by Van Torrey
Doug Chambers solemnly agreed, “Of course, this must remain a secret.” Max Jenkins merely nodded in acquiescence, while his cynical mind raced with the possibilities this information presented.
CHAPTER 20
TERROR ON THE HIGH SEAS
“There is nothing as desperately monotonous as the sea, and I no longer wonder at the cruelty of pirates.”
James Russell Lowell (American Poet)
*
The Columbian-flagged Caribbean Star cruise ship departed Miami for its five-day leisurely journey to its ultimate destination of Cancun, Mexico, by way of Montego Bay, Jamaica, and Belize. On board, along with six-hundred or so fellow revelers, seeking to put aside the cares of the moment with warm sun, gentle sea breezes, and large quantities of Cuban rum, were Anne Lyon and her sister Grace.
The two women reclined in their chaise lounges on the pool deck of the large vessel as it made its way down the leeward side of the Bahamas seeking to skirt the east side of Cuba to make Montego Bay the next morning.
As Anne sipped at her second umbrella drink of the day, she let her mind drift back to the circumstances placing her here today. The cruise had been Bernie Lyon’s idea from the start, with the catalyst being the continued tension in their marriage as he and Anne had struggled with reconnecting after his miraculous rescue from a makeshift Pakistani POW compound nearly two years ago. Their readjustment had been a series of emotional ups and downs culminating with Anne’s outpouring of genuine grief at the death of President Jonathan Braxton two months ago. Bernie Lyon had seen this display of emotion as a sharp regression in their progress toward the total reconciliation they had been striving for. Out of frustration he had suggested that some time apart might be appropriate. “Why don’t you and Grace go on a cruise for a while?” he had suggested. “Perhaps you will see if you really miss me that much. If not you can always throw me back,” he had said sarcastically.
Even with such a low blow, Anne had not risen to the bait cast by an annoyed Bernie Lyon. They both knew Anne, using her own initiative and financial resources, had spearheaded the search and discovery of Bernie and his Special Operations colleagues and, in the process, cajoled her now erstwhile lover, President Jonathan Braxton, to order a dramatic rescue operation. U. S. Navy SEALs and Army Rangers had plucked the prisoners out of the hands of a mish-mash of Pakistani soldiers and Taliban fighters, killing many of them in the process and sending a strong message to the weak Pakistani government that further support of the Taliban would likely break bad for them. Thus the explanation of Bernie’s callous “throw me back” remark.
In her growing maturity and strong desire to resolve her domestic situation one way or another, she had selected a cruise that would keep her relatively close to home, and simply told her older sister that they were going to “Thelma and Louise” it for ten days with no spouses.
*
“Now are you happy?” asked Grace of her sister as they sipped their drinks on the sunny side of the boat.
“A couple more of these and I’ll be slap-happy,” answered Anne, good-naturedly.
“Well, that’s what cruising is for, sister, relax and forget. I think you’re relaxed, but not at the forgetting stage, is my assessment,” said Grace, as she threw her head back and gave a huge sigh of relaxation. “Thanks for suggesting this, Anne. I’m loving this!”
*
Manuel Sanchez Orcharo was Skipper of a small tramp freighter, the Colon, which ran goods along the Caribbean coast between Panama and Belize City, with an occasional side trip to Cartagena or Kingston. It was a seasonally lucrative business when the rainy season washed out the roads in the region, making the movement of commerce by sea the only practical alternative. Colon was a forty year old rust bucket, with a temperamental diesel engine that only Orcharo - or ‘Ocho’ as he was known to his clients - understood well enough to fix. Reuben, the First Mate, a deck-hand, and a cook were his only crew. If they were out of cargo (frequently), money for fuel (occasionally), or rum (seldom), they anchored and waited it out. Colon might as well have been re-named Manana. Today they anchored, but it was not for want of cargo or dinero for fuel.
