“Relinquish command.”
The robot let go of the controls and sat back impassively. Hon Yi pushed the throttle to full and turned the valve to blow the ballast tanks. The submersible accelerated and began to rise.
“Come on,” he urged. “Go!”
The sub pushed forward. A wave of pebbles hit the outer hull, sounding like hail. A fist-sized rock slammed against the canopy, chipping it. Larger stones hit the roof and dented the propeller housing.
Hon Yi attempted to guide the sub away from danger, but with the propeller housing bent, he couldn’t get the craft to move in a straight line. It turned, even as it accelerated, and wandered right back into the danger zone.
“No!” he shouted.
A second wave of tumbling debris hit the sub square on. The canopy shattered. A boulder crushed the hull like a tin can and the avalanche of debris drove the submarine downward, slamming it to the bottom of the Serpent’s Jaw.
1
OUTSKIRTS OF BEIJING
ONE MONTH LATER
AT FIRST GLANCE, the scene was a bucolic one, two old men sitting in a park, hunched over a game of pure strategy. But the park, with its trees and bushes and black-water pond, was actually the private yard of the second-most-powerful man in the Chinese government. The sculpted garden hid surveillance cameras, the flowering vines in the distance covered a twelve-foot wall. And the wall was lined with sensors, topped with razor wire and watched by armed guards in case anyone was foolish enough to approach too closely.
Beijing sprawled outside that wall, frantic, crowded and chaotic. Inside lay a sanctuary.
Walter Han had been a guest here many times before. Never had he remained for so long or with such little talk between himself and his mentor. With no words between them, he was forced to concentrate on the game board between them, a nineteen-by-nineteen grid partially filled with black and white stones.
They were playing the ancient game of Asia. Older than chess and infinitely more complex. Called Weiqui in China, the game was known as Igo in Japan and Baduk in Korea. Westerners simply called it Go.
Sensing an opening, Han pulled a small white stone from a cup at his side and placed it into position. Satisfied with his move, he sat back and admired the gardens. “Whenever I come here, I’m amazed to know we’re still in the city limits.”
Han was in his late forties. Taller than most Chinese men, he was also lean and wiry. Some would describe him as spindly. Born in Hong Kong to a Chinese father and a Japanese mother, he’d been given a Western name because that made it easier to do business with the European and American companies that so loved the island outpost.
At the time of Han’s birth, his father was already running a small electronics company. Unlike many in Hong Kong, Han’s father chose to align himself with the mainland government rather than fight a losing battle for independence. That decision paid handsome rewards. Han’s family were millionaires by the time the British stood down. And in the decades since, Han and his father had built the largest conglomerate across China: ITI, or Industrial Technology, Inc.
With his father gone, Han had spent the last decade running the company on his own. Not only did he maintain close links to the government in Beijing, he expanded them. Some considered him a fifth pillar of the government. The money, power and prestige made him a force to be reckoned with. And yet, he still deferred to the man across from him.
“A place of solitude is essential. Otherwise, one cannot think beyond the noise.” The words came like poetry from Wen Li, a small man with a few locks of white hair remaining on the sides of his head. He had mottled skin and a slight droop to the right side of his face.
As a strategist, Wen had seen the Party leaders through six decades of turmoil. He’d been a soldier, a statesman and a strategist. He was rumored to have personally ordered the crushing of the Tiananmen Square protests and, in their aftermath, to have guided China onto the path of capitalism without giving up the rule of the single party.
He held several offices within the Party, but his unofficial title was more impressive. They called him Lao-shi, the word literally meant old person of high skills, but applied to Wen it was the equivalent of learned Master.
Wen made a move on the board, placing a small black stone beside one of Han’s white stones. Essentially, cutting it off from the rest of Han’s pieces. “You come to me with a heavy heart,” he said. “Is the news that bad?”
Han had been waiting for the right moment to speak. He could wait no longer. “Unfortunately, yes. The survey of the mining site is complete. Our worst fears have been confirmed. The avalanche destroyed most of the exterior modules, filling in parts of the canyon and scattering debris across the Serpent’s Jaw. The reactor was untouched, but the project cannot be rebuilt without a massive effort and expenditure.”
“How large?”
Han knew the numbers by heart. “To excavate the debris would cost a hundred billion yuan. To reestablish the operation and rebuild the station . . . at least five hundred billion more. The time frame would be long. Especially if the need to operate in secrecy remains.”
“It does,” Wen said.
“In which case, it would be three years before the mine begins producing again.”
“Three years,” Wen said.
The old man sat back, drifting off into his own thoughts.
“At least three years,” Han repeated.
Wen came back from his reverie. “How much ore was the mine producing at the time of the accident?”
“Less than half a ton per month. And falling.”
“Was there any hope of increasing the yield?”
“Very little.”
Wen grunted his displeasure. “In that case, why would we spend so many billions and waste so much time digging additional holes in the seafloor? Why would we even consider it?”
