The dongfeng deception, p.31
The Dongfeng Deception, page 31
In due course, this is precisely what transpired. Rankin found herself summoned to the oval office for a conference with the National Security Advisor and the President. Angiotti was also required to attend, to update the President on his agency’s latest investigations into the Dongfeng affair. The four met in the oval office, where the President opened and gave Secretary of State, Elizabeth Rankin, the floor.
‘Mister President, you will have read my request for a meeting with the Chinese. It comes at the urging of the Australian Government, which has offered to act as an intermediary to secure the meeting and attend as an observer. They have strong connections with Beijing and are particularly vulnerable to any flare up in relations, as they are dependent upon China for over 50% of their exports. In the event of a conflict with the US, they are bound by the ANZUS treaty to support any US position and fear this could potentially have serious economic ramifications for them. As a middle-ranking power, chairing the Security Council, they are an ideal mediator.’
‘The proposal is that we meet with Chinese officials in Beijing to discuss recent developments in North Asia, and the tensions between us. I would not normally urge such action, but the current atmosphere is highly charged and I believe we should continue to favour diplomacy over a more aggressive response, at least until CIA Director Angiotti and his team have completed their further investigations.’
Almost before Rankin had completed her sentence, Nordish interjected.
‘Damn it, Liz. We have had this discussion before. History is riddled with examples of how appeasement just opens the way for the other side to ramp up, believing they have us rattled. Neville Chamberlain learned that lesson the hard way, when he returned to Britain with a smile on his face just before Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia.
‘It’s time we toughened our stance, not weakened it.’
‘I am inclined to agree,’ said the President thoughtfully stroking his chin. The western world’s eyes are upon us and they look to us for leadership on this issue.’
‘With your permission,’ offered Angiotti, ‘there have been further developments which lend weight to our suspicions that the Russians are behind this whole Dongfeng thing. If we are right about this, the entire scenario changes and we have a chance to recalibrate our position and defuse this dangerous escalation.’
‘Go ahead.’ said the President. ‘But the whole spy thing seems a bit fanciful to me. Doesn’t change much, either, following the naval collision in the Manila Trench.’
‘With respect, sir, I think it does,’ said Rankin. ‘The Defence Department’s report confirmed that we were patrolling in their waters, that there was no locking on of weapons… no attack scenario. Indeed, it appears that their sub was simply quieter and bigger than ours, and that we were not smart enough to get out of its way.’
‘Jesus, Elizabeth…’ said Nordish, but before he could continue his stormy protest, the President raised a hand to quieten him and deferred to Frank Angiotti.
‘I am interested in what you have found, Frank. Why don’t you fill us in?’
‘Thank you, Mr President. While you are across most of the earlier details, General Nordish is not, so I think it time we brought him up to speed,’ he said.
‘I absolutely agree,’ said the President. ‘Please carry on.’
‘Our suspicions were first raised when our Deputy Director, Charles Ritter, was found murdered in his apartment. He had been working on a report into the Chinese Dongfeng ICBM silos, and the potency of the missiles, which we believed were an obsolete design borrowed, if I may use that term, from the Russians some years ago. The Friday before his body was found, Ritter had confided, in a casual discussion with me, that he had considered the threat from the Dongfeng silos minimal, that they were a cumbersome missile which we could easily interdict, and that they were barely capable of making it to our shores. None of that rhetoric was found in Ritter’s final report, which was recovered from his personal computer, taken from his home following his death. We were very puzzled by the whole tone of his final report. He had technically breached security protocols by taking his report home with him, as he had wanted to finish it over the weekend. His final report was wildly at odds with the verbal assessment he shared with me, and we began to smell a rat.’
‘That may be so,’ said the President, ‘but if we cannot prove Russian interference, how does that change the predicament we now find ourselves facing?’
‘I am coming to that, sir, and I agree. Without clear evidence of the Russian espionage and their tampering with Ritter’s report, we have nothing. However, our quiet investigation into the matter proceeded, and we were amazed to discover footage, at an airport immigration control point, of the head of Russia’s spy agency entering the United States under an assumed name. He has since been linked to communications with Russian field agents, and with his embassy. More recently, he was intercepted by immigration officials as he attempted to leave the US. He made a run for it, with our CIA and FBI units in hot pursuit, and was captured two days ago. We were able to link him to a murder at an airport hotel, where he stole the ID of his victim. His involvement in the murder of a US civilian has been clearly established, as his DNA was found on the victim and on the victim’s personal effects, in his possession. If you think the Dongfeng issue is a problem, sir, try explaining to the Russians why we have arrested and detained the head of their national spy agency.’
‘My God,’ said the President. ‘What a damned mess we have here!’
‘Let me retrace the sequence of events, because they are significant in determining which side began this dangerous escalation,’ continued Angiotti. Following Ritter’s alarming report that the Chinese Dongfengs carried electromagnetic pulse warheads, we accused the Chinese, in the UN Security Council, in front of all of the delegates, of using a weapon of mass destruction to threaten our security. Their Ambassador would neither confirm nor deny deployment of the EMP warheads, and things started spiralling out of control. If we could prove Russia’s role in a deception of this magnitude, we may enable the Chinese to save face and take the steam out of this whole affair. I therefore strongly support the Secretary of State’s initiative.’
