The Code War

by Ciaran Nagle

Agatha had chosen the centre of her pad, laid out with sheepskin rugs, for the meeting. In the background the Music played. Choruses of male angel baritones and tenors chased each other in perfect counterpoint. She subdued the volume as a mark of respect to their hermit team leader.

  Jabez called the meeting to order.

  'Thanks for all being here on time,' he began. 'I've been thinking a lot about something we discussed at the last meeting, that the enemy has the initiative and we're trying to play catch-up. I'm very keen that we create a strategy that will allow us to wrong-foot our fiendish foes and put us back in the driving seat. It's time they reacted to us, not us to them. If we can achieve that we may force them into making a mistake.'

  'What have you got in mind?' asked Luke, pushing up the brow of his Stetson.

  'Right now I don't have a concrete plan, just some thoughts and suspicions based on what we know about Brother. Ruth, I need to know what you've learned. That may help us decide our approach.'

  Ruth carefully swallowed the remains of her first biscuit and washed it down with a sip of tea. She placed her cup and saucer on a nearby table and then folded her hands in her lap and regarded them all.

  'Well y'all, I've gone back through Nancy's family tree and gotten a good look at many of her ancestors,' she began. 'Particularly I was searching for something unusual, something that the enemy could latch onto and use for a sinister purpose. Now almost all Fourth Dimensioners have a more interesting heritage than they think they have. Nancy's no exception. But I've uncovered something that may just be the basis of how they mean to make her powerful.'

  Ruth could see that she had everyone's full attention.

  'As you know,' she continued. 'Ruth is a Jew. Though it doesn't seem to really mean nuthin' to her. Her folks were all Jews from Russia. They been there since leaving Byzantium in the fifteenth century at the time the Turks all rode in there.'

  All three nodded, they knew the history of the city also known at different times as Constantinople and Istanbul.

  'Well her family got into the silk trade, then the spice trade, then the gold business, then property. They even built some churches. Hec, there wasn't much they didn't do. I won't bore you with the details of how they survived Terrible Ivan and some other not-so-fine examples of human leadership but by the time the 19th century come around one branch of the family had gotten into the Russian navy. Three different generations of this family served the czar from fightin' Napoleon in the Med to blockadin' the British in the Black Sea.' Here a nod to Agatha, acknowledging her patriotic loyalties during her time in the Fourth.

  'But the one ancestor we're interested in is Alexander Shafner. Shafner was an adventurous young naval officer who was sent to northern Manchuria in 1860. The Chinese government was reeling from the Taiping Rebellion, a massive civil war, and had just agreed to hand this area over to Russia. Shafner was given command of a 28-gun, two-masted navy sloop, unsurprisingly named the Manchur. It had a crew of a hundred fifty sailors and eighty marines. He sailed his ship into an almost unknown bay along the coast, weighed anchor and promptly founded the city that became Vladivostok. As if that wasn't enough already for a young wandering Jew far from home, here is where the tale gets really interesting.'

  Ruth paused and poured herself another cup of tea then added milk and sugar and procured herself another biscuit. The others, leaning forward in their seats and listening intently to her story, followed suit and topped up their drinks.

  Ruth continued. 'A beautiful Chinese princess, on the run from enemies made by her family during the civil war, hears about Shafner's expedition and turns up in Vladivostok. By now, the settlement has just a few buildings and a horse stable so it really is the edge of never. The princess's name is Mya Ling. Mya is certainly beautiful but she's also poor having lost all her riches and most of her clothes to bandits. However, she is manipulative, ambitious and extremely single-minded. Shafner's heart is taken by her. Well, why wouldn't it be? There he is in the back of beyond with only his crew for company and no elegant soirees or parties to go to when along comes this seductive oriental female who dresses up in all her remaining silk finery and starts to flash her eyes at him. She was like the sudden appearance of an oil painting in a very bleak landscape. Anyway, Shafner takes Mya onto his ship, they have a whirlwind romance and decide to get married. As you can guess, Mya is driving all this along. Shafner thinks he's in control but really Mya Ling is calling the shots. She's intending to carve out a rich life for herself. Shafner is her escape from the desolation of war-torn China to the decadence of Moscow society. She's like the Chinese calligrapher making an awesome painting and Shafner is the brush in her hand. He starts to make a lot of colour but she's the one pushing him around the canvas. Now I'm going to give you a first sight of Shafner and Mya Ling by showing you a scene from the day they met. Are you ready to see it?'

