Red Phoenix Burning Page 6

  Everything suggested a coup, and even a successful coup would be bloody. A failed coup might be even worse.

  He pulled up the most recent report on that North Korean woman the military had rescued from the DMZ. The ROK National Intelligence Service had reported her name was Lee Ji-young, which placed her as a member of one of the ruling families; her father had been a senior politburo member. There was no way to know for certain which side her family had been on, but he had been a strong supporter of the Kim family in the past.

  Were they Kim loyalists getting out ahead of a purge? Or were they conspirators fleeing a failed assassination attempt? According to the US Army colonel who’d carried her across the line, she’d kept talking about “the burning.” The CIA analyst was willing to bet that the violence that would necessarily accompany any coup—whether it succeeded or failed—was well underway.

  Sawyer took another pull on his cold coffee, his second cup since a hurried lunch at his desk, and began typing. The White House and his own superiors were screaming for his best guesses about exactly what was going on in Pyongyang. It always made him itchy to make sweeping assessments with so little hard evidence, but that was inevitable for anyone trying to analyze the DPRK. Paranoid and ultra-secretive, what the West knew about North Korea might fill a thin volume. What they didn’t know was incalculable, but undoubtedly immense.

  Despite that, it was Sawyer’s assessment, with high confidence, that an attempt had been made on Kim Jong-un’s life. But that bald statement raised more questions than it answered. Where was the North’s all-important Supreme Leader now? Was he alive or dead? Who were the plotters? Would North Korea’s armed forces hold together or splinter into different factions?

  He added a number of indicators that would help produce answers to some of those questions. The rest would require additional collection. Some could be handled by the CIA, with its own resources, but most would require combined efforts by a host of organizations—the other US intelligence agencies, the military, the South Koreans, the Japanese, and many others.

  Wrapping up the final paragraph in the report’s conclusions, he wrote, “The power struggle now apparently taking place could involve numerous factions armed with nuclear, chemical, and possibly biological weapons. Given the DPRK’s strategic location between two important US allies and two powerful US adversaries, and with US forces present in the Republic of Korea, there is a grave risk of violence spreading to any or all of these countries—threatening American interests and lives.”

  Chris Sawyer sat back and read that passage over carefully several times. Its dry, analytic language was the type required in any official agency report, but it didn’t convey even half the anxiety he felt. At the moment, he could see only one possible future where the violence could be contained inside the boundaries of North Korea. There were at least a dozen more where death and chaos spread across the whole region . . . and maybe the whole world.

  16 August 2015

  Headquarters, 33rd Infantry Division, IV Corps

  South of Pyongyang, North Korea

  General Tae Seok-won had set up his battle headquarters in a courtyard just east of the mammoth Arch of Reunification. The Reunification Highway swept under the arch, heading straight north toward the center of Pyongyang.

  He scowled. The arch, a project of Kim Jong-un’s father, showed two women in traditional Korean dress leaning forward to hold a sphere showing a united Korea. Given the circumstances, with the DPRK teetering on the edge of civil war, it was a painfully ironic piece of propaganda.

  From the arch, Pyongyang’s skyline would be visible through the thick haze, with its spectacular, Stalinist-style hotels, universities, and government ministries dotting the horizon. He and his troops were just seven kilometers from the heart of the nation’s capital.

  Tae had hoped to get farther faster, but both his luck and the willingness of troops from the Pyongyang Defense Command to accept his orders had run out at a checkpoint about a kilometer north of the arch. That was where loyalist soldiers had stopped the lead elements of the 33rd Infantry Division, demanding confirmation from the National Defense Commission itself before allowing his units into the city proper. They had refused to be bluffed, and, when Tae’s men tried intimidation, pushing and shoving had quickly escalated into shooting.

  After a brutal, close-quarters melee that left bodies and burning trucks strewn across the highway, both sides had sought cover among the apartment buildings, shops, warehouses, and small factories on Pyongyang’s outskirts. A wide avenue, Tongil Street, intersected the highway at the checkpoint, offering any defending force a ready-made kill zone.

  Now Tae could hear sporadic gunfire. They were sniping at each other while scouts from the 33rd’s lead regiment, the 162nd, probed for loyalist strongpoints. His men were not well-trained for urban combat, and they were making slow progress. But they were still moving. The closest bridge across the Taedong River was just a few hundred meters beyond Tongil Street. Take that bridge, he thought, and we’ll have a clear road to the inner city.

  Meanwhile, Tae was trying to contact Vice Marshal Koh Chong-su, chief of the General Staff, and the first among equals in their coup against the Kim family and the other factions. Tae’s troops were fighting their way into position, and he was supposed to have received further instructions by now. The problem was that Koh wasn’t answering. Not by radio. Not by cell phone. Not even by dispatch rider.

  And the clock was ticking.

  Aware of the nervous glances being exchanged by the staff officers clustered around map tables and radios, Tae tried to buy time to think by pretending to study the most recent situation reports.

  Time, he thought bitterly. A few of his fellow conspirators had advocated waiting for confirmation of Kim Jong-un’s death before acting, but Tae and the others knew that time was too precious. It was all about control. Three generations of North Koreans had been raised to look to the party and the armed forces, and they, in turn, looked upward to their own leaders, rising higher and higher through the hierarchy until all eyes rested on Kim Jong-un. For a few brief hours, if they were lucky, there would be no one to give orders—no one to stop them.

  But as soon as it was confirmed that Kim Jong-un was dead, others would vie to take his place. So it was essential that Tae and his fellow plotters were organized and in charge before their rivals from the other factions sorted themselves out.

  The plan had worked so well at the beginning, he remembered. Perhaps that should have worried him. Every separate piece had run smoothly, like a well-oiled killing machine—starting right from last night’s nerve-wracking helicopter flight to the 33rd Division’s headquarters just outside Kaseong . . .

  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 bein
g 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.