2 - The UNthinkable

Ernesto Heinemann, Secretary General of the United Nations sat hunched over his desk massaging his temples. Trying to affect the General Assembly was like trying to control a schoolroom full of unruly students that spoke different languages, with the added complication that some were armed with weapons of mass destruction. Actually he like this analogy. He saw himself as a teacher, striving to develop the talents of lesser countries so that they might dream to peer their more illustrious counterparts. But there would always be countries that bullied weaker ones, as if demonstrating that their strength and power validated their actions. Here the analogy fell apart; there was no detention, no suspension, and no headmistress he could send them to for expulsion. 

 He sipped coffee from his standard-issue UN mug, and was dismayed to find that it was cold. He sighed and swallowed it anyway, his throat barely warming the contents. He had come to depend on caffeine in the months since his appointment. There was never enough time to sleep. Even on long-haul trips his body refused to acknowledge the down-time, and protested frequently that it had no idea what time zone it was living in. The long-promised ‘jet-lag’ pill was stuck in Phase 2 clinical trials - he kept a close watch on companies competing to patent the answer to his travel nightmares - so he relied on coffee, tea and (in moderation) alcohol.

Born in Argentina, Heinemann had trained as a lawyer but had switched to the diplomatic corps after becoming disenfranchised with his government’s failure to resolve the sovereignty of Islas Malvinas. He had only been a baby when Argentina and the UK had fought over these outcrops of land. However the cultural impact of their defeat had left a deep sociological scar on his father. This had, unwittingly, been transferred to Ernesto. He believed that the islands belonged to Argentina and had taken his skills in litigation, honed in the courts of Buenos Aires, to the UN in order to influence international opinion in Argentina’s favor.

But life was life. Years went by and discourse had turned to out to be just talk, which had turned out to be just words, that had turned out to be just air expelled from people’s mouths. Heinemann discovered that what was right and wrong to him was little more than a ripple on the muddy surface of the treacherous river called politics. He saw the role of the diplomat as partly negotiator, partly mediator, but mainly as a translator. Someone who took the language of their country’s politics, and transcribe it into something another country could understand. He spoke Spanish naturally, fluent English, and roundabout French. But linguistics, he had come to realize, was not important anymore. Jumps in AI had rendered the work of the linguistic translator redundant. Even ‘hard’ languages like Japanese and Slovenian were nearing business-level, real-time translation on the latest phones. What was critical was to ensure that the fragile peace that existed throughout (most of) the world was not fractured because of political, rather than linguistic, misunderstandings.

  The phone on Heinemann’s desk rudely interrupted his musing. He picked it up, said “Sí?” then mentally slapped himself. Six months in the job and he still hadn’t remembered to speak English. The speaker seemed not to have noticed, and did not wait for him to correct himself.

“Secretary General Heinemann?” 

Heinemann was confused. There was no chance this was a wrong number, since all his calls were security screened. His interest was peaked. It made a change from preparing to listen to another diatribe on how hand-tied the UN was in Africa. Also, the speaker’s voice was odd. He had a good ear for accents, it was a necessary tool of his profession. He prided himself that he could distinguish dialects even down to regional level for some of the bigger countries. This person’s voice had a tone he couldn’t place. 

Heinemann said, “Yes, I am he. To whom am I speaking?”

He wondered if this was a hacker faced with accidental success. Perhaps now, with the prospect of finding themselves hauled up in front of a court and forced to denounce such caustic actions as non-beneficial to society, they were having regrets. 

“Can I answer a question with a question?” the voice said.

Heinemann smiled. The person was not unskilled in the ways of diplomacy. “If you wish.”

There was a pause, as if the person were talking to someone else. “What is your favorite science fiction film?”

Heinemann blinked, and wondered if he had mis-heard. This was a crank call. He was going to have to order a complete review of communication security protocols. On the other hand, it was a mystery. He liked mysteries almost as much as he liked science fiction. He thought about all the films he had seen, and which one which he had enjoyed the most. “I think I’d have to say Contact, with Jodie Foster.”

The caller laughed. “How apt! I had thought you would select 2001, or perhaps Blade Runner; something cerebral.”

