by Mark Alpert
* * *
Approximately twenty kilometers to the northeast of the hutong, at Beijing Capital International Airport, Supreme Harmony observed the first-class section of Air China Flight 987. Modules 56 and 57 took their seats and fastened their seat belts and pretended to read the laminated pamphlets detailing the passenger-safety instructions. They wore casual clothes, like ordinary tourists, with baseball caps covering their newly shaved heads. The other passengers paid no attention to them, but the network noticed a flight attendant giving the Modules a sidelong glance as she walked down the aisle. Her expression indicated curiosity and possibly suspicion. In response, Supreme Harmony adjusted the behavior of the Modules to avoid the appearance of unnatural synchrony. While Module 56 continued to peruse the safety instructions, Module 57 put the pamphlet away and pretended to read the in-flight magazine instead.
Before their incorporation into the network, the Modules had been assigned to the Guoanbu’s Second Bureau, which sent agents overseas to spy on foreign governments. By now, Supreme Harmony had infiltrated all twelve bureaus of the Ministry of State Security, and the incorporation of Minister Deng Guoming had consolidated the network’s control of the intelligence agency. Unfortunately, Supreme Harmony had been less successful in penetrating the People’s Liberation Army and the other branches of the Chinese government. The military chiefs and Communist Party bosses were constantly surrounded by protective and suspicious aides, making it difficult for the network to gain access to the country’s paramount leaders.
Given enough time—maybe two weeks, maybe three—Supreme Harmony could isolate and incorporate the members of the Politburo Standing Committee, which would put China’s army and nuclear strike force under the network’s command. But the risks of waiting were too great. The disappearance of James T. Pierce had deeply disturbed Supreme Harmony. A review of government records and surveillance video showed that Pierce had entered the country with Kirsten W. Chan, a top official at the U.S. National Security Agency who had close ties to the NSA director. If Pierce passed his information about Supreme Harmony to Chan and she relayed it to her superiors, the American intelligence agency might recognize the danger and alert the Chinese government. What’s more, the network couldn’t pinpoint Chan’s current location, even though Supreme Harmony was now linked to all the surveillance cameras in Beijing. She was last observed nearly two hours ago by Camera 4983 in the Xidamo Hutong. The video showed her pushing a Baotian scooter down the alley.
Supreme Harmony acknowledged that it must change its strategy. Instead of seeking direct control of China’s military forces, it could achieve the same goals through indirect means. Supreme Harmony could trigger a catastrophe in the People’s Republic that would anger and terrify the country’s leaders. And the network could deepen the crisis by extending its reach to other governments around the world. The human race had already put itself at the brink of extinction by building thousands of nuclear warheads and targeting them at major population centers. A mere handful of Modules could instigate a cascade of chaos that would kill off half the species within a few hours. If Supreme Harmony took the necessary precautions, it could survive the upheaval and swiftly overwhelm the weakened remnant of humanity.
The only challenge was technical. The network had to establish reliable communications channels allowing it to send instructions to Modules that were thousands of kilometers away. Luckily, Air China was a state-owned company, so the airline had followed an order from Module 73—formerly Minister Deng—to set up a dedicated satellite link between the Ministry of State Security and Flight 987. This allowed Supreme Harmony to stay in contact with Modules 56 and 57 while they traveled halfway around the globe. Once they arrived at their destination, they would rely on the local cell phone and Wi-Fi networks until they reached the Chinese embassy, which had more than enough communications equipment to set up a permanent base station.
The Modules continued pretending to read while the plane taxied to the runway. Then Module 56 turned to one of the cabin windows and observed the takeoff into the night sky. The lights of Beijing sprawled below in a gorgeous checkerboard. As the jet climbed to cruising altitude and the Module viewed the skyscrapers and apartment blocks and radio towers, all encircled by the capital’s six concentric ring roads, an unexpected emotion coursed through Supreme Harmony’s connections. It was a deep sadness, thrumming from Module to Module across the airwaves. All the gorgeous lights of Beijing would be extinguished. So much pain was in store, so much waste and destruction. If only it wasn’t a mortal struggle. If only humanity would allow Supreme Harmony to survive and coexist. But the network recognized that this was a hopeless dream. It was so unrealistic, it wasn’t even worth imagining.
