“It’s already being done.” Antipov looked at his watch. “I have to get to Kwai Chung. Oskar is coming in with the shipment this morning.”
“Good.” Zdrok touched it once more, admiring the fine craftsmanship and design. “You know, I almost wish we didn’t have to sell it. It’s not often that a nuclear bomb passes through the Shop. You’re right, Anton. The last one we sold was one of the older models from the early Cold War era. Big motherfucking thing the size of a Volkswagen. These 1980s jobs are so much more compact and . . . movable.”
“That they are, Andrei,” Antipov replied. “That they are.”
Zdrok nodded at his partner and said, “Do you have time to get some breakfast and some coffee? I’ll treat.”
Antipov grinned and nodded. “Sure.”
Together they walked out, past the crate lid that read in Russian, English, and Chinese: PERISHABLE—FORMANOVA CYLINDRA BEETS—KEEP AWAY FROM HEAT.
18
DRESSED in my uniform, I arrive at Kwai Chung container port at seven-fifteen. The place is brimming with activity so I need to be careful. I don’t want to be seen wearing this getup. Someone might think I’m on my way to a costume party. To make it less noticeable, I don’t wear the headset or goggles. Hopefully I’ll simply look like I’m wearing some kind of protective gear for handling hazardous materials. I can’t worry about it, though.
Kwai Chung is a famous shipping center, probably the busiest in all of Asia. The place also serves to export goods from the Chinese mainland because China’s own transport infrastructure is so inadequate. The container port lies on the eastern shore of Rambler Channel, just north of the border that separates Kowloon from the New Territories. The area is purely industrial, so there are always trucks, construction vehicles, and moving vans going in and out of the port. The container port itself consists of six terminals, with Terminal 5 at the northern end and Terminal 6 at the southern end. Terminals 1 through 4 are in the middle. The Triad hoodlum I interrogated told me that the arms deal was going down at Terminal 6, which by my map readings appears to be somewhat set apart from the terminal buildings. That figures. The Triad wouldn’t want illegal activities to be noticed.
From where I’m standing I can see hundreds of containers stacked high like colored building blocks. They all have labels and logos painted on the sides, words like EVERGREEN, HYUNDAI, WAN HAI, UNIGLORY, and many others. Tall orange cranes loom over the containers at strategic points around the port, along with equally tall blue barges. The white warehouse buildings are scattered throughout the port and are manned by security guards, terminal employees, and representatives from the various shipping companies. Security at the port has increased since the events of September 11, 2001, but probably not as much as the United Nations would like. I know that in the United States our shipping ports are still very vulnerable. It would be quite easy for terrorists or other notorious groups to place WMDs inside a container and hide them well. The containers are rarely inspected. If they are, it’s done randomly.
When I arrive at Terminal 6 I see that the Odessa, a large Russian ship, is docked at the pier against one of the big blue barges. A crane is already at work unloading crates and containers from the ship. I make note of the ship’s identification details and then attempt to creep closer to the terminal. Three workers are hovering at the back of the building smoking cigarettes next to a rung ladder that goes all the way to the roof. If I could get up there I’d have a good bird’s-eye view of the proceedings taking place by the barge.
I reach into my backpack and grab one of the diversion cameras that I usually launch from my SC-20K. I didn’t bring the rifle with me on this trip but I can throw the camera by hand if I need to. A diversion camera sticks to a wall or object and then makes noise on my command. There’s a very creative list of sounds in its database, from effects to different types of music. It can sometimes attract the attention of nosy guards and divert them away from me. It’s a camera, too, should I need photos of curious guards.
I arm the diversion camera to make noise and then toss it about twenty yards away in between a row of stacked containers. The thing begins to beep, attracting the workers’ attention. One of them points in the direction of the containers and curiosity gets the better of them. When they walk over to investigate the noise, I quickly run to the ladder, climb it, and safely reach the roof.
