Stifling an angry retort, Hynes motioned for
Dobb to take up the conversation. The major nodded. “We can give
you a 100% bonus on top of your normal commission of 7% of the
value of the item to be disposed of.”
“7% eh? Not bad. What is the item?”
Dobb looked at the general for permission, and
got it with a slight nod of the head. “It is a prototype for a new
full stealth TACAIR fighter.”
Vellore’s eyes widened. “Production costs for
the current TACAIR model run upward of $125 million!”
“$143 million to be exact,” Dobbs confirmed.
“This prototype is special and cost us $200 million.”
Vellore sat back. “That’s $14 million you’re
willing to pay for disposal.”
“Yes.”
“It’s a deal!”
Hynes frowned. “Can you do it though? That’s the
question we all have. With your company in turmoil, what guarantees
do we have that you can do this correctly? Parts must be dispersed
to no fewer than three separate sites, and the parts at each site
cannot, in any fashion, be able to be reconstituted into anything
that would tip someone off as to their purpose and origin. Each
metal and plastic part must be completely melted down. Every serial
number, ID mark, or wording must be totally obliterated without any
trace. I did mention that this disposal must follow level 4
protocols, right?”
“Not a problem. I will require the money in
advance, of course, but with it I can get this job completed easy
enough. I have five secure sites around the nation that can handle
this. All of them have been independently vetted by the military
and other government agencies. The strike as you know is focused
mainly in New York.” Frank shrugged. “I’ll just not use the
facility we have there. See? No problem.”
Hynes didn’t feel or look convinced. But he had
no choice. This had become a presidential priority, and he had been
personally tasked with the burden of getting this done quickly. The
President wanted movement within a week of his announcement,
something to feed the press and bolster positive political
opinion.
Politics.
He hated every bit of it.
“Okay. Dobb, run through the details,” he said
at last. “Let’s get the ball rolling.”
Later, in his limousine, Frank pulled on his
chin in thought. $14 million dollars was just what he needed. He
could circumvent the union altogether with money like that and hire
new workers. The Union would have to sue, of course, but by the
time the dust settled he would be too far ahead of the ball for any
litigation settlement to really hurt him.
The only real problem was that the disposal
protocols that needed to be followed were expensive. It would cost
him $4 million, minimum. That still netted him a hefty profit, but
even a single million would be vital to keep his company afloat in
the coming months.
No, he needed another way…a cheaper way.
He pulled harder on his chin, trying to think.
An idea invaded his mind, but it was too risky. He tossed it out. A
bit later, the idea snuck back in and he paused to look at it in
his mind’s eye before tossing it out again as merely improbable.
Before the limousine reached his offices, the idea had slithered in
once more, and this time, he took a hard look at it. Could it
work?
He pulled out his cell phone and made a few
calls. Eventually, he reached an old acquaintance from his
youth.
“Steve, it’s Frank.”
“Frank!” Steve’s rough voice replied. “It’s been
a long time, you son-of-a-gun. I hear the trash business has you
down in the dumps.”
“Ha-ha,” Frank muttered. “You always were the
class clown.”
Steve chuckled. “I know. But hey, no offense
man, but you should have gone into the shipping business. I don’t
have a union to deal with.”
“Well, that’s kinda the reason I’m calling,
Steve.”
“What? You want to get into the shipping
business now?”
“In a way. Steve, how would you like to make a
quick $ 2 million?”
There was a long pause. “Are we talking
something illegal, Frank? You know that I won’t have any part—”
“Hardly illegal,” Frank lied smoothly. “Look,
the government has contracted me to dispose of some sensitive
equipment. They want it discretely disposed of at sea. And, well, I
have a proprietary contract with the military for all sensitive
waste disposal, so they naturally came to me. I thought of
you.”
Another pause followed. “You did, eh? What’s the
cargo and how much?”
“I can’t really tell you the details about the
tech itself, you understand.” Frank had to make this mysterious
enough to make it look legitimate and if actually following
some
of the level 4 protocols gave him that edge, he would
do it. “But the dismantled tech should weigh no more than 50,000
pounds.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“That’s a lot of money for a small cargo.”