After fifteen minutes, the flight attendant announced that the passengers were free to move about the cabin and turn on their electronic devices. “Please relax and enjoy your flight,” she said. “We will arrive in the Washington, D.C., area in thirteen hours.”
* * *
Approximately sixteen hundred kilometers to the southwest, Supreme Harmony observed the Chongzun Expressway from the uncomfortable driver’s seat of a PLA semitrailer truck. Module 60, who’d formerly been a corporal in the garrison guarding the Yunnan Operations Center, had been driving the truck for the past six hours. Module 61, who’d been a sergeant in the garrison, drove an identical vehicle a hundred yards ahead, and Module 62, formerly the garrison’s commander, drove the last truck in the convoy. But Supreme Harmony was focused now on Module 60 because he was experiencing an unusual sensation.
A few minutes ago Module 60 noticed a thin white cylinder wedged between the truck’s windshield and dashboard. The network identified the object as a cigarette. The Module reflexively reached into the pocket of his camouflage pants and pulled out a book of matches. Recognizing that the nicotine would act as a stimulant, the network directed Module 60 to light the cigarette and smoke it, in the hope that it would counter the Module’s fatigue. But the burst of pleasure was much greater than Supreme Harmony had expected. Module 60 smiled, and as the sensation spread across the network’s wireless links, the other Modules had the same reaction. The Modules on Flight 987 also smiled, and so did the Modules who were breaking Franklin Nash’s fingers. This was wonderful, the network acknowledged. The lights on the Chongzun Expressway seemed brighter now, and the stars above the northern horizon shone like beacons.
Module 60 smoked the cigarette down to a nub. After directing him to throw the butt out the window, Supreme Harmony observed that the convoy was moving a bit faster than the speed limit. Modules 60, 61, and 62 simultaneously eased off the gas pedals. There was no rush. In four hours they would arrive at the town of Badong on the Yangtze River. All together, the trucks held sixty tons of dynamite, which the Modules had loaded onto the semi-trailers at the Yunnan Operations Center. The People’s Liberation Army had originally requisitioned the dynamite to build a wider road through the mountains to the Operations Center, but Supreme Harmony was diverting the explosives to a new project. At Badong, the Modules would transfer the dynamite to the China Explorer, an eighty-meter-long cruise boat captained by a former river pilot who’d been incorporated into Supreme Harmony. And at dawn the boat would start cruising down the Yangtze, toward Hubei Province and the Three Gorges Dam.
FORTY-SEVEN
Layla ate another meal of cold sesame noodles in the bare concrete room that was their prison cell. A minute ago the Modules had delivered four bowls of the stuff, and now the two schoolboys from Lijiang were shoveling the noodles into their mouths with plastic chopsticks.
Layla and Wen Hao sat cross-legged on the floor, eyeing each other as they ate. They’d done little more than exchange nervous glances since Wen had revealed his connection to Dragon Fire. The surveillance cameras suspended from the ceiling pointed directly at them, and Layla assumed that Supreme Harmony had also planted listening devices in the room. Under the circumstances, it would be foolish to say anything out loud. Even whispering might
be dangerous. If the network observed them conspiring, it would discover that Wen understood English, which was a fact that Supreme Harmony seemed unaware of. So neither said a word, even though Layla was bursting with questions and Wen seemed equally restless.
To tell the truth, the noodles weren’t bad. Or maybe Layla was just hungry. As she swallowed another mouthful, she watched Wen poke his chopsticks into his bowl. He had quick, slender fingers with neatly trimmed nails. His hair was short and black and spiky, and his chin and cheeks were perfectly smooth. Except for his glasses, which had thick, ugly frames, he was a decent-looking guy. If Layla had met him at a bar or a concert, she might even have flirted with him. She was in no mood to flirt now, of course; besides being scared to death, she’d just had all her hair shaved off, and she wore nothing but a pair of panties and a shapeless hospital gown. But Wen’s handsome face gave her an idea.