From this position, I can see the entire barge and terminal area. In addition to five men dressed in business suits conversing in a huddle, terminal workmen are loading crates from the ship into two medium-sized moving trucks with Chinese script on the side, translated as “Ming Fish Company.” I lie flat, remove my binoculars, and focus on the suits. I immediately recognize Jon Ming as one of the businessmen. He has two toughs with him—armed, from the looks of the bulges beneath their jackets. Ming’s Rolls-Royce is parked near the building I’m lying on.
The Chinese are talking to two white guys who apparently came in a black Mercedes that’s parked beside the Rolls. Lo and behold I recognize Oskar Herzog as one of them. He’s come a great distance since I last saw him in Ukraine. But then again, so have I. The other guy appears to be Anton Antipov. Lucky me, two Shop directors in one spot. Antipov is doing all the talking.
Just from witnessing this exchange it’s obvious that the Shop is doing business with the Lucky Dragons. I’d bet a Hong Kong dollar that those crates are full of weapons. The Triad has to get gear from somewhere and the Shop doesn’t care who their customers are.
I aim my OPSAT’s digital camera at the group and snap a few photos. Then I pull out the Five-seveN and activate the T.A.K. audio component. Quickly sticking the earplug in my right ear, I’m now able to listen to what they’re saying and record the conversation as well. At first I’m surprised that they’re speaking English, but then I realize the Chinese guys don’t speak Russian and vice versa. Ah, yes, English, the universal language. That should tell you something about the way of the world.
ANTIPOV:—as we agreed. Your order is now complete.
MING: Thank you. Please tell Mr. Zdrok that we appreciate the opportunity to do business with you. Of course, we will need to inspect the merchandise where we can do so in privacy.
ANTIPOV: I understand. I’m sure you’ll find it satisfactory. By the way, Mr. Zdrok asked me to tell you that he is sorry he couldn’t be here in person this morning. He had some urgent business to attend to.
MING: Don’t we all?
ANTIPOV: So, everything is good, then? This completes our end of the agreement. This is the final shipment of merchandise in exchange for the various installments of Operation Barracuda that you have graciously passed on to us.
MING: Agreed. As you know, we also eliminated the link. The American authorities should not be able to trace the professor’s trail. At least he won’t be able to talk about it!
ANTIPOV: (laughs) Why, Mr. “Wong”! The professor really believed he’d have safe passage to Beijing?
MING: (laughs) Apparently so.
ANTIPOV: Oh, well, he probably wouldn’t have liked working in Beijing anyway.
MING: I wouldn’t.
ANTIPOV: Of course not.
The men are silent for a moment as they watch the workers.
ANTIPOV: It looks as if your men are almost finished. I am obligated to bring up the issue of the final piece of the Barracuda project, which you still owe us.
MING: Don’t worry. We’ll be picking that up from California any day. I’m just waiting to hear from my people in Los Angeles.
ANTIPOV: Very good. Please keep us informed. Our customer is anxious to receive it.
MING: (coughs) Excuse me. I think I am fighting a cold. Speaking of your customer, may I ask who it might be?
ANTIPOV: Mr. Ming, you know we cannot reveal that. The Shop has built a reputation on discretion.
MING: Mr. Antipov, surely you can understand our concern. Operation Barracuda, as you call it, involves some serious technology that could very well be used against our in
terests if it was sold to the wrong people.
ANTIPOV: I appreciate your concern but again I must stress that we cannot reveal who the customer is.
Ming takes a step closer to Antipov and Herzog. Although Antipov is two inches taller, Ming is definitely the more threatening. I can hear the change in the man’s voice. He is not someone to cross.
MING: Fine. Keep your secrets. But I should leave you with a little word of advice. I do hope you are not selling the Operation Barracuda material to anyone in mainland China.
ANTIPOV: That sounds like a warning, not advice.