*
Yim Soo-wok, the de facto leader of the eight Korean kitchen laborers called his men together in their cramped and humid quarters deep within the bowels of the Caribbean Star late a after the dinner shift. The men drank cheap rum and smoked prized American cigarettes they had purchased with money stolen from fellow crewmen during the constant drunken card games that went on twenty-four hours a day in the fetid, squalid crew quarters of the ship. Although crew and passengers occupied the same vessel on the same ocean, the two living situations were worlds apart. Where there were clean sheets, fresh breezes, and gourmet meals for the paying passengers, there were filthy sleeping bags, the constant stench of wretched body odors, and warmed-over hash for most of the Korean crewmembers.
If the passengers and crew were socially separated, the Korean kitchen help were at the bottom of the crew food chain, looked upon as lepers by even the Latina women who slaved away under rigid time constraints to clean passengers’ cabins after their most revolting human behavior. If there was a sub-human species aboard the Caribbean Star, the Koreans manifested it.
“Yim,” as he was simply known to the crew, was the acknowledged leader of this rag-tag group. The ship’s First Mate made it clear to him frequently that he was accountable for the behavior of his Korean brethren. Any misconduct on their part would be dealt with harshly by the Captain, including being put off the ship at the next port of call. Since none of the Koreans had legitimate passports or any identification at all, such a disciplinary move in a Latin American country would mean a new life of brutal slavery to anyone with the few hundred dollars to buy him, or perhaps death in a dark prison cell. The Korean crew on board literally owed their lives to Yim.
*
General Kim arrived In Pyongyang and immediately began his duties as liaison between General Fhang and the members of his senior staff amidst a backdrop of distrust and confusion of the staff. Since he had spent the past few years in a foreign post, Kim Dong-sun was not well known by his peers in the Army or civilian bureaucrats. His rise to what amounted to as a buffer between the moody and unpredictable Fhang and his professional staff was not understood by many of those who were supposedly close to General Fhang. At first some of the men refused to speak with General Kim, but he dealt with them wisely with a combination of matter-of-fact toughness and reason by saying, “This is the new policy from General Fhang. You can refer to his recent memo to senior staff about this new communications protocol. If you explain to me why it is so essential you speak with him in person without a specific appointment or summons from him, I will do my best to get you in.”
One man, a civilian going by the name of Mr. Cho, was respectfully persistent to General Kim about seeing Fhang. “This is something I feel may be of significant interest to General Fhang. It relates to an operation that was planned by the previous regime and may already be in motion. I’m not sure anyone is...still available...who knows about it.”
General Kim listened with increasing interest and replied, “And how do you know about this matter? That is the key to you getting in to see the Leader without an appointment.”
“I was a servant to the Chong family and had been sent as a courier to deliver some items to the former Compassionate Leader, now living in Switzerland. While I was gone on that mission the change... the change of leadership...occurred. Upon my return I was told I no longer worked in the Chong household and was reassigned to a low-level office job at the Ministry of People’s Security. There they could easily keep an eye on me,” Mr. Cho said meekly. “Candidly, I feel fortunate now to be alive after having served in the Chong household.”
“That still does not explain how you came to know something you say is vital,” remarked General Kim with mild annoyance. “Why should I grant you an audience with General Fhang?”
“After working in the C
hong household, sir, I am aware of protocols and hierarchy,” he said. “I will tell you, and you may decide if it is important enough for me to see the leader.”
Kim sensed a spirit of cooperation coming from Mr. Cho and was relieved that their confrontation was not going to continue. Kim sensed the man was sincere, and if this had something to do with a loose-end from the Chong regime, perhaps it needed to be taken seriously.
“Very well, Mr. Cho, we have an understanding. Please continue, but be brief as I am very busy.”
As if on cue Mr. Cho answered succinctly, “This has to do with a planned terrorist attack on Americans. When he was still our leader, I heard the Compassionate Leader discuss this with his aunt and her husband over dinner. I got the idea he was adamantly opposed to the plan. They never were very discreet while I was in their presence, thinking I was just a stupid peasant, cleaned up to be in service. But I am a proud man. I have gone to school and I read whatever I can get my hands on,” he said proudly.
