Counterfeit Lies

by Oliver North

  “No,” Newman replied. “Unfortunately, it was much worse than that. Do you have a few minutes?”

  Now serious, Jake said, “Yes, sir. I have time—but we’re on an open line. And I’m in bad-guy territory.”

  “I know where you are; I’m looking at the GPS locater on your phone. But this is important and time is not an ally today. How long before you can call me back from a secure phone or a hard line so we can have a ten-minute conversation without committing too many security violations?”

  Jake pulled over to the curb to give the call his full attention. He looked around, saw the Marine recruiting substation in the strip mall less than a hundred yards from where he was parked, and said, “I’ll call you back, collect, in five from a hard line.”

  “Good,” said the general. “But use the 800 number I gave you. It’s direct.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  It took less than three minutes for Jake to flash his Marine Corps League membership card, his FBI credentials, and the promise of an FBI baseball hat for him to be seated in Gunnery Sergeant Barry Simon’s office. He dialed the 800 number. The general answered on the first ring.

  Newman got straight to the point. “Since we talked a few weeks ago, CSG has been contracted to do vulnerability evaluations for a bunch of three-letter organizations back here. I just left a damage assessment meeting—where you and another of my Marines were prominently featured. You with me, so far?”

  Jake knew his former commander had retired as a major general when the Senate wouldn’t approve his third star—and that he had taken over as the CEO of a company called Centurion Solutions Group. But other than hearing about CSG being awarded some classified contracts with CIA, NSA, DIA, and the FBI, Jake didn’t really know much about the company’s business. In response to the general’s “you with me?” query, Jake responded, “Yes, sir.”

  Newman continued: “You know about Gabe?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have the people you’re working for told you the op you are on is being shut down?”

  “I was told just a few minutes ago the plug gets pulled at midnight tonight.”

  “Were you told why it was being shut down?”

  “I was told it’s because of what happened to Gabe and for my safety. But I think there’s more to it than that.”

  “There’s a lot more to it,” interrupted the general. “DOJ and State are probably telling your boss out there it’s about safety. But the real reason the operation is being shut down is because the White House does not want it to become known the DPRK is working with the IRGC to build nuclear weapons and ICBMs.”

  Jake was stunned. “Are we talking about the same case? I’m working a counterfeit goods violation and a kidnapping. My targets are Korean gangsters moving containers of illicit merchandise into the United States.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Newman continued. “But what nobody bothered to tell you is Pyongyang and Tehran have found a way to skirt compliance with this new nuclear arms agreement by having the North Koreans build nuclear warheads and ICBMs for the ayatollahs.”

  “How does that connect with the California Korean Mafia moving containers of knockoff jeans, watches, and cigarettes into the States?”

  “Here’s the short form,” Newman said after a brief pause. “The Senate has to ratify the so-called International Agreement on Iranian Nuclear Research and Development in the next thirty days. If it becomes known North Korea is doing uranium and plutonium enrichment and ICBM R&D for Tehran to avoid detection by the International Atomic Energy Agency, the Senate will vote down the treaty.”

  “But how do containers full of counterfeit goods and drugs play into the North Koreans building nuclear weapons for Iran?”

  “The North Koreans oversold their own nuclear fuel enrichment and ICBM R&D capability—and Tehran bought Pyongyang’s BS. Now agents for the DPRK are scurrying all over the globe, buying up advanced centrifuge components, nuke warhead electromechanical technology, and high-tech industrial robotic machinery for building ICBMs.”

  “But that stuff has to cost a whole lot more than they can raise with a few dozen containers of phony Rolex watches and the other stuff I’m seeing.”

  “You’re right,” Newman replied. “That’s why there’s a flood of Supernotes here in the United States and all over Europe. The North Koreans are paying for all the illicit technology with counterfeit hundred-dollar bills.”

  Jake pondered the information for a moment, then said quietly, “All the more reason why the right thing to do is keep this case going, not kill it.”

