"How do you know it is?"
"There's a front-page article about it in this morning's Beijing Daily."
"They have a secret weapon and they announce it on their front page?" Foxworthy said. "Why would they do that?"
"Why do we conduct press tours of our nuclear-missile facilities? To let opponent nations know we have them."
Foxworthy said nothing.
"Well?"
"Haven't heard of East is Red."
The NSA duty officer's voice brightened. "Good. I'm going to NOIWON this. It sounds solid."
"Have you heard about the new Mexican terror weapon?"
"What new Mexican terror weapon?"
"They're calling it El Diablo," Foxworthy elaborated.
"El Diablo. Sounds angry. Doesn't it mean 'the Devil'?"
"That's what our linguistics people tell me."
"You NOIWONing it?"
"Don't have to. Our intelligence comes from the Pentagon. By now the President knows about it."
"News to us. What is El Diablo?" Woolhandler asked.
"That's the scary part. Nobody knows. We can only guess."
"Mexico is dirt poor. Can't be a nuke. Or a missile. It's probably a chemical agent."
"Maybe biological," Foxworthy speculated.
"Biological is possible, but I'd go with chemical."
"What the hell's going on? Within the space of days, three different nations are announcing secret terror weapons, and we have Mexico on our exposed asses."
"Something's up for sure."
"You bet. Still going to NOIWON that Chinese thing?"
"Have no choice. It's in print."
Foxworthy sighed. "Let's get the others up to speed, then."
When the National Reconnaissance Office came on the line, the duty officer was breathless.
"This is NRO. Chattaway. I mean Chattaway. NRO."
"Spit it out, Chattaway," Foxworthy said.
"We've been juggling KH-11 satellites ever since the Iraqi troop-movement story got started. And we've confirmed it."
"The Iraqis are on the move?"
"No, the UN."
"Say again?"
"United Nations tanks have crossed the DMZ and are moving toward Basra at full gallop. They appear to be backed by elite elements of the Royal Kuwaiti Armed Forces."
The line was deathly silent for the better part of half a minute.
"Let me have you confirm that," Foxworthy said in a restrained tone. "The United Nations is moving against Iraq?"
"Backed by the Kuwaitis."
"On whose authority?"
"It's too early to tell. But our read is they'll be knocking at the gates of Basra within the hour."
"Oh, sweet Christ. It's Gulf War II. We better alert the JCS chair."
Chapter Twenty-six
In his office at the Secretariat of the UN, secretary general Anwar Anwar-Sadat was working the phones. On his desk was a draft resolution calling for the establishment of a UN peackeeping mission on the disputed U.S.-Mexico border.
All he had to do was convene a meeting of the Security Council. To do that, he needed the presence of the Security Council membership. All fifteen members.
Unfortunately none of those ambassadors was taking his calls.
"But this is quite urgent," he was saying. "I must speak with the ambassador."
"The ambassador is in consultation."
"When he emerges, have him call me immediately," said Anwar Anwar-Sadat, who hung up on the Chinese capital and hit the speed-dial button marked Soviet Union. He had never gotten around to changing the label, and given the state of Russia these days, it was entirely possible any change would be premature. Besides, he could never remember what shrinking Russia called itself these days.
Moscow was likewise unavailable. As was Berlin. A call slip placed on his desk informed him that the U.S. ambassador to the United Nations was waiting on line four. He scribbled "I am out!" on the slip, and the secretary took the slip outside to brush off the permanent member of the Security Council Anwar Anwar-Sadat least wanted to speak with right now.
As she exited, the under secretary for peacekeeping operations barged in, looking startled.
Anwar-Sadat looked up. "Yes, yes. What is it?"
"Urgent call from the ambassador from Iraq, line three."
Anwar-Sadat frowned like a rock falling into shadow. "I have no time for this. I am trying to reconvene the Security Council. Tomorrow is our fiftieth anniversary, and we have no diplomats for the official reception."
"But the ambassador is calling to surrender."
Anwar-Sadat blinked. "Surrender what, may I ask?"
"I do not know. He merely said the word 'surrender.' He is quite agitated, I might add."
"Perhaps," mused Anwar-Sadat, "he means Iraq is now willing to come into compliance with all UN resolutions. I will take his call, thank you."
When he made his connection, the secretary general said "Yes, hello?" in a deliberately neutral voice. If his guess was correct, this would be a great victory for his office.
The thick voice of the Iraqi ambassador said, "We surrender. Immediately. Call off your troops."
"What is it?"
"Do not trifle with me. We know your game. We surrender. We will not fight. We will not be drawn into another crisis just so you may strangle our nation further. We are disinterested in fighting. Thus, we will never be defeated. Now, please accept our surrender at once."
"Are you drunk?"
"I am a Muslim. I do not drink. And my country will not fight. Basra is yours if you wish it. We ask only safe passage for our Republican Guards. They will lay down their arms and abandon their armor. But we will not fight. Do I make myself clear? We will not fight."
The voice of the Iraqi ambassador was tearful, almost pleading. The secretary general, knowing the tenor of the Iraqi leadership these days, could almost envision a cocked pistol at the head of the poor Iraqi ambassador, the hammer ready to fall if he failed to negotiate a successful surrender.
"Very well. I accept your surrender," Anwar-Sadat said. "Is there anything else?"
"Yes. Terms. We must have terms."
"Of course. How careless of me. What is a surrender without terms? What were you thinking of?"
"Withdraw your forces to the DMZ."
"Our forces are in the DMZ."
"They are within thirty minutes of Basra. And closing."
"I will have to get back to you on this matter," said the secretary general of the UN coolly, then hung up.
He placed a call to UNIKOM HQ, and received no reply. There were no replies from any of the support units in Kuwait.
"This is quite strange," he muttered. Hitting his intercom, he said, "My car, please."
"Yes, Mr. Secretary."
"No more. I am General Anwar-Sadat now. Address me properly."
"Yes, my General."
In his war room, General Anwar-Sadat received the telex reports. There was only silence from UNIKOM. Utter silence.
"Get me the Kuwaiti ambassador, then."
The call was placed, and the pale blue receiver was laid in his dusky hand.
"Mr. Ambassador, I am receiving reports that my UNIKOM forces have strayed into Iraqi territory."
"I cannot confirm this. I am sorry."
"You sound stressed, my friend. What is wrong?" asked Anwar-Sadar.
"I cannot talk now. I am needed in the war effort."
"War. What war?"
"The drive to crush the hated beast in Baghdad before he can unleash Al Quaaquaa upon the royal family."
And then the line went dead.
Woodenly, his eyes dull, Secretary General Anwar-Sadat replaced the receiver and said, "It is true. Kuwait has attacked Iraq. It is impossible, unbelievable and not a little insane, but it is nonetheless true."
"And UNIKOM?" wondered the aide.
"We must find out." Anwar-Sadat snapped his fingers impatiently, "Quickly, turn on CNN."