Darke Mission

by Scott Caladon

  “For each lock?” asked Ethel.

  “For each lock,” replied Victor. “Giving us 200,000 possible combinations. I cannot be confident that I can do that in less than an hour.” Just as he reached this conclusion his tablet indicated that the opening mechanism on the time lock had been triggered. That was something. He showed JJ and Ethel and they nodded their appreciation.

  “So, Victor, since you’ve got the biggest kit bag on the planet and there’s only one weapon, my handgun, in it, I guess the other contents are your plan B?” asked JJ.

  “Yes, it was always likely that this bank would have one of the best vaults in it. It’s a central bank, it’s new and it would probably house at least part of Kim Jong-un’s personal wealth. I may be able to disengage the dual custody locks in an hour, but I might also take two to three. If we had overnight to do it then it would be a cinch, a sure thing, a done deal. We don’t, so I brought along an old fashioned way as well.”

  “The thermal lance?” asked JJ.

  “The thermal lance,” confirmed Victor.

  JJ and Ethel were moderately amused that Victor thought the thermal lance route was old fashioned. Clearly, anything that was not computer based, electronic, nice and clean did not qualify as state of the art for Victor Pagari.

  “I thought those lances were not as efficient as made out?” asked JJ.

  “That’s true,” replied Victor. “They can take longer than is often depicted and they use up quite a few oxygen bottles in the process. You can’t cut a hole in a steel and concrete vault door in five minutes.”

  “How long, Victor, we probably need to get cracking?” asked JJ, not even remotely aware of his unintended pun.

  “I’m hoping for 15 to 20 minutes, JJ. I’ve had the iron rods augmented with aluminium and magnesium. This will increase the heat at the tip of the work-piece. Once I’ve preheated the end of the tube, the temperature of the molten iron stream from the lance will be in excess of 3,000 degrees Celsius. I’ve brought three pressurised oxygen bottles with me and ten tubes. The tubes will need replacing every four or five minutes because they virtually disintegrate after that time. Basically, if I’m not through in thirty to forty minutes, we’re out of options.”

  “Fine,” said JJ. “Give it your best shot.” With that JJ patted Victor on the back and signalled to Ethel to move away from the vault door. Victor was laying out a fire resistant sheet on the floor and preparing to don his face shield and breathing equipment. There was more to the successful operation of a thermal lance than just poking it at a vault’s door.

  “OK Ginger,” said JJ. “Get Jim and Lily to go up in the service lift and they can begin bringing down the ‘Toblerones’. On your way check that those security guards are still out cold. Swap places with the Iceman in the van and he can help with the conveyor system too. I’ll keep a look out and an eye on Victor. Get Kwon to ask Ji-hun if there are any mobile pallets in here. There must be some, to move any heavy goods around.”

  Ethel nodded and went straight to the service elevator. It would take her a few minutes to get up, explain JJ’s orders to the team in the van and for them to bring the ‘Toblerones’ down. When Ethel was out of sight, JJ eased himself slowly to the ground. He was in a hot sweat and feeling a little nauseous. Not the I’m about to puke nausea that he used to feel if Cyrus convinced him to go on some stomach churning amusement park ride, but a little queasiness that made him a tad uncomfortable. The hot sweat was probably the result of his hormone treatment. It was a well-known side effect and one of the milder ones, so he shouldn’t complain too much. In the mad panic to get here, however, JJ had forgotten to bring along his Beljanski pills and his mega cocktail of vitamins and supplements. Those little cancer shits better not be attempting some Lazarus-style revival he thought, drinking some bottled water and wiping his brow. After about four minutes his sweat and nausea passed. Thank god for that, he thought.

  JJ was back on his feet and looking normal when the service lift’s doors opened. Jim and his fellow PAU Travellers had the six ‘Toblerones’ with them.

  “Right guys,” instructed JJ. “Start joining these together and lining them up. Begin near the lift and leave the last few until Victor has stopped making fire.” Victor’s activities were within sight and the three ‘Toblerone’ handlers looked a little bemused. “It’s a long story,” said JJ pre-empting any questions, “and we don’t have time for even the short version. If all goes well Victor will have cut through the door in about fifteen minutes. Jim, did Ji-hun say anything about pallets on wheels?”