“Yes, but it is sensitive, and you need to be
discrete. That is what I would be paying you for. The cargo will
come in crates from a variety of sources. All you have to do is
sink it where no one would ever find it.”
“Well, that’s the trick. Many of these waters
are scrutinized. I would probably have to go to the Indian Ocean to
do it right.”
“Honestly, I don’t care where it gets done, just
as long as it does and that it never comes to the light of day
again—ever!”
“Okay, Frank. I’m intrigued. Send me the details
over a secure line and we’ll get things set up.”
“Thanks, Steve.”
“Hey man, $ 2 million is nothing to sneeze
at.”
“Make it three!”
“Two and half, ok?”
“Amen to that.”
Chapter 7
Two months later…
Ali watched as his brother walked home.
Well, Ryobi wasn’t really his brother in the
truest sense of the word, though both boys had known each other for
practically all their lives. Orphaned at the age of four, Ali had
wondered around until Ryobi, then six years old himself and
orphaned, had taken the younger boy under his wing.
And home, if you could really call it that, was
a tattered tarp spread out in a corner of the several miles square
city dump. Occasionally, Ali and Ryobi would move their residence
closer to whatever area the trash was being discarded. This was
important to their survival, Ali knew. They weren’t the only
scavengers who called the city home. If they didn’t follow the
trash, they would have nothing to eat or sell.
Ali had heard once that he lived in a place
called Somalia, but he really didn’t know what that meant, or even
what it may imply. He knew there was a larger world out there.
Occasionally he would spot someone with white skin, or blond hair,
or slanted eyes, and even once, blue eyes. These people were like
exotic aliens, and he had no real concept of where they came from
or what they were doing in the streets he occasionally haunted.
The sprawling trash heaps consisted mostly of
rusted metal parts and rotting food stuff. Paper was also in
abundance, and when collected made a decent blanket during the
occasional chilly nights. Most of the things that came to the dump
were worthless, since locals had the tendency to use something
until it couldn’t be used anymore. However, occasionally, if they
were able to fight off the other boys—girls didn’t survive this
life and had other ways to make a living than as a boy, Ali didn’t
understand yet—they would find something of actual value that could
be sold. Mostly, they just looked for discarded foodstuff that
could potentially be their next meal.
Competition was so fierce, that the moment you
found anything edible, you ate it immediately, else a fight would
break out. Though fights broke out anyway. Ali and Ryobi worked as
a team, Ryobi often fighting off other boys that ventured too near,
thus allowing the smaller and more agile Ali to scrounge. Ali
always shared what he found.
Ryobi’s dirty face looked pinched in annoyance
as he stomped up to Ali. “It’s worthless.” He tossed the gadget
onto the pile of rubbish before Ali.
Ali grinned, knowing how irritated his older
friend got when he couldn’t sell one of their finds from the dump.
“How can it be worthless? It looks expensive.” He picked it up and
examined it. He was already intimately familiar with it since he
had found it two days ago. The black, rectangular object was heavy,
the outside shell made of some incredibly hard and dense material.
A few English letters and numbers were written on one side,
although the last two and been scratched off somehow. He had tried
to pry the outside casing off, but without success. He had no idea
what it was.
“We’ll, it’s still worthless,” Ryobi insisted
again. His black face reflected a typical Somalia heritage, and his
13 year old face bore the impatience typical of a young teenager.
“No one knows what it is, so no one will buy it.”
Ali, two years younger than Ryobi, but perhaps
more streetwise, looked up. “Did you try Korfa?”
Ryobi snorted. “Of course, I tried him. He just
cursed at me and threw it at my head.”
Ali nodded. That sounded like Korfa. “Well it
looks important,” he said, trying to justify future attempts at
pawning it off on someone. “Maybe Osman would be interested.”
Ryobi snorted at that. “He promised to cut off
your hand the next time he saw you, remember?”
“Aww…he wouldn’t really do it.”