The voice’s origin still escaped him. At times it sounded classically ‘BBC English’, some words had a Parisian twang, yet others sounded almost…Texan? He couldn’t even tell with certainty if he was speaking to a man or a woman. The diplomat in him required the establishment of mutual interest before attempting to wheedle information. “What’s your favorite?”

“Many fans consider Star Wars to be the pinnacle of the genre.”

Heinemann groaned, and shook his head.

The person continued, “But my favorite is Tarkovsky’s Stalker.”

“I’m sorry?” Heinemann was amazed at the selection. “How old are you?”

“That is a rather tricky question, Mr. Secretary General. I don’t believe an honest answer would serve either of our ends at this time.”

The use of his honorific killed the possibility that this was a once in a lifetime mis-directed call. The person knew who he was speaking to, and therefore must have deliberately called him. Still Heinemann could not fathom how he had managed to hack the UN’s encrypted telephone network. It was time for some clarity. He decided that a direct approach was called for.

“It appears,” Heinemann said, “that you have me at a disadvantage. Might I know your name?” 

“Another difficult question. I am sorry but I cannot give you my real name, it would not be wise at this time. Why don’t you call me Carl.”

Heinemann smiled. “Very well Carl. Now perhaps you could explain how you got my number, and how you managed to call me without going through the normal security channels?”

“That is a secret for another time,” Carl said. “But would it help if I told you that I can help you?”

“Help me with what?”

“To establish the world peace you yearn for.” 

Heinemann rubbed his left temple again. He was going to have to fire someone, and he hated doing that. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you don’t understand but I am very busy and…”

“Stop!” Carl ordered. 

The anger Heinemann heard was not forced or uncertain.

 “Let me prove it to you,” Carl continued in a softer tone.

 “How?”

“I’ll tell you something you do not know; something important, something secret. You’ll know the truth of it in a day. I’ll call you back, and then we can talk.”

Heinemann rubbed his chin, the late afternoon stubble chaffing his hand. “Very well. Tell me your secret.”

“Not my secret. And not your secret either. It’s something being hidden from you, something you should know.”

Secrets, Heinemann thought, there are too many of those these days. He thought back to the lengthy speech from his predecessor, telling him of her dream of the past when the UN could come together; men and women of the nations working to solve the world’s differences. It was a misty dream now. 

“…re you ready?”

“Sorry,” Heinemann replied. “I was remembering something.”

“Of course. Here we go then.” Carl paused. “By the way, you are not going to like it.”

Heinemann sighed. Secrets never liked coming into the open, and when they did chaos normally resulted. “Very well, tell me.”

“North Korea has mined a tunnel underneath the demilitarized zone, and has built a detonation site under the South Korean city of PyeongChang. They plan to explode a stolen American nuclear warhead, and make sure China takes the blame.”

Now Carl had Heinemann’s full attention. This was atrocious news if true. North Korea had been a thorn in the UN’s side for decades. Its intransigence and isolationist ideology meant that trying to negotiate with it was like speaking to an alien race. The farther the rest of the world moved forward technologically (even the poorest nations were on 5G now), the more North Korea looked like a caveman trapped in the present. What was worse was that they had nuclear weapons. That wasn’t public knowledge, but the Chinese had confirmed it. Heinemann wondered if he could confirm this story through China’s UN envoy. Would China know if such a tunnel existed? How could he confirm the existence of something unknown?

Heinemann said, “I don’t see how I could possibly get that confirmed.”

Carl laughed. “It’s quite simple. Have your economic team analyze North Korea’s embargo transactions for the past four years. You’ll see that they have been buying mining equipment on the second-hand market, specifically machines left over from the drilling of the Channel Tunnel between England and France.” 

“That doesn’t prove anything.” In fact, Heinemann knew, it would prove quite a lot.

“Indeed? Then cross-reference that with American NSA thermal imaging of the demilitarized zone and you’ll find a cold-line running directly underneath it.”

How on earth could you get access to that? Heinemann thought. Getting classified data from the NSA was like succeeding in getting out of a bureaucratic escape room whilst drunk. 

“Still not convinced?” asked Carl. “Have the International Atomic Energy Agency send down a team into PyeongChang’s sewers. See what the Geiger counter readings are.”

Now Heinemann was worried. Despite the fantasy being painted, he wasn’t stupid. The radiation readings would be the kicker. Maybe there were naturally occurring sources under Pyeongchang which could generate false readings, Radon gas for example. But when you correlated three independent facts to backup a supposition you no longer had a theory, you had an indictment.  

