Victor thought that the Minister looked very content sitting there eating his Korean shit, sitting on a wooden stone and baking in the office oven. Kornev thought about leaving and driving into Wonsan and maybe getting a room at their best establishment, the Dongmyong Hotel. But that was a lot of effort to stay in a hotel that lacked maintenance and only intermittently had electricity to power their elevators. But if you caught the hotel on a good electricity day, you might even be able to get a hot shower. Victor had been there once before and remembered that the smell of the lobby was so bad that he had to apply tiger balm to his upper lip to neutralize it. He could find the hotel’s restaurant without a problem by looking for the highest density of flies.
The Minister chewed with his mouth open, smacking his lips, making disgusting gooey sounds with his mouth. Kornev groaned slightly as he leaned forward and stretched his back. His ass felt like hamburger. He was tired and wanted to sleep. He was hungry and didn’t want to die by eating what was sitting on the crate. He just wanted the last missile part to arrive so he could get his bag of diamonds and get the hell out of North Korea.
His mind drifted back to his hotel stay in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia ― the beautiful Volna Hotel. And he also thought about the beautiful Tonya Merkulov he had met. He closed his eyes and imagined lying there in the air conditioned room on the big overstuffed mattress with the lovely redhead in his arms. He could almost smell her female scent and feel her soft white skin against his…
“Where’s the truck?” the North Korean grunted again.
Kornev opened his eyes just in time to see a small wad of rice and fish fall out of the man’s mouth and land on the dirty floor. Kornev felt his stomach turn.
Where the hell was the damn truck? Kornev thought to himself.
Sometimes his job really sucked.
Sea of Japan ― on the cargo ship Hail Nucleus
Hail heard a knock on his stateroom door. Either that or he was dreaming that he heard the sound. Drifting back to sleep, the annoying sound resurfaced. He rolled his face out of his pillow and toward the clock on his nightstand.
12:05
What did that mean? Was it 12:05 at night or was it 12:05 in the day? He started to close his eyes again and louder now, three hard bangs on his door.
“Coming,” Hail said.
He swung his legs over the side of his bed. He assumed it was Renner so he didn’t bother pulling on a robe. He stood up, tugged his underwear down into their proper location and walked over and answered the door.
Through his blurry old eyes, he saw beauty.
Kara Ramey was standing there making a T symbol with her fingers. Her index finger on her right hand was pointing up, and her index finger on her left hand was pointing sideways, crossing the other finger.
“Truce,” she said with a smile.
Hail was still trying to figure out what time it was.
“Nice whitey tighties,” Kara said, looking down at his white underwear.
Hail looked down his bare chest and followed Kara’s eyes down to his underwear.
He quickly closed the door a few inches and stood behind it, two parts embarrassed to one part still sleepy.
“What do you want?” His words came out more drowsy than pissy.
“Well sleepyhead, if you had been looking at your phone, then you should have received an email from Pepper with the aerials that you requested.”
“Ummm,” was Hail’s response.
“Can I come in?” Kara asked.
“No,” Hail said with the same tone as if she had asked to shave his back.
“Believe it or not, Marshall, I’ve seen guys in their underwear before. They look just like white speedos. What’s the big deal?”
Hail held his ground and asked, “Why are you here again?”
“Two reasons. The first is to ask you out for breakfast or lunch or whatever you want to call it. The second is that Gage organized a meeting at one o’clock to discuss the new photos. He told me to come get you up.”
“Ummm,” Hail grunted again.
“Can I come in?” Kara tried again.
This time Hail shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s your funeral.”
He stepped back from the door and turned and began walking toward his bedroom.
Kara pushed the door open the rest of the way. Before Hail had disappeared into his room, Kara commented, “Nice ass!”
Hail ignored her.
“I would ask you to make yourself at home, but I don’t think you have any issues with that,” Hail called out.
“That’s OK,” Kara called back. “I have plenty of other issues to compensate.”
Kara plopped down on the couch, somewhat disappointed that there was so little to look at in Hail’s stateroom. She scanned the walls and surfaces for something of interest. Nothing. Hardly a single item that would differentiate his room from that of an average hotel. Then she looked to her right and there on the end table, next to the couch, was a single framed 4 by 5 color photograph of Marshall Hail and his family.
Kara was actually taken aback by how young and happy Marshall Hail looked in the photograph. The family was all dressed in heavy jackets, colorful puffy coats of down and nylon. Marshall had a pair of ski goggles strapped to his forehead. His wife was pretty and blond and petite and she looked timid. Her smile was fabricated. The manifestation of worry under the smile was genuine. Hail’s wife looked like she had something on her mind. Hail’s daughters were also blond and precious. His daughter’s smiles were real, not like the fake ones that Kara used in all the photos she had taken with her own parents. Hail and his girls were kneeling in the deep snow with a giant snow-covered mountain in the background. Hail had a jacketed arm wrapped around each of his girls and his wife was propped on his right shoulder. His wife ― what was her name? Madalyn, Kara thought, looked uncomfortable. Kara wondered what Madalyn was thinking about that made her appear antsy. Maybe it was the first time her girls had skied and she was afraid they might get hurt. Maybe Madalyn was afraid that her husband would get hurt. But Kara sensed there was more.
She reached over and picked up the photo and held it in her lap. She stared intently at Hail and wondered why he looked so different. Sure, he was a few years younger, but there was a fire in his eyes that Kara had never seen in him. A fire for life. I fire for being a father. And there was something deeper down under those blue eyes of his. Trapped behind that stare was the essence of what made Hail tick ― the crux of what she felt Hail was all about. If she had to put it into a single word, then warmth would be the one she would choose. Hail had more than a fatherly look to him, he had a humanitarian look as if he would let the entire world stay at his home if it would make a difference. And as for his wife Madalyn, she had the exact opposite look. She would not only refuse to let anyone stay at their home, but if they did, Kara thought Hail’s wife might hide under the bed.
Kara set the photo back on the end table and felt guilty judging a woman that had passed away. But not horribly guilty. Kara would get over it. But Marshall Hail, on the other hand, was still very much alive and Kara would continue to judge the shit out of him until she was sure she knew what made him tick. Whatever it was, things were different now. Back then, Hail was all about family. Now, Hail was all about killing. Damn, how far down the hill had he slid? But the real question that needed answering ― was he still sliding?
Hail walked out of his bedroom wearing a green polo shirt and brown cotton chino shorts. It was the typical outfit that she had come to expect from Hail. As Hail mentioned, the Nucleus was not a military ship. It wasn’t really a corporate vessel either, and therefore his crew could be dressed in just about any type of clothing that could be purchased from the ship’s mall.