"I'm listening," Foxworthy said guardedly.
"It's called Dongfenghong, or something like that. Translated, it means 'East is Red.' It's Red China's latest secret weapon. We don't know what it is or what it does, we just know that it is."
"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.