  'Absolutely.' 'Of course.' 'Do it.' The three shouted.

  Ruth smiled proudly and held her hand up high over her head. 'Then make a space and let the show begin.' Jabez and Luke shuffled their bean bags back as far as they could without actually leaving their globes. Ruth let fall her hand and in the space between the four of them a shimmer of lights and colours began to appear and slowly arranged themselves.

  The four angels found themselves inside the wardroom of a mid-19th century wooden warship. A polished table surrounded by six solid oak chairs with leather inlays was in the centre. Around the walls were a drinks cabinet and a side table. A large window comprising four panels of six smaller glass panes was obviously the stern while along the walls were a number of charts and maps. A portrait of Czar Alexander II in military uniform wearing a blue sash and sporting long sideburns occupied the centre of one wall.

  The angels were seeing the wardroom from different angles as if the action was really taking place in their midst. They had seen historic scenes like this before, of course, even some truly ancient ones. But it was still a delight to be taken so intimately into an intriguing human environment, especially one like this that was positively simmering with significance. As they accustomed themselves to the furnishings and lighting in the room, a door opened. In came a young man in grey naval officer's uniform, clearly Shafner. He turned with a bow, beckoning behind him and was followed by a diminutive and most exquisite young Chinese woman wearing a startling blue silk cheung sam. She looked around her, taking in her surroundings before looking up shyly at Shafner.

  'Ver' nice,' she said in highly accented English, dipping her head slightly as she spoke. She folded her arms across her waist and waited for Shafner to make the next move.

  'To sit please,' said Shafner in his own Russian-accented English, drawing back the least-scratched chair and motioning for her to take it.

  She did so and sat, straight-backed and stiff, replacing her hands across her middle. A sailor came to the door and asked Shafner if he needed an interpreter. They spoke in Russian which the angels understood perfectly as they understood all languages. Shafner replied that he needed no such help and the sailor departed and closed the door.

  The conversation then began in rather stilted fashion.

  'You like drink something?'

  'Thank you no.'

  'You like eat something?'

  'Thank you no.'

  'You like look through telescope?'

  'Thank you no.'

  A pause.

  'You are very beautiful.'

  'Thank you yes.'

  'You are from Peking?'

  'Canton, thank you. I Canton woman. Most happy to be Canton woman.' Then Mya Ling giggled and even to the watching angels it was a delightful sound after the initial stiff formality. To Shafner her laughter must have been like summer rain. Sunshine poured in through the windows, lighting up Mya Ling's delicate features and the silken blues of her long dress.

  'You laugh why?'

  'I not know. Here ver' nice. You polite man.' Another giggle and Mya Ling raised her hand to cover her mouth. 'I not ver' polite.
I sorry. You ver' kind. Perhaps I see your boat now, learn how you drive and sail it?'

  And as Shafner rose to give Mya Ling an escorted tour of his ship it was clear that he was already smitten. Mya Ling took his proffered arm and flashed her perfect brown eyes at him once more before they left the wardroom.

  The sharpness of the picture faded into shimmers and then dissolved into nothingness.

  'That's all I wanted to show you,' said Ruth. 'Intriguing is it not?'

  'So this woman, Mya Ling,' began Jabez 'is Nancy's ancestor?'

  'That's right. Shafner takes her back to Moscow where she is eventually accepted into Russian society. Shafner's Jewish relatives are more reserved of course and initially tell him to divorce her. However Mya Ling's beauty and especially her ready wit, once she learns Russian which she does exceptionally quickly, soon have them eating out of her hand. Added to this, Mya Ling exploits all her new Jewish connections to the full. She begins importing Chinese antiques, furniture, silks and other goods to Moscow and selling them to wealthy Muscovites. But here's a funny thing. There are already many merchants in Moscow involved in selling 'chinoiserie' as they called it. Mya Ling is entering a crowded market with her imports. But one by one all the other merchants run out of stock. They can't get supplies. It seems that their Chinese suppliers, who were all exporting through Hong Kong which is by now British and is the most stable and peaceful of China's deep sea ports, keep dying or falling ill in mysterious circumstances. Mya Ling's Moscow emporium becomes a virtual monopoly. She becomes rich and powerful. Shafner married well. Their two children, a boy and a girl, are raised as Jews and fully integrated into Russian Jewish society. That's the line that Nancy springs from. Including Mya Ling herself, Nancy is the fifth generation!'

