Hail Warning

Termez, Uzbekistan

The Darknet’s lesser known cousin, the Black Net, was one criminal level down from the Darknet, which had become so familiar to the common public. Thus, it was not the elicit marketplace it once it had been. The TOR Browser had become the Rip Browser.

Kornev brought up his Rip Browser and entered the world of drug dealers, exotic animal suppliers, military secret peddlers, identity document experts, credit card number brokers, as well as hitmen and human slave dealers and, of course what Kornev sold, weapons. With a few clicks of the mouse, Kornev brought up an encrypted e-mail service he used to communicate with his customers, who were scattered all over the world.

The first e-mail he saw was from the new secretary of the North Korea’s Worker’s Party, Jang Song Hae. Following the recent missile debacle, there had been a major purge of power by the esteemed leader, who had sent most of the Worker’s Party cabinet to what he called an ideological re-education to work in the uranium mines at Pyongsan. The only education they would receive is how to work themselves to death — the true point of the reassignment.

The e-mail from Jang Song Hae was direct and to the point. It was written in English, since his North Korean client understood that Kornev was not proficient in Korean.

“What are you prepared to do about the loss of the ICBMs?”

The single sentence was provocative to the point it made Kornev flinch and cause his stomach to churn. Recently, there had been a few exchanges between Kornev and the North Koreans. All three missiles they’d ordered from him blew up minutes after arriving in a North Korean warehouse. What made Kornev look like he was involved with the destruction was his hasty departure and escaping the explosion. All the guards, in addition to the North Korean general overseeing the delivery, vaporized with the warehouse and its contents. Kornev had made it out, but he wouldn’t have escaped if it hadn’t been for a phone call he had received minutes prior to the blast. The anonymous, Spanish-sounding female, warned him Hellfire missiles were inbound. Since no one knew he was at the warehouse, Kornev had taken the warning seriously and fled in a Jeep. While making his escape, a flying weapon had given chase. It had flown just above and behind his Jeep shooting controlled bursts of automatic weapon fire down on him. One of the bullets had clipped his right hand, and he felt death was a certainty. There was no place to hide in a ragtop Jeep. Then the strangest thing had happened. The pursuing aircraft exploded no more than twenty meters behind his Jeep. Kornev had been immensely filled with relief, believing from then on it would be smooth sailing. But then when he reached the sanctuary of the Dongmyong Hotel in Pongch’un-dong, the entire hotel had blown up. The explosion sent a shockwave causing him to lose control of his Jeep. At a speed of 40 kilometers per hour, he lost control, veered off the road and rocketed straight into a ditch. That incident was responsible for the many injuries he had suffered.

The latest e-mail from the North Koreans didn’t necessarily blame him for the sabotage, but they expected, at the very least, for him to provide them more ICBMs. Either that or they wanted him to return the diamonds. The last time he had seen that bag of diamonds they were being removed from a floor safe in the warehouse. He recalled seeing the general hold them up, offering them in payment for Kornev’s services. Instead of accepting the diamonds as payment for his services, he had run from the building.

The problem Kornev faced was the time it took to procure the ICBMs. It had taken him over a year to orchestrate the successful collection and delivery of the ICBMs (that had been destroyed) to the North Koreans — it had not been an easy process. There were different companies in Russia who had built different parts of the decommissioned missile. One company was responsible for the guidance system. Another built the structural components. And yet others built the thousands of other electronic and propulsion components that allowed the missile to tick, fly, and go boom. Since the missile was no longer in production, Kornev had to track down the manufacturers of each component to purchase their retired parts.

The companies were more than happy to clear their warehouse of parts that would never again be used; they purposely didn’t ask any questions. After all, it wasn’t as if they were selling a missile. They were simply selling a guidance computer or a cylindrical stage that someone was going to repurpose — maybe to create a very deep pond in their backyard. There was nothing more glitchy than having a section of a Russian ICBM in your backyard to impress your friends. But all that research, deal making, and front-end compensation took time. It was a logistics nightmare that had exhausted Kornev. Currently, he just didn’t have the strength or willpower to go through the process yet again. There was lower-hanging fruit on the tree to pick. He had many clients who needed smaller weapons, simple to transport, while still profitable for Kornev. For the time being, Kornev decided to ignore the North Koreans, hoping they didn’t send an agent to kill him. Of course, they would first have to find him.

As Kornev glanced back down at his e-mail screen, he noticed one other unread e-mail message waiting for him.

He clicked on it and read:

We need two of the 9K333 Verba shoulder-fired missiles in the next 30 days. Same price as before. Same type of payment. Diambu

That’s the type of sale Kornev needed. It was a small-quantity order yielding big dollars without him having to do much work. He knew a guy in Russia who had fifty of the shoulder-fired, surface-to-air missile systems. And the customer who had left the message was known to him.

Kornev hit REPLY and typed:

No problem. Just let me know where you want them and when. I might be able to get them to you sooner.

Kornev’s cellphone chimed. He picked it up from the desk where he was sitting and read the text message:

I will be arriving tomorrow on Uzbekistan Air Flight 201. Could you think of a more obscure place to meet? I hope there is fun places to party around there? See you tomorrow! xxxooo Tonya.

Kornev didn’t know what xxxooo meant, but he assumed that it was more female silliness. He took a moment to compose a message in his head before he typed:

I can’t wait to see you. I promise that we will have lots of fun! Yours, Victor.

He leaned back in his chair, very content, feeling his bad luck was behind him. He was starting to feel better physically; he was rich, had a new order from a well-paying client, and the beautiful Tonya would soon be in his bed. Truly, life couldn’t get much better.