  “He did JJ. They should be in a back room at the far end of this level where they keep all the workers’ stuff and any machinery which needs to be mobile,” replied Jim.

  “Great. Lily, Iceman, you get two of the pallets if you can. I’ll help Jim with the ‘Toblerones’. Did any of you guys notice the recommended weight allowance for the service lift?” asked JJ. Head shakes all round. “No problem. Next time we open it let’s check. Bullion bars are not light and we don’t want to pulverise the lift’s mechanism. A pretty sight we’ll all look if the guards find us cosied up with their supreme leader’s gold first thing in the morning.”

  With that, JJ and Jim proceeded to mantle the ‘Toblerones’ into one long and flat surfaced conveyor system. Support rods had been built into their individual hubs which came out for stability. There were spaces on the surface between each individual piece but these were very small and way too narrow to either let a gold bar drop through or impede it significantly as it moved along the treads. JJ opened the service lift doors. The metal plate secured above the panel for floor selection was in English and Korean. The maximum weight allowance was twenty people or 1,500kg. It was a spacious lift, as you would expect. Each gold bar was likely to weigh nearly12.5kg. Excluding the weight of the pallets and humans involved in their transportation, then 120 gold bars, at a maximum, could be taken up in the elevator in one go. Assuming two of his team on each elevator gold trip and a rough guess at the pallets’ weight, then probably no more than 100 bars at a time could safely go up in this elevator. For 6,000 gold bars that would mean sixty trips. If each round trip took three minutes, with no slippage, that would mean three hours. It was way too tight. Even assuming they got started in the next ten minutes, they had only three to three and a half hours before both the guards woke up and daybreak began. They could just knock out the security office guards again and the next shift guards, of course, but they could not delay daybreak. Even gadgetastic Victor could not control the coming dawn. The other security guards in the bank would surely notice that the loop Victor had sent their cameras on was still showing darkness. JJ et al would be rumbled.

  * * *

  Around the same time as JJ Darke was wrestling with his gold heist obstacles, Commander Kun-Woo Moon was contemplating his own position in the partially wrecked surroundings of Commodore Park’s living quarters at Haeju docks. Moon knew he was in trouble, the question he was transfixed with was how much. Of the four diners whose pleasant meal had been rudely interrupted by a bunch of as yet unknown submarine thieves, surely he was the least culpable. He had fully completed his assignment from Vice Admiral Goh and had delivered all the submariners requested to Haeju docks. He had no responsibility for either the docks’ security or that of the now vanished nuclear submarine. Those responsibilities would appear to lie with Commodore Park and Lieutenant Commander Gok Han-Jik. The injured scientist, Sunwoo Chung did not seem to have any role in the security of the docks or the sub either; he was a technician, whose sole task on this occasion was to make the submarine as invisible as possible.

  Moon and Park were sitting together on Park’s sofa, surprisingly free of damage. They stared ahead, contemplating their personal universes, and not conversing. Commodore Park had already informed Vice Admiral Goh about the disastrous attack. Goh absorbed the information but said very little. He informed both the office of the supreme leader and the State Security Department aka the DPRK’s secret police. C
ommodore Park knew his career was over, he was just wondering whether his life was too.

  Gok Han-Jik was standing in the far corner of Park’s living room, on his phone, and doing a lot of mumbling and rapid head bowing, presumably to the recipient of his call. It didn’t make a lot of sense right enough as it wasn’t a video phone and he wasn’t on Skype. Whoever was listening to him could not see him. Though he was paying scant attention to Gok, Commodore Park could understand every second or third mumble. It sounded like there was an awful lot of apologising going on. Only a few hours earlier, Gok had seemed so self-assured, arrogant even, in himself and about his orders. Bombing Japan and the USA was his mandate, a mandate that had now evaporated in a puff of enemy tinged smoke. Commodore Park did not know that Gok was Kim Jong-un’s cousin but he did know one thing about him – he was a dead man walking.

