”

This was it. The President leaned forward in his chair. “So how does that language give me the leeway I need, Dr. Fowler?”

“I suggest that you interpret that demand as loosely as possible, sir. After all, withdrawing more than forty thousand combat troops, support personnel, and all their equipment is going to be a logistical nightmare. It’s bound to take time—several months at the very least.”

Blake paused again and then pressed ahead. “And a discreet suggestion from
you to the commander responsible for carrying out the move, General McLaren, could ensure that those months were stretched to at least a year. A lot can happen in a year, Mr. President. At the very least we’ll have bought time for the South Koreans to adjust to a very different strategic equation.”

Blake finished speaking and sat back down in his chair, surprised to find that his hands were trembling slightly. He looked up to see the President studying him closely.

“You are aware, Dr. Fowler, that you’ve just proposed that I twist the wording of a law beyond all recognition. That I tell a senior military officer to ignore its clear meaning?” the President said in a low, even tone.

“Yes, sir. I know that.”

The President turned to Admiral Simpson. “Phil, what do you think of this young man’s plan? You know that there are people in Congress who’d love the chance to crucify me if this thing leaks out.”

Blake could see the admiral weighing his answer. “Mr. President, both of us have sworn to uphold the Constitution. And both of us have sworn to defend the United States against all enemies, both foreign and domestic. What Dr. Fowler proposes seems to me to fall into a gray area between those two responsibilities.”

The admiral continued, “I can’t make this decision for you, sir. But I believe that it’s a risk worth taking.”

The President sat quietly for several minutes after the admiral had finished speaking. Then, suddenly, he looked over at Blake.

“Did you vote for me in the last election, Dr. Fowler?” he asked.

Startled, Blake never even considered lying. “No, sir, I didn’t.”

The President smiled thinly. “Hell. If you can be that honest, I guess I can trust you on this.”

He slapped a hand down on his desk. “Very well, gentlemen. I’ll take your advice. Somebody gave me bad advice, worse than bad, and I made a mistake. We’ll delay our pull-out from South Korea as long as we possibly can, and use that time to try and correct the error.”

He stared hard at them. “But I don’t want a single goddamned thing about this on paper. You understand? No memos. Nothing on disk. Got it?”

They nodded.

“Great.”

Simpson looked curiously at the President. “What about Putnam? If you take any action against the lying bastard, his congressional patrons may guess that we’re up to something they’d want to know about.”

The President smiled grimly. “Don’t worry about Mr. Putnam, gentlemen. We’ll keep him on in his old job—at least as far as he and the outside world are concerned. But I’ll be goddamned if I ever believe a word that man says from now on. He’ll attend every national security meeting, but when he
speaks, I’m not listening. If I want to know something about this Korean situation, I’ll arrange a little private get-together for just the three of us. Clear?”

They nodded again.

The President turned to Blake. “You know, Dr. Fowler, while this whole troop withdrawal thing is playing out, you’re going to have a keep treating Putnam as though he were still your trusted, all-powerful, all-knowing boss. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

Blake shook his head.

“Okay, then. That’s settled.” The President picked up the phone. “June, I want you to put together some travel arrangements for a member of my staff: Blake Fowler. Yes, I want him in Seoul by tomorrow, if possible.”

He hung up and smiled again at Blake. “No need to look so surprised, Dr. Fowler. I’m making you my go-between with General McLaren on this thing. You’re going to be in it up to your neck.”

Blake couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Yes, sir. I sure as hell will be.”

OCTOBER 25—EIGHTH ARMY FIELD HQ, SOUTH KOREA

The clattering, ear-splitting roar of the Cobra gunship’s rotor hammered through McLaren’s helmet as he looked out through the front windshield.

The Cobra skimmed low over rice paddies as it raced toward a jagged ridge flanking the multilane Main Supply Route. Then it climbed, following rising ground in a smooth curve to the left just fifty meters above a hillside orchard. Fallen leaves caught in the helicopter’s downdraft swirled high into the air in its wake.

