The email contained a complete meeting plan, including the time, place, dress code, and passphrase. The meeting point was in the lobby of Frankfurt Central Station. Between 2 p.m. and 3 p.m., he was to go to a public phone at the southern exit and dial a number provided in the email to receive further instructions. As a visual identifier, he had to wear a black coat and a white scarf, and carry a copy of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung under his arm. The passphrase was, "Have you been waiting long? I was stuck in traffic."
After reading the email, Deng glanced at his watch; it was now 9 a.m. He went to the clothing store in the hotel lobby to buy a black Hugo Boss lambskin coat and a beige wool scarf with light gray patterns at both ends. Then, he had a lavish breakfast at the hotel restaurant, lingering with his coffee until noon before heading back to his room to change into his newly bought clothes and taking a pre-booked taxi.
At 1 p.m., he arrived at Frankfurt Central Station and spent over an hour walking around, familiarizing himself with the locations of each exit. He then took the scarf out of his coat pocket and wrapped it around his neck, bought a copy of Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung and a phone card from a kiosk in the lobby, and walked to the public phone at the southern exit of the station.
With the newspaper''s front page facing out, tucked under his arm, Deng picked up the receiver and dialed the number from the email.
The call was quickly answered, but the other party said nothing.
"Have you been waiting long? I was stuck in traffic," Deng said first.
"Go to the main entrance," replied a husky, deep male voice, before the line was disconnected.
Deng hung up the phone and slowly walked to the main entrance of the station. He stood with his back to the station, looking at the GLS Bank building across the street, pretending to wait for someone for over twenty minutes. Several passengers passed by him, coming and going, but no one greeted him.
He knew someone was definitely watching him nearby, and the thought made him uneasy. Although he didn’t believe there would be any danger during this Frankfurt trip, the fact that the other party had complete control of the situation was unsettling.
Just as he started to grow impatient, someone gently bumped his left shoulder from behind. Reflexively turning around, Deng didn’t see the expected contacts. Frowning, he reached into the left pocket of his coat and found a small envelope.
He immediately left the station, randomly picked a bus at the bus stop, rode it for three stops, then switched to a taxi to return to the hotel.
Back in his room, he took out the item from his pocket—a light brown Manila envelope. Carefully tearing it open, he took out three folded sheets of paper.
After reading the contents, Deng couldn’t help but wonder if paranoia was an occupational hazard for arms dealers. He had thought that the spy novel-like meeting process before meeting Johan Schlink in Cape Town was already exaggerated, but this Austrian company took it to a whole new level.
The envelope didn’t contain a weapons quotation sheet but rather a note with instructions on how to retrieve it, indicating that the other party had no intention of meeting him in person.
The quotation was hidden in Lousia Park in the Niederrad district, northeast of the famous weeping willow, attached to the underside of the first bench on the left using a magnetic box. He had to retrieve it between 6 p.m. and 8 p.m., and stick a piece of chewing gum on the bench''s armrest as a marker. Besides the written instructions, the envelope contained two detailed maps, clearly showing the exact locations of the bench and the magnetic box.
This was one of the common methods of espionage, called "dead drop," where something is left in a secret location for the other party to pick up. The storage container had no fixed form—it could be a bank safety deposit box, a self-storage locker, a book, a tree hollow, a hollow brick in a wall, or even a sealed plastic bag weighted down in the water. Unlike "live drop" handovers, this method was called "dead drop."
Deng memorized the contents, took the papers into the bathroom, burned them, and flushed the ashes down the toilet. He then went to the hotel’s business center, used Google Earth to familiarize himself with Lousia Park and the surrounding area, as well as the nearby public transport routes, and then had dinner at the restaurant.
At 6:30 p.m., he took a taxi to Lousia Park. Pretending to be a lost tourist, he asked the driver to circle the park, making sure there were no suspicious people or vehicles before getting off two streets away and walking into the park.
The park was small, covering less than sixty acres. Although there were several residential areas nearby, it was dinnertime, and there were no other visitors in the park. Deng walked through the woods to the garden and soon found a broken white chalk piece on the path by the weeping willow—that was the signal.
He took a pack of mints he had bought earlier from his pocket, popped two into his mouth, and chewed as he walked to the bench beside the path in the garden. Looking around and making sure no one else was nearby, he reached his left hand under the bench, running it along the black cast-iron leg toward the backrest. Soon, his fingers touched a rectangular metal object the length of his middle finger. Confirming it was the target, he grabbed it and gave it a sharp twist to detach the magnetic box and put it in his pocket. Then, he took the chewing gum out of his mouth and stuck it to the bench, quickly retreating into the woods behind the path.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
After leaving the park, Deng Shiyang deliberately took a roundabout route, just as he did on the way there. He changed vehicles twice and didn''t return to the hotel until 9 p.m.
Back in his room, he took a small bottle of mineral water from the fridge, twisted off the cap, and sat down on the sofa. He opened the magnetic box and pulled out two rolled-up sheets of onion paper.
The first was the quote:
SS1-V2 Rifle (with rail): $860 per unit (100 units) - $86,000
30-Round Magazine: $30 per unit (2,000 units) - $60,000
Maintenance Kit: $26 per set (100 sets) - $5,200
Total: $151,200
Service Fee: $31,000
Grand Total: $182,200
"Profiteer!" Deng cursed internally before grabbing the water bottle and taking a big gulp.
