The Expansion

by Christoph Martin

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The Abbey, Virginia, USA

  The floor of Jay’s apartment was much warmer than the floor of the gym, on account of the in-slab heating.

  Karis settled herself, prone, on the white woolen rug by the gas fireplace, with a cushion under her head. They’d spent the previous two hours taking turns spotting and belaying each other on the climbing wall overhang, and she was looking forward to a large meal.

  “Here,” Jay said, as he handed her a glass of red wine. “See if you can guess the year.”

  “Ooh, aren’t you all fancy now?” Karis teased. She sat up and took the glass he offered. “You couldn’t just give me a good, old-fashioned beer?”

  Jay laughed. “Nope. You have to earn it.”

  As they’d been shown, only a few weeks previously, she swilled the wine in the glass and sniffed it.

  “I’ll never be able to tell you the year,” she said, with a groan. “But I can tell you it’s Italian, it’s most likely savory …” She took a sip and washed the liquid around in her mouth as they’d been shown. “The olive comes forward. It’s off dry … and …” She shrugged. “Something else?”

  Jay’s laugh exploded as he popped a bag of potato chips. “Not bad, Agent Deen! Now, if your climbing was as good as your wine knowledge—”

  Karis threw the cushion she’d been resting on at him. He dodged it expertly.

  “You know, climbing is good and all,” she said, “but I’m not looking to bulk up. I totally get it that if I’m in the field, I’m supposed to have ninja agent powers. But at the same time, I wanna look—you know—normal. Not like a massive beefcake.”

  Jay threw his head back and laughed. “How do you know you don’t already look like a beefcake?”

  “Oh, ha ha,” she said, drily. She took another sip of her wine. “So tell me … what did you miss most when you were in Sudan?”

  “Sex.”

  “No, really.”

  “Really. I was there for three years.”

  “Three years?” Karis exhaled. “You never told me that. You only said you were in Darfur with the UN Peacekeepers.” She took a sip of wine. “There are a lot of UN there, right?” She didn’t know details, but she knew enough: Darfur was a hotbed of fighting, despite a recent peace treaty.

  Karis took another sip of her wine and assessed Jay for a moment. “Sudan wouldn’t be on my list of preferred destinations,” she said.

  “Me neither. To wade into a shitstorm that intense you either gotta believe you were born to change the world, or you gotta have a death wish. And if you think you were born to change the world, you’re probably either colossally unhinged or a sociopath.”

  “Hmm. Death wish or psycho …” Karis smiled grimly. “Not really a win–win situation, is it?”

  “No, but war never is.” He looked at her. “You’re a marine, right?”

  Karis nodded.

  “Why didn’t you start with Defense Intelligence instead of going back to civilian: to the CIA?”

  She cast her mind back for a moment. “A bunch of us were on leave in Colombia and I got hooked into the network out there,” she said. “It’s just the way the wind blew. I wanted a change, so I made a few enquiries, and I liked the CIA set-up back home. So that’s where I started.”

  Jay grinned. “‘Just the way the wind blew.’ I like that about you, Deen. You’re a free spirit.” He gave her a sideways look. “I don’t suppose you’d wanna …?”

  “Have sex?” Karis laughed again. “Sure, why not? It’s been a while—” She stopped herself. “Actually … It’s nothing personal, Jay. I probably would have, back at Langley, if you’d asked.” She gave a half smile. “But here at the Abbey?” She looked around his beautiful apartment. “I feel like I’d be jinxing myself or something. You know what I mean? It’s all so … perfect.”

  Jay’s face showed good-natured frustration. “Fair enough,” he said. “I personally don’t feel that way whatsoever.”

  “Of course you don’t,” she said, with a laugh.

  A low chime interrupted them, and a screen above the fireplace came to life with a message from the Abbey’s Hub.