  “This isn’t about right or wrong, Jake. It’s about institutional arrogance. The nuclear arms deal with Iran is the only diplomatic claim to fame this White House has left. If this treaty goes down the tubes, so does the president’s legacy as a great statesman.”

  “So justice doesn’t matter. Gabe’s torture-murder doesn’t matter. And Iran cheating on a nuclear arms treaty doesn’t matter. All that matters is the ego of—”

  “Stop, Jake. You’re preaching to the choir,” Newman interrupted. “Here’s something else that matters to me: not losing another of my Marines—meaning you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “At the meeting I just left, the Agency rep described how Gabe was brutally tortured before he was killed. Langley is convinced he was compromised by someone inside the operation.”

  “That’s possible,” said Jake. “It could have been Cho Hee Sun, the guy they called Sonny. He was killed out here last week. But it could have also been Sonny’s brother in Hong Kong. There are a lot of different agencies playing in this sandbox—and way too many people with a ‘need-to-know’ who don’t know anything.”

  “Well, here’s a little of what I know from the NSA rep on this damage assessment team: This fellow Park Soon Yong that you have contacted is the big gun for the DPRK. Park is in charge of disbursing counterfeit currency in the United States and buying the high-tech toys the North Koreans need to make good on their deal with the Iranians. He’s apparently waiting for a large shipment of cash—real or counterfeit, nobody seems to know—so he can purchase the items on Pyongyang’s shopping list and ship them back to North Korea. And finally, the Agency seems to think Park is somehow involved in Gabe’s murder. I hope you have someone to cover your six—because Gabe didn’t.”

  “Many thanks for the intel, General. It’s good to know since I will apparently be off this case at midnight. You just gave me more straight scoop than I’ve gotten from the Bureau since this op began—”

  “Oh yeah, since you mentioned the Bureau: do you have a fellow by the name of Hafner in the FBI office out there?”

  “Yes, sir, he’s the ASAC. Why?”

  “Well, he was on the secure video link for part of this damage assessment meeting. Hafner said you were being pulled off the case and sent back here for a psych eval. I took the opportunity to tell him that it would be a waste of money. Anybody who leaves the Corps to join the Bureau has to be certifiable.”

  “Thanks, General,” said Jake with a smile. “I’ll continue to use you as a reference in my ongoing search for meaningful work. Please give my fond regards to Mrs. Newman.”

  The sign-off was classic Newman: “Keep your head down, Jake. Call if you need a QRF. You mean a lot to me. Semper Fi, Marine.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Jake finished backing the trailer up to the loading dock while waiting for Park to arrive. He shut down the diesel engine, pondering what he had learned from Peter Newman and wondering about the contents of the forty-foot container. If the general was right, the steel box held currency—real or counterfeit—to be used for buying centrifuges and other nuclear weapons components for the North Korean government. But if Jake understood Park correctly, the crime boss intended to use some or all of what was in the container to pay a three-million-dollar ransom.

  It was a few minutes after three and Jake was surprised there was no one here to open the warehouse. Time seemed to be of t
he essence and he assumed Park and his minions would be on-scene when he arrived. Wondering if there had been a problem, Jake had begun to punch in Park’s number when he spotted the GMC Yukon turning the corner.

  Park was driving, accompanied by the Green Hornet and Kato—the two-man security team Park considered to be most reliable. A rental box truck followed Park with three Asian men cramped in the front seat. Both vehicles turned into the alley entrance of the warehouse and Jake knew that in a matter of minutes the loading-dock door would be opened.

  As the door slowly rose he spotted the six men through his side-view mirrors. They scrambled around, moving cargo inside the warehouse, making room for the contents of the container. He jumped down from the cab, approached Park, and asked, “Any word, sir?”

  “Nothing yet, Jake. Please, let’s hurry.”