‘Truth is, however, you don’t have any solid proof yet, do you?’ said the President.
‘No sir, we don’t. But we have the Russian spy chief in custody and are interrogating him. We are confident we can join more dots and that he will finally crack.’
‘Alright everyone,’ said the President. ‘Here’s my decision. I cannot allow the Secretary of State’s initiative to proceed at this point… not until I have a watertight case against the Russians. Things are very tense with the Chinese at present, so I also have to consider how the world is watching our response to this extraordinary chain of events, resulting in this dangerous escalation. I am going to support Bill Nordish’s request for continued naval and air passes to preserve freedom of air and sea navigation in the South China Sea. The UN will support that. God help us if an incident arises from which we cannot pull back. Meantime, I want all of our CIA and FBI resources to focus on resolving the Russian espionage thing, as a matter of priority over any other agency work. Bill, you will advise the Secretary of Defence of our decision and have him prepare his freedom of navigation patrols. That is all.’
Elizabeth Rankin gave her reluctant assent to this approach and quietly left the oval office. She would now have to suspend arrangements for the peace mission to Beijing. She was therefore dejected, and could only find agreement with one phrase the President had uttered – ‘God help us if an incident arises.’
150 East 42nd Street, New York
Colonel Tom Grant was seated at his desk in the Australian Consulate General, New York, completing a coded despatch to Sir Robert Chandler (codename Lazarus) about the capture and arrest of Anatoly Pushkin and the likely consequences of his interrogation. He had earlier reported the entry of Pushkin into the US under an assumed name, the suspected clandestine activities associated with his presence, and the manhunt to run Pushkin to ground following his attempt to leave the US.
Tom Grant was certain that Pushkin was behind the Long Island kidnapping of himself and Dr Maggie King and was able to support this theory by describing the callousness of the Russian spy chief in the murder of the old man at the airport hotel, and the Custom’s Officer at the airport
He concluded his report with information on Angiotti’s meeting with General Nordish and the President, at Australia’s urging, to consider a meeting in Beijing to take heat out of the situation, and the President’s reluctance to approve such an initiative without irrefutable proof of Russian involvement in the Dongfeng affair. He transmitted his coded message, signing it with his codename Archangel, and turned his attention to other routine matters he needed to tie up, before leaving his office.
Tonight would be special. After a long week in Washington working through issues with CIA chief Frank Angiotti and agent Macka McKenzie, he was looking forward to catching up with Maggie. She had agreed to accompany him to a diplomatic cocktail party at the WestHouse Hotel, in Manhattan. His jovial aide-de-camp, Corporal Mike Stephens, would pick them up, take them to the cocktail event, and then return them to the Andaz Hotel for dinner. Maggie had preferred to stay over, rather than make the trip back to her digs at Princeton, where she was now an important member of the academic team. This decision had romantic overtones and Tom was overjoyed.
Tom Grant found his vehicle and driver, with Maggie already on board, standing at the curb side as he exited his building. She shuffled over, creating space for him to join her in the back seat. Tom slid in beside her, leaned forward, planted a kiss on her cheek and broke into a wide grin. Maggie looked resplendent in a white evening gown, wearing simple pearls and smelling of fresh soap.
‘Maggie darling, you look amazing,’ he said.
‘You don’t look too bad yourself, soldier,’ she replied, affecting a Mae West accent. ‘Although I do prefer a man in uniform. You are starting to look like a diplomat, in those business suits, Tom, but you need some advice on your selection of ties!’
‘Thanks for the fashion lecture, mate. How’s is life at Princeton?’
‘Well, I’ve got my senior lectureship sorted and have been offered tenure. With the Masters and PHD behind me, I suppose I will need to work towards a professorship, but I think I need to chill for a bit. It’s been hard work. How was Washington?’
‘That’s a long story. Lots happening, and some of it a bit hot for general discussion. I’ll tell you as much as I can over dinner, later tonight. For now, I have to catch up on some Defence Attaché duties, although tonight’s bash is just a regular get together for western diplomats in New York. I could strangle a nice cocktail!’
They arrived at the portico of the salubrious WestHouse Hotel and joined a throng of happy people mingling in a large function room adjacent to the foyer. A drinks waiter offered a tray of assorted drinks, and Tom grabbed a martini while Maggie chose a white wine. As they looked about for a familiar group to join, a gregarious matron in a tropical shift beckoned Maggie to join her and her colleagues.
‘Hi Maggie. How about introducin’ me to this tall stranger you got with you?’
‘Tom, let me introduce Professor Susanna Duffield, from Princeton. She runs our Political Science program. Susanna, this is Colonel Tom Grant, the Australian Defence Attaché. Tom’s here under our military’s exchange program with Australia.’
‘Nice to meet you, Tom,’ replied the voluble academic, examining the tall, athletic Australian closely. ‘Nice hunting, Maggie. You an item, Tom?’ she added, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Maggie looked decidedly embarrassed as she struggled for an answer that fell short of commitment. They both knew that Tom’s attachment under the military exchange program would end in a couple of months, and had avoided that difficult issue.
