MACAU INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
TAIPA ISLAND
MACAU, CHINA
A red-and-tan Dassault Falcon 8X swooped out of the clouds and descended quickly toward the airport’s lone runway, a strip of concrete laid atop a man-made pile of dirt and debris adjacent to the small island of Taipa, connected by a pair of aging causeways to the heart of the airport.
The facility was only built in 1995. Somehow, the small facility showed both its youth and, at the same time, its age. At the time of its construction, Macau was still controlled by the Portuguese, who China had allowed to operate the city under long-term lease as a port. Along the way, gambling had been introduced to Macau. By the time the long-term lease expired in 1999, Macau was a fast-growing hub of gambling, if still small compared to Las Vegas and Monaco. But now it was the world’s largest gambling epicenter.
The airport’s maintenance buildings and garages were dilapidated, but the central passenger terminal was glass and modern. Since taking control of Macau in 1999, the Chinese, rather than rebuilding the airport, had opted instead to “put lipstick on the pig,” putting glass where they could but leaving the cracking concrete and ugly sight lines alone. After all, Macau’s visitors weren’t coming to admire the airport. They were coming to gamble.
At least, some of them were.
Yong-sik was not here to gamble—at least, not until tonight, after business was completed. At this moment, North Korea’s top general was here to do the opposite of take risk. He was here to trade North Korean–made nuclear materials for Iranian-made intercontinental ballistic missiles.
The jet landed at just before six P.M. Macau time.
Yong-sik sat in the front row of the sleek French-made jet. He was accompanied by a small army of soldiers and staff members. Twelve soldiers comprised his security team. Half a dozen other men worked for Yong-sik in various capacities inside the executive office of the KPA, including a personal assistant, a secretary, and a translator. Yong-sik had also brought along top KPA experts in the Directorate of Nuclear Activity as well as from the KPA Missile Directorate.
The Falcon taxied to the private terminal, where several long, black limousines were waiting. After the plane came to a stop next to the line of limousines, a soldier from Yong-sik’s security cordon activated the hydraulic door to the jet. Once it lowered to the ground, a line of armed soldiers were the first to go down the stairs, scanning the area immediately around the jet, then inspecting the line of limousines, inside and out. Two of the soldiers removed long, thin poles which they moved beneath the vehicles, inspecting for explosive devices, while two other soldiers inspected the insides of the vehicles, scanning for bombs.
The other four members of the team stood guard around the vehicles, rifles aimed at the ground, scanning for anything suspicious. As the inspection took place, several soldiers removed suitcases from the back of the jet and put them inside the limousines.
The air was humid, in the eighties, and a warm wind blew off the ocean.
The inspection took almost half an hour. Finally, when the security team was done, one of the men signaled to an officer at the top of the jet’s stairs.
“General,” the man said. “It is ready.”
The line of vehicles moved out of the airport and was soon on the main road to downtown Macau.
The sky had turned a purplish gray. The central district of Macau was a cluster of glass skyscrapers, each with a distinctive design.
At the sloping, blade-like curvature of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, the limousines split. Two entered the underground parking lot while the other two moved into the circular front entrance of the hotel. Yong-sik was in the second of these. He climbed out of the limo and walked inside the massive entrance foyer of the Mandarin, accompanied by four soldiers as well as two of his aides. Standing immediately inside the lobby was a man in a black linen suit, with a beard and mustache, and dark, olive-toned skin. He walked toward Yong-sik.
“General Yong-sik,” said the man, his accent Middle Eastern. He extended his arm, a friendly smile on his face. “I am Farkar,” he said, shaking Yong-sik’s hand.
“Where is General Paria?” said Yong-sik.
“Waiting upstairs, sir,” said Farkar. “He wanted me to express his hope that if you would like to take a few minutes in order to unpack and relax, he could meet with you later. Alternatively, he is available now if you would like to meet sooner.”
Yong-sik nodded.
“Now,” said Yong-sik. “Later I will be playing blackjack in my suite.”
“Very good, sir,” said Farkar. “Please, follow me.”
Farkar led Yong-sik to a private elevator. Farkar watched as Yong-sik and four other men climbed aboard the cab. Other than Yong-sik, all the rest of the North Koreans clutched weapons.
Farkar inserted a key into the wall. The elevator shot up to the penthouse floor.
