“Even an overshoot?”
“Yes,” the colonel said.
Hallam nodded and the Japanese colonel resumed his seat. “Exactly what I would do,” he told the Japanese and South Korean liaison colonels. “I admire your governments’ willingness to act decisively. Something mine seems reluctant to do.”
“So, David,” Hallam said to the scholarly looking CIA liaison. “To develop a plan we need to guess Chae’s target.”
“There are no clear indicators yet,” Kyle said calmly. “But we know Chae would like nothing better than to add South Korea’s advanced manufacturing facilities to his inventory. North Korea’s big, but antiquated land forces might be able to capture the Seoul-Inchon corridor, an area South Korea will not want to fire on.”
An army liaison Colonel shook his head, “North Korea’s ten thousand tanks have fuel and ammunition for only about a week of full-up engagement...”
“A week is all it would take,” Kyle snapped back. The army officer didn’t reply.
Hallam turned to his chief of staff. “What’s the status of my request to CINCPACFLT for authority to act?”
“Denied. Orders are to assume alert posture, but do not reposition any assets in a way that might be considered provocative.”
Hallam snorted as he scanned the grim faces around the table. “Any ‘non-provocative’ suggestions, gentlemen?”
“This may be a dumb question,” a young commander asked, “but do we know this missile will be nuclear armed?”
A red faced Marine Brigadier General huffed, “Yesterday we were told their single operational nuclear warhead was taken from its secure storage site.” He leveled a withering glare on the young Navy man. “I’m sure you remember the briefing.”
“Are we sure the warhead was moved to the ballistic missile launch site?” Hallam asked mildly. “Or was it moved somewhere else?”
People looked around at each other and finally all eyes came to rest on the hapless Richardson who had moved from parade rest to attention and stared into the middle distance. “Sir, 354th intelligence group cannot confirm exactly where the warhead is. It is not in the manufacture facility.”
“You’ve lost track of their nuclear warhead?” the Marine Brigadier General exploded.
“We know it left the manufacturing facility. We do not know where it is now.”
“I’ll give you pretty good goddam odds it’s at that launch site there!” The Marine stabbed a finger at the screen.
A staff commander came in, sweating profusely, and said to Hallam, “Secretary of Defense needs to speak to you now, sir.”
Hallam nodded. “While I’m gone, develop three options for us that are ‘non-provocative’ and still have a chance to stop this launch.”
JD stood also, “I’ll excuse myself now, sir. I need to check on whether my people have left for home yet.”
“You’ve completed training our people to operate your drone aircraft, haven’t you?” the Navy Vice Admiral asked JD Iselin.
“Yes sir, the SEAL team is fully capable and we’ve transferred a Ghost II drone to them.”
Chapter 2
JD walked the four blocks to the training field where his people had been training the SEAL team in use of Ghost II drones. The afternoon heat and humidity were beginning to soften toward evening.
His lead trainer, Fredric ‘Flash’ Gordon, was under the netting, packing what looked like a grey plastic, four-prop helicopter, about 18” square, into its case. No one else was around.
“Hello, Flash.” JD let himself in through the gate. “Ready to go home?”
Flash got to his feet and adjusted the cowboy hat he was never without. “Yeah. But it has been fun training the SEAL team. Those guys are sharp. They’ll have no trouble using these things.” He wiped sweat off his brow and resettled his hat. “Your big emergency meeting already finished? Got the world’s problems solved?”
“Just a short break. I’ll need to go back in a few minutes,” JD said. He picked up a Ghost II drone. “Don’t go to the airport yet. And don’t ship this drone out yet either.”
“Does that mean I might get some field work?” His tone was hopeful.
“These things tested out OK, didn’t they?” JD changed the subject and handed Flash the drone.
“Perfectly. Easy to fly, almost silent, will carry a half-kilo explosive which is enough to disable most weapon electronics with an electromotive pulse. Only drawback is that they only have about a 100-meter control range. Our SEALS are going to have to be at the site where they want to do the damage. Can’t sit safe and sound in Japan and blow up stuff in North Korea. By the way, why did we keep that one Ghost boxed up?” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the secure-storage shipping container chained to the wall of the training building.
“That’s an experimental model,” JD said. “Carries a bigger explosive charge so that the EMP can be conducted at a greater distance, or it can be used like a steerable grenade to put an explosive on top of enemy troops hiding behind a barrier.”
Flash nodded.
“Everything is classified, but if I read Admiral Hallam correctly, you might get your wish yet,” JD told Flash. “I’ll Call Lori back at the office and tell her to change your ticket to an open departure date.”
Flash grinned. “If the operation calls for Ghosts I can still fly them better than the SEALS. They can go as my support.” Flash laughed. “They’d hate that, having to support a contractor in an Op.”
JD punched a contact on his phone. But it wasn’t Lori Turner, his Chief Operating Officer who answered. It was Cheryl, his soon-to-be ex-wife.
JD said nothing, started to disconnect, then said, “Hello Cheryl,” slowly.
“JD.”
Flash discreetly stepped away, eyebrows raised.
“Sorry, Cheryl, I hit the wrong button on my phone,” JD said.
After a silence, “That pretty well says where things are between us, wouldn’t you say?”
An image of Cheryl flooded into JD’s mind. She was beautiful, with dark hair, deep blue-grey eyes, and the figure of a woman half her age. She was smart, degree from Radcliffe, the only daughter of one of the best known international law attorneys in Washington, in the midst of a substantial career of her own at the State Department. Why I am divorcing her? JD wondered. Then he remembered how strained their time together had become.
“Look, JD,” Cheryl said, “I make it a point to always take your call no matter how busy I am, but I’m right in the middle of a meeting, and if you just rang me because you hit the wrong button on your phone, I’m hanging up.”
“I am really sorry, Cheryl,” JD stuttered. “I don’t want to...I mean I do want to...talk to you. Not here, not now, not over the phone. But I’ll be back in Washington in a few days and I would like for us to have dinner together, to talk about where we’re going. OK?”
There was a pause. “Alright, call me when you’re back in town and we’ll get together for dinner.” She disconnected and JD stood there looking at the phone but not seeing it, thinking about how good things had been right after they married six years ago, and how things seemed to have gotten lost in the last couple of years. Now they lived separate lives, both working sixty-hour weeks.
Flash