Operation Barracuda

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.

Just from witnessing this exchange it’s obvious that the Shop is doing business with the Lucky Dragons. I’d bet a Hong Kong dollar that those crates are full of weapons. The Triad has to get gear from somewhere and the Shop doesn’t care who their customers are.

I aim my OPSAT’s digital camera at the group and snap a few photos. Then I pull out the Five-seveN and activate the T.A.K. audio component. Quickly sticking the earplug in my right ear, I’m now able to listen to what they’re saying and record the conversation as well. At first I’m surprised that they’re speaking English, but then I realize the Chinese guys don’t speak Russian and vice versa. Ah, yes, English, the universal language. That should tell you something about the way of the world.

ANTIPOV — as we agreed. Your order is now complete.

MING: Thank you. Please tell Mr. Zdrok that we appreciate the opportunity to do business with you. Of course, we will need to inspect the merchandise where we can do so in privacy.

ANTIPOV: I understand. I’m sure you’ll find it satisfactory. By the way, Mr. Zdrok asked me to tell you that he is sorry he couldn’t be here in person this morning. He had some urgent business to attend to.

MING: Don’t we all?

ANTIPOV: So, everything is good, then? This completes our end of the agreement. This is the final shipment of merchandise in exchange for the various installments of Operation Barracuda that you have graciously passed on to us.

MING: Agreed. As you know, we also eliminated the link. The American authorities should not be able to trace the professor’s trail. At least he won’t be able to talk about it!

ANTIPOV: (laughs) Why, Mr. “Wong”! The professor really believed he’d have safe passage to Beijing?

MING: (laughs) Apparently so.

ANTIPOV: Oh, well, he probably wouldn’t have liked working in Beijing anyway.

MING: I wouldn’t.

ANTIPOV: Of course not.

The men are silent for a moment as they watch the workers.

ANTIPOV: It looks as if your men are almost finished. I am obligated to bring up the issue of the final piece of the Barracuda project, which you still owe us.

MING: Don’t worry. We’ll be picking that up from California any day. I’m just waiting to hear from my people in Los Angeles.

ANTIPOV: Very good. Please keep us informed. Our customer is anxious to receive it.

MING: (coughs) Excuse me. I think I am fighting a cold. Speaking of your customer, may I ask who it might be?

ANTIPOV: Mr. Ming, you know we cannot reveal that. The Shop has built a reputation on discretion.

MING: Mr. Antipov, surely you can understand our concern. Operation Barracuda, as you call it, involves some serious technology that could very well be used against our interests if it was sold to the wrong people.

ANTIPOV: I appreciate your concern but again I must stress that we cannot reveal who the customer is.

Ming takes a step closer to Antipov and Herzog. Although Antipov is two inches taller, Ming is definitely the more threatening. I can hear the change in the man’s voice. He is not someone to cross.

MING: Fine. Keep your secrets. But I should leave you with a little word of advice. I do hope you are not selling the Operation Barracuda material to anyone in mainland China.

ANTIPOV: That sounds like a warning, not advice.