Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

In a very short period of time, he closed numerous deals that were beneficial for all parties involved, but his true specialty was yet to shine. He found his niche in the sale and trade of Uranium and nuclear materials. This included the trade of secrets. Some were South African and others he acquired through numerous contacts. BOSS might have suspected. But Verkatt was very good at his job. The profits were enough that those who might have been trouble were silenced by hefty donations to their private funds. His career rocketed forward in BOSS, until the point it no longer mattered what BOSS did with him. His contacts on the international arms markets were made. When the sea change happened with the release of Mandela and then his rise to the position of President, Verkatt left BOSS for personal pursuit of lucrative business on the international arms markets. For twenty years, he had been busy on the international scene as he closed deal after deal with any who had the money to pay. But in the last six months, he had gone inactive. Some speculated that he had retired. Smythe knew that was not the case; the photo on his desk said as much. Verkatt had just been gathering his strength.

Smythe leaned back in his chair and digested this information. Verkatt was going to be a hard nut to crack. As successful as they had been at intercepting traffic to and from the North Korean Embassy, their operation in Cape Town and others best not mentioned, precious little of it was ever decoded. Even messages where they broke the encryption were usually as dependent on time frame as to be useless. This could well be a job left to the SAS or M Branch. They could be much more persuasive than his technically non-existent organization.

Chun took great care as he guided his power boat the last few feet to the Liberian dock. A brilliant sunrise to the starboard side bathed everything in gold and red. Chun was tired, stiff and hungry from his many hours sitting at the helm of his small craft. The batteries in the night goggles had run out hours ago. He had navigated by flashlight and the marine GPS receiver built into the boat’s dashboard.

The docks were crowded, even for this early in the morning. Fishing nets were being fed onto all of the fishing boats. That explained the gangs of people. There must have been a run of fish in the deeper waters off the coast. Chun pushed farther down the dock until the water started to be too shallow for the deep draught fishing vessels. The speedboat gently nosed the dock. A young boy dressed in tattered hand-me-downs ran over and took the rope Chun threw to him. Once the boat was tied firmly at both ends, Chun took his small haversack from the passenger seat and climbed onto the dock’s boardwalk. He had no money to give the boy, so Chun tossed him the keys to the boat. He spoke to the boy in English.

“Take them. The boat is yours. I have no more use for it.”

The boy did not believe him. Chun could see the boy’s ribs under his shirt. “I am serious, it belongs to you. Where I am going, I will have no use for it.”

A brilliant white smile split the boy’s face. Chun stepped past him and strode purposely up the dock towards United Nations Drive. The excited chatter of the boy and his family faded behind him as Chun walked into the city.

It took an hour to reach the front gates of the American Embassy enclosure. The formidable steel gates were flanked by two Marines armed with M-16A4 rifles. Liberia had seen its fair share of unrest and civil war in the last ten years. The two soldiers looked every bit the professionals that Chun knew they were. He wished he could have shaved before this first encounter. Shoulders squared back, haversack across one shoulder, he approached the gate.

The two guards saw Chun’s approach and the haversack at his shoulder. Both were graduates of the Afghanistan school of hard lessons learned. The Marines assessed Chun from head to toe. Asians were not a common sight here. He looked at the way the stout gray-haired man carried himself as he walked towards them. Nothing about Chun fit the normal local pattern. Their joint assessment was “Possible threat.” Both embassy guards had seen what IEDs could do. Their rifles swung to bear on him in one fluid movement.

Chun froze in place before he heard the command to halt. He had healthy respect for the M-16; he had seen enough of its early handiwork, touring Vietnamese emplacements and camps during their “War of Liberation.”

The guard on the right walked forward, rifle still raised at Chun. “Please place your hands behind your head and do not move, sir!”

Chun did as he was told. No use to get this far only to be shot at the embassy gates by an overly cautious guard.

“Turn around and back up slowly towards me.”

Chun turned and backed slowly up until he felt the hard metal of a gun barrel prod him in the small of his back.

“That’s far enough. On your knees please.”

Chun knelt. A pair of hands searched him expertly. His pistol was found immediately. “Gun!” The gun was pulled from his belt and Chun was pushed roughly to the ground. The Marine who had been frisking him kept his knee in the small of Chun’s back. The barrel of the soldier’s rifle hovered just over Chun’s left ear. The concrete and grit of the road dug into Chun’s cheek and face. He endured. All this would change the minute the commanding officer arrived. The Marine’s voice was loud and urgent, “Sound the alert, secure the perimeter and all personnel.”

Within minutes, in a clatter of boots and equipment, the embassy security detachment arrived. Colonel Prentice, their commanding officer, pushed his way through the cordon of troops formed at the front gates. Frank Prentice was a lanky native of Louisiana, his heritage given away by only the slightest of accents. An accent most pronounced when he was under stress. This was one of those times. He approached the kneeling Marine crouched over the prostrate form of Chun.

“What you got, son?”

The soldier did not look up, “Sir, this individual was approaching the compound gates. I didn’t like the look of him, so I ordered him to halt. When I searched him, I found this.” He produced the Chinese assassin’s gun Chun had been carrying. Prentice took the gun and turned it over in his hands. Not a normal firearm, that was for sure.

“Chinese. Have you attempted to question him yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Well you might as well let him up. Nobody is going to be dumb enough to try anything with every rifle in the camp aimed at him.”

The Marine rose off Chun’s back and stepped back to Prentice’s side, rifle at the ready. Chun got slowly to his feet, beating the dust of the street from his clothes as he turned around to face Prentice. Careful not to make any threatening moves, Chun kept his hands at his sides, palms out. Prentice could see why the guards had seen this man as a threat. Even after his rough treatment and the grave situation he was possibly in, this man was not shaken.

Chun cleared his throat. “I am a North Korean citizen. My name is Chun Seng Kyun. I am a Deputy Director in the People’s Ministry. I wish to defect.”

Prentice turned to the soldier beside him, “Get the Ambassador. This is his type of show.” He turned back to Chun, held out his hand and motioned to the compound. “Perhaps we can continue this inside the safety of the compound walls.”

Chun bowed his head. “As you wish.”

Prentice grabbed the Officer of the Day’s arm as he led Chun inside the compound through the main gate. “Make sure the boys have secured the compound. I want a full alert, but make it look casual. Our guest here carries himself like he’s somebody, so I’m inclined to take him at his word.” The OD moved quickly to carry out Prentice’s orders. Prentice watched him go before turning back to Chun. “If you will follow me, my office is right over here.”