To be totally honest with himself, he really didn’t give a damn what it was. He hated the North Koreans, as he did most radicalized nations. His personal view was a few less North Koreans was not a great loss to the world at large. Hell, their government had allowed 2.5 million of their citizens to die from starvation, while the leaders dined on imported Beluga caviar and drank Cristal champagne. The people of North Korea were damned from birth, and the entire population was nothing but brainwashed drones. For those citizens favored by the North Koreans in power, they enjoyed nothing more than adequate lives. Those who were not in favor knew nothing but suffering.
Hail, Gage, and Kara sat studying Nolan, and he realized he’d been silent for quite some time. He felt like a rat in a cage being watched by scientists attempting to determine if he would be selected for the next drug trial.
“Was it a hotel?” Nolan asked meekly.
Hail sniffed twice and said, “We don’t know for sure.”
Hail was lying. They had already received word that the Dongmyong Hotel in Pongch’un-dong had been vaporized. Hail simply felt that this information was something he could save to potentially use in the future. The questions they had been asking the pilot were designed to zero in how truly messed up the pilot was to disobey orders. For the pilot to go completely off the reservation during a straightforward mission was one thing. But the safety of Hail’s crew and his vessel were his main priorities. If they detected destructive tendencies in the pilot, he needed to leave. But, if Hail and his team sensed that Nolan was relatively stable, Nolan had a skillset Hail could use.
“My turn to ask a question,” Hail said.
“OK,” the pilot said with the meager tone of forfeiture in his voice.
“Are you crazy?”
“What do you mean?” The question caught him off guard.
Louder, Hail said, “I don’t like to play games or waste time, Nolan. Are you crazy or not?”
Nolan Foster contemplated the question before responding with great confidence, “I think everyone is crazy. I think the people who tell you they aren’t crazy are people that you should watch like a hawk.”
Hail and Renner laughed. Kara did not. She didn’t even smile.
Hail asked, “Are you going to kill anyone with that Beretta of yours, if we let you keep it?”
“I don’t know,” he said, tapping his hand on the weapon stuffed into his chest rig. “Do you have anyone that needs killing?”
Hail smiled and said, “Yeah, I have a lot of people that need killing.”
Two Years Ago
Lagos, Nigeria
The ancient garage doors opened from the outside. The hinges squeaked and the wood made crackling sounds. Afua Diambu thought for sure the doors were going to let go of the rusty screws holding them to the battered hinges and fall to the floor. But surprisingly, they held. The nighttime sounds of the city entered the dank wooden room, including faint music from an outdoor nightclub a few blocks away. Afua heard a parrot’s ear-splitting shriek that could be heard a mile away. But this bird was closer. It was most likely a pet left in a garage or on a back porch. Diambu also heard the omnipresent sounds of traffic in Lagos. The cars and motorbikes clogged the streets and filled the air with a thick, gray haze. Twenty-one million people competed for jobs, parking spaces and places to stand in the cramped megacity of Nigeria. Victor Kornev opened the large wooden slatted doors.
Afua was surprised to see the backside of a small boat parked outside. The small watercraft was sitting on a boat trailer. Only one of the two trailer’s taillights burned red, indicating the trailer was currently connected to a vehicle.
Kornev put his fingers to his mouth and whistled a quick sharp blast that hurt Afua’s ears.
A ragged engine gunned once, and the boat began backing into the small warehouse. The two Boko Haram soldiers guarding the surface-to-air missile inside the building lifted their AK-47s to a ready position. They closely monitored the situation, not really expecting any activity requiring shooting streams of jacketed bullets. But, most of the time, when operations went south, it was unexpected. The entire boat fit inside the doublewide garage, but only half of the dilapidated Peugeot 403 that was towing it was hidden from view. The other half of the vehicle hung out into the narrow alley.
The big Russian banged on the back of the Peugeot and it came to a stop. Without bothering to use the tow crank, Kornev flipped up the tow latch. He unclipped the safety chains, unplugged the trailer lights, and lifted the trailer from the ball supporting it. Gently, he set the tongue of the trailer onto the concrete floor. He banged a second time on the Peugeot, and the car emitted a puff of black smoke, easing forward. Kornev waved the smoke from his face. Afua knew the arms dealer wanted to get the doors closed for secrecy, but they also wanted to be able to inhale fresh air. Once the Peugeot was out of sight, Kornev began swinging
one of the garage doors back-and-forth like a large fan to clear out the noxious fumes. One of the guards began doing the same with the other door with such vigor Afua was afraid the old door might pop off its hinges. Kornev must have thought the same thing. He called out to the guard, “Easy on that thing.”
Afua watched the two men fan the room. Once the Russian was satisfied with the air quality, he closed his door. The guard followed his lead. The guard placed the heavy iron bar back across the doors, securing them.
The boat looked very small to Afua. He knew he would be traveling across an entire ocean on a boat. He prayed to Jesus this was not the vessel in which he would be making his voyage. Although it looked like a short fishing boat, it was more of a small pleasure craft. It resembled one of the boats white tourists used when traveling from their large pleasure yachts anchored in deep water to the beach.
It had two deep hulls on each side with a much smaller center hull. It was very common in all respects, with the exception that it lacked any type of writing indicating which company had made it. Afua had been around many boats, and almost all of them had some sort of manufacturer’s name inscribed on the hull. It did have a small canopy that had been folded back and locked down for its trip on the trailer. Afua noticed it had enough seats for six people. There was an open area between the split windshields that allowed access to the couch seats built into its narrow bow.
The Russian tugged lightly on the garage doors to verify they were secure. He walked purposefully toward the back of the boat where Afua was standing. He kept ducking down to look underneath the boat. Kornev arrived at the back of the boat and checked down on his hands and knees to take a better look. The Russian motioned for Afua to look under the boat as well at something he was pointing at.
“See that?” Victor Kornev asked in English.
Afua dropped down on his hands and knees alongside the Russian and followed his finger. Other than the middle hull, Afua didn’t see anything.
“No,” Afua said.
“Right there. Look close,” Kornev ordered.
Afua looked there again, still seeing nothing.
“I still don’t see anything.”
“Good,” Kornev told him, getting back to his feet. The Russian reached over and pulled loose an aluminum ladder that was folded and hinged to the back of the boat. Passengers could use this ladder to get in and out of the boat when it was in the water. It worked equally as well to climb into the boat when it was on a trailer.