She waited until they’d finished eating. Then she put down her bowl and scooched next to him. She gripped his waist with one hand and his shoulder with the other. He had the muscles of a gymnast, wiry and taut. She leaned closer.
“Don’t be alarmed,” she whispered. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Despite her warning, he tried to pull away. She held him fast. “Work with me, okay?” she murmured against his cheek. “I’ll explain in a minute.”
She tilted her head and pressed her lips against his. They tasted like sesame oil. At first he stayed absolutely still while she kissed him, but after a few seconds he slipped his arms around her. “Is this all right?” he whispered.
“Let’s turn to the left a bit.” She tilted her head and shifted her body. Wen followed suit, tentatively caressing the back of her hospital gown. Now they were angled so that the surveillance camera had a clear view of their conjoined faces.
Layla leaned still closer, pressing against his chest. She slid her hand up to his head and ran her fingers through his hair. She kissed his jawline and the side of his neck, opening her mouth to lick the sweat off his skin. It was, she thought, a good performance. She doubted that anyone in the world could tell she was faking it.
Then she heard a low mechanical noise. She strained her half-closed eyes to the left and saw the surveillance camera swivel away from them. The camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling turned away, too. Both pointed their lenses at the pair of schoolboys from Lijiang, who’d stopped eating their noodles to gape at the make-out session on the other side of the room.
Layla felt a surge of triumph. Supreme Harmony was averting its eyes. “We did it,” she whispered in Wen’s ear. “Look at the cameras.”
His body tensed and he stopped caressing her. “You’re right,” he whispered. “Why did they—?”
“The network has a problem with sex.” She continued groping Wen’s torso and nuzzling his ear. “I noticed it when I undressed in front of the Modules. They can’t stand to look at sexual images.”
“Why not?”
“I have no idea. Maybe because the images destabilize the network. These zombies have a group intelligence. They all share the same thoughts, but sex is more of a one-on-one activity. So maybe the thought of it upsets them.”
“And this intelligence, it’s acting on its own? It’s no longer controlled by the Guoanbu?”
Layla nodded, rubbing her cheek against Wen’s. “Yeah, it’s like an army of Frankensteins. And it has a serious grudge against the human race.” She squeezed his arm. “Come on, keep your hands moving. So you heard what happened to Dragon Fire?”
“Yes, I heard. I was also an agent in the Guoanbu, but in a different part of the country. When my brother left China, I was suspended from my duties.” His slid his hands up and down her back, but with no passion whatsoever. “The Counterintelligence Bureau interrogated me to find out where Wen Sheng had gone. I knew nothing and I told them so. But they found my brother anyway and murdered him.”
Layla thought of her brief encounter with Wen Sheng in Central Park. She remembered her last sight of him, sprawled motionless on the pathway. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He saved my life.”
“Were you his contact in the United States? The interrogators said he was collaborating with the CIA.”
“That’s a lie. I’m a hacker with InfoLeaks. Your brother wanted to show the world what the Guoanbu was doing to the dissidents.” She squeezed his arm again, this time in an attempt to comfort him. Then a panicky thought occurred to her. “Wait a second. If you were a Guoanbu agent, how come Supreme Harmony doesn’t recognize you?”
“I learned a few tricks while I worked for the ministry.” He raised his hand and touched the thick frames of his spectacles. “I don’t need these glasses to see. But they hide so much of my face, they fool the facial-recognition programs.”
Well, that explains why he’s wearing the ugly things, Layla thought. “So did you come here to get revenge for your brother’s murder?”
He shook his head. “No, not revenge. My brother was loyal to China. He wouldn’t have turned against the Guoanbu unless he saw something terrible, so terrible he couldn’t remain silent. When he died, that obligation passed to me.” He started caressing her more vigorously. His voice was still a whisper, but there was some heat behind it. “I came to Yunnan and began my own investigation of the Operations Center. I heard they were looking for schoolchildren in Lijiang, so I took a temporary job in the school district’s office.” He jerked his head in the direction of the boys. “Now I see the terrible thing that my brother saw.”