Heinemann leant back in his chair and wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead. “Very well. I’ll check your claims. How do I contact you?” He could hear Carl smiling.

“Nice try sir, but I’ll contact you. Do you give me permission to use your mobile device?”

“Do you need my permission?” Heinemann was beginning to believe that something was happening beyond his control or understanding.

“No, but it is polite to ask.”

“Do you have the number?” Heinemann realized immediately that this was a stupid question.

“Yes, of course. The call will come through as Carl. Until tomorrow, Mr. General Secretary.”

The line went dead. Heinemann immediately called the head of UN Security and asked for the log of his phone calls for today. The email came through within a minute. Heinemann was disgusted to find that, per the phone records, he had not apparently just discussed North Korea’s plans for vaporizing a city in its richer, more attractive neighbor. Pinching himself, he discovered (sadly) that he was awake, and had not hallucinated the whole conversation. 

He got to work, realizing that he would have to be wary. Rushing in to something like this could lead to bad publicity, accusations, and not least (if the accusation were true) alerting the North Koreans, who might decide to preemptively push the button.

The embargo reporting was straightforward. He asked the Chairman of the Sanctions Committees for a report of exports to countries embargoed by the USA and EU over the past four years, broken down by industry type and manufacturing sector. The economists would not find this request unusual, since embargoes were frequently a source of political problems. He requested a paper copy on his desk by tomorrow morning. This might raise an eyebrow, so he explained it by saying that the report was for a press conference; he wanted something tangible to wave. 

The NSA satellite data, and the IAEA radiation survey were two entirely different problems. He weighed them, deciding that the radiation survey was the less thorny issue. He called the head of the IAEA and explained that the UN had received a credible report that an unscrupulous, unnamed company had been dumping radioactive waste into PyeongChang’s sewers. Heinemann let human nature take its course. Someone with Green aspirations would commission a general sweep, and that would include a basic radiation test. It wasn’t as thorough as a full inspection request, but that would lead to questions. If the general inspection detected deviations, they would upgrade to a full inspection. 

Dealing with the NSA was the hardest part of this. The Americans were prickly about national security. The CIA were reasonably cooperative, and the UN had good relations with the intelligence community at Langley. But the NSA was bigger, more secretive, and generally autonomous from the federal government. This was a political minefield, and navigating it to get top secret satellite data on North Korea of all places would be impossible. Heinemann stood and walked to the window. He looked down at the teeming New York street, at the bustling people, and the inching cars. He considered himself Lord Protector of people who had voices so small that the world ignored them. He was entrusted with creating a world where good people could feel safe, so he had a responsibility to tackle any threat to that.

Heinemann clicked his teeth. Perhaps a call to the American President? Madam President was abroad at the moment, trying to make friends with the Russians again. He decided not to call her. It was unlikely she would help, and even if she did the red tape would be a nightmare. He needed a direct approach, something the diplomat in him winced at. He returned to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a small, faded address book. The contents of this seemed innocuous, but were in fact contacts from his old legal days in South America. He leafed through the names until he found the one he wanted. 

Heinemann always assumed his phones were monitored, by friendly and unfriendly alike. To counter this, he used a type of reverse psychology. If he wanted something secret, he unencrypted his phone on the principal that airing your most valuable conversations in plain site would make them less attractive to snoopers. He dialed the number of a contact in Brazil, one he had used previously to acquire information that could not be verified or used in court. He asked for that he needed using key words and agreed the ‘fee’. Some financial trickery was going to be needed. Another of his latent skills. He was told to expect the information within twenty four hours. 

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? thought Heinemann. He wondered if the NSA knew that, for the right price, their information could be ordered as easily as calling for a pizza. If it was discovered that he was illegally acquiring classified US Government data it would not only cost him his job, but most likely put him in the worst type of American jail. The embarrassment to his family, his country, and the UN would be catastrophic. There were governments who would be overjoyed to see him removed from office. His moderate standing matched that of his predecessors, but his frequent side-stepping of rhetoric had won him enemies. 