McLaren kept his eyes focused on the small valley they were rushing toward at a hundred and twenty knots. Without looking, he held up his right hand, palm forward. The chopper pilot obeyed his signal and eased back on his collective, slowing the gunship as they flew by the valley’s tree-lined entrance.

McLaren studied the ground carefully, first with unaided eyes and then with a pair of binoculars as they orbited past the valley again. Nothing. Not a single radio aerial in plain view. Good, there weren’t any telltale signs that might reveal his camouflaged headquarters to an airborne enemy.

He pulled his head back into the cockpit and cut in his throat mike. “Okay, Jim. You can take us down now. I think I’m getting airsick.”

The pilot grinned at him and sketched a mock salute before pushing the stick over to send the helicopter into a long slide up the valley toward a small clearing. They settled in to land in a hail of rotor-blown dust, small pebbles, and dead grass.

McLaren slid down out of the gunship, bent low holding his helmet, and scuttled out from under the slowing rotor blades. He straightened up and strode past a headquarters detail waiting with the netting to conceal his personal chopper from prying eyes.

He returned their salutes and kept going down the path toward the tangle of tents and M577 command vehicles that marked his army’s “bare-bones” field headquarters. Bare bones, my ass, he thought, looking at the crowded vehicle park. Still, it was smaller than his predecessors’ traveling circuses. Doctrine said an army-level field HQ needed dozens of trucks, command trailers, and personnel carriers to operate properly. But McLaren knew that doctrine didn’t mean diddley-squat if it made you a big, juicy, and obvious target for an enemy airstrike or artillery barrage. He preferred to travel light.

His staff looked up when he walked into the main command tent but then bent back down to their work. He’d made it plenty clear early on in his tour that he didn’t have time for a lot of meaningless saluting and ass-kissing—especially not in the field.

His aide came up to take his helicopter crewman’s headgear. McLaren shrugged it off and took his old-fashioned steel pot in return. He didn’t like the new, plastic-armored “Fritz” helmets prescribed by Army regulations. He’d seen the studies showing they were more effective at keeping out fragments, but there was something unsettling about them nonetheless. He’d told Doug once that a man needed to have steel on his head to feel secure under an airburst. “Damn it,” he’d barked, “plastic’s only good for two things—model airplanes and some bimbo’s shopping trip.” He remembered that his aide had smiled gamely and packed McLaren’s new-style helmet away for good. Humoring him, no doubt. But what the hell, he was a general and rank should have some friggin’ privileges after all.

McLaren settled the steel pot on his head and looked back at his aide. “That fella from Washington get here yet?”

“Yes sir, about half an hour ago. I’ve got him waiting in your trailer. Do you want me to send for him?”

“Nah. Muhammad will go to the mountain this time. Keep an eye on things here for me, will you?”

McLaren climbed the steps to his command trailer and looked in through the door. The President’s highly unofficial “emissary” stood. McLaren liked the look of him. Tall, rangy, and with an open, honest face. Smart enough not to wear a suit out here, too.

He nodded his head toward the hillside rising above the camp. “Let’s take a walk.”

McLaren and Fowler hiked up through the tall grass far enough to be out of earshot of anyone else in the HQ. McLaren pulled his helmet off and turned to face Blake. “Okay, Dr. Fowler, what gives?”

Blake filled him in, speaking quickly at first but then slowing to emphasize
each word as he got closer to the President’s “suggestion” that McLaren delay his planning for the congressionally mandated withdrawal from South Korea.

When he’d finished, McLaren stood silently for several minutes, looking out across the hill to the north—toward the DMZ. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Dr. Fowler. I’ve never heard anything like that in my whole friggin’ Army career.”

Then he grinned. “But I’m damned glad I finally got the chance to.”

Fowler grinned back at him. The general had reacted just the way Admiral Simpson thought he would.

“Just one question. Are we going to let the South Korean government in on this little secret?”

“No. The President doesn’t want any leaks on this. And he doesn’t want to blow any chance that the government here just might make the reforms Congress is insisting on.”