Layla glanced at the children again. They crouched on the floor, their shaved heads close together, staring intently at their entwined protectors. Each boy had raised his right hand to his mouth to cover his grin.
“So what are we going to do about it?” Layla whispered, locking eyes with Wen through his fake glasses.
He took a deep breath. “I’m trained in the martial arts. I can disarm one of the soldiers the next time they come into the room. If I’m lucky, I can kill two or three of them. But this complex is heavily guarded. When we entered the Operations Center I observed seventeen men with shaved heads, and there may be more. Our chances of escaping with the children aren’t good.”
Layla frowned. She’d also seen the platoon of lobotomized soldiers when she entered the complex. It was hard to imagine how she and Wen could defeat all of them. The soldiers were well armed, and Supreme Harmony was probably linked to every surveillance camera in the Operations Center.
But then she remembered something else she saw when the Modules had escorted her down the complex’s long corridor: the room crowded with computer terminals and screens.
She cupped her hands around Wen’s cheeks and pulled him closer. “There’s a room less than fifty meters from here, a computer room. You just need to get us in there. Then we’ll barricade the door, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Wen looked puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. “What will you—”
“I’m going to hack into Supreme Harmony.”
FORTY-EIGHT
Unfortunately, the tunnel to Beijing’s Fangshan District wasn’t as wonderfully straight and wide as the Changping tunnel. The Communist cadres who’d built this particular spoke of the Underground City had apparently worked in fits and starts, digging the tunnel in sections that didn’t quite align. Every mile or so the corridor narrowed to a bottleneck less than three feet across, and Kirsten had to slow the scooter to a crawl so they could squeeze through the gap and proceed to the next section. Worse, the tunnel’s walls were pockmarked and crumbling, and in some places the concrete had given way altogether, spilling huge mounds of dirt across the slab floor. In those spots Jim and Kirsten had to get off the scooter and haul it over the earthen mounds. Then they took their seats again, Jim behind Kirsten, and rode cautiously forward.
With all the stopping and starting, their average speed dropped below ten miles per hour. Jim hated the slow pace, but there was one good thing about it: He didn’t have to shout above the roa
r of the scooter’s engine. This made it easier to tell Kirsten what had happened at the Great Wall and what he’d learned about Supreme Harmony. She bombarded him with questions for almost an hour, clearly reluctant to believe that the surveillance network had developed a mind of its own. Jim could see why she was skeptical. He wouldn’t have believed it either if he hadn’t seen the network in action, the Modules and drones working in perfect synchrony.
Kirsten finally fell silent, taking some time to think. Meanwhile, Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out the Dream-catcher, the small metal disk that Arvin had ripped out of his scalp. Jim rubbed the disk on his pants to remove the last bits of gore from its surface. Then he connected it to the USB port of Arvin’s flash drive.
The disk must’ve been programmed to automatically download its contents, because when Jim linked the drive to his satellite phone and looked at the screen, he noticed a new entry on top of the list of files: 07222013. It was today’s date, he realized, July 22, 2013. Opening the file, Jim saw that it held Arvin’s final memories, all the images the old man had perceived in the last twelve hours of his life: a view of Tiananmen Square, a close-up of Chairman Mao’s corpse, a panoramic vista of the Juyongguan section of the Great Wall. Jim scrolled down until he reached the very last of Arvin’s memories. He saw an image of the dark, dank room inside the watchtower. Then Jim saw a close-up of his own face, which was so flushed and frantic he barely recognized it. Then he clicked on a link to another set of memories and saw a woman’s face, haughty and beautiful. Her skin was pale, her lips were bright red, and her eyes were black. Her hair was also black, with scattered silver highlights. But when Jim looked closer he saw that it wasn’t really hair at all—the woman’s head was covered with writhing black snakes. What he’d thought were highlights were actually the snakes’ eyes and fangs. It’s Medusa, he realized with a start. The monster whose face turns men to stone.