The older scavenger rolled his eyes. “Look
around you, Ali! This is Somalia. Not America. He would cut your
hand off in a second.”
America. A land of legend and about as reachable
as the moon to Ali. Still, Ryobi was right. Ali turned the object
over in his thin, dirty hands, thinking. “What do you think it went
into?”
They both knew it was some type of electronic
component. But since the most advanced electronic equipment either
had ever seen operational was an old tube style TV, they couldn’t
for the life of them figure out what it might be.
“There is a guy,” Ryobi said, slowly. “He’s
Chinese. I showed it to him. I think he might be interested.”
“He say so?”
“No. He tried to pretend that he wasn’t. But I
could tell. He asked me where I had found it.”
Ali looked around at the huge waste dump that
lay on the fringes of the city. This was his home, his and Ryobi.
They shared it with about a score of other scavengers who fought
ferociously over any scrap that might have some value to it.
Everything was dumped here, from normal household waste to
industrial garbage—mostly twisted and rusted scrap. Ali remembered
one person complaining about the overwhelming stench about the
place, but Ali could recall no other home. He didn’t smell
anything. He had once overheard a white skinned man mutter
something nasty about ‘dumpster-divers’ when Ali had tried to sell
him something on the streets. Ali had no idea what the man had
referred to, except that the man hadn’t been very pleased with
Ali’s appearance.
“You mean, he wanted to know if you stole
it?”
“Yeah, I think.”
“What did you tell him?”
Ryobi shrugged. “We got it out of the landfill.
That’s true enough, right?”
Ali thought about it. “You think you can find
him again? Maybe he would buy it if we offer him a deal.”
“Maybe.” Ryobi didn’t seem very interested. “I
just don’t think it matters. It is broken.”
“How do you know that? We can’t even open it.
Besides, maybe someone wants it because of the metal. I’ve never
seen anything like it before.”
“Maybe,” the older scavenger muttered again,
unconvinced.
Ali jumped to his feet, eagerness playing across
his features. “Come. We shall find this man and make a deal with
him.”
Ali seemed to retract a little “We will ask for
good money, otherwise, we just keep it”. His older friend stood
much slower, his expression dubious. “I met him in the government
district. That’s all the way on the other side of town.” He peered
at the sun. “It’ll be dark by the time we get there.”
Ali’s smile faded. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of
that.” His stomach growled. He wanted something to eat, and didn’t
relish scrounging for it. He had secretly hoped that selling the
black box would allow them to eat freely for several days. He
considered his options. “Okay. We’ll go tomorrow and see if we
can’t find this Chinese man. We’ll try to be back before the trucks
dump the new stuff.” The ‘new stuff’ was the daily trash brought
from the city and seafront wharves.
Ryobi rubbed his stomach. “Okay. Where do you
think we should go to get something to eat?”
Ali hid the metal box with the rest of their
stash and started walking. “We’ll find something,” he assured his
friend. “We always do.”
But they never even made it out of the landfill.
Three men appeared out of the gloom, surrounding them as they
neared the landfill exit. All three looked Asian, possibly Chinese.
Ali hadn’t seen many from that part of the world, so he couldn’t be
sure. One, shorter than the other two, pointed to Ryobi and said
something rapidly in a language that Ali didn’t understand.
One of the other men, a bit taller with jet
black hair slicked straight back and wearing a double breasted suit
stepped forward. His hands were clasped behind his back, but though
his manner was unthreatening, Ali felt suddenly nervous all the
same. Ryobi did too, for Ali could hear his friend swallow. The man
looked the two boys over and then speared Ryobi with a small smile.
“Boy, I hear you had some object or other that you were trying to
sell. I would like to see this metal box of yours.”
Ryobi swallowed again and looked at Ali for
help. Ali nodded. The situation didn’t look good. These men weren’t
here to buy the box. They were here to take it. Ali determined to
make it difficult for them. He wanted to at least get a meal out of
it. His friend looked back to the men. “I don’t have it. Ali, here
does. He knows where it is.”