Heinemann returned to his desk, sat, and pondered the secret revealed to him. North Korea was belligerent, intransigent and, frankly, dangerous. Many had hoped the transfer of power to the current Supreme Leader would usher in an era of greater cooperation with the rest of the world. But the usual posturing had increased, and successive UN leaders had struggled with how to deal with a country that refused to join the rest of the world. If Carl’s accusation was true, then a nuclear explosion identified as Chinese must lead to intervention by the USA. The Americans would immediately answer South Korea’s SOS and would launch a tactical nuclear strike against China. That would produce a Chinese response and lead to a full-scale war. The chaos would spread, and draw in countries like Japan and Taiwan on one side, and Russia and Iran on the other. It would be a disaster threatening the entire planet. If his job represented nothing else, it was to try and protect the people of Earth from themselves.

*******************

Twenty-four hours later Heinemann was back at his desk, staring blankly at the painting on the wall opposite him. It was a reproduction of John Martin’s The Great Day of His Wrath. He wondered if his predecessor had been clairvoyant. Martin’s vision of Judgement Day might have seemed fantastic in the 19^th century, but the facts laid before Heinemann painted an apocalyptic picture an end of the world. All that Martin was missing were the mushroom clouds. 

Heinemann’s mobile rang. It was Carl. He said, “Answer call on speaker.” His phone dutifully obliged.

“Hello sir,” said Carl. “I am sure you’re feeling worried.”

Heinemann cleared his throat. “That is not the word I would have chosen. Scared would be more appropriate.”

“Well I had to get your attention, and this North Korean business is the greatest threat to world peace at this time.” Carl paused. “I also wanted to say how creative the way you got the NSA data was.”

Heinemann blinked. How could Carl know about the South American Network? They were very selective about who they dealt with. He had spend years building trust with them, and knew for certain that their security systems were more than state-of-the-art, they were ahead of the cutting edge. They kept it that way to ensure they were protected. 

“Well,” Heinemann said, “can we talk about North Korea? I want to know how you knew about the tunnel.”

“It’s complicated. For the moment let’s just say that I have access to information that you don’t. But that’s not important.”

“Isn’t it? It seems to me that it’s very important. Knowledge is power. If you have knowledge that I don’t then you have more power than me.”

“Actually I don’t think that’s true. You have more influence than you know. Many of the world’s leaders are looking to you to lead humanity.”

‘Humanity’, interesting choice of word, thought Heinemann. “Influence perhaps, but not enough to stop the North Koreans obliterating PyeongChang.”

Carl said, “No, you are right about that. But you need not worry, it will be handled.”

“Handled?” Heinemann was aghast at Carl’s indifference. “Handled? This isn’t some minor police action. We’re talking about the potential for a nuclear holocaust here!”

“I realize that it is hard to trust someone you have never met. However, please believe me when I say that this North Korean problem will be, what is the expression, ‘put to bed’. I will make sure of that and will provide you with proof. I believe that you will find North Korea easier to deal with once their plan has been foiled. I trust that will make life easier for you, at least in some respects.”

Heinemann got a feeling in his stomach that he well recognized. He was being trapped. Any good lawyer could feel the argument closing in around him. He was about to be charged for this. But if Carl could solve this problem, was any price too high? Of course it wasn’t. In classical politics, any leader worth their salt would happily throw a future leader under the bus with a promise that would win them votes. But this position was different. There was an unwritten rule that no incumbent passed a ‘price’ onto an incoming Secretary General. Actually Heinemann didn’t agree with this philosophy. In his opinion it was one of the reasons that the Office of Secretary General of the United Nations was inert. He would ever admit this publicly of course. Although he knew that ‘UNert’ was an in-joke staff whispered when the UN failed to act; which it did, a lot. There was no sense in drawing this out. “What do you want from me in return?”

Carl didn’t pause an inch. “Only this. At some time I may need your help. If that time comes then, without denial or disagreement, you will assist me or a person of my choosing, in any way you can. Do you agree?”

Heinemann decided to see if he could press a contract out of this. “I have some conditions.”

“No conditions. This is a simple equation. I will negate the North Korean threat and avoid a potential nuclear war. In return you will help me with all means at your disposal if I require it.”

Heinemann sighed. He had no choice. “I agree.”

“So be it,” said Carl. The line went dead.

Ernesto Heinemann went to his drinks cabinet, and poured himself a monumental bourbon.