Fang did, and gave a slight nod. Possibly he was reluctant to kill his pet customs agents son. Possibly he was intrigued by the younger Noortmans self-assurance. At any rate, he stayed his hand, for the moment.
“Had I been in charge ofdisbursing, shall we say?the cargo in question, Noortman said, almost dreamily, “I would, first, have done a better job of replacing the identification numbers on the containers. I know, I knowhe raised a hand, palm outward, although the Chinese had yet to say anything“given the amount of freight traveling the oceans these days, it is very hard to track down any one container. But, as I said, if I could figure out what is going on, so could someone else, so why take the risk when a decently faked registry, a good stencil, and a steady hand is all that is required to ensure disinterest on the part of the worlds customs services?
He didnt wait for an answer this time. “Secondly, I would have made sure that no one customs agent in any port had total authority over the cargo. Thirdly, I would have made arrangements to off-load the cargo in more than one port, and possibly even to transfer the cargo to another ship between ports. He paused to consider this. “Possibly. It is unwise to put ones trust in any one agent in any one port, and it is unnecessary, especially if a good forger provides a believable provenance for the cargo.
The Chinese regarded him meditatively. The moments ticked by. Noortman didnt squirm. Eventually, the Chinese man said, “How did you know my name?
Noortman smiled. It was a charming smile, attractive, infectious, disarming (the gold tooth would come later), and he knew it and employed it selectively. “I heard one of your men call you by name yesterday.
Fangs lips tightened. “Which one?
Noortmans smile faltered. “I dont know. One of the guards you have stationed round your ship. I think the guard in charge.
Without turning his head, Fang said sharply, “Win!
A guard trotted over. “Go to the bridge and wait there until I come.
The guard, a young man, impassive as his boss, gave a nod and trotted to the gangway.
Noortman never saw him again. Fang was not a forgiving employer. It was the first lesson Noortman learned in association with the sometime master mariner and full-time pirate, and it wouldnt be the last, but it was by far the most important.
Noortman resigned his position that evening after dinner, in his fathers study. The elder Noortman was at first disbelieving and then angry. He came out from behind his desk like the wrath of God and hit Noortman hard enough to loosen three teeth. Noortman got back on his feet and picked up a thick book his fall had knocked from the shelves. The next thing he knew his mother and sisters were pulling him from his fathers body, supine on the floor with his face unrecognizable beneath a wash of blood. He couldnt see that shade of red today without remembering a flood of pure joy.
That had been nine years before. Noortman was now thirty-four, with a growing reputation in the international maritime freight business, a slightly less admirable but no less respectful one with Interpol, and healthy bank accounts in Hong Kong, Zurich, and Nassau. Over the years, Noortman had become a master of the shell game of international maritime freight, moving containers and ships as if conducting a game on a chessboard. It was challenging, exciting work, not least because he knew very well that if caught practicing this commodities sleight of hand the ocean-view apartment in the Hong Kong high-rise would be replaced by a cot in a twelve-by-twelve cell. And that was only if he were arrested by Western authorities. He shuddered to think of the consequences of being arrested in his native Singapore.
He avoided targeting U.S. and Russian-owned ships as they were known to carry small arms, and added British ships to the no list when they began hiring ex-Gurkha soldiers for on-board security. He took pride in the fact that he had done his work so well that in nine years Fang had faced serious opposition from only three crews. None of them survived the experience, of course. Fang was insistent on leaving no witnesses behind, and he especially hated cameras of any kind. The new cell phones, with their photograph-taking capabilities, were a target of particular abhorrence, and Fang insisted on being the only member of any of his crews who carried a phone. If anyone protested on shore, their services were declined. If anyone protested at sea, they joined the crew of the captured vessel as shark food.
