Tides of Fire, page 20
“This forest has been here for millennia on end.” Phoebe waved a hand at the dark swath. “This blight is new. Something about that wreckage is to blame. I’m sure of it.”
“But we can’t get any closer to investigate,” Datuk reminded them.
“What about the ROV attached to the underside of the Cormorant?” Adam asked.
Phoebe shook her head. “Its tether only stretches eighty meters. We’re still a quarter mile off. To utilize the ROV, we’d still have to bring the Cormorant in close.”
“We mustn’t,” Datuk warned. “If the radiation level continues to rise at the same rate as I’ve recorded, it’ll be deadly within that range.”
“But not immediately fatal,” Phoebe added.
Bryan concurred, but he didn’t look happy about it. “The titanium and the leaded glass of the sphere will offer some protection. Up to a limit.”
Phoebe nodded. “Which means we could live long enough to investigate, to find out the reason for the quakes and maybe discover a way to stop them.”
“Only to die of radiation sickness afterward,” Adam added.
Phoebe shrugged. “If it meant saving millions.”
Monk lifted a hand. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s first confirm where the submarine came from. Whoever lost it might have answers that won’t require us sacrificing ourselves.”
Bryan pointed ahead. “We’re close enough that we can use our 4K cameras to zoom in on the site and try to identify the sub from here.”
“Let’s do it,” Monk said.
Phoebe and Bryan quickly set to work, shifting through the Cormorant’s eight cameras. They also raised an eight-foot light tower.
“The SeaCam looks like it’s our best bet,” Bryan concluded. “It has the greatest zoom capability, especially in low light.”
“I agree.”
On the monitor above the pilot station, a blurry image appeared. With some final adjustments, it grew clearer, revealing a close-up of the black stain spreading across the bright landscape ahead.
“Zooming in now,” Phoebe said.
The view ratcheted forward, pushing out into the darkness, to the farthest reach of the light array’s twenty thousand lumens.
Nothing came into view.
Phoebe huffed and toggled the camera right and left.
“Wait!” Monk called. “Swing the other way.”
The image stuttered as it swept back.
“There!” Monk leaned forward and pointed to a duller blot against the blackness. “Zoom on that.”
Phoebe nodded. “Hang on.”
The view leaped forward again. The blot swelled into a grainy view of a gray tower sticking out of the black coral. The rest of the submarine remained buried, but what was in view was enough. Both Monk and Adam had reviewed the surveillance footage from the Huludao Shipyard. The Chinese Type 096 SSBN had a very distinct sail.
He shared a look with Adam.
A sail just like that one.
Adam gave him a small nod of confirmation, while continuing to stare at Datuk. The biochemist showed no reaction.
“Do you recognize it?” Phoebe asked.
At this point, Monk saw no reason to lie. “It’s a Chinese sub.”
Phoebe frowned. “Then we’ll have to hope that the Chinese are willing to—”
With a great boom, the landscape lurched ahead of them. The coral forest rose in a huge wave and swept swiftly toward them. Bryan goosed the thrusters and shot them higher, trying to escape the quake. Still, they barely got clear in time. The rolling wave of the forest canopy brushed the Cormorant’s underside as the wave passed beneath them.
Turbulence continued to rock the DSV like a paint shaker. This quake was far more violent than the other.
But that was not the only danger.
“Radiation is spiking!” Datuk yelled.
Bryan spun the Cormorant and fled farther away.
“Eighty rem!”
Monk pictured the quake shattering the shielding around the sub’s nuclear reactor, breaking it open wider. They were never going to escape in time.
Not like this.
“A hundred! If it crosses much higher, we risk radiation poisoning. Even in here.”
“Blowing all ballast,” Bryan warned. “Jettisoning external battery packs, too.”
Small booms sounded outside the DSV as explosive bolts were blown, casting off extra weight. The Cormorant shot upward like a cork out of a champagne bottle.
Below, the glowing landscape fell away. The dark stain spread wider as the surge of radiation fried more of the sensitive coral.