Although he wasn’t an industry insider, he knew quite a bit about the retail price of rifles in the civilian market due to personal interest. Compared to the budget American gun manufacturers like Armalite, DPMS, and Bushmaster, $860 was more expensive than most CAR-15 carbines they produced. If he compared it to Eastern European AKs, that price was equivalent to the total cost of two Romanian or Polish units. Even though Belgian-made guns were always pricey, Southeast Asian weapons had always been known for their affordability, and the production cost of the FNC wasn’t significantly higher than that of the AK. Besides, the factory order price was wholesale. He was convinced the broker had jacked up the price.
But frustration aside, given the current situation, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and accept it. He put the water bottle down, wiped his damp right hand on his pants, and began reading the contents of the other onion paper.
The three-inch-square sheet was covered with tiny handwriting detailing the transaction process.
According to the broker''s requirements, the buyer had to transfer the $31,000 service fee into a designated account within the week, after which they would place an order with Pindad. Once the transaction was confirmed, a letter of credit for the full payment had to be deposited in the seller''s bank. The entire batch of arms would be airlifted from Indonesia to Zimbabwe via Madagascar, with a refueling stop in Antananarivo. At that time, the extra weapons would be transferred from the airport to Mahajanga or Toamasina, and legitimate export permits for the goods would be obtained. Once the shipping process was completed, the seller would request payment from the bank using the bill of lading as proof.
It was undeniable that the arrangement was meticulous, even watertight. The "End-User Certificate" issued by the Zimbabwean government included the extra weapons, and Pindad had no idea that there was a second buyer involved, believing that all the goods would be delivered to the same destination. As a result, everyone was satisfied—Mugabe and Deng Shiyang would receive their weapons, and the Indonesians and brokers would make their money without anyone losing out.
Deng read the two sheets of onion paper several times to ensure nothing was overlooked before composing an email on his phone and sending it to Harobi. He then made a call to Durban.
The phone was quickly answered, and Du Preez''s voice came from the receiver. "Hello, is this JD?"
"Yes," Deng replied. "Get Keith on the line."
"He''s not here," the South African replied. "He left for Pretoria early this morning and called in the afternoon to say he couldn’t get a ticket and would be staying there overnight."
"What about the meeting?"
"It''s been postponed—he said to wait until he returns tomorrow."
"I see," Deng continued, "do you have anything to report now?"
"Yes," Du Preez paused before saying, "I''ll let Jansen tell you." He then set down the receiver with a clatter.
After waiting for a while, Deng became a little impatient. He picked up the half-full bottle of mineral water from the coffee table and drank it all in one go, just as Jansen''s voice came through the receiver, "Still there?"
*Cough, cough!* Deng choked on the water, coughing uncontrollably for a while before finally recovering.
"Are you okay?"
"I''m fine, go ahead." Deng had finally cleared the water from his throat, though his voice sounded strange.
"I''ve been calling around with the ''Yellow Pages'' these past two days, and I''ve found most of the things you asked for." Jansen cleared his throat, and the sound of pages turning came through the receiver. "Underwear and socks, I plan to buy at Martini—they have several Taiwanese-owned garment factories. Combat uniforms, belts, tactical vests, and boots are also sorted. Johannesburg’s Chinatown has many wholesalers, and we can place orders through them in China."
"Got it," Deng acknowledged, then asked, "What type of camo and boots did you decide on?"
"I checked with two suppliers about the camo. They have jungle tiger stripes and Spanish camo. Which do you think is more suitable?"
"Tiger stripes."
"Got it," Jansen continued. "As for the boots, I initially considered the green canvas boots used by the French army, but the Chinese-made ''Sri Lanka boots'' are cheaper, so I decided to go with those."
"Whatever you decide."
"I inquired with several outdoor supply stores in Durban about sleeping bags and backpacks. They said they don’t have that much in stock, but they guarantee delivery within a month after receiving the order."
"You can start procuring the sleeping bags and backpacks now. If you need money, talk to Keith—he’ll sort it out."
"I''ll take care of it tomorrow." Jansen paused before adding, "I''ve contacted a few water filter dealers, but they don’t have the model you need. As for ballistic plates, there''s still no lead. Keith has told you about the helmets, right?"
"Yes, we spoke this morning. If it’s too much trouble, skip them. Replace them with brown or olive-green baseball caps." Deng seemed to think of something else and added, "If we’re not getting helmets, we won’t need the cat-eye bands either. Instead, buy two hundred fluorescent armbands with Velcro."
"Got it."
"Anything else?"
"Nope."
"You’ve done well, but speed up with the other items—we’re running out of time."
"I''ll do my best."
Deng had confidence in Jansen''s ability to get things done. He gave a few more instructions before hanging up.
He glanced at his watch—it was already 10:30 p.m. Deng looked down at his clothes and then stood up to head into the bathroom.
---
Annotations:
- Letter of Credit (L/C): A primary payment method in international trade, where the payer deposits issuance fees and a guarantee with the issuing bank, ensuring that payment is made to the beneficiary under certain conditions. The most common type, called a *Documentary Credit*, requires the beneficiary to present the necessary commercial documents to receive payment.