Han took a breath. He’d expected to have Wen on his side. After all, the old man had been the chief proponent of the secret mining operations from the beginning. He’d understood the strategic value of the alloy right from the start.
“Because the ore cannot be priced in yuan or time wasted,” he explained. “As you well know, the Golden Adamant is unlike anything the world has ever seen. A living metamaterial. Five times stronger than titanium, capable of accomplishing things no other material derived from the Earth or created in a lab can match. With it, we can build a generation of aircraft, ships and missiles that are virtually indestructible. Not to mention a thousand other uses our engineers are dreaming up. This mine—our mine—is the only place in the world this material has ever been found. You know this, of course. The cost is irrelevant. We must rebuild.”
The old man looked up menacingly and Han wondered if he’d gone too far.
“Do not lecture me on what must be done,” Wen said.
Han bowed slightly. “I apologize, Lao-shi.”
Wen released Han from his gaze and turned his attention back to the game. “You are partially correct,” he said, placing another black stone. “The ore, as we so blithely call it, is the key to the future. Like bronze over copper and iron over bronze. History has always been a tale of who has the sharpest and strongest sword, the lightest and most resilient armor. The nation that controls the Golden Adamant will become unassailable. But you are incorrect to suggest we dig in the same exhausted location.”
Han cocked his head to the side. “But there are no other deposits.”
“None that have yet been found,” Wen replied.
“With all due respect, Lao-shi, we’ve had people scouring the world for years. We’ve found no trace of this alloy anywhere. Not in Africa, South America or the Middle East. Nor throughout our own territory or on the volcanic islands in the South Pacific. Nowhere that we expected it to be. We’ve taken ten thousand core samples from the depths of the sea and found nothing beyond this one source.”
“All true,” Wen said. “Nevertheless, I’ve developed information about another deposit that may exist, and far closer than one would think.” He pointed to the board. “Please, make your move.”
Han looked down at the board. He found it hard to concentrate on the game with such information hanging in the balance. Still, a quick look revealed his side was in a perilous situation. His white stones were being surrounded. Any additional moves he made would only put Wen in a better position. He had to hope the old Master would make a mistake. “Pass,” he said.
Wen nodded. “That is your right.”
“Please, my friend. Tell me, where is this other deposit?”
Across from him, Wen hesitated, rolling the smooth stone between his fingers before putting it on the board. “Somewhere on the island of Honshu.”
Han took a second to process the answer. “Japan? The home island?”
“Possibly offshore,” Wen said. “But most likely on the mainland. And if I’m correct, very near the surface.”
The words were spoken without emotion, but Han felt the wind knocked out of him. “How do you know this? And, more importantly, how can this possibly help us? Even if we find it, we can’t mine without being detected. And should we try and be discovered, all we’ll have accomplished is bringing the existence of the ore to the attention of the Japanese. And that means giving it to the Americans. We’ll be handing our adversary the very thing we seek to control ourselves.”
“Precisely,” Wen said. “And for that reason we have yet to follow up on the initial information.”
“Then we’re at an impasse,” Han said.
“Are we?”
Wen reached down into the cup and pulled a handful of black stones from the container. “Tell me,” he asked, “what is the objective of this game?”
Han tried to hide his frustration. He’d grown used to the Lao-shi trying to impart wisdom through unique methods and recognized this as one of them, though he didn’t enjoy it. “The object of the game is to surround your opponent, deny him liberty and thus deny him life.”
“Precisely,” Wen said. “And which nation has the greatest players?”
“China,” Han said. “After all, we invented the game.”
“No,” Wen said, placing a black stone. “That is ego, not wisdom.”
“If not us, then Japan.”
Wen shook his head once more, Han passed and the old man placed another black stone.
Han frowned. He was losing the game. And the argument. He passed again. “Korea is known to have many renowned players,” he said, a tinge of desperation in his voice.
“The Americans,” Wen told him. “They are the greatest players this game has ever known. More precision and mastery have they displayed than any nation on Earth.”
Han resisted the urge to scoff. “Are you sure? I can’t think of a single American expert.”
“Because you’re looking at the wrong board,” Wen said. “Look again and think of it as a map.”
Thoroughly confused, Han studied the board once more. He noticed a vague resemblance between the board and the world map. Not the Western maps with North America in the middle but the Asian where China took central stage.
His force of white stones in the middle was China. Black stones looping up one side and down the other might have been Europe and North America.
Before he could speak this thought, the Lao-shi continued with the lesson. “They have armies in Europe,” he said, placing another black stone. “They control the Atlantic, the Mediterranean and Indian oceans. They have bases in the Middle East, they station troops in territory that used to be Communist Russia. They launch aircraft and ships from islands around the Pacific.”
Wen was no longer playing the game; he was searing the lesson into Walter’s mind, naming one American asset after another, placing stones to represent each one. “Hawaii, Australia, New Zealand,” he said, as three black stones went down. “Korea, the Philippines and Formosa—which they call Taiwan—and, of course . . . Japan.”