A new voice intruded, rising from the radio modem. The message was urgent, panicked. “Cormorant, this is Titan X! Get out of the Tonga. Now!”
Monk knew there was a lag time in communications at this depth. The warning had been dispatched seven seconds ago.
He prayed it wasn’t already too late.
Fourth
18
January 24, 12:02 A.M. WIB
Jakarta, Island of Java, Indonesia
Gray had to appreciate the irony of the location for this hostage exchange. It was called the Love Bridge, a tourist attraction at the Ancol beach resort in northern Jakarta.
He stood at the western leg of the U-shaped wooden bridge as it arced out over Jakarta Bay and returned to the beach nine hundred feet away. Between the two legs stretched a curve of sandy beach. The Love Bridge got its name because the arc of the wooden jetty and the curve of the beach formed the outline of a huge heart at the edge of the city’s bay.
“It’s gotta be a trap,” Seichan said.
“Love usually is.” Gray cast her a sidelong glance.
It was love that had drawn them here. Valya had captured Seichan’s mother in Singapore. The Russian had contacted them through the triad network, showing proof of life and arranging this exchange. In the brief video, Guan-yin’s face had been a mask of fury, one eye swollen shut. Valya had given them little time to reach Jakarta from Singapore. Her demand had reached them only six hours ago. Either they came to Jakarta and handed over the papers that Gray had secured at the museum or Guan-yin would be returned to them—piece by piece. The schedule had left them little leeway to do more than scramble to get to the island of Java.
Seichan’s anxiety and fury were palpable as she stood alongside Zhuang and a dozen of the Duàn zhī Triad members. More gunmen guarded the paths to the bridge on this side. Zhuang carried an H&K assault rifle. His other men bore a slew of firearms.
Nine hundred feet away, the opposite leg of the bridge had been equally fortified by the enemy. Gray had studied them through a set of binoculars. He had easily spotted Valya standing next to Guan-yin. The former Guild assassin had shed her disguise. Her pale face and white hair were a beacon in the dark, aglow in the wan light of a streetlight on that side. She had brought not only a handful of her own men—a mix of Russians and Eastern Europeans—but also a large cadre of Chinese gunmen. From the way the latter carried themselves and their QBZ rifles, they were likely military, possibly one of the PLA’s elite combat units.
With the two encampments entrenched on either side, the exchange would happen out on the middle of the bridge, where the wooden jetty pinched inward and formed the top of a heart sitting on the water. There was a restaurant—Le Bridge—located at that picturesque point, but it was closed and dark for the night. The two parties would meet on the bridge near there.
Gray checked his watch. “Ready?”
“Let’s go,” Seichan said.
They set off, trailed by Zhuang and two triad members, including the steely-eyed triad deputy, Yeung, who was loaded down with weapons.
On the far side of the bridge, a similar small group split off from the larger party and headed for the rendezvous. Valya had been specific about the numbers allowed to meet on the bridge. She stalked toward them with two of her men and two of the Chinese commandos. One of her mercenaries held a pistol against the back of Guan-yin’s head.
Under his jacket, Gray carried the payment to free Guan-yin. The sheaf of papers was still sealed in the same acid-free plastic sleeve from the museum. Gray had copied the pages already, so there was minimal cost in exchanging them for Seichan’s mother. With the tight timetable, he’d barely had time to do more than glance at them.
A brief reading told of an account of petrified men, a strange autopsy, and a wild claim about a cure and a possible means to appease the gods of the underworld. The rest had been hand-drawn sketches of what appeared to be a type of coral, a couple of drawings of an island, and what looked like a child’s drawing of a snake.
None of it made any sense and was likely intentionally cryptic.
But how did all of this hang together?
With no way of knowing, he concentrated on the immediate threat. The dark waters of the bay lay flat around them, reflecting the sickle of the moon. He searched for any sign of a threat, a hidden ambush out in the waters. But this late, there was not a single boat. The waters were too shallow for any submersible. If there were divers in the water, they swam silently, showing not even a bubble. He had also surveilled the small dark restaurant out on the water, watching for any sign of men lurking there. He had spotted no one, even searching with an infrared scope for body heat.
