Kara walked a few steps down the row and stopped in front of two matching .38 Specials with pearl handgrips. Intricate engravings had been cut into the entire length of both barrels.
“Your mom died when you were young, didn’t she?” Kara asked.
“Yeah,” Hail confirmed. “She was struck by lightning when we were stationed in Guam.”
“That is so bizarre,” Kara commented sorrowfully. “I mean, you hear about people getting hit by lightning, but you never really think about it or actually know anyone it happened to. I have my own thoughts about getting hit by lightning—”
Kara stopped short of finishing her sentence.
Hail said, “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing,” Kara responded, sounding anxious to change the subject.
“No, really. Tell me,” Hail pleaded.
“I don’t want to. You will think I’m talking about your mom, and I’m not.”
Hail coaxed, “Please tell me. I promise I won’t judge you.”
Kara reluctantly said, “OK, but I don’t want you to be pissed, because I’m sure your mother was a wonderful person.”
Kara hesitated for a moment, and then added, “I always thought when someone got hit by lighting, it was God’s finger coming down and poking someone. You know, like we’re tiny ants, and God is just shushing us. Just to screw with us ants.”
Kara looked at Marshall for his reaction.
Hail shrugged and flattened his lips. “I kind of think the same thing,” Hail confessed. “But then, who is responsible when you win a million-dollar lottery? Is that God as well?”
Kara considered Hail’s interesting twist, but instead of answering, she asked, “Do you believe in God?”
Hail gave her question some thought and responded, “I believe in the God moment.”
Kara was about to ask him what he meant by that, but Hail immediately pointed at the matching pearl handle .38 handguns in front of them and said, “Believe it or not, these were my dad’s favorite handguns. They were custom- made for modern duels.”
“You mean like take ten steps and turn around and shoot each other duels?” Kara asked.
“Exactly,” Hail confirmed. “But these are very special guns because―”
Hail’s phone began ringing. He took it out of his pocket and placed it to his ear.
“OK,” was all he said. He pocketed his phone back and told Kara, “Sorry, I have to cut show and tell short today. I need to make an important video call.”
Kara looked a little put out, and Hail added, “I will make it up to you. I promise. In a few days, I have something very special I want to show you.”
Hail began walking back towards the door that led to the outer room.
“Will I like it as much as I liked this?”
Hail said in an upbeat tone, “I think you’ll like it even more than this.”
“Wonderful,” Kara said mock enthusiasm. “I can hardly wait. What do you have, a room of intercontinental missiles your dad handed down to you?”
Termez, Uzbekistan
Victor Kornev eased himself out of bed, still a little sore from the debacle in North Korea. Total damage assessment included a bullet hole in his right hand, very sore ribs and a stiff back caused from being thrown from the vehicle he had been driving. Two eardrums may either have been blown out, or he had suffered temporary hearing loss from the explosion of the Dongmyong Hotel. Those were his major ailments from his business trip to North Korea, but there were also many minor scrapes and cuts which were a nuisance.
Kornev was a big man and had always tried to stay in shape. Yet, after almost losing his life in North Korea, he came to the realization that it didn’t matter how old you were or what type of exercises you did. Death could come a-knocking at any time. Unless you were made from titanium, death didn’t care about the state of your physical fitness.
His business trip was supposed to have been uncomplicated. He had flown into North Korea and was escorted by General Kim Won Dong to the warehouse where all the ICBM parts were being delivered. Kornev had orchestrated the deliveries so all the pieces would arrive approximately at the same time. Hundreds of pieces of all different sizes arrived via plane, boat and truck, some of which made the trip using a combination of all three transportation methods. Once they had arrived, there would be enough parts to build three long-range, Russian-made R-29RMU Sineva missiles. But, if any of the parts were captured, confiscated, lost or destroyed, enough parts would have survived to build at least one ICBM. And, that strategy was acceptable to the North Koreans. They just wanted that one finger of intimidation to allow them to reach out to figuratively touch any country in the world with horrendous consequences.
Except for a single truck, which had been running late carrying the last huge section of a missile, the operation had run flawlessly. Kornev had to wait for an additional twelve hours at the warehouse for that one last damn truck. Just when the truck had finally arrived and unloaded, he received a phone call. The voice on the phone informed him there would be an airstrike on the warehouse in less than ninety seconds. Since no one knew he was there, he had taken the caller seriously. He had jumped into the nearest Jeep and taken off. Initially, he thought he had been clear of the facility, but that hadn’t been the case. Some type of flying machine had chased after him, shooting down on him as he drove. The last shot from the flying contraption had scored a hit on his right hand. But other than that, he had escaped serious injury because the pursuing aircraft had blown up behind him. Why? Who? What was it? None of those questions had been answered.
The only place in North Korea he was familiar with had been the smelly Dongmyong Hotel. Kornev had driven until he was within one block of the hotel. Then, out of the blue, the entire hotel had exploded. The resulting shockwave forced his Jeep to veer into a ditch. The impact of metal against mud had thrown him out, over the Jeep, ending face-first into the ditch. Kornev expected that his rib injury resulted in his chest hitting the top of the frame of the windshield frame when he launched forward. His back injury was caused by the landing — doing what the younger generation called a “scorpion”. When doing the “scorpion” your legs arch backwards behind your back until your toes touch the back of your head.
After Kornev found himself facedown within a ditch on the periphery of the incinerated Dongmyong Hotel he had some serious doubts if he would escape North Korea. Whoever had blown up the hotel did so to kill him, believing that he was staying there. The life of an international arms dealer was fraught with danger. Your friend today might be your enemy tomorrow. There were no warnings about when or why they had turned. Money, politics, and power culminated in a thick perilous soup that you could stir; however, you never knew who would boil to the top until you took a big bite. By that time, it was too late.
Involuntarily, Kornev swallowed a wad of North Korean mud. It was crammed into his gaping, screaming mouth while momentarily blacked out from hitting the muck with a lot of velocity. When he awoke from his mini-coma, he found himself choking to death on the thick watery sludge that consisted of part mud and part whatever else North Korean peasants left in smelly ditches.
It had not been a fun business trip.
Now, as he stepped onto the balcony of his home in Termez, located in the country of Uzbekistan, he was beginning to feel better. The sun was hot, and it felt good against his skin. He stood on the balcony and stretched his back, trying to touch his toes. He then arched backwards, leaning from side-to-side. He noted the pain had subsided from the previous week; however, he experienced more pain in his ribs than in his back.