‘Let’s just say he’s growing on me. Not like a fungus. More like a comfortable shoe at this stage, but he still needs a bit more training.’
Susanna roared with delight, while Tom hid his discomfort, trying to look equally amused by Maggie’s off the cuff joke at his expense.
‘Say, I have been meaning to congratulate you on your new appointment,’ said the matronly political scientist, whose contacts in the state department ran deep.
Tom Grant looked at Maggie with raised eyebrows. This was news to him.
‘Something you forgot to tell me Maggie?’ he asked, puzzled by the remark.
‘It’s something that came up while you were in Washington,’ she replied, ‘with some twists to it. I’ll fill you in later.’
***
The cocktail party was fun, and Tom’s reaction to the gregarious academic’s remark had faded in his consciousness. Maggie had woven her arm through Tom’s and kept it there throughout the event, publicly owning their relationship as a bounteous quantity of grog and food flowed, leaving them in a warm, slightly tipsy mood. They made their way to the exit and found Mike Stephens parked under the portico, ready to transport them back to Tom’s hotel, where he dropped them off and sped away.
‘I don’t need to eat, Tom, after all that cocktail food. Let’s just grab a nightcap in the lobby bar and then go on up,’ said Maggie.
They settled onto stools at the Andaz bar and ordered wine.
‘So, Washington was interesting, was it Tom?’ said Maggie.
‘Yeah. I called on Defence and signed off on some Military Attaché business. Most of it was hush-hush stuff at CIA, where they were still trying to firm up intelligence on a suspect. A big fish who had entered the country under an assumed name. Our suspect made a run for it and I found myself involved in bringing him down.’
‘How so, Tom? You’re not an authorised US law enforcement officer. You are only a foreign interloper who is supposed to observe and report.’
‘It’s complicated, but that is exactly what I was doing when the suspect made a bad move. Had to help the local guys bring him down. No big deal,’ he added, careful to protect the wider context and respect the secret intelligence aspects of his role.
‘Enough about me, Maggie. What’s all this about congratulating you on your new appointment?’ said Tom, wanting to end his interrogation.
‘It came out of the blue. Elizabeth Rankin contacted me for my views about the strained relationship with China, and I agreed to meet her to discuss it. That is my area of expertise, after all. At the end of the meeting, Rankin surprised me by asking whether I would accept a more permanent, advisory role with her office… not full time, but whenever she needed a fresh set of eyes on a sensitive issue. It’s extra money, and it lends a bit of extra curricula status, so I said yes.’
‘So, you also travelled to Washington while I was there and didn’t bother to tell me?’ said Grant.
‘It was a professional matter with some confidential aspects. I was in and out on the same day, so it didn’t seem right to distract you with it,’ added Maggie.
‘I smell a rat!’ said Tom. ‘This is Sir Robert Chandler’s doing, isn’t it? I know for a fact that he wanted to set up a meeting with the Chinese, and he told me he thought you could help him persuade Rankin to support the idea. Trust me… this whole military escalation is becoming very dangerous. I told him to leave you the hell out of it!’
‘It really had little or nothing to do with Sir Robert,’ she lied, ‘and I don’t have to explain myself to you every time I take on a project,’ she added defiantly.
This seemed to placate Tom, and he backed off. He had pushed her too far. Tonight was about being together, and he didn’t want anything to spoil that. Their conversation mellowed and their night caps encouraged a more languid mood. Finally, they made their way to the lifts, heading for Tom’s room. As they waited for the lift, the physical bond between them was suddenly more palpable. When they alighted on his floor, he took her hand and gently guided her to his door. Once inside, the tall Australian circled her waist with his big hands and drew her to him. She seemed to melt at the quiet power of his command and her breath quickened when he sought her lips. Their deep, lingering kiss opened a floodgate of sexual desire, quickly becoming a torrent of physical need, requiring no logic or explanation.
‘Oh, my darling… I have missed you so much,’ she moaned, and they tumbled onto Tom’s bed, tearing at each other’s clothing in their search for urgent release.
CIA Headquarters, Langley Virginia
The next morning, Frank Angiotti was back at his desk. He was deeply engrossed in a National Security Agency (NSA) report dealing with Russian and Chinese cyber intrusion, which outlined much increased activity by those two foreign powers, both in hacking into western servers and in signal interception. It noted that sophisticated new software had been installed at the NSA to deal with this growing cyber threat and had greatly improved the agency’s ability to trace activity back to source. Just as he was concluding that task, his PA entered and delivered an urgent message:
‘Sir. I have just had a request from agent McKenzie and his IT guy for an urgent meeting. They think they have found something big. According to agent McKenzie, they have found clear linkages that confirm Pushkin’s identity, that provide evidence of his wider espionage activities and that may lead to a string of other charges. Macka thinks this will put a noose around Pushkin’s neck and force him to deal.’
Angiotti needed no prompting. This was the breakthrough he had been waiting for.