  As Moon and Park sat in their contemplative silence and Gok was mumbling away his apologies, Sunwoo Chung was helpless on the ground. The excruciatingly burning sensation that had hit the right side of his face following the scalding tea fountain was not subsiding. He was being attended to by one of the naval paramedics that had been sleeping in their makeshift quarters on the docks. Sunwoo was moaning and groaning a lot and had been reluctant to let go of the cloth that he had pressed against his burned faced. The paramedic was as gentle as he could be but Sunwoo could still feel his face come off along with the cloth.

  “Is it bad, is it bad?” cried the wailing scientist.

  “I’ve seen worse,” said the medic, completely truthfully but kind of irrelevant to Sunwoo, especially since the medic’s benchmark was the sight of bodies virtually consumed by fire. The medic did his best to patch up Sunwoo and relieve his pain, but he knew the scalded scientist would need hospital treatment as soon as possible and eventually skin grafts to improve the ghastly countenance that his already ugly mug had become.

  As the four former diners went about their business of contemplating, apologising and groaning, two plain clothed men entered Commodore Park’s living room.

  “Commodore Park, please?” asked the taller of the two.

  “I am Commodore Park,” responded the officer in charge of the Haeju docks, rising from his sofa and standing erect to his full height.

  “I am Lee Kon-U,” said the taller man, hand outstretched to shake that of the Commodore. He did not introduce his companion. “I am a Major in the State Security Department, Commodore, and I report directly to our supreme leader. I have been sent here to investigate this crime against our beloved nation. I expect your full support and cooperation.” With that Lee presented Commodore Park with his credentials. Park inspected them. They were legitimate.

  “Of course, Major,” replied Park, “anything I can help with, I gladly will.”

  “Which of your companions is Gok Han-Jik?” asked Lee. Park pointed to the standing man in the corner of the living room. Gok had finished his phone call. “Lieutenant Commander Gok. Please accompany my colleague to the car awaiting below. Your cousin would like to see you immediately.”

  “His cousin?” queried Park.

  “Kim Jong-un, our leader,” replied Lee. Park, Moon and the barely conscious Sunwoo were taken aback. Gok, himself, was shaken and looked a defeated man. Maybe being the DPRK’s supreme leader’s cousin wasn’t so good, Park pondered as Gok was led away by Lee’s quiet colleague.

  “Commodore Park,” said Lee. “Vice Admiral Goh has resigned his position following this debacle. Once I have finished questioning you about tonight’s events, our supreme leader invites you to do the same.”

  “Certainly,” replied Park, sure that he had to comply with Kim Jong-un’s invitation but unsure whether or not that would be the end of it.

  Satisfied that Commodore Park would be fully cooperative, he did seem like a completely loyal career military officer, Lee turned his attention to Moon and Sunwoo.

  “Commander Kun-woo Moon?” asked Lee of the man still sitting on Park’s sofa.

  “Yes, Sir,” responded Moon, getting on his feet sharply and saluting the Major from the State Security Department.

  “No need to salute, Commander,” said Lee. “I believe you were in charge of selecting and organising transport to the dock for the submariners?”

  “Yes, Sir, and they all arrived on time and in good health,” answered the worried Moon.

  “They’re not all in good health now, Commander,” interjected Lee in a snappy tone. “In fact, there are at least twenty dead and thirty to thirty-five injured as far as we can tell. Mainly from gunshots, explosions and, from the bodies recovered near dockside, slit throats. Maybe if you had been less punctual, Commander, these submariners would still be alive,” emphasised Lee, of course not believing his admonishment.

  “Yes, Sir, sorry Sir,” said Moon quietly. The pitiful Commander didn’t know what to think.

  Major Lee had been fully briefed as to the role in this operation for each of the former diners. Vice Admiral Goh and Lee’s boss, General Choi Yong-kun had filled him in on all the relevant details.

  “Commander Moon, you are free to go, return to your base on the east coast. The SSD are unlikely to have any further questions for you. If, however, we do, make yourself available immediately. Is that understood?”

  “Yes Sir,” replied Moon, still somewhat in a daze but certain that he had heard the Major say ‘you are free to go’.

  “Your own vehicle was not damaged in the attack, Commander, please drive carefully,” suggested Lee.

