Chapter One

Breathing in the warm salty smell of the ocean, I guided the dinghy as silently as possible in the darkness of the evening and the overcast skies hiding the stars. Since my childhood, I’ve always enjoyed the ocean smell, though I could have really done without on this caper. I felt as if I were in a silent and empty void.

While I’ve never been a big fan of silent and empty voids, at least tonight I should be. The current condition made it harder for me to be seen from the ship I was heading to. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been so annoyed with the sudden sensation of the cold raindrops hitting me. Punishing me for my lack of appreciation, the ocean took it upon itself to grow a little rougher. Next time I embark on some maritime adventure, I will make a small offering to Poseidon, like chicken soup. It might not have helped, but it couldn’t have hurt. I swore at myself as the harsh spray dented my face while the little craft crested and fell with each wave. As if someone from above didn’t think I was having a tough enough night, the cold raindrops turned into a crisp sheet of water descending from the sky.

The combination of the now heavily-falling rain and saltwater spray really stung. I pulled a mirror out of my jacket pocket and checked the blacking I’d applied to my face a bit too liberally. I’d always been a lousy makeup artist. The spray hadn’t affected my camouflage at all. At least that precaution went according to plan.

Ten minutes out from my evening’s target, I found myself distracted on how I came to put myself in a situation that was rapidly becoming a much more dangerous than I planned. Again.

This caper began like most. It started with a phone call from a man who would eventually become my client. He’d possessed a Fabergé egg. This one was called the Hen’s Egg. It had been delivered to Tsar Alexander III and was given to his wife to celebrate their anniversary. It had been stolen and the police seemed powerless to get to the bottom of the crime.

The egg was a white enamel shell that concealed a matte golden-yolk filling. The egg is worth between thirty and forty million dollars. It was insured by a famous insurance company, whose name need not be mentioned here. The company and I agreed on a suitable retainer as well as a finder’s fee and I began work. The wetter I got, the more I believed I’d undercharged them. I shook my head. Perhaps my mom had been right about me. Maybe I was a little too reckless and adventure seeking. Taking this assignment was undoubtedly a bit of both.

I knew my intelligence was right. I’d spent enough on it and had gotten it from the best research company in the world, Kaplan Cleaning Company. I’d used them before and they were always very reliable. In case you’re wondering about their name, in addition to their intelligence work, they are professional cleaners. Got a body you need moved or otherwise disposed of? They will do that task. Of course, for a fee.

During their research, they came across quite a bit of chatter on the dark web and various intel agencies about the egg as well as other high-line robberies that had been occurring. The theory that had the most legs concerning the theft was it was part of a scheme by the North Koreans to raise hard currency.

Why? That was still unknown, and some of the guesses were bizarre. All of the intel suggested the Hen’s Egg was steaming to Hong Kong via a tramp freighter, or more accurately a spy ship disguised as a tramp freighter, named the Jin Teng. The ship flew a flag of convenience from Liberia in an attempt to conceal its North Korean identity. North Korean ships were generally not allowed to dock in many countries, thus the need for subterfuge. Kaplan had added an interesting fact: “The vessel changed names eight times the past two years. I guess this was all part of the concealment game. The thieves chose not to risk a flight to Hong Kong for fear of a crash.” A ship, while slower, was indeed safer.

This turned out to be a mistake as it cost them their head start. It gave me time to fly to Hong Kong the day before it was to be transferred to another, more formidable ship headed to North Korea.

Upon my landing in Hong Kong, Kaplan sent me the names of three possible ships to take the Hen’s Egg to North Korea. A little leg work and some American dollars later, I had the name of the vessel.

As I neared the ship, I smiled to myself. I mean what could possibly go wrong? I was in a foreign city that is controlled by the People’s Republic of China, who, if they found out what I was illegally doing in their domain, would take a dim view of me. Add to that I was boarding a vessel that was controlled by the most ruthless regime in the world and I faced almost certain death, if I were lucky, if my mission failed and I was captured. Perhaps my mom was right about me being too reckless and adventure seeking for my own good. Maybe I just had a screw loose. I was already regretting the fact I hadn’t charged nearly enough and allowed myself to be talked into the caper. A cold wave coming over the bow of the boat woke me from my reverie and brought me back to the dangerous present.

I looked behind me and felt reassured. I still was able to make out the lights from the Hong Kong harbor. I wasn’t too worried. If the ocean got rougher on my return trip, I wouldn’t care about stealth and I would open the engine up. For now, slow and silent was the agenda. Up ahead, I saw my mark, a ship, despite the fact it was flying a Liberian flag, that was owned by North Korea, called the Dae Song.

