Daniel Choi sighed and leaned back in the driver’s seat. “Patience, Grasshopper,” he said, mimicking a stereotypical martial arts master. Looking more like a living Buddha than a DEA agent, he was the ice to Vessler’s fire.
Vessler rolled her eyes at Danny. “Shut up.”
“Seriously, Sarah, why the rush?” Choi asked. He was a stocky Korean-American, a couple of years older than his partner. “Billy Hung and his boys will either show up, or they won’t.”
“Maybe Vess has a hot date,” fellow agent Gary Daniels said from the back seat.
“Don’t make me shoot you, Gary,” Vessler growled.
“It’s that team from D.C., isn’t it?” Choi asked. “The ones we’re supposed to wait for?”
“I don’t have time for some D.C. suits who don’t know their head from a hole in the ground telling me what you and I already know!”
“What about Casey?”
Vessler turned her head and glared at her partner. “We need him even less than we need the suits!”
“He’s the Special Assistant to the President.”
“A Special Assistant. He’s one of a dozen. Just because he used to run the FBI doesn’t mean he knows anything about the DEA. This is our case, we don’t need D.C. suits sticking their fingers in and messing it up!”
“If the Black Dao boys don’t show, there won’t be a case to mess up.”
Vessler went back to looking through the night-vision glasses. “Hong will be here.”
“Alec W isn’t the best confidential informant out there.”
Vessler shrugged. “He wouldn’t lie to me. He knows what would happen if he did.”
The black Chevy 2500 Suburban was one of three sitting in an empty lot a hundred yards from the main gate of Pier 80, the only place in the Port of San Francisco where general non-container cargo could be unloaded from ships. There was only one cargo ship currently berthed at the pier, a Chinese vessel named The Seven Lucky Dragons. The ship had arrived three hours ago and was currently unloading a cargo of power transformers.
At this time of night, this mostly business area of San Francisco was quiet. The sky was overcast and the air was cool, a common occurrence in the coastal city. There was no fog, which made the surveillance of the pier gates easier.
“Hey, kid,” Daniels said to the fourth person in the Suburban. “You scared?”
“Knock it off, Gary,” Vessler barked, still peering through the night-vision glasses. “Jimmy, you okay?”
Jimmy Pelton was the youngest agent in the SUV, and the least experienced. “I’m fine,” he replied, shifting inside his armored vest.
“First raid?” Daniels asked.
“One this big,” Pelton replied.
“Don’t worry,” Daniels said. “More likely than not the Black Dao boys will put their hands up as soon as we show up, or run for it. I really hope they won’t run. I hate chases.”
“I’ve got movement,” Vessler said. She picked up her radio. “Striker to all Golden Carp agents. Stand by. Two SUVs and a cargo truck, heading for the gate.”
“I still think it’s a stupid name for an operation,” Gary muttered.
“No one’s asking your opinion,” Vessler said.
The three vehicles approaching the gate were a Ford Explorer, a Cadillac Escalade, and a 20-foot box truck. The two dark-colored SUVs were newer models, while the cargo truck was dirty white and stood out like a sore thumb along with the other two. The convoy stopped at the gate and several Asian men in business suits climbed out of the SUVs.
Vessler grinned as she saw one of the men, a stout individual with slicked-back hair and a moon face, surrounded by three bodyguards. “Bingo!”
“Definitely Hong,” Choi said. He was staring through his own night vision glasses at the scene in front of them. “Looks like there are maybe a dozen Triad hitters, armed with pistols and a few submachine guns.”
“Good. We can add weapon charges to the indictment,” Vessler pointed out.
“We need to catch them in the act of accepting a drug shipment first.”
Two of the Triad gunmen walked over to the small guard shack while Hung and his bodyguards stayed next to the Escalade. After a brief discussion with the guard, both men walked back to Hung and had a brief conversation before they climbed back into their vehicles. With the Explorer leading the way, the three-car procession drove through the gates and out of sight.
Vessler lowered the night vision glasses. “Striker to all Golden Carp units. Bears are at the picnic. Check in.”
“Paparazzi here. Ready to get plenty of glamour shots.”
Paparazzi — DEA Special Agent Neal Lear and his partner, Gloria DuVey — were on the second floor of a two-story office building next to the gate. They would take pictures of the expected drug transaction before Vessler’s team moved in to arrest Billy Hung and the other Black Dao Triad members. With the broad flat expanse of the pier, there was no place closer where the DEA agents could hide and still observe the transaction.
“Hunter to Striker. We have overwatch.”
On a warehouse roof not too far from Vessler, Hunter — San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) Sergeant Chad Dembski and his spotter, Sergeant Hector Godin — had a clear view of the pier. Dembski was behind a 7.62×51mm Remington Model 700 bolt-action sniper rifle. If there was trouble, it would be up to the snipers to warn, track and neutralize any threat to the arresting force.
“Calvary’s ready to go.”
Nearby, Calvary — SFPD Lieutenant Rhonda James and her Narcotics unit — was ready to move in through the other entrance onto Pier 80. This was a joint DEA/SFPD task force, operating under the codename GOLDEN CARP, with one goaclass="underline" eliminate the Black Dao Triad’s drug running operation.
Vessler nodded. “Stand by, everyone. We move on Paparazzi’s say-so.”
The next several minutes were filled with tension. Unable to see the pier because of the warehouse between it and her team, Vessler drummed her fingers on her door’s armrest. In the back she could hear Pelton and Daniels check their DEA-issued LAR-15 rifles. Choi, on the other hand, sat quietly, one hand on the wheel.
“Paparazzi to Striker. Bears have the picnic baskets. Repeat, bears have the picnic baskets.”
“Getting the pictures?”
“Copy. Beautiful ones.”
“Right. Striker to team. Operation is a go!”
“Phoenix to Dragon Six. The eagles are inbound.”
Major Rhee Kyu-chul of the Korean People’s Army Ground Force nodded. He stood in the shadow of one of the cargo crates containing power transformers. He had been on the dock for several hours now, him and his men staying in the shadows of the crates being unloaded.
The Seven Lucky Dragons was one of several ships owned by a shell company that was actually a front for the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea’s State Security Department. The DPRK, better known as North Korea, had dozens of front companies to get around the American-lead sanctions, but this mission was a little different.
Rhee and fifteen of his men had met the freighter fifty miles out to sea and boarded the ship as planned. They had hidden in specially constructed crates and waited. They waited while the U.S. Coast Guard boarded the freighter for a contraband check when the Lucky Dragons had passed into American territorial waters. Once the crates had been unloaded, it was easy to stay in their shadows and wait for their allies and enemies.
Rhee was dressed for war in black fatigues and a battle harness with several grenades. He held a Type 56 assault rifle (Chinese version of the Russian AK-47) in one hand while his other gripped a UHF encrypted radio. “Dragon Six to all Dragons. Eagles are inbound. Wait for my command.”