  Moon scarpered out of Park’s living quarters, gingerly descended the rickety stairs, which had not been rickety until Navy SEAL Joe Franks’s firecracker went off, and walked briskly to his jeep. There were still degrees of chaos on dockside but Moon was not bothered anymore. He was in his jeep and he was heading home. Moon put his keys in the ignition and manually wound down his driver’s side window, he still loved the smell of the sea, even if tonight it was tinged with the aroma of gunpowder. As Moon was about to pull away, the quiet companion of Major Lee appeared at the driver’s door and popped a couple of .357 Magnum rounds from his FN Barracuda revolver into Moon’s head. The Fabrique Nationale Barracuda was a timeless classic, ceased production in 1989, but had been given to the quiet man by no less than the supreme leader himself. Moon would now have no opportunity to tell this tale of embarrassing loss to anyone inside or outside the DPRK.

  While the quiet man was propelling Moon’s grey matter into oblivion, Major Lee had turned his attention to the half-conscious Sunwoo Chung.

  “Sunwoo Chung,” asked Lee, “can you understand me?”

  Sunwoo nodded.

  “You are the scientist responsible for the stealth augmentation of the nuclear submarine, correct?” enquired Lee, already knowing that he was.

  “Correct,” mumbled Sunwoo.

  “Is there any way to override your stealth modifications, interrupt them, render them ineffective?” asked Lee in something of a forlorn tone.

  “No,” replied Sunwoo, proud of the quality of his work. Since most of his augmentations had involved physical additions and alterations, there was no way they could be rendered ineffective until the submarine was recovered or surfaced.

  “Are you in pain?” enquired Lee, feigning concern.

  Sunwoo nodded.

  “This will help,” responded Lee as he placed his left hand over Sunwoo’s mouth and nostrils. The burnt scientist did not have much energy to resist and he was further de-energised by the medic’s painkillers that had not yet fully taken effect. Sunwoo wriggled a bit, struggled a bit and had a look of terror in his eyes.

  Commodore Park spoke up. “Major! Is that really necessary?”

  “It would be in your interests, Commodore, to sit down and shut up,” rebuked Lee, pressing harder on Sunwoo’s airways. The scientist did not have much time left. “This fool made the submarine so invisible that even his own navy cannot find it. For all we know he is an enemy agent. He spent time in America, was partly educated there. Perhap
s he turned. Even if he did not, the pervert has no future in our beloved land, no career and no life,” emphasised Lee, having been fully briefed on Sunwoo’s foibles as well as his ability. Neither Lee, Park nor Pyongyang’s working girls needed worry any longer. Sunwoo Chung had expired.

  Major Lee stood up, wiped his murderous hand with his handkerchief and turned to Commodore Park. “Commodore, of the three senior officers and one government scientist around your dining table tonight, you are the only one still alive.” In addition to Moon, the quiet man had also topped Gok. Both cadavers were nestling motionless in the trunk of his Pyeonghwa Motors Chairman car. “You are still alive for two reasons Commodore. First, our supreme leader recognises that you and Vice Admiral Goh have had long and distinguished careers in the service of our country. He does not believe that either you or Goh are traitors but he does want reassurance and that means a personal appearance before him, tonight. Secondly, the acquisition of the nuclear submarine from our friends in Russia was Goh’s idea, the security of the submarine your responsibility. Kim Jong-un does not want to shoot the messenger, he may even not want to shoot you, but he does want to know what the fuck happened here tonight. If I were you, when we get to Pyongyang, I’d have a clear, concise account to tell.”

  Park did not know what to say. He and Goh were still alive, that was good, but he was shocked at the killings of Sunwoo, Moon and Gok. He had never really liked Gok or Sunwoo that much but Moon seemed a decent fellow and a loyal officer, why did he need to perish.

  Major Lee must have been reading Park’s mind because he offered up the following.

  “Look, Commodore, word will begin to spread that we have lost a nuclear submarine that most people in the world, including our enemies, did not know we had. The enlisted men can be made to believe that it was a training exercise that went horribly wrong, but for the officers here, at the dock, that would be a hard one to swallow. Sunwoo’s usefulness had run its course and Moon was a bit of a blabber mouth. The supreme leader could not risk either of them giving their take on events.”