  'That's superb research, Ruth, but do we know anything more about these mysterious deaths in Hong Kong?'

  'I believe I may be able to throw some light on that, Luke,' interjected Agatha. 'Ruth, can you replay the scene?'

  They watched again as Shafner and Mya Ling came into the ship's wardroom and delicately courted each other. But when Mya Ling giggled and put her hand to her mouth Agatha shouted 'stop here.'

  She pointed to Mya Ling's lower arm, which had lain hidden under her sleeve until the material was pulled back as she raised her hand. 'You can't see this from where you're sitting but I can. Ruth, can you turn the image so everyone can see?'

  'I think so,' replied Ruth. 'I'm not great with these controls.'

  She raised her arm and the wardroom tottered and swung drunkenly until Ruth mastered the technology. After a moment the wardroom and everything in it levelled again and then slowly revolved at Ruth's direction so that all the angels could see from Agatha's vantage point.

  'Look there,' she exclaimed. 'Can you see a symbol tattooed onto Mya Ling's wrist? It's the Chinese character 'hung' which means 'red'. The 'hung' character also symbolises the three-cornered relationship between heaven, earth and man. It's the symbol which was adopted as the motif of the mutual-help brotherhoods which became the Chinese triad societies. Don't you see? At the time when Mya Ling met Shafner on board the Manchur, she was already a triad member. She may have the poise and manners of a well brought up princess but in fact Mya was a fully-enrolled member of a criminal triad fraternity. Many of these had no problem using murder to further their aims. She may have joined the triads as a way of surviving the war when her family lost their money. But how and why she joined doesn't matter now. If she re-forged and built up her triad connections in furtherance of her business ambitions after her move to Moscow, it may help explain why her commercial competitors kept disappearing. And remember what Ruth has just told us: this Mya Ling is Nancy's great great grandmother!'

  Southern Senegal, West Africa.

  There must be a way to save the children too, Nancy told herself. They were so quiet, too quiet for kids. They must be absolutely petrified. As if to confirm her thoughts Nancy heard a whimper emanating from the covered vehicle. Another voice whispered 'shhh' in gentle tones.

  Lafi butted in. 'The border is only a mile away now. We have work to do first. Come,' he ordered.

  He led her to the side of the truck where he opened a wooden box fitted under the chassis. The side of the box swung down on a hinge revealing its contents. 'Take that cloth.'

  Nancy stooped down and looked inside the box. She could see a large section of folded cloth as well as some smaller pieces of material and bits of shiny plastic. As she removed the large cloth, Lafi went to the cab and removed the keys from the ignition.

  He returned to her as she stood up unfolding the cloth. 'Give me your hand,' he ordered curtly. As she held out her arm Lafi took it and abruptly slapped a handcuff onto her wrist and clasped it shut. He then locked the other cuff through one of the ringlets in the canvas cover. 'Just for a minute,' he snapped.

  Lafi took the large section of cloth and opened it up to its full rectangular expanse, about twenty feet by ten feet. In the moonlight Nancy could see the large letters 'UN' written at either end with the words 'Emergency Humanitarian Supplies' beneath. He walked to the other side of the truck and she could hear thumps as he climbed up the side of the vehicle. The sound of fabric slipping across fabric followed and the next moment half of the piece of cloth appeared over the top of the truck and fell down on Nancy's side. While she waited for Lafi to return she stooped and took out the smaller materials from the box. These turned out to be tabards emblazoned with the words 'UN Relief Worker' as well as an inflatable plastic ring bearing the letters UNHCR and various other pieces of UN-labelled gear. Two minutes later Lafi re-appeared and grasped the two tapes at the corners of the cloth on Nancy's side. He secured these to the ringlets on the lorry's canvas and then unlocked her cuffs.