  From: Agent Fisher

  To: Jay Stevenson; Karis Deen; Tucker Avila

  Briefing

  Conference Room A

  20.30 Hours

  Jay looked at Karis. Without hesitation, he said, “That’s in five minutes. You need to get anything from your apartment?”

  Karis put her glass on the kitchen counter. “Thanks for the wine, Jay. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  The Abbey, Virginia, USA

  “Thanks for your promptness.”

  Fisher strode across to the lectern. She took a sip of water from her bottle and turned to the group.

  Karis was with Avila and Jay in the first row of seating.

  “I’m briefing you this evening on Operation Sea Bass.”

  Karis felt her pulse go up a notch.

  Fisher touched the screen of her tablet and the beamer came alive, bearing a map of Central America, on which a long, red line ran, zig-zagging through the wetlands in the southern part of Nicaragua.

  Fisher turned back to the group.

  “This is the proposed site for the new Nicaragua Canal,” she said. “To be built by a Chinese investor in collaboration with the Nicaraguan government.” She paused. “We—like the rest of the world—can reasonably assume that behind every big Chinese investor is the government of the People’s Republic of China. I won’t go into all the details now, but we have reason to believe that this proposed canal is a front for China’s real plan: a submarine base in Lake Nicaragua.”

  Jay and Avila both shifted in their seats, and Karis felt a small thrill run through her body: were they about to be sent to Nicaragua?

  Fisher placed her hands on the lectern. “The Pentagon is pursuing all leads in Nicaragua. It’s our job to find out what’s going on in Panama.”

  Panama?

  Karis stiffened, as her heart rate quickened.

  “The two of you …”—Fisher pointed at Karis and then Avila—“… are to be deployed a little earlier than we’d anticipated. Agent Stevenson, you will be their contact here at the Abbey.”

  She looked at the three of them in turn.

  “We’re sending in two separate units. I’ve already briefed the first unit. They’ll be collecting intelligence from other leads we have on the ground, specifically on the Panamanian side, among the canal workers. You won’t have any direct contact with them. As this is a classified, high-level operation, the information flow will be strictly on a need-to-know basis.”

  Fisher now stepped away from the lectern to address the three of them directly.

  “From the Chinese point of view, right now would be an ideal moment for the expansion of the Panama Canal to run into insurmountable difficulties,” she said. “And if that came to pass, the implications for United States interests in the region—and the world—could be irreversibly catastrophic.”

  She cleared her throat and took another sip of water.

  She turned to Karis. “Excavation on the expansion site has just uncovered what looks to be an ancient feeding ground—megalodon teeth and shell fossils and the like. You’ll need to read up on it, because it’s a very big deal with regard to geodating. It also gives you a very convenient shoe-in to return to your post at the Smithsonian Tropical Institute in Panama.”

  She pulled up another image, this time of an Asian man. “This is Steven Zhang, China’s Ambassador in Panama.”

  “I think I’ve met him!” Karis said.

  Fisher turned to her quickly. “You did?”

  “Yes. At the signing party for the expansion of the Panama Canal, at the Presidential Palace.”

  “Yes. That was probably him. Zhang’s family has a long history of interest in the canal. His predecessors worked on the construction at the turn of last century, returning to China after the canal was built
. Zhang himself grew up in China, studied in England, and his father is an important figure in the political landscape.” Fisher paused. “Zhang was given the Ambassador post in Panama only three years ago, and we had believed the reason was the canal expansion project. But, as it turned out, the Chinese didn’t even enter a bid to compete, so we now believe his assignment may have been for another reason. And this is what we need to find out.”

  As the next image came up, Karis baulked.

  “Max Burns.” Fisher turned to the group. “Burns is the geomatic engineer and brains behind the designs that won the bid for the expansion of the Panama Canal, against our American team.” She turned to Karis. “Did you see him at the signing ceremony, as well?”

  “Yes, I did.” Karis wondered if she ought to say something about their night together.