  Jake pulled the one-page bill of lading from his back pocket and handed it to Park. In his other hand Jake gripped a long pair of bolt cutters. He and Park walked to the back of the shipping container and Jake grabbed the thin metal seal attached to the lock.

  Jake examined the serial numbers on the seal and read them off to Park, who compared the numbers to those listed on the bill of lading.

  Park said, “Not that I doubted you but the numbers match. Open it.”

  Jake wanted to reinforce his integrity. “Mr. Park, I want to assure you no one has tampered with this container since it left Korea. As you can see, the seal is intact.”

  Park nodded but was anxious to get the container unloaded. “Yes, I see that. Just get it open.”

  Using the bolt cutters, Jake easily clipped the seal and opened the cumbersome steel doors to a container packed from floor to ceiling with . . . rolls of fabric!

  Jake was shocked. How would yards of cotton and polyester fund the three-million-dollar ransom to save Jenny and Gracie? This couldn’t be the large shipment of cash Newman had told him about just a few hours ago.

  After one of the workers backed the box truck within a few feet of the container, Park ordered the unloading to begin. The men quieted and began the arduous task of unloading the multicolored rolls of fabric, encased in clear plastic, each numbered on the outside in four-inch figures. Park’s two bodyguards stood at the ready. Though weapons weren’t visible Jake assumed the men were well armed.

  Jake and Park stood off to the side as Park carefully watched each roll come off the truck. Two men would awkwardly grab a roll and toss it into the box truck, where the third man restacked it. To Jake each roll was identical: six feet wide, a foot in diameter, fifty feet long when unrolled. Park was anxious, mumbling with each roll that was removed. Jake noted the frustration but said nothing.

  It was a warm afternoon and sweat was pouring off the men as they moved the rolls of fabric from the container to the truck.

  “You guys want something to drink?” asked Jake, knowing Tommy kept a refrigerator full of beer and soda in his office.

  The men didn’t respond and Jake wasn’t sure if they understood English. Park didn’t seem anxious to translate and before Jake could ask a second time, Park pointed to a roll of fabric and hollered, “That one.”

  The two workers holding the roll looked at Park. Park repeated his declaration in Korean. The men stepped toward Park and placed the roll in front of him. Satisfied after examining the number, he ordered the men to deliver the fabric roll to the office.

  Jake was as confused as the workers.

  Once inside the office, the men placed the roll on the table next to the desk. Park ordered the workers to return and continue unloading the container. He instructed the Green Hornet and Kato to remain in the hallway.

  Jake pulled out two Cokes from the refrigerator. “Do you want me to give them anything to drink?”

  Park offered a dismissive backhanded wave as he closed the door. Jake popped the top to his drink and took a long sip as Park ripped at the thick clear plastic encasing the roll of fabric. Unable to tear it and seeing Park’s frustration, Jake whipped out the switchblade from his rear pocket, the blade springing open. The crime boss smiled as Jake easily cut the wrapping.

  “Why rolls of fabric?” asked Jake, still trying to come to grips with the criminality of this latest act.

  “Imported fabric is a customs violation if it’s out of quota. It carries a civil not a criminal penalty. I wanted to minimize the risk of getting this shipment through the Mexican ports and into the United States.” Park paused, then said, “I still do not know who kidnapped my daughter and granddaughter. Someone from our community, maybe even someone from the inside. I can trust no one, not even my own people.”

  Jake started to speak. “Mr. Park, I would never—”

  Park interrupted. “Jake, I trusted Tommy. He died trying to save me. Now I must trust you. You knew nothing about the contents of this container, only that I was bringing it in, just as you had done for me before.” Park, still focused on the rolls, said, “Now, help me unroll the fabric.”

  “Mr. Park, I don’t understand.”

  “Unroll the fabric.” It was an order, not a request.

  As Jake and Park unrolled about twenty feet of the six-foot-wide fabric, allowing it to fall to the floor, they came upon stacks of hundred-dollar bills wrapped neatly, several rows deep.