“Is there more to this that you know for sure?” asked Kim, his interest now piqued by anything to do with terrorism and Americans in the same sentence.
“Yes, his aunt mentioned something about a “sleeper-cell” in America. I do not know what that is. She said they lived together and made a meager living working at menial jobs on cruise ships out of Florida. They took jobs no one else wanted and were led by a Mr. Yim who spoke English. He had Internet and would get coded messages from someone who worked for the Compassionate Leader’s aunt,” explained Mr. Cho.
“Is this all you know?” asked General Kim cautiously.
“In a nutshell, yes,” Cho answered. “I was very afraid when I heard this, as I was worried they thought I heard a secret and would do something to shut me up. I think I was fortunate to be sent to Switzerland with a large package that I was to give directly to Chong Gang-Du. He and his wife were always kind to me.”
“Mr. Cho, please stay here in my office. I will return shortly,” announced General Kim with some urgency.
Before General Kim went in to alert Fhang, he sought out General Rhee to discuss what Mr. Cho had just told him. Better to discuss this with Rhee first, just in case the problem had already been worked with Fhang, he thought.
General Rhee had not taken kindly to General Kim being placed in the position of being a buffer limiting his direct access to General Fhang. He was beginning to understand the old Tennyson phrase, “The old order changeth, yielding place to new”, but Rhee didn’t have to like it!
“General Rhee, during the recent period of change of leadership, were you aware of something held over from the Chong regime that had something to do about a sleeper-cell of North Koreans living in the USA who were being programmed by the Compassionate Leader’s aunt and uncle to commit a terrorist act against Americans?” asked General Kim carefully.
The fact was Rhee was not aware of anything such as described by General Kim, but his mind raced with the possibilities this presented to him as a jealous and increasingly disaffected member of Fhang’s inner circle. By answering that the matter had already been dealt with prior to the arrival of General Kim in Pyongyang, Rhee would be able to strike a passive-aggressive blow against Fhang’s regime and, in the process, foment confusion and discord internally that could possibly make him a valued aide once again.
“Yes, General Kim. During the interrogation of Madame Chong and her husband after the...change...we learned of this insidious plot and took down this cell by leaking its existence to the CIA through a neutral party. This way we got someone else to do our dirty work and show a spirit of goodwill to the Americans by the Brilliant New Light,” he lied.
General Kim decided he had no alternative but believe what Rhee had said, as he had such limited knowledge of the intrigues taken place up to and immediately after the revolt. Better to let a sleeping dog lie than to chase something coming from such a lowly source, he thought. He made a mental note to pass this on to his CIA handler later that night. After returning to his office, he politely dismissed Mr. Cho, telling him that the matter was being investigated.
*
Doug Chambers immediately cabled to his primary contact at Langley that after decoding said:
DID CIA FBI TAKE DOWN DPRK-CONNECTED SLEEP-CELL RECENTLY? INFO FROM GAMMA INDICATES SO. CRITICAL WE CHECK. POSSIBLE MIAMI BASED. END.
Moments after the cable was received it was placed on the desk of the DDI, who emailed Director Mitchell:
DCI:
Gamma may be bearing fruit. I think we may have raw intel that requires CIA and FBI investigative action.
DDI
Two hours later Max Jenkins, an ethnic Korean CIA Operator, ‘Jimmy’ Sok, and two Special Agents from the FBI were on a FBI chartered Citation business jet on route to Miami to rally a joint task force to look into this very slim bit of raw intel.
*
Captain Ocharo received a Morse-code message over the single-sideband receiver on the bridge of the Colon that said simply GO FISHING AT PLANNED SPOT 2100 HRS, NEXT.
Ocharo hailed his first mate, Reuben, and gave him the word. “We rendezvous with Mr. Yim and his people at twenty-one hundred hours tomorrow. Make preparations to get under way to the meeting point. We’ll plan on making twelve or thirteen knots so we arrive at the planned point at exactly twenty-one hundred. We don’t want to hang around any longer than necessary. I figure it will take someone out of Cartagena or maybe even Guantanamo at least four hours to reach the ship, and by that time we’ll be fifty or sixty miles away headed for Honduras. There we will drop these Korean pigs off and get our money. Maybe then we can drink some better rum!” he laughed thinly through his tobacco-stained teeth.