MING: Take it however you wish. Some of my sources have suggested that the Shop is dealing with that devil General Tun in Fuzhou. As you know, the Lucky Dragons have a relationship with a few friends in the Communist government in China, but those relationships go only so far. Triads fundamentally hate the People’s Republic and what it stands for. General Tun represents the worst of China. I shall go on the record here and now that if I find out the Shop is indeed selling this material to General Tun, the Lucky Dragons will not be happy with Mr. Zdrok. We will do everything in our power to stop it. Good day, Mr. Antipov. Mr. Herzog.
No shaking of hands, no friendly salutations. Abruptly, the three Chinese turn and walk toward the Rolls. I have to duck quickly to avoid being seen. After a moment I peer over the edge again and see that the Rolls is pulling out of the parking area and the two Russians are walking inside the building. This is my chance to get down.
Once I’m on the ground, I fish a homer from my backpack, activate it, and casually walk toward the Mercedes. I look around to make sure the Russians are out of sight and that the workers are paying no attention to me. In one fluid move, I crouch, place the homer under the car, stand, and walk away. The odds are heavily in my favor that I wasn’t seen.
“Anna, are you there?” I ask, pressing the implant in my throat.
“Hi, Sam.”
“I take it you received that little conversation?”
“Loud and clear. I’m analyzing it now.”
“And, Frances?”
I hear Coen’s voice a little clearer. “Yes, Sam?”
“I’ve placed a homer underneath the Russians’ car. I’m counting on you to track it and let me know where they go.”
“Already zoomed in on it, Sam.”
Satisfied, I make my way toward Kwai Chung Road, the outer perimeter of the container port, throw my sport jacket on to cover up the more superhero aspects of my uniform, and hail a taxi.
19
MIKE Wu drove into Los Angeles on I-40 after crossing the Mojave Desert overnight. He hit I-15 at Barstow, drove southwest into the metropolis, took I-10 west to the 405, and then headed for Los Angeles International Airport. It had been a stressful trip and he was happy it was over. Pretty soon he would see his brother Eddie and he could get the hell out of the United States and over to Hong Kong where he would start a new life with a new identity.
The plan was for him to bring the final puzzle piece of Professor Jeinsen’s project directly to the Lucky Dragons. Apparently the device could be disassembled and packed in checked luggage without arousing security concerns. It was made simply of machine parts and a laptop computer. Eddie was taking care of a new passport and visa for him and soon Mike could kiss America goodbye. The most important thing was that Mike would receive his big payoff, from Jon Ming himself. For the last three years Mike had worked at Third Echelon for his regular U.S. government salary. His deal with the Lucky Dragons began with an initial advance of a reasonable amount of cash. But after final delivery of Jeinsen’s materials, Mike was due to receive three million dollars. Mike never understood why he had to wait until the end to get his money but that was the way the Lucky Dragons wanted it. In the meantime, Mike had done a little side transaction with the organization known as the Shop for a comfortable sum.
Mike Wu actually liked living in the U.S. He and his brother had been born and raised in L.A.’s Chinatown. Becoming involved with the neighborhood gangs began early in their lives. Mike, being the oldest, joined a Triad at the age of thirteen. Eddie had waited until he was sixteen but by then Mike was one of the major players in the gang. The Wu brothers joined the California contingent of the Lucky Dragons when Mike turned twenty-six. He and Eddie visited Hong Kong just before the handover and met Jon Ming. He gave the Wu brothers a great deal of responsibility running the American West Coast operations, tasks they shared with members already in place. When the Lucky Dragons became associated with the Shop, a new directive sent Mike to the East Coast as “Mike Chan,” and eventually he became a research analyst for Third Echelon.
He didn’t know how he would enjoy living in a Communist country after the luxury of the U.S. But Mike Wu was sure that he would be free of the inherent prejudice he had experienced in America. It wasn’t as bad for Asians as for other minorities, but Mike encountered it daily. Even at Third Echelon. He felt he was a much better analyst than Carl Bruford, his boss. Bruford rarely gave Mike the tough assignments and yet Mike more than once went above and beyond the call of duty to work on them. He was fairly certain that Third Echelon’s director, Colonel Lambert, thought highly of him.
