Free Targets of Opportunity by Jeffrey Stephens Page A

yacht. Your comrade here has already had the pleasure,” he said, giving Cardona a fraternal clap on the arm. “Your turn will be for a fine luncheon onboard.”
    “Thank you so much,” the Moroccan replied with obvious satisfaction.
    “It’s settled,” Adina said as he held out his hand and led them to four chairs arranged in a circle around the small table on the deck. “First it is time for you to tell us what you two have learned about the technology inside the depths of Fort Oscar.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

    EN ROUTE TO PYONGYANG

    S ANDOR REJOINED HIS team early the next morning. They met in a conference room adjacent to a private hangar at Reagan International Airport in Washington, where they were presented passports, visas, credit cards, and dossiers containing background information on their identities as Canadian businessmen. Then they were flown by charter to Toronto, where they would connect with the Air Canada flight that would take them nonstop to Beijing.
    “Canadian,” Craig Raabe mused on the ride from D.C. “I don’t have to fake some silly accent, do I Zimmermann? Sound like a Canuck or something?”
    Kurt Zimmermann grunted.
    “Hey, you’re the language expert.” He turned to Sandor. “What if they start grilling us about hockey? I hate hockey, don’t know diddly about it. They’ll see right through me.”
    Sandor responded with a sage nod. “Yes, I’d say it’s your lack of hockey knowledge that’s putting us at risk here, Craig. Tell you what, we have twenty hours or so on the flight to Beijing. I’ll spend the entire time regaling you with the history of the NHL.”
    Bergenn laughed. “Just make sure you’re sitting at least three rows away from me.”
    At Pearson International Airport in Toronto their first-class check-in went without a hitch. Their bags held no weaponry and no electronics. Only Raabe’s suitcase was fitted with plastic explosives and they were undetectable, or so Craig was assured at Langley. He knew the real test of that would come at airport security in Beijing and then Pyongyang. Meanwhile, the other three carried no contraband, not wanting to risk an arrest before they even made their way inside the DPRK. As Sandor reminded them, they would be unarmed and very much on their own.
    Sandor also told them that it was important, right from the start, that they assume the identities they’d been given. “Four businessmen on a trip like this don’t move like a Special Forces advance unit.” Once they received their boarding passes, he said, “Do your own thing, we’ll meet back at the bar in the First Class Club in an hour or so.”
    Sandor spent the time seated in a comfortable armchair in the lounge, going over the information that Byrnes had furnished, for his eyes only, to be destroyed before he boarded the flight to Beijing. There were several aspects of the mission he had been told that his men had not. The DD had left it up to him to decide when and how much of the data to share.
    Sandor put the file on his lap and stared out the window. Given the level of danger he and his men were facing, he wanted to be sure his mission would not be complicated by any information leaks.
    As he knew only too well, when people in government start talking, the discussions are quickly picked up by the media. That meant the secret of Jaber’s defection was not likely to stay secret very long, which would have a wide range of consequences.
    One aspect of those consequences was particularly troubling.
    If Jaber was telling the truth—that he had defected for fear of his own safety—those who believed they had already murdered him would not take kindly to the news that Jaber was still alive, especially since he was now cooperating with the Americans. It would be no leap of faith for his enemies to assume Jaber was sharing any intelligence he had about the scheme being hatched with the North Koreans.
    Carrying the thought forward, Sandor knew that the only edge he had in his