Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

The Park and Sons warehouse was in a flurry of activity. A North Korean freighter was alongside the wharf, ready to take on its cargo of “used farm equipment.” Word from on high was that no mistake would go severely unpunished. Members of the People’s Security Service brought in on the ship, stood in plain view as a reminder of this.

Frank Weston and Don Evans were once again in their cramped offices, watching every move the North Koreans made. A freighter in the berth automatically doubled their workload. They monitored the comings and goings of every person who came in and out of the warehouse. Watching for attempts to put “illegal” agents in place. So far it had been routine. Nobody but the Captain and two of the bridge officers had left the ship for port call.

Though the two men were grateful for this, it was odd enough to be noted in the daily logs. The false telephone box gave the remote IR camera a very good view of the ship. Very little was obstructed by the warehouse building.

Evans had a run of bad luck, and lost at poker. He now had the two AM until morning shift. The freighter had been busy all day preparing to get underway. Activity on the deck had just picked up about five minutes before. A heavy truck pulled up to the side of the ship. The watcher trained a telephoto lens on the cab, and almost fell out of his chair when Andrew Verkatt got out. Evans blinked, and looked again. Verkatt still stood there. A North Korean security type whisked Verkatt inside the warehouse before he could shake Weston awake.

“What?” Weston’s voice was still thick with sleep.

Evans kept one eye on the IR monitor. “Verkatt just pulled up in that Lorry down there and now they’re craning some crates out of the back onto that ship.”

Weston sat up, all traces of sleep gone from his voice. “You’re sure it was Verkatt?”

Evans nodded.

“What’s the communications traffic into and out of the place, prior to that fat bastard’s arrival?”

Evans shot a look over to a graph that drew a line that went up when radio or any kind of electronic traffic came from the warehouse. “Looks like a real short message went out, about two minutes ago. There was an increase in activity on the ship, just a little after as well.”

Weston looked at the small video screen. The first crate swung lazy circles underneath the pivoting crane arm as they loaded into the hull. The lines around his mouth tightened. “Shit. These damn lenses are at the wrong angle for a good close up shot. There’s only one way to get a better look.”

Evans turned to face his partner, “Then we both go.”

“What for? No use risking the both of us.”

Evans was adamant. “We still both go and we go armed. You can be sure that whatever Verkatt is dropping off at this time of night, it is not food and clothing for the hungry children of North Korea.”

Weston shook his head. He knew that arguing with Evans would get him nowhere. The man had a stubborn streak a mile wide. From a small cupboard tucked away in a corner of their cluttered office, he took out a pair of Berretta 92S automatics, with silencers attached. The men loaded an additional two clips each. “I really hope we don’t have to use these.”

Evans nodded as he grabbed a high end DSLR. The camera was specially modified to take pictures in extremes of low light. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to blow the cover for this set up.”

“If we do, better hope they kill us.” The door closed softly behind them.

The resident Mr. Park stood by the window of his office and drank in the activity. The long-awaited call had finally come from the South African. The far-reaching sword of the Supreme Leader’s displeasure that hung over his head since this mission started had been stayed for the time being. As soon as the weapons were on board and the freighter was well out at sea, homeland bound, the sword would be withdrawn for good. Park had no doubts now about Verkatt’s acquirement abilities. For all his arrogance and capitalist grubbing, he had come through with shining colors. The phone on his desk buzzed. Park picked it up.

“Yes?”

The leader of the facility’s security team was on the other end. “They have arrived. The loading is under way.”

“Excellent. Have Mister Verkatt escorted up to my office.”

“As you wish.”

Park lowered the phone onto its cradle and took a last look out the window. The activity on the ship had increased to a frenzied pitch. There was a soft knock on the door.

“Enter.”

One of his own security team opened the door with a worried looking Verkatt in tow, flanked on either side by two more security men. Park waved the security detail away to Verkatt’s obvious relief and stepped towards the South African, hand outstretched.

“Mister Verkatt, you have done a great thing. My country is forever in your debt.”

Verkatt took the proffered hand and shook it. With a slight bow of the head, he acknowledged the magnitude of his feat. “It was my pleasure, Mister Park. If, in the future, your great country requires systems or equipment, feel free to contact me at any time of the day or night.”

“After your performance in this matter, I would think that my country would be remiss not to do so.” Park picked up a manila envelope from the top of his desk and handed it to Verkatt. “Inside are the access numbers to an account in the Cayman Islands holding your reward for such outstanding work.”

The envelope was plucked from Park’s hand and spirited into a coat pocket with a speed that Park would not have thought a man of Verkatt’s size could possess.

“I thank you once again, Mister Park, but I must take my leave. I have a meeting in Pretoria later today.”

“Of course.”

The distance to the import warehouse was a short one. It needed to be. Distance degraded the clarity of monitored signals. The docks of Cape Town, once bustling with cargo en-route to Europe from the Far East, no longer saw vast quantities of goods piled high on her docks. The Suez Canal, South Africa’s apartheid past and ensuing backlash of world opinion had eroded the importance of the Cape of Good Hope as a route to Western markets. Street lights and general upkeep of the older areas had fallen far down the list of concern to the municipal government. Things were coming back as the country’s economy improved but in this section of town, any face at night, let alone a white one, was still a rarity. The two watchers, fully conscious of this, pulled the collars of their coats up and moved silently through the deep shadow of the night time street.

The warehouse was a stark contrast to its dark surroundings. The old building and the wharf beside it sat encased in light. Whistles and commands in harsh rapid fire Korean rose in the still night air above the clank and whine of the freighters’ cranes and winches as the crew struggled to load Verkatt’s cargo.

On the edge of the barrier of light, Evans and Weston stopped in their tracks. The front door to the import office opened and Verkatt’s bulk walked out onto the street. The South African made a perfect silhouette in the doorway. Evans fought the urge to draw his gun and shoot the bastard. A lot of pain and misery in the world would be eliminated with the death of Verkatt.

The door closed behind Verkatt. Park walked over to the phone on the secretary’s desk and punched in an intercom number. It was picked up immediately. “Are they ready yet?”