  “Good,” Fisher continued. “You’ll need to find a way to get close to him. He meets with the Chinese Ambassador almost every week, on Wednesdays. We need to know why.”

  Karis nodded. She decided now was not the moment to give full detail about her encounter with Burns.

  Fisher glanced back at the screen. “His construction company is owned by a guy called Paco Roco and his son, Godfredo Roco. At this stage, we don’t know much about them, or how much they’re aware of Burns’s contact with the Chinese.” She paused. “If you get even a whiff that he might be helping the Chinese or anybody else to sabotage his own project, I want to know about it.”

  “Understood.” Karis nodded curtly.

  Fisher looked at the three of them in turn. “This is a container mission: you won’t have any support from the local embassy, as they won’t be told of your presence in the area. Reason being: we don’t want any noise around this until we have proof of China’s activities in Panama. We don’t want to run any political risk.”

  “And if we need back-up?” Avila asked.

  “The second team will be there to assist you in case you run into trouble. Besides, this operation will be under my direct supervision here at the Abbey.”

  The door opened, and a young man with a buzz cut and a three-day growth walked in, carrying a cardboard box.

  “This is Agent Marc Hussain,” Fisher said. “He’s going to explain your new communication devices for this mission.” She stepped to one side as the man placed the box on the table.

  “Hi, I’m Marc,” he said, with a smile. He looked at the group. “Yes, you could call me M. But please don’t.”

  He grinned at Fisher, who handed black cellphones to Avila and Jay. Marc passed one to Karis.

  “So what do we have here?” Marc started. “These are our Abbey communication devices.” He pulled his own phone from his pocket. “They are of course hooked into the agency’s database, ClassNET, so we can communicate with the broader organization and community. But what’s really cool is this screen …”—he brandished his phone in the air. “It’s what most people will see if they pick up or touch your device. It looks like a regular phone.” He paused. “Now look at your own device.”

  Karis looked down at the screen in her hand and, immediately, the app icons all slid to one side. An interface with the word DROP opened up.

  “Wow, that’s cool!” Avila said. “Fingerprint recognition?”

  Marc smiled. “No. Face recognition. And it even works if you have a hangover, or if you’re unshaven.”

  Fisher smiled archly and looked at Karis. “That’s good to know.”

  “What does DROP stand for?” Avila asked.

  Marc turned to him, impassive. “Nothing. I always drop my phone, so I called it that.”

  Avila’s laugh exploded, and even Fisher started laughing.

  “The device has several sensors built in and transmits data like your vital signs, as well as information about your location and environment, which gives us, back at the Abbey, the ability to analyze situations you’re in.” He smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “So if, for example, you’re unable to communicate because you’re unconscious, your body will tell us. And we’ll be able to send back-up.”

  “Even if we’re not holding the device?” Karis asked.

  “We only need a range of ten feet.”

  After a short pause, he said, “DROP also gives you access to an international concierge service at any time, to help you book your flights, restaurants or even tee times at golf clubs and so on.” He looked at Fisher.

  “Thank you, Marc.”

  Marc nodded, and left the room.

  Fisher waited until the door had closed behind him.

  She turned to the group.

  “Everything else you need to know you will find in the files we have already sent to your mobile devices. Good luck. Your transport leaves at zero-five-thirty tomorrow.”

  As Fisher left the room, Karis stood and looked at her colleagues.

  Avila grinned and got to his feet. “Ciudad de Panamá! Aquí vamos!”

  Panama City, here we come.

  Jay gave Avila a hug. “Good luck, bro.” He put his hand on Karis’s shoulder. “Go get ’em, Deen.”

  “So much for the designer ballgowns and golf clubs,” Avila said, laughing, as the three of them left the room.

  Karis shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m going back to Panama.” She laughed. “Oh well. I’d better go find my nerdy scientist outfit again!”

  Part Five

  Chapter Fifty

  The Panama Canal, Panama

  The day promised to be fine; it was already hot and humid.

