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.
“Most of that HUMINT used to come from defectors and their spy network in the North. That network is now in a shambles. Their assets are either unable to communicate, gone to ground, or possibly arrested. NIS just can’t tell. The channels the agents used to pass information are unavailable. Phone exchanges, dedicated tie lines, and the private networks used by some of the foreign organizations that operated in the North are all down, either by design or disrupted by the fighting in Pyongyang.
“On the other hand, the number of defectors, or more properly, refugees, is through the roof. They give a consistent picture of fighting around the capital, along with witch-hunts and random arrests throughout the countryside, but few useful details.
“My opposite number says they are ‘taking measures to get more information,’ but wouldn’t provide specifics.”
Dougherty asked, “What about their take on the communications we’ve intercepted?” The US and ROK operated joint listening stations along the DMZ, and the US shared the information it gathered by ferret aircraft.
Yeom shrugged. “Civilian traffic is way down, and what’s left is disjointed and contradictory government pronouncements. If you’re talking about cultural or linguistic insights, they can’t see any pattern or purpose, because they think there isn’t any purpose.
“They agree with our assessment that there are three major factions: Kim loyalists, a group of party bigwigs, and the General Staff. They have absolutely no idea who’s going to come out on top.”
Yeom saw Dougherty looking at the clock and wrapped it up quickly. “At a higher level, my contacts tell me there’s a huge fight within the ROK cabinet. A lot of people in the South want to send the army across the DMZ, right now, while the Kim regime is tied up in knots.”
Many around the room looked either amused or worried. “President An is not one of them,” Yeom announced firmly, “and has pointed out to the hotheads the danger of presenting the different factions with an external enemy.”
“Sounds like what’s been going on in Congress,” Dougherty remarked.
“And the ROK armed forces are remaining at something called ‘Invasion Alert,’ and the reserves are being mobilized,” Yeom finished, then returned to his chair.
Dougherty nodded and started working his way down the table. “Ben, what about China? Anything to add?”
“They’re keeping the embassy in Pyongyang and consulate in Chongjin open, but the last bus carrying noncombatants left Pyongyang for the border yesterday morning. The Chinese are beefing up their border security, but it’s all border troops. The three group armies in the Shenyang Military Region are still in their barracks or engaged in routine training. There’s been a major clampdown on the Korean refugee community. We’re all agreed that China’s worried, but is keeping clear.”
Dougherty nodded and turned to a thin woman with short white hair. “Russia?”
“No changes since they closed their embassy. There’s been some increased activity near the border, but nothing like China. Our assessment is that the Russians have enough on their plate. They’ll keep out. Of course, they love anything that gives us and China problems.”
After Dougherty had consulted all the subject experts, he called on Sawyer. “Chris, does this all agree with what you’ve seen?”
“No disagreements,” he said, standing slowly. It had been a long night. “One addition, though.” He pressed a key and a photo appeared in place of the map. “This is a weapons magazine outside Kaechon, north of Pyongyang. That’s the headquarters of the First Air Combat Command, and the magazine is located near an air base. We’ve had it marked as a WMD storage site for quite some time.”
The satellite photo showed a rectangular area with a grid of paved roads inside a three-layered fence. In the center of each square of the grid was an oblong mound, artificially flat on one end. There were several dozen such mounds, guarded not only by the fence but pillboxes at the gate and each corner of the fence. “This was taken last year. It’s been assessed as a chemical weapons site storing free-fall chemical ordnance.”
He hit a key, and a new photo appeared. It showed the same installation, but now a group of armored vehicles were clustered near the entrance, and half a dozen trucks were spaced neatly along one line of mounds.
“The vehicles near the front by themselves could be dismissed as extra security, but there’s only one reason for that many trucks to be inside.”
Dougherty asked, “When was this?”
“Early morning, their time, today — nine hours ago. I first saw it about half an hour ago.”
Low murmurs filled the room. Sawyer knew they were saying what he’d thought when he first saw the image. The genie was out of the bottle, but a better metaphor might be Pandora’s box. Remembering the sharing agreement, Sawyer explained, “I’ll be sending this to George Yeom as soon as we’re done here,” nodding toward the analyst.
Turning back to his boss, Sawyer added, “And this is in your in-box, along with more tasking requests.”
Dougherty smiled. “I don’t know what’s left to use. The only thing we don’t have watching North Korea is the Eye of Sauron.” There were a few laughs, and he continued. “I will ask that the priorities be reviewed, since we now have confirmation of exactly what we were most afraid of.”
He glanced at the clock and announced, “That’s it. I’ll be briefing the director in five minutes. Thanks for your hard work. We have more information, but that just means more questions.”
Colonel Rhee Han-gil concentrated on where to put his feet, one step at a time. It was simple enough. He wasn’t being shot at, and anything where he wasn’t under fire was, to his way of thinking, simple.
But it was hot today. His adjutant had politely suggested classroom and marksmanship training instead of a timed twenty-kilometer march. After all, the temperature at noon would be thirty-two degrees Celsius, nearly ninety-two degrees Fahrenheit. Regulations said the troops had to be kept inside if it was thirty-three degrees or higher. Of course, the adjutant’s real concern was Rhee. It wouldn’t look good for the Ninth Special Forces Brigade’s commander to collapse with heatstroke.