*
“What do you hope to get out of this trip?” asked Grace as she and Anne Lyon relaxed by the cruise ship pool in mid-afternoon approximately half way between Montego Bay and Belize City. “I can’t believe you turned all those guys down who were asking you to dance last night at that night club. A couple of them were very nice.”
“I don’t know, Grace. This whole situation is about to get the best of me. What I want is to sort out what’s wrong with Bernie and me and come to some sense of closure. We both tried very hard to put things back together after he came back, but there’s just too much baggage to keep hauling around. This was really my fault for getting involved with Braxton too soon after...”
“Anne, every rational person would have come to the same conclusion you did,” interrupted her sister. “My God, Anne, you buried him in Arlington and...”
“It wasn’t him Grace! It was a box with some sand bags and some faulty assumptions on my part! That’s what’s wrong,” she hissed. “Even so, I was wrong and I can’t forgive myself for being so selfish as to start traipsing around with Braxton so soon.”
“Did you ever consider if you wouldn’t have become involved with Braxton it would have been a longer time, or maybe never, before he came back, and in what condition? Anne, I know this is complicated beyond words, but you did everything a rational person would do. The end game was a combination of dumb luck and human nature. Nobody’s to blame here.”
Anne sighed deeply and thought for a moment. “Thanks Gracie... I appreciate your support,” she said softly. “You and those crazy rum drinks may bring me back to sanity by the time we hit Cancun. Let’s see if we can get the eight o’clock seating tonight. I’m gonna stay up and try to have a nice evening with our new friends.”
*
Yim pulled his group together to go over the plan one last time just before they began their evening dinner shift. Except for his two junior leaders, the rest of these people were stupid and degenerate losers he had grown to loathe soon after they had come ashore illegally in Miami nearly a year ago. If it wouldn’t have been for America’s laughable immigration policies and lack of enforcement by employers of Federal employment laws, these people would have been bundled up by ICE and deported as soon as they had hit the beach in Florida. Yim and his two juniors had the on
ly passports, fraudulent as they might be, and reasonably legitimate, but also fraudulent, paperwork. Yim kept the group together in a dismal drop house in the roughest section of Little Havana and fed them off food stamps that he and his two helpers managed to acquire on the black market. He soon made a deal with an unscrupulous employment counselor to get all of them hired for next to slave wages, paid in cash, by a cruise line. The kind or work they did on the ship, garbage hauling, toilet cleaning of the crew’s’ quarters, washing pots and pans in the massive kitchens, and as oilers in the stifling engine room, was difficult to hire for on the Miami wharf. The cruise lines looked the other way when these people showed up willing to take such demeaning work. Leftover food, a filthy bunk, and a few dollars a day was their reward. But, realistically, this existence beat what they came from in North Korea, which was starvation and a slow, certain death.
Yim had assigned numbers to the men to simplify their jobs and constantly quizzed the men about their assigned number. He went over them again as he continued with the final briefing, “Team A consisting of Numbers one, two, and three will set the small explosive charges in the locations we previously identified when you set up the tables for dinner. We have trained for this. It takes only a few seconds to place the charges when you’re setting up the tables. Once the table cloths are in place and the table set for dinner, no one will ever notice. At precisely eight-forty-five one of my juniors will remotely detonate the charges in the dining room. There will be chaos and pandemonium, and probably many deaths and seriously wounded.”
Yim Continued. “Also at precisely eight-forty-five, the charges planted by Team B in the engine room will disable the main and emergency power to the ship. A second set of charges will damage the propeller shaft at the seal where it exits the engine room and connects with the propeller mechanism, bringing the ship to a slow stop. Auxiliary battery-powered battle lanterns located throughout the boat will come on, but they will provide minimal light.”