Hail looked back down at the photos, not because they were of any interest to him any longer, but the tranquil bland images helped him to clear his mind. He appeared to study the photos with such intensity that his crew began to look at them again, believing they had missed something.
A minute later Hail looked up and said, “I can’t think of anything else. We need to have a quick meeting in the morning when we get the aerial photos of the warehouse. Those images will enable us to determine the final landing zone coordinates. But other than that, I think we’re ready to go.”
“I must have missed something,” Kara said. “How are you going to get the explosives into the warehouse?”
“We already discussed that,” Rugmon told her. “Remember, you were late to the meeting.”
Kara thought that Rugmon might send her to the principal’s office for being late to class.
“That’s OK,” Hail said, defusing the situation. “I’ll update you later on that. But right now we need to agree on a time of the attack.”
Hail let the question float around the room for a moment before suggesting, “What about 3:00AM tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll check the weather,” Mercier said.
“I’ll check on the availability of the satellite,” Tran said.
“We should have all the drones flight-ready by that time,” Rugmon confirmed.
“Explosives will be ready before that time,” Garber said, one-uping Rugmon.
Renner smiled, “I think we are a go.”
“I think so too,” Hail agreed.
“Let’s do this thing,” Hail said. “Gage, please meet with the pilots. Each of them needs to be assigned a specific task. If we have time, we should run this solution in the simulator and see if the weight and power and flight time makes sense.”
“I agree,” Renner said.
“OK, let’s get to work,” Hail said.
The meeting broke up and the crew began heading for the door.
“Gage, can I speak to you for a minute?” Hail asked.
Kara was not heading toward the door. She stood quietly next to Hail.
“Privately,” he added, giving Kara the not so subtle hint to leave.
“Sorry,” Kara said and she turned to leave the room.
Hail walked across the room and closed the conference room door behind her.
“What’s up?” Renner asked.
“You tell me. What did Kara talk about with her CIA buddies when she was just up on deck?”
“It was pretty straight forward,” Renner said. “She gave them a run down on all of our mission activities since we left Indonesia.”
“If you understood her, I’m assuming that she wasn’t talking in her Zap-e-dee language, or whatever she calls it?”
“No, but then it didn’t sound like she was telling them anything she wouldn’t want us to know about. Like I said, it was just the facts.”
Hail’s hand came up and rubbed his chin. He stood in the middle of the room shaking his head slightly from side to side.
“Why is it that I just don’t trust her? Is that a me thing or do you feel it too?”
Renner laughed. “That’s one of my faults, Marshall. You should know that I always trust beautiful woman, no matter who they work for. I don’t think I’m the right guy to ask.”
“Big help you are,” Hail told his friend.
“I think you have some feelings for the woman. That’s what I think,” Renner said, patting Hail lightly on his back.
“No way,” Hail said, but somewhere hidden inside his brain were a few rogue cells that didn’t believe his own words.
“Right,” Renner said, his voice so mushy with sarcasm that they both started laughing.
Wonsan, North Korea ― Warehouse
The wooden chairs in the office of the warehouse were hard and unforgiving on Victor Kornev’s tailbone. He looked at the Minister of State Security for North Korea, Kim Won Dong, sitting across from him. The man appeared to be quite happy with the chairs as well as his surroundings.
The office was hot and the only relief came from a single fan that was sitting on the desk making squeaky passes as it oscillated back and forth. Kim Won Dong seemed ambivalent to the heat as well. In a more civilized nation, what would have been called a coffee table was actually a small crate that occupied space between the wooden chairs and the desk. On the crate sat an assortment of tasty North Korean treats. A large container of Snakehead fish stew appeared to be the main offering. A bowl of rice and a smaller bowl of fermented cabbage were the side items. A jug of murky water that had specs of silver, maybe fish scales, was the non-chilled beverage.
The North Korean bureaucrat appeared to be comfortable with his surroundings. The chairs didn’t seem to bother him one bit. And as he reached over the crate and began to help himself to dinner, Kornev realized that the North Korean was accustomed to it. Accustomed to everything. He was used to the heat. Content with the hard chairs. Pleased with the disgusting food. This hot, hard office was no more out of the norm for this man than it was for Kornev to eat Russian chilled soups based on kvass, such as tyurya and okroshka. Or even pelmeni, a traditional Russian dish usually made with minced meat filling wrapped in thin dough.
Even so, Kornev couldn’t wait to get out of there. After the last stage of the missile had arrived and he had been paid, then it would be a quick ride over to the Wonsan Airport. From there, the Minister of State would escort him to a nondescript cargo plane, and he would get the hell out of this bizarre country.
Through a mouth full of food, Kim Won Dong asked in Korean, “When will the last stage of the missile arrive?”
The problem with that question was that Kornev didn’t know. The route the last missile segment was taking was the most complicated. It entered North Korea into the mouth of the Taedong River, south of Nampo. From there it would continue its route up the narrowing Taedong, past the city of Pyongyan until it reached the Nam — Gang River fork. At that point, the cargo would be transferred to a smaller ship or barge and then it would slowly meander its way up the twisting Nam — Gang River until it reached the town of Sinpyong. The river voyage would be over and the cargo would be transferred to a truck and trailer and driven fifty kilometers along the Pyongyang — Wonsan Highway until it reached the warehouse.
Kornev was an expert at moving contraband by using many different types of routes and vehicles. But North Korea was a communication nightmare all unto itself. The biggest problem was that cell phone service in North Korea was horrible and always had been. Going back to 2011, no mobile phones could dial in or out of the country and there were no Internet connections. Ninety-four percent of the population had cell phones, but only fourteen percent of the country had cell phone coverage. That made certain people’s specialized jobs, such as International Arms Dealer, difficult at best. Kornev could handle all the complicated methods of moving materials into North Korea; the bitch of operating inside North Korea was monitoring the shipments once they had entered its borders.
Kornev dialed the number he had listed for the driver of the diesel rig that was hauling the last missile part. He held his phone high in the air in hopes that the single bar on his phone would grow into two. He pressed the button to activate the speaker on his phone so the Minister could hear the voice of whoever answered.
A pre-recorded Korean voice came on the line and said something like, “The party you are trying to reach is not available. Please try again at another time or leave a message.”
Kornev listened and shook his head toward the Minister.
“I have a signal but the truck driver has no signal,” Kornev said in his best Korean. He clicked off the call.
Kim Won Dong nodded his head in understanding and shoved another spoonful of Snakehead fish stew into his mouth.