David Bruns - Weapons of Mass Deception

The North Korean merchant ship captain closed his eyes and listened to the engines. Sometimes focusing on something else for a few minutes made him forget the sharp pain in his bladder. Lately, he was getting up two or three times a night to take a leak. There must be something wrong with him, but trying to see a doctor back home was almost impossible. Maybe when they got to Iran he could see one.

He shifted in his bunk and the pain in his bladder increased. With a curse, he sat up and put on his glasses so he could see the clock on the wall: 0312. He stumbled to the head and relieved himself, letting out a little sigh as the urine dribbled out of his body and the pressure in his groin eased.

The captain sat on the edge of his bunk. Back to bed or check on the bridge crew? They would never expect to see him this early… just the way to keep his crew on their toes.

Captain Kim was one of the most experienced merchant ship captains in the North Korean fleet — and one of the most discreet. His ship, the Be Gae Bong , had carried all manner of cargo in its day, but with his large open hold area and onboard crane capability, his specialty was big machinery. Like the Transporter Erector Launchers (TELs) he had in his hold.

At fifteen meters long, the combination truck — mobile launcher package was the latest model — it still had the factory paperwork affixed to the windshield to prove it. But that was the only normal aspect of this shipment. For starters, there were only three units. His hold had room for at least six, but his buyer had insisted he only carry these three.

Then there was the port. Bandar Lengeh? Who delivered to Bandar Lengeh? They would transit right by Bandar Abbas, the largest seaport in Iran, to get to Lengeh. The little port had nothing but camels and sand to keep a man happy. Again, the buyer had insisted. And finally, the secrecy. Captain Kim was used to being discreet, but this job took discretion to a whole new level. He was actually running short of crew just because the buyer had objected to bringing on new crew members before they left port. He’d finally agreed to let him add one new mess cook.

Kim groused to himself as he pushed his legs into his trousers. The buyer was obviously well connected in the North Korean government; he could at least have taken the central committee member’s son off the ship. The boy was an idiot.

At least the job paid well, and the buyer had insisted he supply all the required end-user certificates and official stamps. He even paid extra to do so. The resulting forgeries were fine work, but why pay to do your own fake documents?

Kim shrugged as he snapped on the light over his sink. More money for him. He splashed water on his face and pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes to suppress the redness. He ran a palm over his chin. Maybe he should shave. He decided to wait until after breakfast.

The bridge was quiet as he slipped through the door and closed it softly behind him. The heavy watertight doors on the bridge wings were open and he breathed deeply of the moist sea air. Five bridge stations were manned: a helmsman, a radar operator, a lookout on each bridge wing, and a watch officer. The view outside the windows was nothing but a pitch-black sea underneath a carpet of stars. Directly in front of him, the watch officer nodded over a chart. Kim pressed his lips together as he cleared his throat loudly.

The man snapped to attention. Without turning around, he said in a loud voice, “Captain on the bridge!” One by one, the other watch standers parroted back, “Captain on the bridge, aye.”

All except the radar operator. His shadowy form remained slumped over the round screen, bathed in a soft green glow.

The watch officer roared out, “Radar operator, acknowledge.”

Nothing.

“Seaman Park! Acknowledge.” The watch officer’s voice slid up an octave to near hysteria.

The ghostly green lump that was Seaman Park gave a start and sat up. He turned in the watch officer’s direction and saw the captain. His gulp was audible in the stillness of the bridge. “Aye, sir! I—”

The portside lookout burst onto the bridge. His eyes were owlish and his voice cracked. “Captain! We’re being boarded!”

Captain Kim ran to the bridge wing, where the lookout pointed with a shaking finger. Three men, no more than shapes in the darkness, ran along the open lower deck. Kim used the door frame to vault back into the bridge. Even in the dark, he knew every knob, fixture, and piece of equipment on this bridge. “Sound the emergency alarm,” he said to the watch officer as he reached for the VHF radio handset.

He mashed down the transmit button. “Any ship in sound of my voice, this is Democratic People’s Republic of Korea ship Be Gae Bong , located at—” He moved to the GPS display and read off the latitude and longitude of their position. “We have been boarded by pirates. Request immediate assistance from any warship near our position. I repeat, we have been boarded. Request immediate assistance.”

“Captain, should I open the weapons locker?” The watch officer’s face was pinched with fear and his voice shook.

Kim pulled the key to the weapons locker from around his neck and threw it to the watch officer. The man fumbled the catch, and it fell to the floor with a clink.

He needn’t have bothered. The lookouts ran into the bridge. “They’re here!” they screamed in unison.

Automatic gunfire sounded outside on the wing and everyone on the bridge dropped to the floor. Two men rushed in from either side and someone turned on the overhead lights, flooding the space with harsh fluorescent illumination.

The pirates wore tattered shorts and T-shirts, with dirty sandals on their feet. Bandanas covered the lower halves of their faces and black face paint was smeared across their foreheads. They screamed at Kim’s crew in what he recognized as Tagalog. Kim’s heart sank. Filipino pirates were notorious for not taking prisoners. He should have armed his men, at least given them a fighting chance.

The leader was a short, powerfully muscled man armed with a rifle and a very large knife strapped across his chest. He looked over the cowering crew. His eyes fastened on Kim.

He took two quick steps forward and hauled Captain Kim to his feet. Gripping the North Korean’s shirt front, he slammed the man against the wall next to the radar station. “You Captain,” he said in accented English.

Kim thought about pretending he didn’t understand English. The man’s eyes narrowed, and the grip on his shirt front tightened. The pirate pointed the muzzle of his rifle at the watch officer, who shrieked in fear.

“I am captain,” Kim said.

“Good.” The pirate released his shirt. He picked up the ship’s PA system handset and handed it to Kim. “Tell the crew meet in galley. No tricks. I find any loose…” He drew his finger across his throat.

“Will they be safe?” Kim asked.

The pirate shrugged. “I find any loose, I kill them.”

Kim’s gaze dropped to the radar screen and stifled a gasp. A large green blip glowed on the screen. He checked the range setting on the instrument. Twenty-five miles. An object that size could be a tanker, but it could also be a warship. It was maybe twenty miles away — just over the horizon — and closing toward them. The lights of the ship would be visible soon from the bridge. He needed to get the pirates off the bridge now.

Kim stood in front of the radar screen and accepted the microphone from the pirate leader. He pressed the button on the handset. “All crew, this is the captain,” he said in Korean. “Report to the mess deck. No one will be harmed if we do as we’re told. Report to the mess deck immediately.”

One of the other pirates watched him closely, giving Kim the feeling the man had understood him. Using the muzzle of his rifle, the pirate motioned for Kim to join his crew huddled by the door. As he replaced the PA handset, Kim reached down and switched off the power to the radar.