“Okay.” McLaren settled his helmet back on his head. “You go back to Washington and tell the President that he can count on the most screwed-up evacuation planning process he’s ever seen.”

They shook hands and headed back down the hill toward the headquarters of the Eighth Army.

______________
CHAPTER
15

If at First...

NOVEMBER 2—LOGISTICS CENTER, YONGSAN ARMY BASE, SEOUL

Tony felt like an idiot. It was foolish to feel this way, of course. He had traveled all the way to Seoul to get a second chance at being rejected by Anne Larson. Why should he feel foolish?

He knew she worked at the logistics agency as a computer programmer. The logical thing to do was go up to the headquarters building and ask where the computing facility was. Strangely enough, it worked. The corporal had looked at his out-of-place Air Force uniform a little strangely, then given him directions to building A34.

He walked out of the headquarters with a mix of excitement and anxiety he hadn’t felt since his last blind date in high school. Of course he had acted like an idiot in high school.

The base’s buildings were old-style brick, obviously designed by a Westerner. They looked a little odd after all the Korean architecture he’d seen, but normal enough in this little island of America. The place was really jumping, with people and vehicles almost filling the sidewalks and the streets.

The Logistics Computing Facility, building A34, looked more modern than most. It was almost windowless, with a fortress-like air. He had to walk halfway around it to find an entrance. After a close inspection of his armed forces ID card, the front desk issued him a pass and gave him directions to “Miss Larson’s office.” They didn’t ask his business, which was just as well.

After leaving the reception area he went through a door marked
AIR-CONDITIONING BOUNDARY
—
KEEP CLOSED.
The temperature dropped by ten degrees and there was a whirr in the air. The corridors were full of people in Army uniforms and civilian clothes. He started looking for Anne immediately, rehearsing what he was going to say. “Okay, Tony, whatever you did on the subway, don’t do it now.”

The second floor was quieter, with carpeting instead of tile on the floor. He turned the corner into corridor C, wiping his palms.

The first thing he saw was a receptionist’s desk, with a nameplate, but it wasn’t Anne’s—
GLORIA BURNS.
Miss Burns looked up from a computer printout. “May I help you?”

“Uh, I’m looking for Anne Larson,” Tony answered. “She’s supposed to be in room two ten.”

The receptionist glanced at the phone board. “Miss Larson is on the phone right now. If you’d like to wait, I’ll tell her you’re here. What did you need to see her about?”

Suddenly Tony felt his face getting warmer. “Ah, it’s personal. Just tell her Captain Christopher is here please, ma’am.”

He saw Gloria’s eyes give him a once-over, and then she said, “Fine. Just take a seat.”

There was a couch in the reception area and Tony sat down. He watched Gloria’s departing form, which was not uninteresting, go toward a door. The plate next to it said A.
LARSON
—
SUPERVISOR.

The Air Force didn’t pay fighter pilots to be slow-witted. Anne was the boss? He quickly reevaluated his opinion of her, based on what little knowledge he had. He was a little ashamed that he had to raise it. “That will teach you, Saint,” he said to himself. “Never take a woman for granted.”

Gloria was still standing in the door, talking in a low voice, about him no doubt. He couldn’t hear Anne’s reply, but her secretary (Tony forced himself to think of Gloria that way) came back and sat down. “It’ll just be a moment.” Then she went back to her printout.

Tony glanced at his watch: eleven forty-five. At least his timing was good. He hoped to ask her out for lunch. He didn’t know how he was going to get her to say yes, but what the hell.

He spent most of his time watching the phone board, and after about three or four minutes the light went out. Miss Burns looked up and said, “You can go in now.”

Okay, boy, this is it. Sydney or the bush. He wiped his palms again, uncomfortably aware that the receptionist was watching him from the corner of her eye. He walked up to the open door and stopped short, knocking twice on the doorframe. “Come in.” It was Anne’s voice.

She was sitting at an L-shaped wood desk covered with papers and printouts. She recognized him immediately. “I knew it.” She didn’t look pleased.

