Point of Contact

79

Zvezdev had purchased the modest stone-and-red-tiled home because it was on the Adriatic Coast and he loved the sunset, and also because it was near his favorite beach bar. Or at least that’s what the realtor said in her interview with the SOA, Croatia’s intelligence service.

The American team leader was on sat comms waiting for orders from DNI Foley. The seven men under his command — three Croatians, four Americans — wore tactical gear and NVGs. The team leader assured her that four hours of surveillance found no evidence of either guards or kinetic defenses.

“Place looks empty,” he reported.

Bad intel, or bad luck, Foley offered. She gave the word to go.

The breaching team went first, the others followed. They cleared each room. Nobody was there, least of all Zvezdev.

The NVGs came off and someone popped the lights on. The team leader ordered a thorough check of the house, and to bag any evidence they found. They’d all been briefed. Zvezdev was tied to a North Korean operation, and they needed to shut it down.

One of the Croatians opened the refrigerator, half looking for a cold water — or a beer. Instead, he found something else.

“What the fuck is that?” the Croatian asked the man standing next to him.

An American named Suh took the chilled jar from his hand. “Looks like kimchi.”

“What’s that?”

“Korean food. Fermented cabbage, onions, chilis — you name it.” Suh unscrewed the jar and sniffed it. “Smells funny.”

He held the jar closer to his face. Examined it closely. His eyes narrowed.

“Oh, hell no.”

The team leader broke into his comms. “Say again?”

Suh rescrewed the cap.

“I think we found Zvezdev.”