Kehoe asked, “What’s Eddie Wu got to do with them?”
“That’s a good question,” Nudelman replied. “I seriously doubt he’s on the payroll.”
Kehoe chuckled. “Not officially anyway. Well, I’m just going to have to camp out and wait for Eddie to leave. Or wait for his brother to show up. One way or another I’m going to find out what this company is really up to.”
Anton Antipov opened the antique shop door and let Andrei Zdrok in.
“This had better be good,” Zdrok grumbled. “The sun isn’t even up yet. Decent human beings are still asleep at this hour.”
“You’ll be happy when you see what we unpacked,” Antipov said.
He led Zdrok through the dark Hong Kong-Russian Curios shop and into the back room. Like the Shop’s director, Antipov knew how to manipulate the Shakespeare and Marlowe books on the shelf and open the secret door. Together they went down into the Shop’s headquarters, past Zdrok’s private office, and into a main receiving area.
In the middle of the floor sat an opened crate the size of a large television. Straw had been pulled out and now littered the floor. Antipov directed Zdrok to a worktable next to the crate, where the unpacked item lay horizontally under a bright lamp, dramatically lit as if it were on display in a museum.
It was silver in color and cylindrical in shape, much like a giant bullet in its casing. Two cushions on either side of the device kept it from rolling. On the cylinder’s side facing the ceiling was a compartment that had been opened, its inner mechanisms exposed.
“Direct from Mother Russia,” Antipov said, smiling. “It arrived last night after you left. Ironically, delivered by Federal Express.”
Andrei Zdrok’s jaw dropped and he momentarily forgot having been awakened too early. The device’s beauty mesmerized him. It shone like a polished precious metal but it was worth far more than any gold or silver.
“It’s too bad Prokofiev isn’t conscious to hear that it arrived safely,” Antipov added. “The poor guy is still in a coma.”
“Screw the general,” Zdrok said. “He’s of no use to us now. At least he was able to have this shipped to us before he became a permanent tube sucker.” He approached the device and gently placed his palm on the cone-shaped head. It was smooth and cold to the touch.
“It’s magnificent,” he said. “I have never seen one before, have you?”
“No. Well, yes, some of the earlier kinds. Not one like this,” Antipov replied.
“Well. We have to get this to our customer in China right away,” Zdrok said. “You’ll take care of the arrangements?”
“It’s already being done.” Antipov looked at his watch. “I have to get to Kwai Chung. Oskar is coming in with the shipment this morning.”
“Good.” Zdrok touched it once more, admiring the fine craftsmanship and design. “You know, I almost wish we didn’t have to sell it. It’s not often that a nuclear bomb passes through the Shop. You’re right, Anton. The last one we sold was one of the older models from the early Cold War era. Big motherfucking thing the size of a Volkswagen. These 1980s jobs are so much more compact and… movable.”
“That they are, Andrei,” Antipov replied. “That they are.”
Zdrok nodded at his partner and said, “Do you have time to get some breakfast and some coffee? I’ll treat.”
Antipov grinned and nodded. “Sure.”
Together they walked out, past the crate lid that read in Russian, English, and Chinese: PERISHABLE — FORMANOVA CYLINDRA BEETS — KEEP AWAY FROM HEAT.
18
Dressed in my uniform, I arrive at Kwai Chung container port at seven-fifteen. The place is brimming with activity so I need to be careful. I don’t want to be seen wearing this getup. Someone might think I’m on my way to a costume party. To make it less noticeable, I don’t wear the headset or goggles. Hopefully I’ll simply look like I’m wearing some kind of protective gear for handling hazardous materials. I can’t worry about it, though.
Kwai Chung is a famous shipping center, probably the busiest in all of Asia. The place also serves to export goods from the Chinese mainland because China’s own transport infrastructure is so inadequate. The container port lies on the eastern shore of Rambler Channel, just north of the border that separates Kowloon from the New Territories. The area is purely industrial, so there are always trucks, construction vehicles, and moving vans going in and out of the port. The container port itself consists of six terminals, with Terminal 5 at the northern end and Terminal 6 at the southern end. Terminals 1 through 4 are in the middle. The Triad hoodlum I interrogated told me that the arms deal was going down at Terminal 6, which by my map readings appears to be somewhat set apart from the terminal buildings. That figures. The Triad wouldn’t want illegal activities to be noticed.
From where I’m standing I can see hundreds of containers stacked high like colored building blocks. They all have labels and logos painted on the sides, words like EVERGREEN, HYUNDAI, WAN HAI, UNIGLORY, and many others. Tall orange cranes loom over the containers at strategic points around the port, along with equally tall blue barges. The white warehouse buildings are scattered throughout the port and are manned by security guards, terminal employees, and representatives from the various shipping companies. Security at the port has increased since the events of September 11, 2001, but probably not as much as the United Nations would like. I know that in the United States our shipping ports are still very vulnerable. It would be quite easy for terrorists or other notorious groups to place WMDs inside a container and hide them well. The containers are rarely inspected. If they are, it’s done randomly.
When I arrive at Terminal 6 I see that the Odessa, a large Russian ship, is docked at the pier against one of the big blue barges. A crane is already at work unloading crates and containers from the ship. I make note of the ship’s identification details and then attempt to creep closer to the terminal. Three workers are hovering at the back of the building smoking cigarettes next to a rung ladder that goes all the way to the roof. If I could get up there I’d have a good bird’s-eye view of the proceedings taking place by the barge.
I reach into my backpack and grab one of the diversion cameras that I usually launch from my SC-20K. I didn’t bring the rifle with me on this trip but I can throw the camera by hand if I need to. A diversion camera sticks to a wall or object and then makes noise on my command. There’s a very creative list of sounds in its database, from effects to different types of music. It can sometimes attract the attention of nosy guards and divert them away from me. It’s a camera, too, should I need photos of curious guards.
I arm the diversion camera to make noise and then toss it about twenty yards away in between a row of stacked containers. The thing begins to beep, attracting the workers’ attention. One of them points in the direction of the containers and curiosity gets the better of them. When they walk over to investigate the noise, I quickly run to the ladder, climb it, and safely reach the roof.
From this position, I can see the entire barge and terminal area. In addition to five men dressed in business suits conversing in a huddle, terminal workmen are loading crates from the ship into two medium-sized moving trucks with Chinese script on the side, translated as “Ming Fish Company.” I lie flat, remove my binoculars, and focus on the suits. I immediately recognize Jon Ming as one of the businessmen. He has two toughs with him — armed, from the looks of the bulges beneath their jackets. Ming’s Rolls-Royce is parked near the building I’m lying on.
The Chinese are talking to two white guys who apparently came in a black Mercedes that’s parked beside the Rolls. Lo and behold I recognize Oskar Herzog as one of them. He’s come a great distance since I last saw him in Ukraine. But then again, so have I. The other guy appears to be Anton Antipov. Lucky me, two Shop directors in one spot. Antipov is doing all the talking.