  'Wear this,' he indicated one of the tabards curtly. Nancy donned one of the bib-like garments and Lafi put on the other. He then went to the back of the truck and spoke in dialect to the children. His tone was gentler, more reassuring than before and Nancy was certain he was telling them their journey was nearly over. The rain was now teeming from the sky and drops of water were streaming down Nancy's face. Lafi returned and led her back to the driver's side and made sure she was in before climbing in the passenger side. He gave her the keys and she started the engine.

  'Where are the children going? What will happen to them?' Nancy demanded.

  'I tell you the truth before,' Lafi responded defensively. 'They go to work in the fields. Earn money to send to their parents. This not Britain. In Africa children must work. This is our culture. Our tradition.'

  It was plausible if not entirely convincing, Nancy thought. Though at the very least she was sure the children did not want to leave home to work, they'd surely much prefer to be at home in their own beds.

  'Now,' he said looking forward through the windscreen as though trying to draw a line under the conversation. 'In one mile we meet border guards. Now you do your job. You make sure they not search lorry. If they find you with children, they arrest you. UN shirt will not help,' he nodded at the logo on her tabard.

  'Why would they stop us?' Nancy had raised her voice and leaned in to Lafi looking him directly in the eyes. She aimed to pressure him to admit something she felt he was hiding. 'If child labour is common practice around here why can't we just declare them and cross the border?'

  'You not understand,' said Lafi in exasperation. 'These children work for cheap. Cheaper than children in the south. Border guards no like children work so cheap.'

  And now Nancy began to understand at last. Something half-remembered stirred in her memory and resurrected itself. These weren't child workers. 'They're slaves, aren't they?' she said, amazed at the words. 'The children are slaves. They're child slaves. They have to work to buy their freedom.'

  Lafi said nothing.

  'You're a slave trafficker.'

  Lafi glared back. 'And so are you.'

  There was no more pretence between them. More than ever, Lafi had to make sure the stor
y of his criminal behaviour did not come to light. He was operating outside the law of any country, whether Gambia, Senegal or any other.

  Ferociously Nancy threw the truck into gear and gunned the lorry forward. She was heavily implicated in Lafi's awful trade and it was unlikely anyone would believe her story. Confused though she still was, she realised she had to play the game for now and look for a way out later. Preferably a way out that ensured Lafi never caught up with her. It was two o'clock in the morning. The rain was pouring onto the windscreen and Nancy was dog tired. But her brain was racing at twice the normal speed. There had to be a way out.

  A minute later as Lafi predicted, Nancy spotted a lighted building beside the road with a turnpike barrier next to it. A uniformed soldier bearing a rifle, alerted by the lorry's headlights, emerged from the guardhouse and stood in the rain to await them. Nervously he shifted his rifle in his hands as if to ensure the lorry's occupants had seen it.

  'What you going to do?' Lafi was leaving it all to Nancy.

  'I don't know.'

  Nancy kept the lorry moving fast till the last moment and then braked sharply bringing the vehicle to an abrupt stop twenty yards short of the barrier. Leaving the engine on she jumped from the cab and strode forward briskly with her right hand held up in salute and a broad smile on her face. The shoulder flashes on the guard's uniform bore the word Gambia.

  'Hello, it's good to see you. Awful weather isn't it? Completely chucking it down.' She pumped the guard's hand and pointed towards his guardhouse. 'Let's do the paperwork in there shall we?' She began to walk towards the tiny one-office building continuing to smile widely at the perplexed guard and compelling him to follow her. 'We're off to get some urgent medical supplies for the capital. Expect you've been told we were coming. Apparently the American president has promised them to your prime minister without delay.'

  They reached the guardhouse. Inside was a desk, a chair and a telephone.

  'Papers, I need your papers,' the guard was not going to be a pushover. Nancy feigned surprise. 'Look it's urgent. There wasn't any time for papers. There's an outbreak of fever, you understand? Fever in your country. And I have to go and get these supplies from the south and bring them back through here or people will die. Have you not been told?'