A/N1: The Vietnamese are still communists, so they probably object to ownership of Chuck.
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Min parked and led them into a nondescript office building. The conversation with the armed guard at the desk led to a quick phone call upstairs. A pretty young woman came out of an elevator to lead the five men upstairs to a conference room occupied by three Vietnamese men. An older man seemed to be sitting quietly to the side, while the other two men yelled at each other in Vietnamese.
The young woman knocked on the door to announce the arrival of the Americans.
Colt wondered what the next few minutes would bring.
The room was a nondescript conference room with almost nothing to indicate it was in Vietnam. The only thing that marked it as clearly not American was the fact that the Vietnamese man on the far side of the table was smoking. He had a lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth and seemed quite able to yell without allowing it to fall out, which was a neat trick. The odor of smoke lingered in the room from not only his cigarette but the habits of prior occupants as well. The scarred wooden table and uncomfortable metal chairs could have been in any conference room in any police station in the world.
One of the yelling men broke away from the argument and turned to the doorway and the new arrivals. "Hey, guys," he said switching to American accented English. "Welcome to Vietnam. I'm Quang Lane, the FBI officer at the Hanoi embassy."
He was a small man and appeared to be Vietnamese, but was pretty obviously American by his accent and mannerisms.
Colt reached out and said, "Good evening, Mr. Lane. I'm Mike Colt." While they shook hands Colt introduced the other three men in his team.
Lane turned to the younger man he'd been arguing with to introduce the new arrivals to him.
But Colt turned the other way to the older man in the room, who had been sitting silently while the other two argued and who had not come out of his seat to greet the new arrivals, merely sat watching them.
"Ong," said Colt, speaking in Vietnamese and using the honorific used for an older man, "thank you for allowing us to cooperate with you. The problem we face is a problem for both of our countries and we welcome the opportunity to work with you and your men."
The older man was obviously startled by the giant black American speaking fluent Vietnamese with such courtesy. The big man's body language matched his words. He stood and took Colt's huge hand in his and said, "Welcome to Vietnam. Like you, I hope your visit will be productive for both of our countries. We have no great love for the North Koreans and intend to stay on the right side of the United Nations sanctions against that regime. I must say, I am impressed by your fluency with my language. Where did you learn it?"
"Thank you for the compliment, Ong. I rarely have an opportunity to use my Vietnamese and I fear it is rusty. My father served here in the war between our nations. He returned home and taught my brothers and me the languages he'd learned while in your nation," said Colt.
"Languages, plural? Do you know other languages from my country?" the man asked.
"Yes, Ong. I know Mon-Khmer," Colt said. "But it is less than fluent, I'm afraid."
"Ah," said the man. "From our mountain people.
"Yes. My father served with them," he said.
"I am Colonel Tran." He gestured to the younger man who had been arguing with the FBI agent Lane. "This is Captain Trong."
Colt and his men shook hands with the men.
"And you, yourself, were in your military," said Tran. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, Colonel. My men and I were in the Army. Served together in the middle east for the last few years," said Colt.
"But no longer in the military. Yet together nonetheless," said the colonel.
"Yes, Sir," agreed Colt. The man was smart and was putting facts together quickly.
Tran said, "Why are you here?"
Colt replied, "We came to destroy the shipment to the North Koreans. But the investigation became public while we were in transit, thereby shifting our mission."
"You would have violated our sovereignty and engaged in an act of property destruction here in Haiphong?" asked Tran.
Lane looked like he was trying very hard not to shit himself.
"Yes," said Colt. "It seemed like the most efficient means to stop the North Koreans from obtaining the material they were seeking." He did not flinch from the admission and looked at Tran calmly.
Tran shook his head and gave a small laugh. He said, "Very well, Mr. Colt. Welcome. However, next time, call me first. I am a man of some influence here. It might save everyone some effort. In the meantime, do proceed with Captain Trong."
Colt smiled at the smaller man and said, "Yes, Sir. I'll make a note of that."
Trong, having been brought into the conversation and speaking Vietnamese, as Colt understood the language, said, "I was explaining to agent Lane that my government had no prior knowledge of this smuggling operation. Agent Lane seems to doubt that."
"No issue, Captain. The Vietnamese government is blameless in this matter. There is a customs official in the harbor who was bribed, but no indication that anyone else is involved. Go on," said Colt, with a gesture to Trong.
Trong seemed to be startled by the announcement from Lane's countryman.
Lane said, "Mr. Colt, are you certain of what you have just declared? These matters can be..."
"Yes, Agent Lane. Quite certain," said Colt, barely looking at the FBI man.