As the last stone went on the board, the white pieces representing China were encircled.
With the lesson complete, Wen looked up. The intensity of his gaze banished any thought of frailty. “From their island continent, the Americans have surrounded the world. Our world.”
Han’s confidence was replaced by the sting of embarrassment. “I understand. But what can we do?”
Wen pointed to the board. “Which stone would you remove?”
Han studied the game once more. It was the last one that mattered most. The one that had closed the circle and ensured that white side—that China—would die. “This one,” he said, sliding the piece off the board. “Japan.”
“And so it must be,” the Master told him.
The enormity of Wen’s suggestion hit Han at once. His heart pounded at the thought. “You can’t be considering military action?”
“Of course not,” Wen said. “But if Japan were changed from black to white—from an American ally to a Chinese one—the board would be redrawn instantly. We would not only begin to roll back American dominance, but we’d be free to mine all the Golden Adamant known to exist in this world.”
“Can it be done?” Han asked. “There are centuries of animosity between us. War crimes and territorial disputes.”
“A plan is already in motion,” Wen said. “One that you are uniquely qualified to see through.”
“Because I’m half Japanese.”
“Yes,” Wen said. “But there is another reason also: the corporations you control and the various technologies your engineers have mastered.”
Han listened to the veiled words and wondered exactly what Wen was getting at. He knew the details would only come forth once he’d committed. “I will do my part,” he said. “Whatever it is that you need.”
“Good,” Wen replied. “Among other things, this task will require more machines. Automatons that can impersonate human behavior. You have been funded for years by the Ministry to study such a project. Now you must report your progress. Can you make them perfectly? They must be indistinguishable from those whom they will replicate.”
Han smiled. He always assumed the blank check had come as part of some strategy. The Lao-shi must have been crafting this plan for years. “We’re very close.”
“Good,” Wen replied. He cleared the board and placed the stones back into their respective cups. “My secretary will give you a package on the way out. Instructions lie within. Your first meeting will be in Nagasaki. A deal is being crafted to build a factory there and a Friendship Pavilion to celebrate the new ties. The factory will be yours. It will be your base of operations.”
Han stood, energized. “And what if the Americans interfere?”
“They know nothing of this,” Wen insisted. “But this is not a game for the fainthearted. At the end, one side will be denied liberty and denied life. If the Americans attempt to stop us, you will make sure they fail.”
2
GREENLAND
ELEVEN MONTHS LATER
THE NAVIK ICE SHEET was a lonely and desolate place. Treeless, barren and flat, it was shrouded in mist and lit in a pale light. Even at high noon, the sun hung just above the horizon.
Two figures trudged across that landscape. Both of them bundled in red snowsuits that brought a shock of color to the monotone world.
“I don’t understand why we’re bothering to check so far north,” the smaller of the two figures called out. Wisps of blond hair stuck out from her fur-lined hood. Her accent was vaguely Nordic. “The other readings told us what we need to know.”
The larger of the two figures pulled back his hood and removed a pair of goggles, revealing a rugged face and deep, iridescent blue eyes. Kurt Austin was in his mid-thirties, but he looked older. Crow’s-feet at the corner of his eyes and wrinkles in his f
orehead suggested a lifetime in the elements instead of an air-conditioned office. The silver color of his hair gave him a knowing and dashing quality, while the rest of his face was covered with a month of unshaven beard. “Because I have to be sure of the truth before I hand my government a report they won’t want to believe.”
The woman pulled her hood back and raised her goggles as well. Ice-blue eyes, chapped pink lips and mid-length straw-blond hair confirmed her Nordic heritage. She pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. “Seven readings from seven different glaciers isn’t enough proof for you?”
Her first name was Vala; her last, a long mix of consonants, umlauts and other letters that Kurt found completely unpronounceable. She was a Norwegian geologist whose assistance and knowledge had been invaluable, especially here on the top of the world.
“I wish it were only seven,” Kurt replied. “I’ve been on thirty glaciers in the last six months. And my conclusion is going to require a perfect record to generate any help. That means no gaps or missing data.”
She sighed. “So that’s why we fly out in the helicopter to reach the station. And when the clouds begin to close in, we land and then we hike. Okay, fine. But what I don’t understand is the obsession. The urgency. We’ve discovered exactly what we expected to discover. So far, everything has proven to be”—she paused, looking for the right word—“copacetic,” she said finally, using a word he’d been uttering far too frequently of late.
“That’s the problem,” Kurt said. “Nothing should be copacetic.”
He wasn’t at liberty to explain any further. And they didn’t have time to talk anyway. He put the goggles back in place. “We have to keep moving. There’s a storm coming. We need to find the station, get the data and get out of here or we’re going to be building an igloo and keeping each other warm until spring.”
“I could think of worse ways to spend the winter,” she said with a grin. “But not without food.”
He double-checked the bearing, set his feet and continued on.
The Rising Sea Page 3