  Karis Deen stepped a path in her sandals across bare basalt. She carried her brushes and trowels in a small bag, and—in one hand—Dalisha’s large, round shaker screen for sifting dirt.

  As she reached the topmost point of the incline, she turned back and waved Dalisha on. “Hurry up!”

  “Hold your horses!” Dalisha carried a rucksack crammed with full water bottles. “I may be slow, but you don’t want to cross me. I carry the life source!” She stopped, out of breath, at Karis’s side. “You’ll thank me later, when you’re calling for mercy from the sun god.”

  Laughing, the two of them walked over the rise.

  The canal expansion site lay below them. The steel towers of the Centennial Bridge could be seen in the distance, its white suspension cables just visible through the morning haze.

  Karis shielded her eyes.

  She had prepared herself to view the dig site, and she knew it was going to be big; it was the Panama Canal, after all. Yet, now—seeing the broad, gaping canyon stretching alongside the existing canal, north to south, with no end in sight—there was nothing to do but stop and stare, simply in order to process the pure size of it.

  “They’ve dug so much out already!” she murmured.

  “Well, what’d you expect?” Dalisha grinned. “Technology is advancing. We’re not living in the industrial age anymore.”

  The two of them started toward the dig site and, for a moment, Karis thought of the thousands who’d lost lives—perhaps some of them on the very path they walked now—when the original canal was being built, more than a century ago. Years and years of hard labor spent attempting to impose order on the steamy, willful environment.

  The Las Cumbres area, where they were working that day, was on the western bank of the waterway, and it had once mostly been dense tropical forest. Now, it was dusty and bare; quarries and rock faces for miles upon miles.

  The archaeological dig zone itself looked much like any others Karis had seen over the years: demarcated with a white string grid like an empty chessboard hovering just above the ground. The thing that differentiated this site from any other, though, was its scale: it was massive. Bigger than any Karis had seen. It marked out a huge area on the incline of what looked like mainly basalt.

  They approached the small, enclosed wooden caravan that housed their equipment. It sat alongside a worn, white tent: their field headquarters.

  “So how’s your brother doing?” Dalisha’s words interrupted Karis’s thoughts. �
��Have you sorted everything out with your family?”

  Dalisha dropped the rucksack to the ground. It landed with a thud.

  “He’s fine,” Karis nodded. “He just needed hand-holding to deal with the accounts.”

  Dalisha unlocked the door of the caravan. She handed Karis a couple of the large plastic soda bottles and swung the rucksack inside, out of the sun. Karis could see the caravan’s rudimentary shelving was already loaded up with plaster-and-burlap jacketed specimens, all labelled with black marker in Dalisha’s neat handwriting.

  “And your supervisor at the university?” Dalisha asked. “Was she okay with you coming back? How’d you swing that?”

  “She wasn’t thrilled about it, but I still have some of the funding left from the first round, so I cut a deal. Plus, this kind of discovery doesn’t happen every day.”

  “You got that right!” Dalisha laughed. “The Director had a freaking conniption when they first discovered the teeth in the quarry. You should’a seen him. He was all over the expansion construction team like a rash.”

  “Really?” Karis laughed.

  “Yeah. But he got them to stop digging!”

  “How’d he do that?”

  “He negotiated with the consortium, and they gave him until New Year. So I guess we’ll be working over Christmas!” She chuckled. “Like we’ve got anything better to do …” She paused. “Come on. Let’s get to it, before it turns into hell’s own oven out here.”

  As the two of them made their way across the already baking dig site, Karis was well aware there was no way around it: she had to put in her hours on the job in order to play the part. Still, she knew the more she immersed herself in her cover identity—the more she embraced it—the easier it would become. She could almost say she was looking forward to the work, crouched over sections of rock, poring over the minutiae with paintbrush or hammer and chisel. There was something compelling about being on a dig. Like panning for gold.