Khartoum
Lau Gang’s phone vibrated silently as he received a text message. He watched as his men prepared several vehicles at the small military airfield Namir had provided for their use.
He looked down and smiled. It was the American. The bait has been taken. They’re going after the ship. You’re almost free and clear.
It was his international ties to multiple allies, all of whom shared the same interest, that made the American a critical piece in this violent, global chess match. Too bad the US doesn’t see the board yet, Gang thought as he deleted the text and put his phone away.
———
The Alboran Sea
Two Spanish NH90 tactical transport helicopters flew low in the dark night across the Alboran Sea. The lights of the Wonjo Buhwal served as an illuminated homing beacon less than two miles directly ahead.
Several phone calls from the Spanish National Police to Cartagena’s main port had revealed that the North Korean vessel had departed Spain less than an hour after the raid on the farmhouse in Valdemoro. The Spanish Navy had immediately initiated tracking and confirmed that the ship was headed in the direction of the destination listed on its manifest—Algiers, Algeria.
Cole had raised the well-publicized fact that radical Islam was on the rise in Algeria, but why the Russians and North Koreans would be dealing directly with religious extremists was anyone’s guess. In reality, it didn’t matter why. There was only one course of action—board the ship and find the ONERING.
Inspector Romero and Logan were onboard the lead helicopter, accompanied by an eight-man team of the Spanish Navy’s elite Unidad de Operacionales Especiales, or UOE. The UOE was Spain’s equivalent to the US Navy SEALs, trained with the same legendary physicality and unwavering mental discipline. Cole Matthews and John Quick led a second UOE team on the following NH90.
Four smaller four-man UOE teams riding combat rubber raiding craft equipped with baffled engines supported the two helicopters. The four teams had launched from the Spanish-flagged landing platform dock Castilla ahead of the helicopters in order to synchronize their arrival at the North Korean ship.
Logan leaned forward and looked out the cockpit window of the NH90 but only saw blackness below the windows. Inspector Romero’s voice crackled in his headset. “The teams are less than a half mile from the ship. Two minutes to target.” The update was broadcast to the other helicopter through the internal communications system. Once they landed on the ship, the teams would switch to their tactical radio network.
Logan turned toward the rear of the helicopter. Inspector Romero signaled the team as the helicopter accelerated toward the target. Logan quickly switched the radio channel and spoke into the microphone. “John, less than two minutes. We’ll take the bridge. You search the cargo. See you on deck. Be safe.”
“You too. Out,” John replied over the reverberation of the aircraft. The time for joking had passed.
———
Captain Kim Sung Baek was aggravated with Pyongyang. He’d been the captain of the Wonjo Buhwal for twenty years, but today’s events had been a first. He’d received new orders earlier in the afternoon—“Sail immediately for the port of Algiers. Do not stop under any circumstances if anyone tries to board you. Eliminate all hostile forces. It is of the utmost importance that the ship not fall into enemy hands. Fail-safe option should be exercised if necessary. Office 39 is depending on you. Long reign the Korean Workers’ Party!”
The last part of the message had frozen him in his tracks. Office 39 was the main office of the Central Committee, which took its direction from the highest levels of leadership in the North Korean government, including the Dear Leader.
He knew that his strong family ties to the military generals in Pyongyang wouldn’t save him if he didn’t follow orders. His family would be executed—if lucky—or worse. Captain Baek had done the only thing available to him—set his navigation system for Algiers and left the port of Cartagena immediately. He’d left so quickly, he’d stranded ten of his thirty-five-man crew ashore. Orders were orders, and he knew these were anything but normal ones. Whatever Pyongyang was orchestrating somehow involved him and his ship, and he didn’t intend to fail his country or—more importantly—his family.
It was now past 2200 local time as he scanned the sea around him. The nearest ship was three miles to his stern, and nothing lay in front of him. He walked to the port side of the bridge and looked back across the enormous, open cargo area.
So far, so good, he thought as he peered into the darkness behind the ship through high-power binoculars. He stopped his lateral motion as his eyes spotted four dark, blurry shapes contrasted against the moving sea. It’s not possible. They disappeared. He squinted into the lenses. There they were again, but this time, the shapes were closer. Four small boats were aimed directly toward his ship.
“Get me the chief security officer. Now!” he barked at his executive officer. He looked back out the window, and that was when he saw it—them. Two low-flying shapes behind the boats were moving quickly toward him. He recognized them immediately as helicopters. Even though their running lights were off, his hawkish eyesight picked up the soft glow of their instrumentation.
He dropped the binoculars, grabbed the handset to the ship’s intercom system, and spoke calmly but quickly. His men were trained for such matters.
If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s keeping secrets. Unbeknownst to the United States Intelligence Community, Captain Baek and his crew had been operating as a clandestine counterespionage unit managed by North Korea’s Ministry of State Security for over twenty years.
After all this time in the shadows, they were about to engage the enemy directly, and Captain Baek relished the possibility, hoping it was the Americans or the British. They were the real enemy he longed to humiliate. He’d done it before, and it seemed he’d been gifted the chance to do it again.