Making sure the crew wouldn’t see my approach, I tethered my little craft to the side of the ship. I took a cleansing breath to calm myself down and relax. I knew I would need my wits about me if I were going to survive the night. I adjusted my dark leather jacket and picked up the rope. It was time for me to board the Dae Song. As silence was at a premium, I took care to muffle the sound of the hook by wrapping it in cloth. After hearing it catch the railing, I pulled hard on it to make sure it wouldn’t slip. It didn’t. I removed two small shaped charges from a backpack and placed them on the hull near where I was standing. I began my ascent up the rope and froze in terror.

I heard what I assumed was Korean spoken by two sailors who were on watch. They stopped for a moment, and I saw two burning embers being tossed overboard. I heard the strike of a lighter as they lit new cigarettes. This was another break in my favor. The light from the lighter would destroy their night vision for a while. I smelt the odor of their cigarettes. An announcement came over a speaker in a language I didn’t understand, then I heard the retreating footsteps of the sailors as they continued on their watch. Now was my chance!  I finished climbing up the rope and before I cleared the gunwale, I peered up and down the outside corridor. All clear. Once over the rail, it took me a few moments to get my bearings. I knew from the map I committed to memory the Captain’s cabin was supposed to be toward the stern. Staying as low as possible, I headed toward the stern. I planted two more shaped charges on doors I passed as I slowly made my way to the Captain’s cabin. I was going to put my last shaped charge where it would do the most good. It was being saved for the door to his cabin.

Why had I bothered with the shaped charges? They were a backup in case my plan went a cropper. Setting them off if things went to hell would hopefully cause the crew to lose interest in shooting me and become more concerned about their ship sinking than me.

I was soon standing in front of the door to the cabin of the Captain. I listened carefully, and hearing no sounds coming from the cabin, I placed the final shaped charge on his door. I turned the handle. It didn’t turn. I looked up and down the corridor and all was still quiet. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my custom-made set of graphene lock picks. They never break as they are two hundred times stronger than steel and the material can cut diamonds. There was just enough light to allow me to see the keyhole on the knob. Seconds later, I heard the satisfying click as the tumblers fell into place. I put my lock picks back in my pocket and tried the handle again. It gave way and I was soon in the cabin. I closed the door behind me.

The ambient light in the room made finding the safe easier. I saw the safe was already partially open. This struck me as odd, but I’m one never to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I looked inside the safe. I saw about a six-inch stack of hundred-dollar bills, bundled with a strap from a bank. I didn’t understand the writing on the strap. There was also a half dozen glassine bags containing a white powder, a stack of passports, a pistol that looked like a Glock 17, my weapon of choice and what currently was strapped to my hip. I saw a purple bag that had the shape of tonight’s reason for me being here.

I removed the purple bag from the safe. I opened it up and feasted my eyes on The Hen’s Egg. I carefully placed it in a special container and then attached the bag securely around my neck. Not a chance I was going to lose this baby. Miller, I think, your plan is pure genius. Nothing can go wrong now. Oh, how we deceive ourselves. Moments after congratulating myself on a job well done, there was a wail of alarms going off and red lights flashing everywhere. I felt a burst of adrenaline hit me like a hammer. I realized there was a great chance this whole plan was probably ending badly for me. I stopped for a moment and took another deep breath and collected myself. This was not the time to act irrationally.

I stepped out of the room and began to head back toward where my dinghy would be waiting for me. Gunshots rang out over my head. These people were seriously pissed at me. I heard cursing in a language I was pretty sure was Korean. After all, I was on a ship owned by North Korea. I made it around a corner of the boat. This offered some protection for a few seconds. I pulled my pistol and returned fire. I heard screams of agony and bodies thud as they hit the rusted metal deck. The sirens had been shut off by now, so I was able to hear better. I oriented myself and knew I was less than thirty seconds away from where I was hoping my dinghy would be. Only now, I realized I should have known the safe was protected by a pressure alarm. Once the weight dropped, the signal would go off. I cursed my stupidity for not having been more careful, but the time for recriminations would come later. At least, I hoped there would be a later.

I panted as I debated my next move. My clothes were soaked with sweat and I felt my heart racing. Not for the first time, I promised myself I would quit smoking and begin working out at a local gym. The plan that came to mind was a simple one. I would make a mad dash to where the dinghy was tied off and dive over the rail. I needed to see how the sailors were lined up. If maybe only one or two might be able to shoot at me, I might have a chance to survive the night.

