Red Phoenix Burning (7 page)

The Soviet-made Mi-8 helicopter shuddered and rattled as it banked, heading for the lighted landing pad starkly visible against the darkened countryside.

“We are two minutes out, Comrade General,” the pilot told Tae.

Tae nodded tightly, teeth clenched against the vibration. He glanced at his aide, Captain Ryeon, who sat belted in beside him.

Ryeon leaned closer. “Twenty minutes, sir.”

Tae checked his watch. By now, the waiters in the banquet hall would have finished serving dinner. The older soldiers and party bosses would be knocking back round after round of soju, a cheap grain liquor. Kim Jong-un and the younger members of the elite favored expensive, imported single malt Scotch and looked down on the “peasants” who swilled rather than sipped.
Well
, he thought coldly,
it was a divide that soon would not matter
.

He turned his head, peering back into the darkened cabin. Twelve soldiers in crisp, camouflaged uniforms looked back at him with expressionless faces. They were special operations troops, a handpicked squad from one of the Reconnaissance Bureau brigades. Each man carried a Type 68 assault rifle, the North’s version of the Soviet-made AKM.

When the helicopter landed, Tae was the first one out.

Just beyond the slowing rotors, he saw a cluster of officers waiting. One of them hesitantly moved forward to greet him. Tae recognized the man from his briefing photos. Major General Yang was the deputy commander of the 33rd Infantry Division. He had a reputation for blind obedience, not initiative. And he was a born staff officer, not a combat soldier. He was perfect for Tae’s purposes.

They exchanged salutes.

“I regret that Lieutenant General Seon is not here,” Yang said nervously, eyeing the special forces troops lining up on the tarmac. “He is out on an overnight inspection of the Third Battalion of the 162nd Regiment.”

“I see,” Tae said flatly. Inwardly, he rejoiced. Seon, the 33rd Division’s commander, made a habit of spending as much time as possible visiting and inspecting the battalions under his command. It was a habit they had counted on.

Seon was one of the good ones. The IV Corps, stationed near the DMZ, was a breakthrough formation, and the 33rd had the highest readiness scores in the corps, in fact, in the entire western sector. His political credentials were impeccable, of course, but he was also intelligent and energetic. That would make him a dangerous enemy. And that, in turn, required direct action.

Tae checked his watch. Ten minutes left. He looked up at Yang, narrowing his eyes. “Are Major Paeng and Captain Han with you?”

Yang was visibly surprised. Paeng and Han were junior staff officers in the division headquarters, ordinarily well below the notice of a senior commander from the KPA’s General Staff. He looked back over his shoulder at the others waiting just out of earshot. “Yes, Comrade General,” he said quickly.

Of course they are, Tae thought. Paeng and Han were covert agents planted inside the division by the General Political Department and the Military Security Command respectively. Equipped with separate channels of communication to their superiors, they were tasked with ferreting out treason and subversion. Any unusual activity, like this unexplained visit, could be expected to draw them like moths to an open flame.

“Excellent,” Tae said. He lowered his voice. “A critical situation is developing, Yang. We have received credible reports of a plot against the Supreme Leader.”

Yang’s mouth fell open for a moment. Sweating, he visibly struggled to master his expression. “But—”

Tae cut him off. “Your commander is one of the conspirators.”

The other man’s knees started to buckle. He looked horrified.

“We know, however, that you are loyal,” Tae continued, planting the hook.

Yang couldn’t nod his head fast enough. “Yes, Comrade General!”

Tae fought down his disgust. He could practically smell the other man’s fear. Then he shrugged. Yang might be a cowardly worm, but he was a worm they needed. For now.

“Good,” he snapped. “Then you will continue to serve as deputy commander of this division. If this plot is not crushed in time, the state will need your steady hand and loyal service in the days ahead.”

Yang moistened his lips. “And Lieutenant General Seon?”

Tae nodded toward the hard-faced special forces soldiers waiting beside his helicopter. “Seon and the other traitors in this command will be eliminated. At once.”

The other man swallowed hard and then forced himself to stand up straight. “I understand. This is no time for weakness or hesitation.”

Tae allowed the hint of a smile to cross his face. “Your eagerness does you credit, Yang.”

