Kornev glanced around the room, looking for something or someone out of place. He constantly scanned for predators. Just recently he had been arrested in Thailand for the delivery of anti-aircraft missiles and providing aid to a terrorist organization. A large sum of money had been paid to people who could open his cell and look the other way for a few moments, allowing him to slip away and into Afghanistan where he delivered shipments to the post-Taliban government. Kornev knew how to perform counter-surveillance and was very good at it.
He had graduated from the Military Institute of Foreign Languages where he became fluent in six languages including Persian and Esperanto, which he had mastered by age 12. In the early 2000s, he had become a member of the Esperanto Club in Dushanbe. As a former Soviet military translator, Kornev had made a significant amount of money through his multiple air transport companies, shipping cargo mostly to Africa and the Middle East during the 2000s and early 2010s.
His old military connections and expansive wealth gave Kornev the opportunity to buy specific military items that no one else on the face of the planet could get their hands on, let alone have available to sell.
From Africa, Kornev’s Air Cress service delivered surface-to-air-missiles to the airport in Burgas, Bulgaria. This was the first time that Kornev appeared on the CIA’s radar as an arms dealer. Kornev was suspected of supplying heavy arms for use in Sierra Leone, the Congo, Kenya, Lebanon and Libya. But by far the most disturbing alliance, detected by cellphone chatter taps, was with Kim Yong Chang in North Korea.
Tonya considered Victor’s invitation. She would be surprised if the TV was even turned on. There was a time element involved with this assignment. From the briefing she had received from her handlers, Kornev was always on the move. It was uncommon if the man spent two days in the same country, so the timetable had to be advanced. She didn’t want to come across as an expensive prostitute, but she didn’t want him getting bored and frustrated and move on. In a perfect world, she would do what she needed to do tonight and be out of the country before he awoke in the morning.
Tonya responded in French, “OK, mais bas les pattes,” (OK, but no funny stuff).
Kornev looked like he was ready to place his hand on The Bible. His face was constricted with sincerity.
“Oh, non, non, non—” he said.
Tonya believed him—NOT! He would probably have her thin dress pulled off before she had even reached the couch, but that was a calculated risk. There really was no other choice. All the talking was done. She had spent several hours sitting pretty on her bar stool and telling Kornev about her delightful fictitious life. How she, like Kornev, had a predisposition for learning languages. They began doing the back-and-forth flirty thing in different languages, both laughing, both drinking and generally pretending they were enjoying each other’s company. Hell, they were now old friends and trusted one another implicitly. If only it were that easy…
Kara wished she could have been activated twenty-four hours earlier, but this was the situation and she had to work with it. She sensed that Kornev wanted to get the show on the road.
“So, yes a movie?” he asked the indecisive woman in heavily accented English.
Tonya acted as if she was thinking about it.
Kornev lifted his scotch and drained the last few drops from the glass.
He asked Tonya, “그래서 당신은 갈 준비가 되셨나요?”
Tonya laughed and asked in English, “What language is that?”
“I’m trying to learn Korean,” he said, returning the playful smile.
“It sounds funny when spoken by a guy with a Russian accent.”
Kornev shrugged and smirked.
Tonya picked up her small handbag, removed her gold compact, opened it and made her trademark funny little smirk as she checked her lipstick.
“Sure, let’s go, But, remember, no funny stuff.”
Java Sea—Aboard the Hail Nucleus
T
he conference room on the Hail Nucleus could have been mistaken for any high-tech super-duper Fortune 500’s boardroom if it wasn’t for the two distinct steel portholes welded into the shiny white wall. Those small openings in the hull had been tinted with a dark film so the outside light didn’t interfere with the room’s complex and sensitive display devices.
Gage Renner (mission analyst), Shana Tran, (mission communication analyst), Pierce Mercier, (oceanographer and meteorologist) and Marshall Hail were putting the final touches on the plan to kill the North Korean, Kim Yong Chang.
“We have a few choices in which to deliver the death blow,” Hail reminded his staff.
They had been over this a number of times, but Hail wanted to make sure that everyone was in agreement on the most effective way to carry out the mission. After all, none of them were military experts. They were technological wizards that built some very advanced weapon systems. Tactics and mission planning, all rested in the lap of Marshall Hail.
He had read all the military books that any person should read if they were interested in getting into this line of work. There was, of course, the old stuff such as Patton, a study of a master strategist, in addition to the U.S. Army U.S. Marine Corps Counterinsurgency Field Manual. And then there was the really old stuff, like Sun Tzu's The Art of War and the History of the Peloponnesian War which was written in 400 B.C. But there were also other methods of attack, which meant that Hail had his nose in the book, The Command of the Air—perhaps the most often referenced work on air power and air strategy. But he couldn’t forget the sea, and that would dictate that he read the old book, The Influence of Sea Power Upon History 1660-1783 as well as the newer book, Modern Sea Power and Tactics. And once on the ground, Hail found the book, The Mission, The Men, and Me: Lessons from a Former Delta Force Commander of great help. But there were no books, no classes, no instructional references, virtually no help at all when it came to the new type of war tactics Hail and his staff were about to unleash. This would be the first assassination of its type, and after it was over, the world may never be the same.