From the small bits that Fang let fall during their association, Noortman knew that Fang had been raised in a hard school. Son of a Shanghai prostitute, father unknown, he took to the sea as a boy and grew up smuggling goods between Taiwan and China. He said he had a masters license, but Noortman had never seen it. He knew how to handle a ship, and more important for their business, he was extremely efficient at hijacking them. Noortman regarded himself as the brain of their operation and Fang as the brawn, but he never made the mistake of saying that to Fang.
Fang knew it anyway, but his bottom line had trebled and quadrupled since hed brought the young Singaporean on board, so he let it slide. Hed never given a lot of consideration to retiring before this, but Noort-mans genius was such that Fang was beginning to entertain thoughts of a positively middle-class nature, involving a luxury apartment in Shanghai, a plump, placid wife, and perhaps even sons to carry on his name. No, he had no intentionno immediate intentionof teaching the younger Noortman a sense of humility.
Having identified a likely target, Noortman would plot its course, consider and discard and eventually find the ideal point of interception (he enjoyed inventing business euphemisms for what was essentially high seas piracy), after which he turned this information over to Fang. After that it was simply a matter of placing the stolen cargo with the appropriate customer for the maximum profit, snapping his fingers at the law enforcement agencies of literally dozens of countries as he did so.
All this had seemed the height of adventure when he was twenty-five. Not to mention profoundly satisfying when he, dutiful son that he was, went home once a month to spend a weekend with his parents and indulged in a good, long inner chuckle when he sat down across the dinner table from his father, blind in one eye and deaf in one ear from the beating his son had given him. The elder Noortman might have been blind in both eyes for all the notice he gave his son on his irregular visits.
The younger Noortman also very much enjoyed bringing back black pearls from Tahiti, diamonds from South Africa, and emeralds from Colombia and laying them, metaphorically speaking, at his mothers feet. That good, silent woman was appreciative if somewhat bewildered. She never did work up the courage to ask him where it all came from, and she never ceased to produce an endless line of eligible young women for his inspection and approval.
Even these trophy visits home were beginning to pall, though. So when Smith and Jones presented Noortman with this new, much more difficult, and altogether more dangerous challenge, he had embraced it with enthusiasm. First he looked at the area in question, working the phones and the Internet, monitoring ships and cargo moving in and out of the various ports. Many of the ports were so obliging as to have multiple remote cameras mounted over their docks, and it cost only a small portion of the sum set aside for operating expenses to hire a computer technician from a small, anonymous firm in Calcutta that specialized in such things to hack into the various operators computer systems to access them and feed the displays to Noortmans computer.
He watched the traffic in and out of these ports for a month, looking up each ships AIS and searching their most recent ports of call, working up a history of each going back five years.
The automatic identification system was a praiseworthy attempt by the International Maritime Organization to have every ship on the seven seas broadcast an identification number to be picked up and monitored by satellite. This was a good idea for shippers, who could track their cargos around the world, and a great idea for pirates, because anyone with a fifty-dollar receiver from Radio Shack could also monitor them and identify the most lucrative targets.
He followed their current voyages via their AIS numbers through a satellite tra
cking firm that had proved reliable in the past. Most of this information would be discarded as he whittled down the list, but Noort-man was nothing if not thorough.
In the end, he had ten prospects, of which he eliminated seven on the grounds that their owners were too easily identifiable, if only to him. Of the three remaining, one ship looked very promising, registered out of Niue, an island nation in the South Pacific, one of whose very few viable industries was registering offshore firms wishing to avoid filing financial statements and paying taxes, owned through a Panamanian company with headquarters in Liberia and a parent company incorporated in the Bahamas controlled from Amsterdam and bankrolled out of Switzerland, where the trail ended abruptly in a Byzantine layer of partnerships and limited-liability corporations. He was so delighted with the artistry inherent in this industrial-strength obfuscation of lawful accountability that he promised himself he would trace the ships owner to the top of the food chain after the job was done.