  Jake was genuinely astonished. “What the . . .”

  Park held up a bundle. “These are Supernotes. Counterfeits made in North Korea.”

  Jake grabbed a bundle and held it up to the light. It even had what appeared to be a genuine Federal Reserve wrapper. Removing a single bill, he examined it closely. “I’ve heard about these. They look perfect.”

  Park nodded. “They almost are. This is how I will get back my Jenny and Gracie.”

  Jake looked confused. “You’re going to pay the ransom in counterfeit bills?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Why? They won’t be able to tell the difference and neither can the banks. Whoever took my family will not be any wiser as to the legitimacy of the currency.”

  Jake cautioned, “But if they get caught with the bills, it could come back on you.”

  “As long as my daughter and granddaughter are safely returned, it doesn’t matter. I will get my money back.”

  Jake considered asking how. Instead he said, “Is there enough here to pay the ransom?”

  Park nodded. “There are three hundred packets of ten thousand dollars each. That’s three million, just like the ransom demand.”

  Jake understood. “That’s why you think someone within your organization is in on the kidnapping. The kidnappers knew about this shipment and the exact amount.”

  Park said, “It seems a little too convenient the ransom is for the amount I just received.”

  “Who knew about the Supernotes?”

  “Tommy knew the money was coming in but didn’t know it was Supernotes. I told him I was bringing in the money to buy certain hard-to-get items for shipment back to Korea. He and my superiors in North Korea are the only ones who knew of this shipment and the amount.”

  “Your superiors. Who are they?” Jake asked.

  Park pondered the question for a moment and said, “They are the people who sent me this container and its contents. They are expecting me to purchase certain items with this money. I will tell you more when the time is right.”

  “Why did Tommy know about the amount of money in this shipment?”

  “I had to trust him because I needed to make sure this container arrived. I was unwilling to chance having it shipped through the Port of Long Beach. I knew I could get it safely into Mexico but had to be guaranteed it would clear the border in San Diego. You successfully brought in my previous container and I knew from Tommy you brought in a container for him and two containers for Yeong. You proved your value and reliability.”

  Jake took a sip of the Coke. “So I guess I was hanging out if this didn’t make it across the border.”

  “You passed. That is all that m
atters.”

  Jake said, “So other than those overseas, no one but Tommy and you knew the contents of this container.”

  “You are correct, Jake, but no one overseas would be behind this.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I am the purchasing agent for some very difficult-to-obtain items needed in North Korea to fulfill their obligations to others.”

  “And you’re going to buy these items with Supernotes?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what are you supposed to buy with this cash?” queried Jake casually.

  Park looked long and hard at him before responding. The North Korean intelligence officer’s life had become decidedly more complicated in the last seventy-two hours. He needed a replacement for Tommy and decided on the spot the “round-eye” could be trusted.

  “I not only import goods. I’m also in the export business and I need your services for both,” said Park.

  “What do you export?” asked Jake.

  “The three million was sent here to buy advanced magnetic-suspension centrifuges and special electronic switches and equipment.”

  “I don’t know much about electronics, but if the money’s right I’m in.”

  Park smiled. He understood avarice and said, “I have been told that the parts are for manufacturing what the American military calls permissive action links—PALs. I need a Caucasian to buy this equipment here and elsewhere to deflect suspicion.”

  “What’s a PAL?” asked Jake, hoping all this was being picked up on his miniature recording device.

  “Every nuclear weapon has a PAL—it is how nuclear weapons are armed. Each weapon has a different PAL code. The correct code must be entered or it will not detonate.”

  “And you can buy centrifuges and PAL devices here?”

  “No, but a round-eye with three million can buy a test shipment of the necessary parts. If the equipment is satisfactory to our scientists in Pyongyang and their client, we will be sent much more money for other acquisitions.”

  “So who is the client, and does he have the money to make this worthwhile given the risks we’re going to take?” asked Jake.