“Sir!” A shout came from behind him.

Tae whirled toward his helicopter. Captain Ryeon came hurrying toward him. “What is it?”

“Pyongyang Defense Command reports a major explosion in the city!” Ryeon said, sounding horrified.

“Where?”

“I do not know, Comrade General,” his aide lied. “All of our secure communications channels went down immediately after that first report.”

Tae nodded crisply. “So the traitors are in motion.” He spun back to Yang. “Put your headquarters on full alert! Nobody leaves or enters until we have dealt with Seon and the other conspirators in this division. Understand?”

Yang nodded, sweating harder now.

Tae looked carefully at his aide. “Captain Ryeon, take your troops to the Third Battalion immediately. You know what to do?”

“Yes, sir,” Ryeon said calmly, as though receiving orders to execute a division commander and his closest aides was a routine duty.

“And take Major Paeng and Captain Han with you,” Tae continued, with a slight edge in his voice. “You can brief them on recent events on the road. Clear?”

Again, his aide nodded. Somewhere between the helipad and the Third Battalion’s cantonment, the two Kim loyalist agents would each receive the reward their covert services to the regime had earned—a pistol shot to the back of the skull.

Ryeon moved away, already signaling the Special Forces soldiers toward a pair of trucks parked beyond the pad.

Satisfied, Tae turned his attention back to Yang. “Until we can reestablish communications with the capital, I am taking command of the Thirty-Third.”

Yang looked relieved. He must have been dreading the prospect of issuing orders, rather than following them.

“I want this division on the road as soon as possible,” Tae said firmly.

“Comrade General?”

“We are moving north, Yang,” Tae explained patiently. “If this is the coup we feared, it is vital that we help secure the capital and its approaches against any further action by traitors or those they have misled.”

He took a thin sheaf of papers out of his uniform jacket. “These are orders from Vice Marshal Koh, prepared for just such a contingency. Our mission will be to guard the southern edge of Pyongyang and to take control of certain key points inside the city. We will coordinate with the Third Corps as the situation requires.”

“Yes, sir!”

“And shut down all communications, Yang, unless I give specific permission,” Tae said. “No radio or telephones, and search the entire division for contraband cell phones. We can’t risk traitors or sympathizers sending information or receiving instructions. Now, I suggest you and your staff get moving!”

Tae stood on the tarmac, watching Yang bustle away toward the waiting officers.

The plan formulated by Koh and the other plotters called for units loyal to the General Staff—and others taken over by deceit and force, like this division—to encircle Pyongyang. Once that was accomplished, they would use this show of strength to negotiate a stand-down of the Pyongyang Defense Command. With the capital firmly in their grip, the rest of North Korea would follow.
As long as III Corps comes over, this will work
, Tae thought coolly, weighing the odds.
Otherwise it will be a bloody mess . . .

The sound of gunfire from up ahead intensified, breaking Tae’s momentary contemplation. He looked up from the reports he’d been pretending to read and listened closely. That wasn’t just sporadic small-arms fire now. He could hear the chatter of machine guns, the sharp
crack
of rocket-propelled grenades going off, and even what sounded like mortar fire.

That was bad.

It meant his troops were running into resistance from organized units from the Pyongyang Defense Command, not just a few scattered and stubborn checkpoint guards.

Tae swore under his breath. Where the hell was Vice Marshal Koh? And why hadn’t he heard anything from the III Corps over his secure radio channels? Motorized rifle and tank units from that corps were supposed to be moving into the city from the southeast, off on his right flank.

Whummp. Whummp. Whummp.

Tae stiffened.

That was artillery. Heavy guns, at least 122mm, were in action somewhere to the east.

“Sir!” Yang hurried over. The deputy division commander looked pale. “The 161st Regiment reports that it is under artillery fire.”

This is going from bad to worse,
Tae thought coldly. He had deployed the 161st out along the Pyongyang-Wonsan Highway. It was there to guard his right flank against any loyalist troops pushing west to take him by surprise. If they were being shelled, that meant that at least some units belonging to III Corps hadn’t joined the coup as expected.

Ryeon joined them. He had been monitoring higher-level radio transmissions. Despite everything, the younger officer still seemed calm, almost unnaturally so.

