The companies were more than happy to clear their warehouse of parts that would never again be used; they purposely didn’t ask any questions. After all, it wasn’t as if they were selling a missile. They were simply selling a guidance computer or a cylindrical stage that someone was going to repurpose — maybe to create a very deep pond in their backyard. There was nothing more glitchy than having a section of a Russian ICBM in your backyard to impress your friends. But all that research, deal making, and front-end compensation took time. It was a logistics nightmare that had exhausted Kornev. Currently, he just didn’t have the strength or willpower to go through the process yet again. There was lower-hanging fruit on the tree to pick. He had many clients who needed smaller weapons, simple to transport, while still profitable for Kornev. For the time being, Kornev decided to ignore the North Koreans, hoping they didn’t send an agent to kill him. Of course, they would first have to find him.
As Kornev glanced back down at his e-mail screen, he noticed one other unread e-mail message waiting for him.
He clicked on it and read:
We need two of the 9K333 Verba shoulder-fired missiles in the next 30 days. Same price as before. Same type of payment. Diambu
That’s the type of sale Kornev needed. It was a small-quantity order yielding big dollars without him having to do much work. He knew a guy in Russia who had fifty of the shoulder-fired, surface-to-air missile systems. And the customer who had left the message was known to him.
Kornev hit REPLY and typed:
No problem. Just let me know where you want them and when. I might be able to get them to you sooner.
Kornev’s cellphone chimed. He picked it up from the desk where he was sitting and read the text message:
I will be arriving tomorrow on Uzbekistan Air Flight 201. Could you think of a more obscure place to meet? I hope there is fun places to party around there? See you tomorrow! xxxooo Tonya.
Kornev didn’t know what xxxooo meant, but he assumed that it was more female silliness. He took a moment to compose a message in his head before he typed:
I can’t wait to see you. I promise that we will have lots of fun! Yours, Victor.
He leaned back in his chair, very content, feeling his bad luck was behind him. He was starting to feel better physically; he was rich, had a new order from a well-paying client, and the beautiful Tonya would soon be in his bed. Truly, life couldn’t get much better.
Two Years Ago
Caribbean Sea — On the Jetty Near Caracas, Venezuela
It could have been a mirage when Afua saw the Coast Guard ship materialize from behind the Nigerian Princess. He was aware he had lost a lot of blood, and under those circumstances, strange visions or hallucinations were not out of the realm of possibility. He hesitated to fully trust what his eyes showed him. As his little boat bounced over the waves, his vision doubled and blurred. He suddenly felt very tired, like he needed to take a nap — and right now. His eyes closed for a moment, and his brain shut down. Afua’s hand went slack on the wheel, and the boat began to turn. A few seconds later, it smacked into a jarring wave, portside, snapping Afua back to consciousness. He shook the cobwebs out of his head, and he slapped his face hard.
Off in the distance, he did his best to focus on the Coast Guard ship that was pulling away from the Nigerian Princess. It appeared to be real and not a hallucination. Unfortunately for Afua, the real Venezuelan vessel was currently headed toward him. He turned the wheel to the left and aimed his boat toward the shoreline about a mile to his portside. He suspected it was the Coast Guard Cutter — the same one that had boarded the Nigerian Princess days ago, and it could clearly see his boat from such a short distance. They might see it as nothing but another small pleasure or fishing boat littering the Venezuelan coast. Afua watched the Coast Guard Cutter maintain its course yet it was not making any attempt to pursue Afua.
It took only a few minutes to arrive at the rocky jetty of Playa los Niños. Instead of getting out and tying his vessel up to the rocks, Afua crawled to the back of his boat, pulled out the anchor and dumped it into the water behind him. He then quickly grabbed a fishing pole and cast the line into the shallow water. With that task done, he stuck the fishing pole into a holder located on the lip of his boat. Located next to the anchor storage bin was the vessel’s First Aid Kit. Afua withdrew the metal box and laid it on the floor next to him. He opened the single metal latch securing the lid. He flipped open the white box.
The contents of the kit were not well suited to suture the three-inch wide cut on the side of his ankle. Specifically, there was no suture needle and thread in the survival kit. Afua winced in pain as he first removed the bungee cord and then the towel from around his leg. He dropped the towel onto the wet floor of the boat. He gave his wound a thorough inspection. Afua didn’t need a degree in medicine to know a muscle had been lacerated. On either side of the gash, two knobbed
balls had puffed out from under his skin. Afua guessed that whatever muscle had been severed had retracted and created the pair of bulges. Blood continued to heavily seep from the wound. Afua looked over the contents of the medical kit. There were no huge sticky bandages, but there was an ACE bandage used for wrapping up sprains. Afua used the bloody towel to dab away as much blood as possible, which was of little help. As soon as he had cleared the wound, more blood flowed back from the cut. Brief glimpses of stark-white and glistening bone showed through the deep rivulets of blood. Afua used the towel to remove as much blood as possible, wary to get any on his clothes. The last thing he needed was to be interdicted by the Coast Guard while covered in blood. That would be hard to explain. Using the ACE bandage, Afua wrapped his leg tightly, but not so tight to completely restrict blood flow or his limb would die. It was a fine balancing act. He needed just enough blood to keep his leg alive but not enough to bleed out. He only had to slow down the blood loss long enough for the Coast Guard ship to clear the area. He then could return to the Nigerian Princess; hopefully, one of the Obanos would have the necessary items and skill to sew up his wound.
Afua used three little silver binding clips to secure the bandage. He was somewhat disturbed to see the amount of blood that had already soaked the tan bandage. Afua looked in the boat’s cubbies for something that could help hide his injury. Scooting around on his bottom, he found a roll of duct tape. He immediately began wrapping it around his wounded ankle, until the sticky tape had covered the ACE bandage with its blood stain. He was happy with the temporary patch job. Afua threw the bloody towel into the water. He stowed away the First Aid Kit and the remainder of duct tape. Using what was left of his waning strength, Afua hoisted himself up on the couch seat in the back of the boat. He scooted over to position himself near his fishing pole.
Shielding his eyes from the sun, Afua looked back towards the Nigerian Princess. The Coast Guard ship had pulled up to another large yacht anchored near the Nigerian Princess. Afua thought it best, for the time being, to remain where he was anchored. The sun was hot and Afua was very tired. There was a large plastic bottle of water in a cubby near his seat. He took it out and drained the entire bottle in less than a minute, like a man who had been stranded in the desert. He needed to sleep. Only one of his eyes remained open. Although the air was warm, his teeth began to chatter. That small involuntary symptom sent a wave of anxiety through him, like prickles of fear. He had seen many men die from blood loss and watched their teeth chatter. Not long after that symptom, their bodies had succumbed to shock. Following that, organs began to shut down and then they died.