So far, Valya seemed to be sticking to her word.
Still, Gray knew better. Seichan was undoubtedly right.
This is a trap.
But he could not discern how it would be sprung.
Both sides approached the rendezvous heavily armed. The exchange would happen out in the open with no place to hide. The only guarantee of cooperation was their mutually assured destruction.
As Gray reached the closed restaurant, his heart pounded harder. Zhuang swung his assault rifle, guarding against an ambush from in there. But the establishment was small, barely larger than a coffeehouse. Yeung dashed over and searched past its windows, flashing a light mounted on his rifle. No one was hiding in there.
They continued to where they would meet Valya’s group.
Weapons bristled on both sides.
Gray had a gut feeling this was going to end badly.
12:06 A.M.
Dr. Luo Heng slapped a mosquito on his neck. The noise made one of the Falcon commandos flinch. The soldier had an assault rifle at his shoulder, staring down its telescopic sight as the two groups converged.
Around him, a dozen men—a mix of mercenaries and military—guarded this end of the bridge. Major Choi Xue whispered with the leader of the counterterror unit, Captain Wen, who glared at the Russians standing with them. The commander rested his palm on a holstered QSZ-92 sidearm. Much depended on the next few minutes going right, and clearly Wen had no respect for their allies in this venture.
Heng understood Wen’s frustration. While en route from Cambodia, he had been informed of the plans to regain the stolen papers. While the mercenaries had lost the museum documents, they had secured a hostage—along with an artifact, a dented steel box belonging to Stamford Raffles.
After landing, Heng had briefly examined its contents. On outward appearances, the branch of coral from two centuries ago did appear to have the same aragonite structure as the carbonate found in the afflicted submariners, but he could not be certain without studying its crystalline pattern under an electron microscope. He remained entirely clueless concerning the other artifact in the box: the wooden spearhead. It looked old, and it could be unrelated, something tossed into the box over the ages for safekeeping and forgotten about.
Xue shifted over to Heng. “Once we retrieve the papers and confirm their authenticity, I’ve secured a research lab here in Jakarta so you can work.”
“We’re not returning to Cambodia?” Heng had left Min at the naval base with the patients—both Junjie and Wong—to continue monitoring the two men. “There’s still much research to be done there.”
“First, we must confirm if this old account from two centuries ago has any bearing on the present. If so, I’d like to continue investigating this historical angle. Stamford Raffles collected his artifacts here in Jakarta when he was lieutenant-governor. If he left any other clues, they would likely be hidden here.”
Heng nodded, accepting this recommendation. In truth, he was also anxious to study the piece of old coral as soon as possible.
He stared across the water. The two parties had reached the middle of the bridge to make the exchange.
Xue watched, too, tapping a finger on his thigh, both impatient and likely trepidatious. One concern kept him edgy.
He whispered it to the dark water. “Who are these Americans?”
12:08 A.M.
Seichan clenched her jaw so hard that she expected a molar to break. She clutched her Glock 45 in her right hand with her finger tight on the trigger guard, ready to fire, tempted to do so now. But she held off.
Her mother was held by a thick-browed Russian with dusky blond hair. He had a fist wrapped in the back of her robe, a gun at her head. Her wrists were bound behind her. Guan-yin’s silk niqab had been stripped from her head and face, exposing her purplish scar and dragon tattoo.
Valya had also set aside any pretense. Her snowy hair was tied in a tail, pulling her hairline to a sharp V across her forehead. Her skin was pale to the point of translucency. The woman suffered from albinism. Yet, defying the assumption that all those afflicted had red eyes, her irises were an icy blue. Hatred burned through that ice as she faced Seichan.