“Yes, Captain?” Tae asked, forcing himself to match his aide’s wooden expression.

“Terrible news, sir,” Ryeon replied. “The Supreme Leader is dead.”

Tae stood motionless for a moment. They had done it. Even though this was what they had hoped for, the reality was almost overwhelming. That callow young fool, Kim Jong-un, and his vicious followers were dead—wiped off the board with one violent move.

But Ryeon was not finished. “Ohk Yeong-sik has announced that he is taking command.”

That was bad news indeed. As chairman of the Supreme People’s Assembly, Okh was one of Kim’s most loyal supporters. And he was a logical candidate to fill Kim’s shoes, at least as an interim leader. But Okh was not the General Staff’s man.

Yang stared at Tae and his aide. “The Supreme Leader is dead? This is confirmed?”

Ryeon nodded.

“Then what shall we do?” the deputy division commander asked brokenly. To Tae’s astonishment, tears were running down the other man’s cheeks. Still reeling from the execution of his former commander, and then the outbreak of serious fighting, it was clear that the death of Kim Jong-un, by declaration and law the source of everything good in North Korea, had shaken Yang to his core.

“Do?” Tae snapped. He stepped closer to Yang. “We fight, Comrade Major General!”

He turned away, facing the other officers of the divisional staff. “Ohk Yeong-sik was on Vice Marshal Koh’s list of conspirators. He and those who support him are enemies of the state. Is that clear?”

Slowly, they nodded. Blood had already been spilled. And whether or not they believed that Tae was telling them the truth, it was too late to go back. Besides, they were all too aware that their new commander’s special forces bodyguards were stationed at key points around the headquarters.

Tae looked back at Yang, who was still standing there glassy-eyed and blank-faced. “Snap out of it!” he growled. “Pyongyang is in the hands of those who murdered the Supreme Leader! It is our duty to reclaim the capital and exterminate the traitors!”

He raised his voice. “Put artillery fire on every enemy position blocking our advance to the bridge. Hammer those bastards for five minutes. I want the 162nd Regiment to attack as soon as the barrage lifts! This is a general assault. I do not want anything held back. Not a man. Not a gun. Not a shell!”

Galvanized by his stream of orders, the 33rd Division’s staff swung into action.

From here on, this was going to be a straight fight, Tae realized, and a hard one. True, they were disorganized. But so was the enemy. There was no turning back. So be it, he decided grimly. When opponents are evenly matched, it is the strength of their minds that guarantees victory. Then he smiled thinly. That was a quote from the late and unlamented Kim Jong-un’s grandfather, Kim Il-sung.

17 August 2015

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

Chris Sawyer loved hunting for scattered bits of information and fitting them into a recognizable pattern. The intellectual challenge had drawn him to intelligence work. He was providing real answers to people who made very important decisions.

But every job had its downside. The decision-makers needed their eight a.m. briefing, which meant the briefers needed input from the different intelligence agencies by six, which was why the CIA Joint Crisis Team was meeting at five o’clock in the morning. Even with the long summer days, sunrise was a ways off.

The news of Kim’s death and fighting in the capital, and of multiple “pretenders to the throne,” had put Washington’s national security organizations on a near-war footing. In addition to Sawyer and the rest of the North Korean section, the crisis team, run by Chris’s boss, had pulled in people from all over CIA, including the proliferation shop and the China and Russian desks. There was even an economist.

Jeff Dougherty, the team leader and head of the North Korean section, started the meeting the instant he walked in the room. He spoke loudly enough to cut through the buzz of conversation. “George, what can you tell us?”

George Yeom had Korean parents who’d immigrated to the US. He was fluent in Korean and kept in close touch with his extended family back in the “old country.” It was his job to also keep in close touch with the National Intelligence Service. The NIS was the South Korean equivalent of the CIA, and Yeom managed the exchange of information between the two agencies.

Seoul was thirteen hours ahead of Washington, which meant George was more accustomed to the odd hour than his colleagues. Short and square-faced, Yeom avoided the podium and stood near a map of the Korean Peninsula. “The South Korean agencies live and breathe HUMINT, of course. They don’t have our satellites or ELINT aircraft, but then again, satellites won’t tell them who’s loyal to whom.