Tony smiled, looking a little like a child caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I came to Seoul to see if you really…”

The phone rang and Anne picked it up. “Larson. Yes, I know, I’ve my two best people trying to figure out what happened.” She looked up at Tony, who
was doing his best to look pleasant. “Listen, I should have something this afternoon. Is that soon enough for you? I’m a little busy now.… I know. I’ll call you back later.”

She hung up and looked at Tony. “I’m sorry, excuse me. This is not a good time, especially for ‘personal visits.’ ”

“I’m sorry if I said something wrong. I just wanted to see if you would like to go—”

A knock on the door stopped him. A man in shirtsleeves was holding a piece of paper. He said, “Oh, hi,” to Tony and looked at Anne. “Have you seen this memo?”

“Let me see it.” She stood up and walked over, took the sheet, and glanced at it. “Yes, Harry, I got one yesterday in my mail. It’s general routing.”

“Well, I just wanted to make sure. See you,” Harry said as he left.

She sat down heavily behind the desk, looking somewhat disgusted. “What were you saying?”

“Just that I wanted to talk with you some more, and I was hoping …”

“Oh, God!” Anne said softly, looking out the door. She smiled and waved at someone in the hall. Tony turned and looked. A middle-aged woman was pushing a coffee cart down the corridor, waving back.

“Anne, I know you said you didn’t like to go out, but I thought maybe you’d like to have lunch. I’d really—”

“Sounds good. Let’s go.” She stood up and grabbed a largish purse off a corner of her desk. Tony stepped out of the way as she strode through the door, then followed.

“Gloria, I’m going out for some lunch, I should be back in an hour.” Her voice sounded normal, but Tony was puzzled. She didn’t sound like someone looking forward to a pleasant outing.

“Okay, Miss Larson. Have a good time.” Gloria had a funny smile. What was going on here?

They strode down the corridor and stairs with Anne setting a fast pace. It reminded Tony of how she had moved during the riot. She was a little ahead of him, and he felt like an idiot, almost trotting trying to keep up with her.

They went past the front desk and Tony dashed ahead to open the front door for her. This took a major effort, and as his hand pushed it open, he said, “I win.”

She looked puzzled for a moment, but he went for it. “Oh, it’s okay, I like to jog before lunch.”

They stepped outside and she seemed to relax. “I’m sorry, I guess I was moving a little fast. I just wanted to get away from all those eyes.”

Tony looked at her with a puzzled look. She took his arm. “Please, let’s just walk.” They went down the steps. “I know a nice lunch place about a ten-minute walk from here.”

“Anne, what do you mean about ‘eyes’? Was it something I said?”

“Yes, Tony, but it’s not your fault. Gloria is head grape on the grapevine. She told me you said your business was ‘personal.’ Two seconds after you went in my office half the floor knew I had a gentleman caller. That ‘important memo’ Harry had to show me was about the coffee fund.”

“Oh. Is that why you acted so odd later?”

She nodded. “And the lady with the cart.”

“What about the lady with the cart?” he asked. “Was she using the cart as a cover or something?”

“Oh, that’s her cart, but she works the main floor, not the second.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve embarrassed you. I just wanted to see if you—”

“You keep saying that, but I said on the subway I wasn’t interested in going out. The only reason I’m here now is that you are the lesser of two evils.” She added, smiling, “Besides, you are kind of cute.”

Tony blinked in surprise, but continued, “Whatever the reason, I do not consider a riot the best place to meet people, but I liked your style. Why should it be such a big deal that I ask you to lunch?”

“Look, I just don’t go out a lot, and those bazoos will spend their lunch hour discussing us.” She stomped her foot as she walked.

Tony had a flash. “Why is it such a bad time at work?”

“The place is going crazy. My office maintains the software that tracks all logistical movements in and out of Korea. They’re doing things that the system was never designed for. Moving stuff in while they move the same stuff out …”

With only occasional nods and a yes now and then, Tony followed Anne to a small diner. It was a little crowded, but they found a table. Most of the clientele was Korean, which Tony took to be a good sign.