Reluctantly, I took a quick glance around the corner. I was in luck. I saw ten sailors armed with AK-47s and a man dressed in a uniform holding a bullhorn in one hand and a pistol in another. He would be hard to forget. His face was screwed into a look of anger and a jagged scar running from his ear to his mouth on the right side of his face made him even more memorable. The way the sailors were lined up on the narrow deck corridor, only one with an AK-47 and the leader with a pistol would be able to shoot at me without risking shooting their comrades. I was in luck. The sailors put themselves in the worst possible position in terms of getting the most people to shoot at me.

One of the sailors began firing his AK-47. I heard a shot from the pistol and listened to the weapon clatter as it hit the deck, seconds ahead of the thud of the body.

I was startled when I heard over a bullhorn, this time in English: “You are trapped. You have to surrender. Drop your weapon and gently lay down the People’s property you have stolen. We will be fair in our dealings with you.” I also heard what I was sure was the same message repeated in French and German.

I smiled to myself and remembered the kid who got fifteen years at hard labor for merely stealing a banner in North Korea. I’d boarded their vessel, taken something worth a lot of money, and probably shot and killed a few of the crew. I didn’t even want to think about what would happen to me. I was encouraged by the use of three languages. They didn’t know who I was. If I was able to get away chances where they wouldn’t be able to follow me. I felt my jacket pocket for my detonator. It was still there. I moved it to a more secure location in my pants pocket. I knew I was going to need it to get out of this alive.

When I didn’t respond, the firing began again. I heard another command and the shooting stopped. They probably didn’t want to take a chance on damaging my prize. I couldn’t blame them. After all, the item I now possessed was worth a lot in hard currency.

I made my decision then and there. Now that I knew they were afraid to shoot for fear of damaging the egg, I made a mad dash for the rail. I dove over the side and landed near the dinghy. They began firing as soon as I struck the water. I imagine it was out of frustration. Their concern for the Hen’s Egg had evaporated. I knew, as they did, the best chance for recovery was to shoot at me and hope they could remove the egg undamaged. If I got away, the egg would be gone forever.

Moments after hitting the water, the dinghy was ripped apart by what sounded like automatic weapons fire. Crap, I thought, time for swimmies.

I took a deep breath and dove as deep as possible. I heard bullets bouncing off the water above me. I reached into one of my pants pockets and pulled out the detonator. I knew it was necessary to take a chance and get the detonator above the water for it to work. I needed a clear path to send the electronic waves to set off the shape charges. I hoped the darkness would give me cover to at least stick my hand with the detonator out of the water without it being shot off. I raised my hand above the water. I pressed the button and prayed it worked. If it didn’t, I was going to be in a lot of trouble. I was rewarded with a series of explosions. Nothing too serious, but the crew would have more interest in finding out why their ship began blowing up and less interest in shooting at me. The gunshots stopped, I surfaced, and I heard more cursing. I kicked off my shoes and wiggled out of my leather jacket. I realized I couldn’t swim back to safety being in shoes and weighed down in a heavy leather coat. My poor fedora was long gone. At least my prize was safe and sound. I saw the lights of Hong Kong off in the distance. I was fortunate enough to find a piece of wood floating in the harbor. I grabbed it and was surprised when it supported me. I began kicking my way back to dry land and relative safety.

I was regretting not having thought out my plan better. What did I think when I sneaked aboard the tramp freighter? My project made perfect sense when I was planning it out back in my hotel room. I acquired a motorized rubber dinghy with a silent running motor so I’d be able to quietly travel out to the freighter, anchored about a half a mile from Hong Kong. I knew where the ship captain’s room was. I knew where the safe was that contained the item I was hired to recover. My mistake was lying to myself. It’s something Willard long lectured me about. I let the finder’s fee, while considerable, cloud my judgment and tell myself the safe wouldn’t be alarmed. I was wrong. I did one thing correctly: I planted some small distractions on board. The explosives worked and were the only reason I was still alive and not heading for a prison in North Korea. Even a blind pig does on occasion find an acorn. At least, I keep telling myself that.

I made it to a wharf about twenty minutes later. I was exhausted. The combination of the physical exertion and the adrenaline rush leaving my body left me in pretty bad shape. I forced myself out of the water and climbed up the side and was back on dry land, where I promptly collapsed. I rested for a few minutes then, with great effort, got to my feet.

I felt my pockets, no wallet, no money, I did have my badge from the Bishop Agency and, fortunately, the First Hen’s Egg. I remembered a hotel Willard told me about where he stayed many times when he was in Hong Kong. It was called the Ancient Cloak Hotel. I was in luck as it was nearby. I headed toward the hotel and safety, hopefully. I must have looked a sight when I stumbled into the most elegant hotel in Hong Kong: no shoes, looking like a drowned rat, doing my best to keep myself upright as I staggered like a drunk into the hotel.