It was only in this moment that Seichan recognized how much her mother and this Russian woman were alike, down to the tattooing on the left sides of their faces. Valya’s black ink formed a half sun with kinked rays extending over cheek and brow. Only now it also had a scar cutting across it, a knotted line that ran through the sun’s center. Both women had led equally hard lives, forced to survive when fate stripped them from their homes. Valya had found her way into the brutality of the Guild; Guan-yin into the cruelty and criminality of the triads. Each had forged a role where they couldn’t be hurt again, leading their own organizations.
Gray shifted forward to face Valya, ready to bargain for Guan-yin’s freedom. Seichan never took her gaze from the assassin, watching for every twitch of muscle, shift of balance, and flick of eye. Still, she smelled the musk of Gray, heard the huff of his breath, even felt the heat of his body as he brushed past her shoulder. With her gaze locked on Valya, she couldn’t help but wonder where she would be if she hadn’t found Gray.
Would I be standing on the other side right now?
Gray held up his palms as he stepped toward Valya. His light windbreaker flapped in the sea breeze, exposing the SIG Sauer holstered at his waist—along with the folded sheaf of papers tucked into his belt. He slowly reached down and tugged the plastic envelope out, but he kept them away from the enemy’s reach.
“Free Guan-yin,” he said firmly. He bent and lowered the packet of pages to the wooden slats of the bridge and stepped back, leaving the envelope behind. He drew his pistol but held the weapon at his thigh.
“I will need to inspect the papers first,” Valya warned. “To make sure this isn’t a trick. The museum manifest described fourteen pages. They had all better be there.”
“I’ve kept my word. I expect you to do the same.”
Valya nodded once, and her mother was thrust forward. Valya kept hold of Guan-yin’s elbow, a Beretta pressed into her side. Her two men had their weapons trained on Gray. He took another step back to make sure there were no misunderstandings.
Seichan shifted her finger to her weapon’s trigger.
Valya lowered a hand toward the envelope, her eyes on Gray, her pistol still aiming for Guan-yin’s heart. She picked up the envelope and shifted her weight onto her right leg. Her eyes narrowed a fraction.
No . . .
Seichan knew what was going to happen—or thought she did. Guan-yin must have suspected something, too. Seichan’s mother dropped to a knee and twisted around to face the enemy behind her. Guan-yin swung up a small pistol in her right hand, revealing her wrists had never been truly bound, only appeared to be. Pieces of severed plastic zip ties fell to the planks.
Valya also spun in the same direction.
The two women fired simultaneously.
The two Chinese gunmen both dropped, shot through the foreheads.
Valya thrust off her right leg and lunged at Seichan and Gray. “Run!” she hollered at them, clutching the packet of pages.
Guan-yin followed at her side, trailed by Valya’s two men.
“Pǎo!” Guan-yin yelled, reinforcing the order to flee.
Gray got swept along with their rush. Seichan followed at her mother’s side and pointed her Glock at Valya, who was flanked by her two men.
Guan-yin pushed Seichan’s arm down. “M̀h' hóu.”
Any further explanation had to wait. Gunfire chased them down the bridge, rising from the Chinese contingent on the far side. Rounds blasted into the planks and spattered into the water, but for the moment, the shots were wild due to a fierce firefight at the other end of the bridge. It appeared Valya’s men had ambushed the commandos back there, too.
But that battle would not last long.
Already the Chinese were getting the upper hand. Brief glances showed Valya’s men fleeing into the dark streets of the waterfront. The gunfire grew more focused on the bridge as Seichan and the others fled past the restaurant and headed toward their end of the jetty. Ahead, the triad forces covered them with bursts from their assault rifles, aimed at the Chinese contingent, keeping the enemy pinned down on that side.
A pair of commandos tried to cross the stretch of beach between their two sides. Zhuang spotted them, too. He ran alongside Guan-yin with his rifle at his shoulder. He fired at the beach, casting up sand. One man fell. The other was forced back.
Seichan pounded down the planks, clutching her Glock hard. She shared a look with Gray. By now, they both understood what must have happened. Valya hadn’t come here to trade Guan-yin for the pages. She had used Seichan’s mother to barter for her own life.