The hallway was dimly lit. A half-dozen Iranian gunmen stood in the hallway outside the entrance to the suite. They saluted Farkar and then watched as their North Korean counterparts exited the elevators. Farkar nodded to one of the Iranian soldiers, who returned his look, then approached one of Yong-sik’s deputies.
“My name is Abbas,” said the Iranian. He extended his hand toward the ranking soldier. “We have a suite reserved for the traveling security party. There are refreshments, food, that sort of thing. My suggestion is we each leave a guard in the hallway, and the rest of the teams go to the suite and relax. There is too much firepower in one hallway for what should be a peaceful get-together.”
The North Korean soldier eyed Yong-sik, who nodded, giving his assent.
“Please, General Yong-sik,” said Farkar.
Yong-sik, along with two of his deputies, the missile expert and the nuclear expert, followed Farkar to a door at the end of the corridor.
The door opened up into a massive suite that occupied the entire ocean half of the penthouse floor. It was vast, with windows covering three of four walls, and stunning views of the ocean as well as the lights that now glittered like jewels from Macau’s skyline.
Inside, the tall, imposing figure of Abu Paria stood in the middle of the entrance foyer.
Paria wore a short-sleeved khaki military shirt covered in medals and military insignia. He had on matching khaki pants and steel-toed boots. Paria was six-foot-five and weighed 275 pounds, but he loomed larger. He was bald, with no facial hair. As Yong-sik entered, Paria stood with his arms crossed and a blank expression on his face. After Farkar, Yong-sik, and the two other North Koreans entered, another guard shut the door. There was a long moment of silence as Yong-sik and Paria stared at each other. Finally, Paria smiled, uncrossed his arms, and stepped toward Yong-sik.
“General Yong-sik,” said Paria in a deep, gravelly voice, with a thick accent. “It is very good to see you again, my friend.”
Paria moved closer and bowed, then reached his hand out and took Yong-sik’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically.
“It’s good to see you, too, General Paria,” said Yong-sik. “His Excellency, Kim Jong-un, sends his warmest regards to you and to the most honorable leader, Dr. Suleiman.”
Paria towered over his North Korean counterpart.
“On his behalf, I thank you for your kind words,” said Paria, “and extend the imam’s wishes to your supreme leader for a prosperous and joyous spring.”
Yong-sik bowed slightly.
“Now tell me, General, how was your flight?” said Paria.
“It was very pleasant, thank you,” said Yong-sik.
“I was invited to North Korea by Kim Jong-il himself, may he rest in peace. It was a most enjoyable trip, General. It was the beginning of the oil agreements.”
“Two countries starving to death because of the West and its sanctions,” said Yong-sik.
“Together we took the first steps to fight back,” said Paria. “You needed oil. We needed guns and bullets.” Paria placed his large arm on Yong-sik and gently patted his back. “It’s been a good friendship. In fact, I would have a hard time naming a more important and reliable friend to Iran than North Korea. Come, let me show you the view.”
Yong-sik walked beside Paria through the expansive set of rooms. They crossed a spacious dining room with a huge black onyx table surrounded by a dozen chairs. One wall was filled with large Oriental paintings and a sideboard that was shiny and gold. The opposite wall was a sheet of glass. On the table was a silver tea and coffee service. Past the dining room, another hallway fed into a palatial sitting room. A curving, modern, white leather sofa sat close to the ground. The room occupied the triangulated corner of the building, so that every wall was comprised of glass.
Yong-sik nodded subtly to one of his military aides, ordering him to remain outside the room so that he and Paria could be alone.
Paria took a seat on the sofa and watched as Yong-sik walked past it to the wall of glass. He stopped next to the edge of the window and stared out at the sky.
“You like the view, I see?” said Paria, laughing gruffly.
“I remember when Macau had one hotel.”
The sky outside was a steely gray, flanged with deep orange. Several planes were in the sky, inbound for the airport, visible at different elevations. The surface of the China Sea was silvery as the last of the day’s light refracted across it. Closer to the Mandarin, neighboring hotels were like brightly lit daggers of light and glass, jutting in the air, windows visible with people inside, neon lights in fanciful script running across different roofs, a feeling of activity, of technology, of possibility and wealth.
The two men were alone. Both of the North Korean military experts who’d accompanied Yong-sik remained near the room’s entrance.