Trong said, "A shame you hadn't arrived earlier than you did, Mr. Colt. You could have saved us some unpleasantness." The man glared at Lane.
"Well, we're here now, Captain. Time to work together, don't you think?"
"Of course. We are sending people to arrest the owners of the Bihn Mihn company. We will question them to understand the truth of the allegations," said Trong.
"And the contraband itself? Have you taken steps to secure it?" asked Colt. The FBI man, Lane, was watching with amazement as Colt took over what had been a contentious discussion with ease. The entire tenor of the meeting had been flipped almost in an instant by the big man. Colt's men did not speak Vietnamese and didn't understand the conversation, but followed the body language as they watched their leader, not for the first time, turn an otherwise difficult situation to his direction. So far as they were concerned, Mike Colt could talk the Devil off his throne.
"We will question the owners to find the location of the electronics and then take the necessary steps," said Trong.
"No, Captain Trong. The investigation is now public knowledge. With respect, the first thing they will do is dispose of the evidence. Probably just accelerate the shipment to the Koreans. You have to get your men there as soon as possible," said Colt. "You have to stop the movement of the shipment immediately."
Trong looked at Colt with almost pity for the man's lack of understanding. "Mr. Colt, it is not possible to do as you suggest. We do not yet know the location of the package."
In turn, Colt looked the man in the eye and said, "The Kho Goldenlink warehouse. Just west of the bridge. My men and I know the box number and approximately where it is in the warehouse."
Tong stared at him for a moment, and said, "How do you know that?"
"I read their emails," said Colt calmly, with a gentle nod of his head.
Trong looked to his left, to Tran and said, "We can get an armed team ready in the morning, just a few hours, Sir."
Colt looked at Tran and said, "Colonel, you have a heavy team right in front of you. All we need are the weapons, Sir." If anything, his voice had deepened somewhat.
Trong said, "Sir, that is highly unusual. Armed foreigners acting under our authority..."
Tran, looking Colt in the eyes, said, "Captain, open the armory to these men. Alert the motor pool. You leave for the warehouse in ten minutes. Questions?"
No one had any questions.
"Thank you, Colonel," said Colt. Tran nodded.
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Robertson left his apartment building at dawn, wearing shorts and a tee shirt with headphones in his ears for a small iPod music player. He spent a few minutes stretching and then began to run. He found a nearby park and did two loops of the outside edge and then turned off to head back to his building. About a five mile run overall, the last quarter mile in a sprint. He stretched again at the end of the run.
Not quite two hours later, he left the building and headed to the aikido studio where he taught classes. He had a small black duffel bag over his shoulder as he walked to his job.
He entered the storefront with a key and turned on the lights and generally got it ready for the influx of students. All of which activity could be seen from the street outside. The 11AM class assembled and he taught the students without anything noteworthy happening.
Once the class was over, the school's owner arrived and took over. Robertson took that time to get some lunch, walking to the cafe on the corner. He had a sandwich and a bottle of iced tea. He sat doing a newspaper crossword puzzle while eating his lunch. He bussed his table and headed back to the aikido studio to help run the afternoon classes.
He never did notice the two quiet men who removed the empty iced tea bottle from the recycle bin in the cafe once he'd left the cafe.
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Lane declined to accompany Colt's team to the warehouse with Trong, feeling that his jurisdictional prerogatives did not permit him to run around foreign warehouses in the middle of the night with automatic weapons. He was probably right. Colt and his men had no such qualms, confident that Chuck and company had their backs.
They piled into an SUV with police markings and drove through the quiet streets of Haiphong towards the harbor. With the windows opened in the pleasant night air, Trong's cigarette smoke blew away quickly. Colt knew that the city had been extensively bombed by the United States forty years earlier in an effort to shut down what was then North Vietnam's only major harbor. He looked for evidence of those bombings, but saw none. The city looked like any other major city to his eyes. Colt also knew that the mining of the harbor by the US Navy had accomplished what the bombing had not and effectively sealed the harbor for almost a year near the end of the war. Of course, there would be nothing to presently indicate that particular aspect of the history.
The city streets were almost deserted with only the occasional traffic. There was no need for lights or sirens and they made excellent time. Trong had told them that the harbor opened early and would be busy, but not for another few hours. They could expect to find the warehouse they were looking for locked and dark at this hour. Their intention was to find the harbor manager and get him to open the door, allowing them to enter and secure the contraband as evidence. Trong would call for a police truck to take the container back to the police station once the PPS morning shift began.
The complication arose as they came in sight of the warehouse. There was activity even at that early hour.
They parked a distance away and approached quietly on foot.