“… they’re using the most inefficient schedules. I know they are brighter than that. Wait a minute. I’ve been talking for five minutes.”

“Yes, do you feel better? You’re a lady who cares about her work.”

“You let me blather on for five minutes? I feel like an idiot.”

“Would you like to order? They’ve got
kalbichim.
It’s pretty good.”

“Why did you let me talk so much?”

“Look, Anne, you’re having a hard day—”

“Hard month, more like it.”

“Fine. A hard month. I wanted to find out what was bothering you. And everybody likes to talk about their job. You already know what mine is. Now let’s order.”

“All right.” She relaxed a little more, studying the menu. It was standard Korean fare, heavy on beef and fish, but spicy. She looked resigned. “I’ll just have
pulgogi.”

Tony frowned. “You don’t sound enthusiastic about the menu.
Pulgogi’s
just marinated beefsteak. You picked this place. Don’t you like Korean food?”

“I haven’t had much besides
pulgogi
and a few other things. I guess I’m not very adventurous. I really came here because nobody from my office ever comes here.”

“Next time I’ll wear a bag over my head.”

She giggled. “Stop that. I shouldn’t be so upset, but—”

“It’s been a bad day. Yes, I remember.” Tony was pleased that Anne had actually laughed. “Can I make a few suggestions? I’ve tried most of the things on the menu at least once. I promise, nothing too exotic.”

“All right.” This time she sounded a little more pleased, even curious. “What are you having?”

“Pibim-bap.
It’s got eggs, rice, meat, beans, lots of stuff. It’s good, but it’s a little spicy.”

“I’ll try it, too.” She studied the menu with more interest. Most of it was printed with Hangul characters, but alongside each dish was an English transliteration of the name. “What’s
myolchi?

“Anchovies in a sweetish sauce.”

“Yuck.”

“No, it’s the old salt-and-sweet contrast. It’s not bad.”

“I’ll pass. What goes well with
pibim-bap?”

“Yonppuri.
It’s lotus root in a sweet sauce. It helps kill the fire.”

“Fine, let’s order.”

While they waited, Tony found out that Anne had been in Korea for three months, working as the systems programming supervisor. “I was promoted in the States and brought over to fill in this job. It’s the first time I’ve been in charge of other people.” She frowned.

“You don’t like it?” Tony prompted.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m much more comfortable working with the computer. I guess I don’t work well with groups—certainly not leading a group.”

“This is a bad time for learning management skills,” he agreed.

The food came, and they ate and talked and laughed a little. They were both equally handy with chopsticks. Tony fought his desire to talk about flying, and instead they talked about Korea, and what they’d seen, or not seen in Anne’s case.

“I’ve been completely wrapped up in my work,” Anne said. “Remember the riot? That was my second trip downtown. My first was to the Kyongbok Palace. Nothing since early October.”

“Anne, when the U.S. pulls out, you’ll go, too, and this is a beautiful country. I’ve been playing tourist ever since I got here, and I haven’t seen half of what I want to. The food, the art, the—”

“That surprises me. I thought fighter pilots just liked to fly and party.”

Tony looked a little peeved. “I like both, but I don’t fly every day, and I don’t party every night. Uncle Sam paid my way over here, and there’s not
a lot to do besides fly. I want to understand the country and the culture, at least a little.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. I guess I just don’t feel comfortable exploring the country.”

“I think you just need some practice. I’ve got a day off next weekend. I’m going to visit an old ruined fort south of here. Would you like to come along? It’s thousands of years old.”

“I’m so busy right now. I usually work on the weekends.”

“Well, what’s the deadline on this crunch project? We can just go after it’s over.”

“Oh, there’s no deadline, I just normally work.”

“Oh, well, please, take one day off and come out with me to visit the fortress. It’s not far, and there’s a good restaurant someone in the squadron told me about.”

“I really should see some of the country before I have to leave. I may even enjoy myself.”

Tony assured her. “You will.”