Читать книгу The Crucible - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 15

Admiral First-Rank Nikolai Tarkin took a long drag from his cigarette as he examined the manifest document. As he read, his thick lips twisted into a lustful grin. It was a grin of opportunity and anticipation.

Admiral Park sat across the table from him, thinking how satisfying it would be to slit the despicable Russian’s throat and watch him bleed to death. Commander Kim sat next to Park, harboring the same contempt.

“I see everything is in order, Admiral. Except for the forty missing barrels, everything else is fine. Very good,” Tarkin said, reclining back in his chair.

“The missing barrels could not be helped,” Park replied in perfect Russian. “It was a great risk for me to get these barrels out without being noticed."

“Please don’t apologize!” Tarkin bellowed. His massive chest and belly heaved laboriously as he chuckled loudly. “You’ve done well! Very well.” Park and Kim glanced at each other in mutual malevolence towards the tank-like man.

The bribe was humiliating, but unquestionably essential. In planning his voyage months before, Park had three important issues he had to solve with great precision. One, he had to deal with the weather. Storm fronts would be rolling in and out of the Pacific throughout the season, and he needed to use this to his advantage. Two, the new American spy reconnaissance satellite OPTICA routinely swept over the Kuril Islands and up through the Kamchatka Peninsula during its scanning arc. Within each scan, OPTICA fired infrared thermo-photos of Russian ships and submarines then down-linked the images to NSA. So precise was the system’s new WEPS hyper-scan lenses, that it was scheduled to replace all military intelligence satellites within two years. But the satellite did have a very significant Achilles’ Heel: it was virtually blind during periods of heavy cloud cover.

There was only one OPTICA in orbit, and it was just a prototype; one of the many high-priority projects that Kristina Torres and her WEPS engineers were redesigning on the fly. Because there was only one, North Korean intelligence had already mapped out its scanning tracks, which was heavily focused on the northern Pacific zones. Park had to hide from OPTICA, otherwise, his huge vessel would be identified, tracked, and subsequently trailed by an American submarine. To do this he had to steam under the thick cloud cover, which was now hugging the Kuril Island chain. Park’s last reported forecast said that this massive front would remain in the area for another three days, after which, it would move over the northwest Pacific. Park would lay under the storm, matching its speed and move undetected towards his objective. The third issue was the most important: would the Russians allow him to move through the island chain? Would they allow him to dock for at least two days? The answers to these questions lay with one man, Admiral Nikolai Tarkin, the Kuril Islands Regional Commander.

All foreign visits had to be negotiated through his office. Through his Russian staff operative implanted within the Russian naval command, Park arranged his route privately through Tarkin; and as expected, there would be a heavy price for his passage and harbor. The price was 200 barrels of petrol, a commodity that was dwindling in the Russian military. A commander who had fuel had the precious means to conduct exercises and deployments, or be paid handsomely by those who needed it more.

Tarkin was secretly given fuel by foreign vessels in exchange for shelter in one of his many island inlets. Adverse weather, giant swells and storm fronts constantly bombarded the Kuril Islands, and Tarkin controlled every safe haven in the chain. If a ship wanted sanctuary from a storm, or needed to stop for repairs, the oil paid the rent. That was the price, and it was understood by all captains who sailed through the Kurils.

Tarkin took the fuel and then sold it for exorbitant prices throughout his country. The rich, the powerful, drug cartels, international smugglers, private militias, and paramilitary units--all, purchased the precious oil from him. His money was then invested in the highly lucrative crack cocaine trafficking business decimating the youth and the destitute of his own country and several Baltic territories.

He enjoyed multi-millionaire status through his business and surrounded himself with a multitude of extravagant pleasures. His base was more like a luxury resort for vacationers rather than an observation post. He built recreational facilities and bars for his men, a lavish hotel for his guests, and modern salons for his prostitutes. A 120-foot Fittipaldi motor yacht sat at his private peer, while speed and fishing boats sat in boathouses. The base was dotted with not only jeeps and vans, but also luxury cars, SUVs, and exotic roadsters. A private helicopter slept in its own hanger next to his four-storied palatial office building, where he entertained his guests and conducted business in the top floor penthouse. Being completely isolated from the mainland, he didn’t have to worry about the mafia taking more than the cut he gave from the drug dealing; the mafia had no power here.

Park and Kim sat across from him in his plush office. They had never before sat in chairs with velvet-covered cushions, nor drank tea from crystal cups. Tarkin’s private chef had prepared a small spread of seasoned meats, exotic cheeses, caviar, and breads that they had never before tasted. But these luxuries didn’t quell the mounting resentment they had for Tarkin. Park’s enmity for the Russian was two-fold. He felt immeasurable guilt at the fact that he had to rob his own country of precious fuel to bribe this filthy swindler. He also felt deep contempt for any man who would use his command to poison societies with drugs, then use that wealth to further his lusts and greed. He saw despicable and unforgivable evil in Tarkin, and he wanted nothing more than to leave the fat sloth dead where he sat.