It was at present leased to a Russian corporation. One of the attractions of this particular ship was that it was scheduled for maintenance next month in its home port. Since the Wall came down in 1989, pretty much everything in Russia could be had for the asking in exchange for currency of any solvent Western nation. Noortman chose a dock, contacted a local expediter, and bought a local customs agent. In all it took about an hour, and the total cost would be the lowest expense on this operations balance sheet.
The deck-top cargo took a little longer and cost a great deal more, but it would be loaded out of the same port. Pitiful, really, and no challenge at all for a man of his skill and experience.
The cargo from China required a little more finesse, although with the precipitous drop in the price of Chinese steel over the past two years he was able to negotiate a price that would not only give them enough ballast for a reasonably smooth ride but also ensure a more than reasonable profit on the other end.
Always assuming Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones had any interest in selling. Which he was fairly confident they did not. He arranged for lading and customs in Shanghai and then went to the market to buy fresh fish for the sashimi he would make that evening for the handsome young lawyer he hoped would become his next lover.
Seven weeks after they had met with the Koreans in Thailand, he called Fang and reported in.
There was a long silence. “What? he said.
“Im worried about this one, Fang said.
“Why?
“Perhaps it is our customer.
Noortman was no fool, and he gave Fangs concern due consideration. “They dont leave witnesses, do you mean?
“No, not thatless refuse for me to dispose of. No, what bothers me is that they are fanatics.
Noortman shrugged. “They are customers. They pay us, we provide a service.
“I dont trust people with causes. They are not rational, and therefore they are dangerously unpredictable.
“They have given us a very large sum of money. Without haggling over the price. This argues a very strong commitment.
“That may be what worries me most, Fang said.
Noortman laughed. Fang didnt. “What? Noortman said.
“How do we get off?
“Mr. Smith said he has made arrangements.
“You are very confident for someone who wont be along for the ride. Id like a few more details.
“Mr. Smith seems to be very security conscious.
“He certainly does, Fang said.
When Noortmans phone rang next it was Smith. Noortman, mindful of the respect due an employer with a bankroll the size of Smiths, sat up straight and gave a sober precis of his progress to date.
“That is acceptable, Smith said. He stayed on the line.
“There was something else? Noortman said cautiously.
“Yes. I have another task for you. You alone.
Translated, this meant Fang was not to be told. After a moment, Noortman said, “What is this task?
When Smith finished speaking, Noortman was silent.
“Well? Smith said. “Are we agreed?
Fang would show no mercy if he knew that Noortman was cutting deals behind his back. Still, Noortman wasnt a fool, he knew that Fang was thinking of retiring. Even if Fang survived this trip, doubtful now that he knew of this second of Smiths requirements, Noortman would very probably be looking for employment elsewhere.
But perhaps it was time for Noortman to step out on his own, to prove his own abilities to future associates. He made up his mind and, conscious of the acceleration of his heartbeat, said, “It will be very expensive.
“It always is, Smith said.
When they completed their business, Noortman hung up the phone and looked at his palm. It was damp.
One thing Fang was right about. Fanatics were dangerously unpredictable.
DECEMBER
WONSON, NORTH KOREA
HIS SPIRIT WILL WANDER,“ Jones said. Why, because we werent here when he died?“ Smith said, and snorted. Superstitious nonsense.“
They stood at the foot of the grave. It was mounded in traditional fashion to prevent water seepage, but there was no headstone. The caretaker had had to give them directions to their fathers grave.
“What did he die of? Jones said.
Smith shrugged. “An infection that could have been cured by a nonprescription drug available over the counter in any Western pharmacy. His hands tightened into fists. When he became aware of it, he loosened them, deliberately relaxing one finger at a time. He breathed in and out again. “We will change this.
Jones was less certain. “Will we?
Smith had no doubts. “We will, he said firmly.
“Will the Americans even pay attention?
Smith gave a thin smile. “They will have no choice. Jones wasnt so sure, but he didnt want to start a fight, at least „ on a less than international scale. They stood side by side at the foot the grave, staring at the mound of dirt. “Perhaps well be back in time for sosang.
