Philippine Sea — Aboard the Hail Nucleus
After the video link from the White House Situation Room to the Hail Nucleus had terminated, Hail turned to Kara and asked, “Did you know about this thing before the meeting?”
Kara responded with an edge of ire in her tone.
“Know about what thing?”
“Know that they were going to do this turn Kornev into a spy for the USA thing?”
Kara softened a little and responded, “No, I didn’t, but it makes good sense.”
“Oh, yeah,” Hail shot back, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Just let the devil sell his weapons with the understanding that he will give the United States a little intel when it suits him. What a sweet deal that would be?”
“It’s not a deal. It’s a new way of life for Kornev. He won’t like it one little bit. You can count on that.”
“How can you trust him?” Hail asked
“We won’t be able to trust him, initially. Trust is a thing that’s earned over time. Kind of like you and me and not something that is accepted with blind faith.”
“You mean like how you trust me?” Hail asked.
“If you are being facetious, then I would turn that around. I’ve been on this ship for months, and I still don’t think you trust me more than the first day I arrived.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Hail said. “I simply don’t trust the CIA in general.”
“Big diff,” Kara said, still bordering on having an all-out confrontation with Marshall Hail.
Hail must have sensed that this topic was going nowhere but downhill, so he decided to change the subject.
“Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that we decided to try to turn Kornev into an obedient servant of the United States government. How do you think we would accomplish such a monumental task?”
“Well, if I were to guess, you would perform the task thousands of miles away using your remote drones. But, in this case, that scenario will not work.”
“Why not?”
“Because men like Kornev aren’t afraid of weapons. Hell, his entire life revolves around weapons. Each time he walks into an arms deal, he runs the risk of not walking back out with his life. No, Kornev would not be afraid of your drones.”
“OK, so what is he afraid of?”
“He’s afraid of the men behind the weapons. The high-ranking terrorists who command the men who use the weapons. After all, guns don’t kill people. People kill people.”
“That’s original,” Hail said, “so, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I have an idea of how we can get Kornev to see things our way, but one thing I know for sure is it will involve you getting some skin in the game. You need to be there, face-to-face with Kornev. He needs to know you. He needs to respect you.”
“Can I kill him?” Hail asked, sounding like a kid who was asking his parents if he could get a cotton candy at the fair.
Kara rolled her eyes and said, “I’m serious. We can get him to roll over, but he needs to know who is behind the plan. He has to respect you or he won’t play ball.”
Hail was quiet for a moment.
Kara wondered what he was thinking.
“Are you scared?” Kara asked.
“Are you?” Hail responded.
“I’m not scared of dying, if that’s what you’re asking.” Kara said honestly.
“The only thing that scares me is letting people down,” Hail said. “There are a lot of people, a lot of kids who depend on me, and I’m not sure how all that would work out if someone like Kornev was able to get the drop on me.”
“Well, then we can’t let that happen, can we?”
“Nope,” Hail said. “So, what’s your plan?”
“I don’t suppose you have two folding chairs and a card table on board, do you?”
“Yes,” Hail told her, somewhat amused with Kara’s question.
“Good, then all we need to do is send an e-mail to Kornev, and we’re ready to rock and roll.”
Two Years Ago
Caribbean Sea — Aboard the Nigerian Princess
The following forty-eight hours aboard the Nigerian Princess passed without any further searches of the vessel. Both Afua and Isaac had watched the same Venezuelan Coast Guard ship that had previously boarded them pass several times within a quarter-mile of them. But it never made any turns in their direction. At this point, if it did turn toward their way, Afua would opt to leave the third hull segment attached to the little boat because they were out of time.
Every plane that left the runways of the Simón Bolívar International Airport initially flew east over the port of Puerto de La Guairá. The port was a busy place, and it had taken Afua a long time to decide on the best place to fire the missile. On the map, he noted a thin jetty that poked out like a thin finger into the middle of the port. That strip of land created a seawall that protected the port. Looking at it from Google Earth, there appeared to be only one road that led to the jetty, and there were no buildings or anything else on it. The solitary dirt road had been worn down the middle of the seawall, and it appeared to be closed to the public. The port had its own set of roads inside a large fenced-in area, and this jetty appeared to be part of that infrastructure. Afua assumed fishermen may have trespassed on that spit of land. He decided fishing from the jetty would make for a good cover. If the jetty was restricted and patrolled, he could expect a visit from port officials, but Afua did not plan on being there for long.
He would pull his little boat up along the shoreline, pull the plug on the dead man’s switch and retrieve the case. He felt it was critical to fire the missile from dry land. He couldn’t risk a wave or the recoil from the weapon to cause him to lose his balance which could make his shot to be less than perfect. He only had one shot so having solid ground under his feet only made sense. Afua considered the possibility of someone seeing him preparing to fire the large missile and try to intercede. But that’s what his Glock was for. If they got too close, his Glock would deter further encroachment. After he fired the missile, he would throw the launcher into the sea and hop back into his boat and make his way back to the yacht anchored five kilometers away.
Afua had it all planned out. Isaac worked the winch to lower Afua and his small boat into the water. For the first time, Afua thought he had a real chance of pulling this off.
When he had first met the tall Russian and the mission had been explained to him, Afua had thought the plan was pure lunacy. His boat touched down into the gentle surf of the Caribbean Sea, and the sun’s rays warmed his black skin. Afua began to think that this nasty job was as good as done.