“All right, Admiral Park; you have your two days. Your ship will remain tied up until midnight, the seventeenth, as you requested.”

“Thank you.”

“If you like, you and your executive officer may sleep in our luxury officers’ suites. There is a small charge, of course, but they are five-star quality.”

“No, thank you. We will remain aboard our vessel.”

“Speaking of your vessel, you’ve done a magnificent job on the Lazarev, Admiral. She’s just as pristine as when she first set sail. I remember that day with pride.”

“Thank you. We regret that we have to go back to--”

“Why all the secrecy?” Tarkin interrupted, dropping his smile.

“Pardon me?”

“Why the secrecy? The Kim Il-Sung could have easily passed through the Kurils and cut through the storms to wherever you’re going. Yet you plan to stay here for two days and pay for it.” Tarkin took another long drag. “Where are you going?” Kim felt an alarm bell ringing in his chest. “There must be a good reason why you’ve decided to stay here. What is it?” Kim didn’t know how his admiral was going to answer this sudden interrogation.

“Well, as you know, as with any ship shakedown it’s always good to have good weather. I’m here to weather out this storm front,” Park answered calmly. “I want the Kim Il-Sung to sail in good conditions when I put her to the test.” Park knew this answer would not be enough for the shrewd Russian.

“You’ve come all this way to bribe me with precious fuel in order to weather out a storm? Trials and testing? I hardly think this is the case, Admiral, is it?” Kim grew increasingly nervous at this point, but his eyes opened with bewilderment when Park simply smiled.

“If you must know, I’m on a little provocation mission against the Americans.”

“What?” Tarkin moved forward.

“Admiral Tarkin, the Chinese have gone to great lengths in testing the American navy’s reactions in recent weeks. I believe it’s a good tactic; it measures the American resolve during wartime situations. The PRC has proven that they can now do whatever they want in the Pacific.” Tarkin nodded in agreement.

“Yes! Those Chinese have large balls! It is interesting that the Americans seem so timid, when before they were so arrogant.”

“That’s right. Well, the North Korean navy would like a piece of that territorial control. We would like to do some intimidation ourselves.”

“If the United States is weak now, this is the perfect time to take advantage of their lethargy, eh Admiral.” Tarkin grinned again.

“I would not call it lethargy, but fear,” Park said coldly.

“So, then,” Tarkin continued. “What is your plan?” Park then scooted his chair forward and leaned towards Tarkin.

“I plan to sail the Kim Il-Sung right into Pearl Harbor-- unannounced and uninvited. With most of their surface ships patrolling either in the Taiwan Strait or Korean Peninsula, I will prove the vulnerability of the American fleet in their own backyard. That is why I’m going to use this storm as a shield. I’m going to remain tethered to it all the way to Oahu!” Park then sat back, smiling smugly, and awaited Tarkin’s response. Kim’s muscles relaxed slightly as he reveled over the perfectly worded lie. Tarkin’s eyes were riveted to Park. A moment later, the Russian’s grossly obese body rolled back into his chair. A sinister smile stretched across his lumpish face.

“Excellent! Park, I think you have bigger balls than the Chinese!” He burst into a boisterous cackle. Park and Kim both faked their laughs and stood up.

“Admiral Tarkin, thank you for your harboring us and your hospitality. I’m sure we will make the headlines with this mission. Thank you for your role in it, and I would appreciate your discretion.” Park shoved out his hand. Tarkin shook it wildly, still laughing.

“Of course, Park! I’ll tell no one. The American media will have an embarrassing spectacle on their hands with this one! I wish you success! Good day, sirs! The van is waiting for you both outside. If you need anything more, please let me know.”

Park and Kim sat silently in the van as its driver took them back to the pier at Reydovo. In Prostor Bay, surrounded by large mountainous cliffs, the Kim Il-Sung sat peacefully as the storm’s rain pounded her decks. Looking out of the windows, Park was deep in thought.

“So what do you think?” Kim asked quietly.

“About what?”

“About what we just heard and did?”

“I reserve comment until we’ve entered our ship,” Park said without facing him. Kim remained quiet, sensing that his commander’s thoughts were elsewhere. But what Kim did not sense was the anger that smoldered inside his commander. Park considered the Russian. Tarkin was a traitor, and he had no sympathy for traitors or extortionists. Twenty minutes later, they were dropped off at Pier 12, the dock used to tie up extremely large ships. But before he jumped out of the van and into the whipping rains and onto the ship’s gangplank, Park had made up his mind to visit Admiral Tarkin one last time.