A doorman looked at me strangely as he opened the door for me. His reaction was nothing compared to the looks I received from the people in the lobby and finally the front desk. I heard myself squish and saw myself dripping water all over the very nice marble floors of the hotel. Okay, people, I know I am not looking good. Give it a rest.

A young Chinese man standing behind the front desk, looked at me quizzically. “May I help you? There is a shelter about six blocks from here.” He smiled.

“Is Mr. Chen working?”

The clerk sniffed. “What business do you have with Mr. Chen?”

I looked perturbed. “Not really any of your business. I’ve been through a dreadful night and I need to speak to Mr. Chen.”

The clerk shook his head. “Perhaps you have an appointment?”

Just then an older Chinese man approached the desk. “Did I hear my name being called?”

The man behind the desk said something to him in Chinese. The older man looked at me strangely and smiled. “How can I help you, sir? My name is Mr. Chen. You were asking for me?”

I pulled out my badge from the Bishop Agency. “I’m afraid I had a rough night and this is the only ID I have on me. I lost my wallet someplace. Mr. Bishop told me if I was ever in a spot in Hong Kong, I can always count on this hotel’s hospitality.”

The clerk clucked disapprovingly at me and reached for a phone as if he was getting ready to call the police. The older man, Mr. Chen, held up his hand and the clerk put down the phone with a look of disgust. I breathed a sigh of relief when the phone went back into its holder. I knew I didn’t have a good explanation for why someone in my condition possessed one of the rarest Fabergé eggs in the world.

The older man looked at the badge and said something in a very harsh tone to the clerk. He told me. “Willard was a terrific friend of mine. He saved my life one time. And you would be?”

“Miller Rixey, I am running the Agency. Mr. Bishop has retired.”

He nodded. “Please accept my humble apologies for your rather poor treatment.” He glared at the clerk. He turned to the clerk and barked an order. The clerk lowered his eyes and began working frantically.

I laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t blame your clerk. I just need a room, some food, and a change of clothes. I will be making some phone calls to replace some missing items. I assume I can use this address for them to be delivered?”

“This little misunderstanding will not be a problem, Mr. Rixey.”

I saw him look strangely at me. I felt like I was flashing a sign saying I have a multi-million-dollar artifact on me.

“Am I correct in saying a search at customs might result in, shall we say, an embarrassing situation?”

I nodded.

“Based on the scuttlebutt I have heard, there was an incident involving the Dae Song. Lots of gunfire and explosions. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about those goings on, would you, Mr. Rixey?”

“No, sir. I just took a misstep and fell into the harbor. This is how I came to your hotel in this wretched condition.”

He pondered the situation for a moment. “You will not be searched at customs then. I will make a phone call to take care of your problem. Would you like some friendly advice, Mr. Rixey?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Hong Kong is a truly wonderful city. There is so much to see and do.  One might live here a lifetime and not do everything there is to do here. Take this advice as you wish, Mr. Rixey. I would advise you to stay clear of Hong Kong for the next, oh, shall we say, ten years or so. I would also make certain by this time tomorrow night I was out of our wonderful city. Do we understand each other?” he asked pointedly.

“Very clear, Mr. Chen.”

Mr. Chen barked another command to the clerk and accepted an ornate box from him. He turned to me. “I suspect you are without protection. Allow me to help you, Mr. Rixey. All we ask is you leave it in your room when you check out.”

I nodded. “Yes. I doubt it would clear airport security.” There was no need to look into the box. I knew what was in there.

Mr. Chen laughed. “Same sense of humor as Mr. Bishop. Your accommodations have been taken care of, Mr. Rixey. I will not be here in the morning. Please do me the favor of saying hello to Mr. Bishop for me.”

“It will be the first thing I say to him when I see him, Mr. Chen.”

As we waited for my room to be found, Mr. Chen asked me. “So how has life in general been treating you, Mr. Rixey?”

I grinned. “Just doing my best to survive, Mr. Chen.”

He nodded and smiled wanly. “Have a good evening, Mr. Rixey.”

Checking out the next morning was relatively painless. I looked like a totally different man from the one who had walked into the hotel the night before. I was dressed in a very nice suit and tie. I do clean up well if I may say so. I exchanged my ornate box for another one from the front desk. I opened the new box and saw another diplomatic passport, some cash, and a one-way ticket from Hong Kong to St. Louis. I walked outside, grabbed a cab, and headed for the airport. My prize was still intact and, if Mr. Chen were a man of his word, I would soon be back in Carbondale, Illinois. He was.