Well, too bad. Mike “Chan” had screwed them royally.
He drove the car he’d stolen in Oklahoma into LAX and parked it in the long-term lot, where it would stay until the authorities discovered it days later. He then took the shuttle to the nearest terminal and looked for a bank of pay phones. Wu had tossed his cell phone long ago since he knew that government authorities could trace his movements if he used the device. Instead he’d bought a prepaid phone card and used it at pay phones when he had to.
Wu dialed the number his brother had given him and waited. He smiled broadly when he recognized Eddie’s voice.
“Welcome to sunny southern California, big brother!” Eddie said.
It was true. The weather was quite pleasant for winter. It was a relief leaving behind the snow and ice of the East Coast.
“I can’t wait to see you,” Mike said. “How do I get there?”
Mike wrote down Eddie’s instructions and promised he’d see his brother within a couple of hours. He then went to the baggage claim, exited the terminal, and caught a taxi.
EDDIE showed his brother into his office at GyroTechnics, embraced him, and said, “It’s been too long. It is good to see you.”
“Likewise,” Mike said. “You look well.”
“And you look tired. Was it a difficult journey?”
“I had a few problems but I’m here. And you’re right, I’m exhausted.”
“We’ll go to my apartment as soon as I’m finished with some things here. What did you do with your car?”
Mike said, “I dumped it in Oklahoma. Stole another one there and I just left that one in the LAX long-term parking. If I’m tracked maybe they’ll think I hopped on a plane.”
“Good thinking. You took a taxi here?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you hungry? Want some lunch?” Eddie asked.
“That sounds good. Then I want to sleep for a week. But I can’t do that because I’m going to Hong Kong tomorrow!”
Eddie laughed. “Not tomorrow. I hope to have you leaving in two or three days. Four at the most. In the meantime you’ll stay at my apartment and chill out. How does that sound?”
Mike wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean? I thought you had it all arranged.”
Eddie waved him off. “There have been some complications. Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it under control.”
That wasn’t what Mike wanted to hear. He was too tired to push it so instead he looked around the office and asked, “You really work here?”
“Nah. Well, yes and no. I’m not officially on the payroll. I’m a troubleshooter. I help out with immigration and work visas.”
“Oh, right. Eddie Wu, the Wizard of Work Visas. Illegal ones.”
Eddie laughed. “Something like that.”
“So what is this place, a
nyway?”
“It’s one of Ming’s many businesses. The Lucky Dragons back GyroTechnics financially but it’s a legitimate enterprise here in America. They employ top scientists from Hong Kong and China and the Lucky Dragons help to get them here. That’s my job.”
“You mean it’s a means by which scientists defect from China?”
“I guess you can say that. So far the authorities in China haven’t figured out where their physicists are going. That’s why GyroTechnics keeps moving around and changing its name. We stay ahead of the Americans that way, too.”
“So where’s the guidance system? I’ve been waiting for news about the final piece of Professor Jeinsen’s project for a long time.”
“Right. It’s done, ready to ship.”
“So what’s the problem? I thought I was to take it with me to Hong Kong.”
Eddie frowned and looked away. “Like I said, there are some complications.”
Mike didn’t feel like playing games. “What is it, little brother? What are these complications?”
“Ming. He’s canceled the sale of the device to the Shop.”
“What the hell for? Isn’t it what we’ve been working toward for the last three years?”
“Yes. But Ming is afraid the Shop is selling it to a general in China. General Tun. Have you heard of him?”
“Yeah. The guy that’s so dead set to attack Taiwan. Is he the Shop’s customer for all this stuff?”
“I think so. I don’t know for certain. Ming seems to think so. He’s ordered me not to ship it and await further instructions.”
“But . . . but that means we don’t get paid!” Mike said. Now he was truly alarmed, forgetting how weary he was. “This deal has to go through. I’m looking forward to my new life in Hong Kong!”
“You’re still going, don’t worry. You just won’t be carrying the guidance system with you.”