The building was rectangular, with one end leading to a dock on the Cam River. The river was slow moving black water, with only the shine of occasional lights to mark its location. The almost stagnant water smelled stale in the humid night air. The men approaching the warehouse could hear the gentle sloshing of the water against the piles.
There was obvious activity at the one edge of the warehouse, although it was after 3AM. Bright lights were illuminating the end closest to the river and they could hear the motor of some kind of equipment start. Voices could be heard in the center of the activity.
The five men were hidden in the gloom of the shadows along the southern edge of the building. Trong dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his boot. Colt leaned over and whispered to the others, "Speaking Korean." Colt repeated himself in Vietnamese for Trong's benefit.
The other men nodded. Colt looked at Jack at pointed to a nearby rooftop that had a view of the lit area in front. Jack took off running silently into the shadows, his sniper rifle on his shoulder.
Colt looked at Frankie and Marty and gestured for them to go around to the other side of the building, so that the combined team would be approaching the active area from two sides.
In only a few moments, the three members of his team were in place. Jack began to tell them what he was observing, and Colt would whisper a translation to Trong.
"I'm in place," he said. "I see seven men, six armed with AK's. They are moving a big box, about 5x5x5, on a pallet with a forklift. Probably the box we want. There's a small ship tied up with a cargo net on a crane. It looks like they are moving the box from inside and across the open dock area. The net from the ship has already been lowered and is flat. The forklift will be lowering the cargo onto the net, which will pick it up and bring onto the ship.
"One man is in the forklift, one on the pier near the ship, probably the crane operator. Two more are on either side of the net. The other three just seem to be hanging around watching the activity. All have guns in their hands or slung over shoulders except the forklift operator.
Colt said, "Can you see anyone through the door to the warehouse?"
"Negative. It's in shadow," said Jack after a pause.
"OK. We're going to come out and announce ourselves, in both Vietnamese and Korean. Keep an eye on those shadows inside, while the excitement is going on outside," said Colt.
"Roger, Boss," said Jack.
Colt and Trong looked at each other and nodded. Both men stepped out from the edge of the building with their weapons pointed at the Koreans.
Trong was screaming that they were police and for the men to drop their weapons. Colt was screaming the same in Korean.
The men turned their way and began to raise their weapons to the threat when Marty and Frankie came around the other side and raised their weapons as well, shouting to draw the attention of the Koreans and alert them to the increased odds against them.
Everyone seemed frozen. Trong kept yelling for them to put down their weapons, but the men didn't. The stalemate was broken by the forklift operator, who simultaneously lifted the box higher, to protect himself from bullets from the front, and spun the unwieldy machine towards Colt and Trong, accelerating as much as he could.
The machine drove right at the two men, but there was a loud boom as Jack's sniper rifle entered the fight and the forklift operator was blown out of his seat to the ground beside the moving machine. The driverless machine crashed into the wall of the warehouse and stopped.
Two of the men raised their rifles, but were immediately gunned down by Marty and Frankie with short bursts of fire. The other four men lowered their weapons to the ground and stood up. One of them, though, spun and lunged into the shadows of the warehouse.
Trong ran in after him, leaving Colt and his men to secure the remaining three prisoners. He entered carefully, expecting an ambush at any second. His eyes had been used to the bright lights outside, but there were none in the warehouse itself. To make matters worse, he would be silhouetted against the lights from the open door behind him.
He heard a noise and turned to it, seeing the shape of a high kick aimed at his head. Instinctively, Trong grabbed the ankle, caught the leg and twisted with all his strength. The leg snapped and his assailant fell to the ground screaming. Trong stepped forward and used the heel of his boot to stamp on the man's testicles. The Korean passed out from the intense agony.
Trong yelled, in Vietnamese, "Good in here." He reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes.
Colt yelled back, "Here also."
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Booker and Chen looked at the DNA report on Robertson provided by Green's people. It matched the DNA found on the broken window from the crime scene.
"Oh, boy," said Booker.
"Yeah," said Chen.
"Yeah," said Green.
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A/N2: So, there we go. Robertson's DNA was on the broken window. Shit. I was just getting to like the guy. But this is totally unrealistic, right? To have the authorities tail a suspect to pick up his trash to obtain a DNA sample? Naw, only in fanfiction, right? Nope. This really happened. There was a serial killer (or killers) on Long Island, New York (dubbed by the press the "Gilgo Beach Killer"). The police found a single hair on a victim's body. Eventually, years later really, they followed a suspect until he discarded uneaten pizza crusts in a trash can. The man's DNA from the crusts matched the hair and he was charged, just last year, with three of the murders.
A/N3: How we doing, guys? You know I do love to hear from you all.