A little north of the heart of the city of Wonsan, Victor Kornev and Trang Won Dong, watched the fishing trawler emerge from the darkness of the East Sea. Both men noted that the Huan Yue was running with no navigation lights, per their instructions. The large boat maneuvered slowly into a ring of light thrown down from a sodium vapor lamp mounted on a pole at the end of the concrete dock. Sitting on the dock behind them was a lowboy trailer. The substantial truck that was pulling the trailer had a large crane attached to its bed.
“How much does it weigh?” Trang asked Kornev in poor English.
“About thirteen tons,” Kornev replied.
He looked surprised. He turned and looked at the truck’s crane behind them.
“Are you sure that can lift it?” he asked.
Kornev didn’t say anything but just nodded his head.
The evening was hot and humid, and Kornev was dressed from head-to-toe in black clothing.
He turned to look at the man next to him.
The minister of state security for North Korea was wearing his country’s traditional grey military uniform. Both the right and left lapels of the older man’s uniform were studded with a mishmash of emblems and medals that held no meaning to Kornev. He was sure that Trang Won Dong had done nothing to earn them other than surviving long enough to put on the uniform. He wore a ridiculously large military hat. It was similar to an American military hat, but for some reason, the area between the visor and the top was comically enlarged. Victor thought that the hat resembled a giant mushroom. The hat made the small man look like a real-life bobblehead that could be placed on a car’s dashboard. He perspired profusely under the thick material, and Kornev wondered why he didn’t remove a few layers; even just the jacket. But the little man didn’t seem to mind or even notice the heat.
Kornev looked away from the smiling politician and back toward the boat that had just come to rest on the side of the dock. A few Chinese men from the Huan Yue tossed thick ropes to the North Korean soldiers that he had brought with him. The soldiers tied off the boat, and Kornev heard the ship’s engines power down. The Huan Yue’s Captain gave a wave to the North Koreans from inside the wheelhouse. Kornev didn’t return the wave, but the minister did with a single crisp military flip of his hand.
Kornev and Trang Wong Dong walked over to the Huan Yue. Kornev looked up at Dingbang and made a twirling signal with his index finger. Dingbang flipped a switch inside the wheelhouse, and with a piercing screech of metal and a loud KA-THUNK, the deck cover on the Huan Yue began to slowly retract.
Kornev saw the second stage of the Russian-made R-29RMU Sineva ICBM come into view. The only thing it meant to him was money. Lots of money. This was one of the last shipments to arrive, and it would fulfill the multimillion-dollar deal he had made with the North Korean leaders.
But to Trang Won Dong, this missile section that was nestled in the hold of this ship, as well as all the others that had been successfully unloaded and taken to the warehouse, meant power. More power to him since he had taken over the deal after the demise of Kim Yong Chang. More power for his country, which meant increased power for his esteemed leader.
As the ship’s deck cover reached the end of its rails, the hum of the electric motor pulling it open clicked off. The night became very silent again.
Both Trang and Kornev looked into the hold of the ship. And then almost by habit, Kornev looked up. Not up at the stars in the clear night sky, but up at the invisible planes, drones or satellites that might be looking down at them at that exact moment. Kornev knew that the chance of that was remote, especially from that distance, but for some reason, he still felt eyes staring at them.
Maybe it was just his natural sense of survival, but Kornev thought it was more than that. He scanned the buildings and docks and hills around them. His gut told him they were being watched by someone.