“Perhaps, Jones replied, but neither of them believed it. By the first anniversary of their fathers death his two sons would be dead or imprisoned in a land far away from this cemetery, and they both knew it. He turned. “Come. Uncle has a bed for us.
THERE WASNT A BED but there was a roof. It was chilly because there was no heat, and dark because the local electric utility had run out of fuel and had no money to buy more, but cold water still ran from the one tap and their uncle had managed to beg, borrow, or steal a few ounces of real beef, which he offered boiled in grass soup. Afterward he served them a traditional Korean tea, pouring boiling water from a tin saucepan dented almost but not quite past the point of function into a heated clay teapot. He poured more boiling water over the outside of the teapot as the tea brewed. He poured out the first two brews in ceremonial fashion, and everyone pretended not to notice that there were no tea leaves in either.
To the third brew he added the leaves, although so few the resulting liquid was still mostly water. It was hot, though, and warmed them as it went down. They drank it slowly, conversing in quiet tones, also from tradition but also because they didnt want their uncles neighbors to learn that he had company and turn him in for harboring fugitives in exchange for a handful of rice.
Uncle had shrunk in the two years since they had seen him last, a boys body with an old mans face. His skin and hair was colorless from malnutrition, and the sore on his left nostril where the border guards had pierced a hole to string him to the other captured escapees had never completely healed. He wore tattered trousers beneath a patched and faded jacket. The rags wrapped neatly around his feet in lieu of shoes he had somehow managed to keep mostly clean.
He spoke a few words, all his energy having gone into the welcome he had prepared for his nephews. He didnt know how their father had died, but he praised the Morning Star for bringing him home and allowing him to be buried next to his wife, who had starved to death, his third son, a soldier who had been shot by his commanding officer when he refused t
o rob a peasants home to feed his troop, and his two daughters, who had died of exposure following their mothers death.
When the tea was done, the three of them curled into threadbare blankets on a thin cot placed as close to the tiny stove as possible without setting the cot on fire. The brothers lay on either side of their uncle, and it was probably his warmest night since his wife had been sent away to a camp for daring to cross into China and ask for rice, a capital offense against the North Korean ideology of Juche, or self-reliance.
In a nation so self-absorbed that its modern history began in 1912, the year Kim II Sung was born, Juche was only one more example of political solipsism that, however much it defied reality, guided the lives of its citizens from cradle to increasingly early grave. It was why the uncle of Ja Yong-bae, alias Smith, and Ja Bae-ho, alias Jones, believed that Kim Jong II, known to his people by many names, including “the Morning Star, had personally interceded to bring his brothers body home.
His sons had escaped this philosophical inculcation when their mother had shoved them across the Chinese border ahead of her, and had turned to offer the guards pursuing them the rings from her fingers and the bodies of her daughters in exchange for her sons freedom.
THE BROTHERS SET OUT the next morning to walk from their uncles house to the nearest town, some twenty miles distant. From there they hitched a ride to Pyongyang. They contacted a local smuggler with whom they had had dealings in the past. He put them on a fishing boat that managed to slip past the defenses of two nations to put them ashore on a deserted stretch of coastline south of the DMZ. Under cover of night and a fortuitous fog they walked to Inchon and took a train to Seoul.
They arrived at the Great East Gate Market by midnight. The streets were mobbed with Koreans selling everything from New England Patriots jerseys to knockoffs of Halston dresses and Levis jeans. Down an alley they found a merchant selling Brooks Brothers suits, or what looked very much like them. Smith exchanged a few words with the merchant, who barely paused to acknowledge them before jerking a thumb toward the back of his stall. There they found two stools and a camp stove, and there they sat for three days, waiting. The merchant sold his Brooks Brothers merchandise steadily but not spectacularly.
Stabenow, Dana - Blindfold Game (v1 Page 7