“My vote is we bring in the B-52s and drop the payload on the target,” Gage Renner said.
Hail thought it was the most logical decision, but he wanted to consider any dissenting opinions. He placed equal value on the recommendations of all his analysts.
“Is there any issue with communications if we call in the B-52s?” he asked Shana Tran. Shana had changed her dress and her hair was up. She looked very fresh, considering they had been hammering away at the mission for six hours and were only minutes away from the formal launch of the ground mission.
“We have leased time on the Chinese Tianlian data relay satellite and have tested the uplink, and we are good to go. Once Led Zeppelin is in place, it will link up to the Tianlian and then use radio or Wi-Fi to communicate with the hubs. I don’t see any reason why we would have problems unless the weather is an issue.”
Hail looked at Pierce Mercier and waited while he flipped, pinched and expanded screens on his iPad.
Mercier scratched his head and said, “Things are looking really good, but as you know the weather in North Korea can change in a matter of hours. No fronts are moving in. My projection is light cirrus cloud cover at 10,000 feet with maybe five-knot winds out of the east. At mission time, 8.a.m., the temperature will be in the low 80s, and I would estimate the relative humidity to be around eighty-two percent.”
Hail appeared satisfied with all the answers.
“OK, all of our systems are ready to go,” Hail said to no one in particular.
This was the last chance for Hail’s crew to tell him he had overlooked something, but no one spoke up. Hail looked at each of his crew members, waited another moment, stood and began walking toward the door. The others followed.
After walking 400 feet down the white iron hallway, they arrived at the door to the mission control center. Hail used his badge to gain access through the bulkhead door, and the others followed him inside. Of the sixteen control statio
ns, thirteen were occupied. There were just enough empty stations left to accommodate those who had been in the meeting.
Renner, Tran and Mercier each took up their control stations, and Hail sat in the big chair in the middle of the room. There were a number of fresh faces that Hail didn’t see very often. The missions they had run before had not required this many pilots and analysts, but this one would. Hence, there were more pilots on the sticks.
Alex Knox, Hail’s lead mission pilot, greeted Hail, “Hey, Chief, hunting will be good today. I can feel it.”
At that moment, “today” was 2 a.m. in North Korea. The first part of the mission would be done in the dark. No lights, no rocket burns, nothing that could be seen within the backdrop of Kangdong’s hills, trees and indigenous vegetation. The drones they would be flying were equipped with night vision cameras. That meant green would be the color of this evening’s viewing.
“Let’s do this,” Hail said, adjusting the monitors on each side of his chair.
Hail swiveled his chair toward Tanner Grant, the drone pilot in this mission flying Foghat.
“Where are we, Mr. Grant?” Hail asked.
Grant looked at a monitor that showed the real-time digital coordinates of Foghat. The numbers were changing quickly like a Vegas slot machine.
“Foghat is about three miles southeast of the target and currently circling some crop fields. We are awaiting further instructions.”
Hail checked his right monitor to verify the drone was in the correct position.
“Is Led Zeppelin operational and ready to be released?” Hail asked.
“Yes, sir,” Grant said. He pulled up a screen that monitored the vitals of the drone, code-named Led Zeppelin which was connected to the underbelly of the drone Foghat.
Grant continued, “Led Zeppelin was attached fifteen miles off the coast of North Korea in the Yellow Sea by the crew of the Hail Laser. Foghat was launched at 11:00 p.m., and it has been in flight for approximately four hours. It is on station. As far as I can tell, we have not attracted any hostiles. Weather is good. All systems are nominal.”
The Hail Laser was a mechanical ship that supported the Hail cargo ships. But it was also the perfect ship to slip in and out of discreet areas that were not large enough to attract attention. During the mission planning, it had been decided that it would position itself in international waters, situated on the latitude line that separated North Korea from South Korea. There were so many Hail support vessels in the fleet, operating in many of the world’s waters that it would hopefully not draw much attention. When the mission was over, Foghat would recover Led Zeppelin and return to the Hail Laser. At least it would all work out that way if Hail and his crew lived in a perfect world. The recent loss of Eagles proved that the world was indeed imperfect.
“OK, bring Foghat in for its drop approach,” Hail ordered.
Hail looked at each member of the mission crew and wondered if they would do what they needed to and when they needed to do it. After all, most of these kids were kids. The closest they had come to killing someone was mowing down a gangster while driving Adder in Grand Theft Auto. But then, on the other hand, this type of killing wasn’t much different than the simulated version where they flew remote aircrafts and delivered deadly payloads. They were not in danger, and his young pilots were physically thousands of miles away from the action. Still, they all understood that this wasn’t a game. It was the real thing. But making their country a safer place had been done by young people for hundreds of years.
“One mile,” Grant reported.
Anticipating Hail’s next question, Shana Tran added, “Communications are good and the uplink is hot.”
Hail swiveled his chair toward Dallas Stone.
“What’s the status of Led Zeppelin?” he asked the pilot.