Yong-sik stared out for more than a minute. Paria said nothing, instead allowing the North Korean to enjoy the view. Had it been an underling, or someone who needed something from Iran, Paria’s behavior would have been very different. By now, Paria would be barking orders and making demands. But it was Paria who needed something. He knew he needed to be patient with Yong-sik. After all, what North Korea potentially offered—nuclear triggers and HEU—were much more valuable than what Iran offered. Still, Paria’s patience grew thin.
“General,” said Paria, “won’t you please sit down. We have much to discuss.”
Yong-sik turned.
“Of course,” said Yong-sik, walking toward the sofa and taking a seat near Paria. “What is the expression, General Paria? Let’s get down to business?”
“Yes, precisely,” said Paria. “An American expression. Ironic, isn’t it?” He let out a low grumble of a laugh.
“What do you mean?” said the North Korean dryly.
“As we speak,” said Paria, “the Iranian container ship Silver Dawn idles in international waters in the Sea of Japan. I have authorized the captain of the ship to move upon our mutual agreement. On board the ship, there are two Safir intercontinental ballistic missiles, state of the art, built with the latest technological capabilities and materials.”
Yong-sik had a blank expression, though he allowed a slight, satisfied smile.
“That is most excellent,” said Yong-sik.
Yong-sik turned to one of the soldiers standing outside the doorway and nodded. In his hand was a large stainless steel briefcase. A chain from the case was locked to his wrist. He walked to the middle of the seating area and placed the briefcase down on the table, rotated two lock dials, and popped the case open. Inside, set securely in a foam holder, was a small, odd-looking device—a sealed glass tube with four electrodes leading into its base and an arrangement of wires of varying lengths joined together by a piece of black steel. Several wires dangled from both ends of the object. It was held in place, inside the briefcase, by a pair of straps.
Paria leaned forward, his eyes wide. He stared for several moments.
“Is it what I think it is?” said Paria.
“That depends,” said Yong-sik. “What do you think it is?”
“A nuclear trigger?”
Yong-sik nodded enthusiastically. “Correct,” he said. “Specifically, a krytron: cold cathode, hydrogen filled, intended for use as a very high-speed switch. Jin,” said Yong-sik to his aide, “give the general the key.”
The young military aide removed a key from his pocket and stuck it into the lock at his wrist, unlocking the chain. He extended the cuff to Paria, who accepted it.
“But, I don’t understand,” said Paria. “We need to discuss the terms of our deal.”
“Consider this a gesture of goodwill, General Paria,” said Yong-sik, “from His Excellency, the supreme leader. I’m told it’s not the newest of technologies but it is reliable.”
“It’s no secret that triggers have been a challenge for our engineers.”
“Yes, I know,” said Yong-sik. “As we speak, the uranium was moved into the waters near the Strait of Hormuz, four hundred and fifty-four kilograms.”
“It seems the possibility of a trade is imminent,” said Paria.
“More than imminent,” said Yong-sik. “I’ve been instructed to remain in Macau until we’ve concluded our business.”
Paria gently unstrapped the trigger from the briefcase and held it in the air, looking at it with a confused look on his face.
“I don’t even know how it works,” said Paria, “but I suppose that doesn’t matter. Let’s discuss value. The question is, what are eleven nuclear triggers and four hundred and fifty-four kilograms of uranium worth to me, and what are two intercontinental ballistic missiles worth to you, yes?”
Yong-sik smiled and nodded. “Yes, you’ve said it perfectly, General Paria.”
“ln 1997, Iran had so little cash that often we went without pay for months at a time,” said Paria. “North Korea was generous with us. Iran was paid market rates for our petroleum, even though we both knew you could have insisted on paying much less. After all, there was no market for Iranian oil, yet you paid full price. Today, with our sanctions gone, we are in a better position, but you now suffer the burden that we once suffered. Am I right?”
Yong-sik looked emotionlessly at Paria, a hint of coldness in his eyes. Perhaps it was pride. Finally, he nodded yes, without saying anything.
“Among friends, there is no shame,” said Paria. “The Republic of Iran will give you the missiles, free of charge. In addition, we will pay you for the triggers and HEU. Please determine a price you think is equitable.”
“That is most generous, but it’s not necessary, General,” said Yong-sik.
“I know,” said Paria. “It wasn’t necessary for Kim to buy our oil in 1997 either. But he did.”