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Port of Koper
Koper, Slovenia

 

Alexie Tankov watched with satisfaction and a hint of impatience as the last of the crates were offloaded from the rear of their two transport trucks. It was a swift operation, though they were still on a deadline.

The captain of their hired cargo ship, a man he had worked with on several occasions before, strolled over, cigar clamped in his mouth, a white peaked captain’s hat tipped sloppily to the side, the caricature of what one might expect an unscrupulous freighter captain to be.

He couldn’t stand the man, but he was as trustworthy as they came in this business.

Probably because he knew if he betrayed Tankov and his men, he’d be dead before the sun rose the next day.

“We should be underway in less than half an hour. Everything has been arranged, the appropriate palms greased.”

Tankov nodded. “Good. We can’t afford any delays. I want the ship in international waters as quickly as possible. You get paid the rest of your money when you reach Tripoli. Understood?”

“No problem. We’ll make it. We always do.”

Tankov ignored the arrogance. “You’ve got the extra men I requested?”

The cigar was jabbed toward the ship. “Two dozen, heavily armed and experienced. Most of them have fought in the civil war for years. This is a vacation for them!” He laughed then stuffed the cigar back in his mouth. “If anyone tries to stop us, they’ll be in for one hell of a surprise.”

Tankov allowed himself a slight smile. “I expect so.”

Utkin walked over as the trucks behind him were closed up. “Everything is loaded. We’re done here.”

Tankov turned toward him. “Good. And our troublesome professor?”

“Still sedated.”

“Good. Let’s move, there’s no time to waste.”