“We’re good, Marshall,” Dallas responded. He flipped through a few technical screens until he located a page splattered with data that was labeled DRONE DASHBOARD. “We are fully charged and communications are online. Data streams are good. No dropped packets. No collisions.”
“Excellent,” Hail said. So far everything was going like clockwork.
“Dropping Led Zeppelin in five, four, three, two, one, and Led Zeppelin is away,” Tanner Grant announced.
Hail pressed some icons on his left monitor. A moment later, the video being streamed from the nose camera of Led Zeppelin appeared on his right monitor. There was nothing much to look at. A green blur was dancing across the screen as the drone descended and accelerated to 122 miles per hour, or roughly 178 feet per second. Led Zeppelin’s thousand-foot free fall would be over in less than eight seconds.
“X and Y look good,” Dallas said. “Drifting a little north maybe, but not too bad. The parafoil is going to pop in three, two, one—”
Hail watched the green blur stop for a brief second. The shock of the 4-g deceleration scrambled the communications and whited-out the screen as the parafoil yanked up on the drone. Then a beat later an image returned. Hail could make out a distant tree line on a hill maybe a half mile away. Everything was still green, many shades of green, similar to an old-fashioned black and white TV with shades of grey differentiating the colors.
Hail pressed an icon on his screen labeled BELLYCAM. Led Zeppelin had a total of five video cameras mounted to its black, carbon fiber frame. The aircraft was round and thin, and if it had flashing lights and was seen from the ground, it would be recognized as a flying saucer. But the drone was black and had no lights and would never be seen from the ground. Since it was round, there was no real front and back to the machine, but for practical purposes the designers had cameras assigned front, back, left and right.
The video from the bellycam was much better than the forward camera. The forward camera was having difficulties maintaining focus while the parafoil’s cords untwisted. The bellycam was mounted directly in the center of the drone. This allowed the camera gimbal to rotate on a fine set of German ball bearings, keeping its lens pointed forward no matter how the aircraft twisted and turned.
“We have a visual on the landing zone,” Dallas said. He twisted his right joystick to correct for wind driftage. A small motor on the drone wound in five inches of the thin clear line that was tied to the airfoil twenty feet above. The line pulled down the left corner of the plastic material, changing the aerodynamics of the winged shaped parafoil. Led Zeppelin responded accordingly and turned ten degrees to the north. Once the direction had been corrected, Dallas released the joystick and the same motor unwound exactly five inches of line and the aircraft flew straight and true.
“Where is the landing point?” Hail asked. “I don’t see it.”
Dallas touched an icon labeled MARKER and then touched his finger to his video screen and circled a dark green area which appeared in red on Hail’s monitor.
“Right there, that’s the spot you indicated during the briefing,” Dallas said.
“Great,” Hail said.
The parafoil had slowed the drone from a descending speed of 190 miles per hour to 17 miles per hour.
“Systems check,” Hail ordered.
One of the junior mission pilots that Hail knew, but didn’t see often, fielded the request.
“Checking—” said Oliver Fox. The other pilots called the young man Oli if Hail remembered correctly.
Hail was proud of the job his programmers had done designing the ship’s command and control network. All the communications with the drones were done through the application. Since there was no direct access to a drone except through the ship’s software, that meant that any drone, or even any part of a drone, could be handed off to another pilot to operate weapons, flight control, system checks, or damage reporting.
Hail had all sixteen seats filled with pilots and analysts for just that reason. A few of the pilots would not be flying drones on this mission, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t help out with the hundreds of parameters that had to be monitored and adjusted. Currently, no less than six pi
lots were monitoring Led Zeppelin’s vitals and watching for any indication the machine was having problems.
“Approaching 200 feet,” Dallas announced. “Preparing to cut the chute. Spinning up the propellers.”
Dallas reached over and pushed forward a thick lever that had a small stencil on it that read THRUST. A gauge on his control panel began to change. Inside the small rectangle were two sections. There was a red section at the bottom and a green section at the top. Each of these sections was overlaid by ruler marks. As Dallas pushed the thrust lever forward, the red section began to move up and the green section began to retreat. When the red section and the green section were identical, Dallas said, “We have reached equilibrium. Cutting the chute.”
He pressed an icon that looked like miniature scissors cutting a kite string.
“Chute is away and we are in free flight,” Dallas announced.
Dallas turned Led Zeppelin to the right until he could verify the airfoil was loose and drifting off to the east.
“It would be nice if it made it to water,” Hail said, but he knew it really didn’t matter.
It was the difference between minutes and hours. The parafoil was made from a hydro-degradable plastic that was up to three times stronger than polyethylene. Once exposed to the atmosphere, the parafoil, its control lines and every part of the chute had already begun to dissolve. If directly exposed to a body of water, such as a lake or a river, the parafoil would dissolve in a matter of minutes. But even if it landed in the middle of a farmer’s field, considering the humidity level in Kangdong, in a matter of hours the chute would look like a thousand snails had left a thin patch of clear slime on the ground. Hours after that, even the slime would have evaporated. Hail was confident the parafoil would leave no telltale sign that it ever existed.
Operation Hail Storm Page 7