As the city and its suburbs passed behind them, the Taiwanese countryside opened up. A thin urbanized strip surrounded the high-speed rail tracks, but behind rose the mountains and jungles of the interior. It was easy to see why the Portuguese had named it Formosa, the beautiful island.
“Have you been to the interior?” Mick asked Krishna.
“Sure! It has awesome hiking and mountain biking. The indigenous communities are really interesting to visit as well.”
Mick knew about these aboriginal groups, and how their culture had survived despite waves of Chinese immigration and Japanese colonization. On his last trip he had camped on the eastern side of the island and spent time exploring their culture.
Not this time.
Mick nodded and went back watching the green hills flash past.
Chapter 1B.
Less than two hours later, they arrived in the small southern city of Tainan and alighted the train. Mick had enjoyed the ride, but not as much as he used to. He knew that once all this was over, he would need to spend some serious time thinking and going over his priorities. If his interests and desires had simply moved on and changed, that was fine, but if, instead, they had just become dulled and fuzzy, as if he were going through the motions instead of living his life, he would need to take action. He remembered a counselor he had spent a lot of time talking to back in his teen years after his parents’ death. Maybe he could find someone like her to talk to again.
At the station, they caught a taxi into town. Tainan seemed much smaller than Taipei, but still felt like Taiwan. At a small third floor apartment, they dropped their packs and sat around drinking green tea.
“Tonight, you’ll meet Han. He should be able to get you to your destination. Mick, I know you are a sailor. Gunter, do you get seasick?” Krishna asked. Gunter looked displeased. Mick recalled a choppy ferry crossing between Denmark and Sweden a few years ago when Gunter had been distinctly uncomfortable. “The only tricky part is the typhoon—it is supposed to make landfall in two days, but that could change.”
“Typhoon?” Gunter asked.
“It’s not really a typhoon, just a storm—they are pretty frequent in this part of the Pacific—no big deal, like a big thunderstorm,” Mick replied, but Gunter didn’t seem convinced.
“Let’s head down to the docks. We can walk around the historic part of town near the old Dutch fort before our meeting,” Krishna suggested.
They had only driven a few kilometers before they were stopped in a traffic jam. Krishna shrugged.
“Some festival—there’s one like every day somewhere in the city. We should look for the fireworks in the evening.” A few blocks ahead, they caught a glimpse of the procession, and heard the firecrackers. A group of men were carrying a figure of an idol or a god from a temple.
Arriving at their destination, Krishna parked the car half on the sidewalk, almost blocking a garage entrance. As Mick walked around, he decided that it was definitely how people parked here in Taiwan.
They walked away from the main street and entered into a district of tiny alleys and streets. The buildings were crumbling, but some beautiful architectural elements still remained. Mick had been staring inside one building for a few seconds before he realized that there were two people seated on plastic chairs in the room, rubble and junk piled all around them. They quickly resumed walking.
This might be a rough area at night.
They arrived at the bar. Odd music played in the background. Mick couldn’t place it exactly. While they waited, Krishna gave some background information.
“This guy we’re meeting is Han, but his crew is all aboriginal.” Seeing Gunter’s puzzled expression, he explained, “His name is Han and he’s also Han Chinese. Like me,” he joked, then continued. “His ship isn’t much to look at but it will get you to the mainland. Oh, and he is really, really paranoid. I won’t tell you his real name, and he won’t want to know yours. Don’t argue about arrangements, unless you want to find some other transport.” Mick smiled.
We’re meeting a smuggler named Han in a port canteen looking for a ride.
“It sounds perfect.”
A tall and wide man silently walked up to the table and joined them, sliding in beside Krishna. A nod was the only greeting. He started speaking without any introductions.
“We leave at Ø3ØØ sharp in two days. Do you have a mesh-network capable mobile radio?” he asked in nearly perfect English. Mick nodded, surprised. “8Ø2.11s compatible?” Mick nodded again. “Good, we will communicate that way at these coordinates. If you aren’t there or don’t respond, no refunds. You will arrive at your destination fifteen hours later, dry, and without any questions asked. Any questions?”
“Should we bring our own food?”
“If you want meat, yes. Otherwise we have vegetarian provisions.”
“And the amount mentioned, that is for both myself and the old man.” The man nodded. Gunter glowered at Mick at the old man reference.
“Half now, half when we pick you up.” Krishna nodded back at both of them. With that, Mick, Gunter, and Krishna stood up and walked away from the table, leaving a small envelope stuffed with cash behind.
Outside the bar in the darkness, Mick chuckled and turned to Krishna.
“How did you meet up with him? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Mick said.
“Let’s get some food,” Krishna suggested, heading back to the car. Mick noticed that he was very quiet on the drive. They parked in a huge illuminated parking lot, and started walking. Krishna turned and stopped Mick and Gunter.
“Guys, are you really sure you want to do this? I trust my friend, but you need to know that he is very, very serious. If things go wrong, they could go wrong very badly. He is a specialist at moving goods to and from the mainland and will protect his business and his crew at all costs.”
“I understand,” Mick replied. “We’re also very serious. I’m sure everything will be fine.” Krishna surveyed both of their faces intently, then broke into a wide grin.
“OK, then! Have you ever been to a ‘night market’ here in Taiwan? They are the best!”
They joined the crowds that were converging on an even bigger gathering in the distance. As they approached, it was almost daylight brightness. The crowds swarmed around the rows of stalls and stands of the Huá Yuán or Garden Night Market.
At the start, Krishna attempted to explain what was cooking at each stall, but quickly gave up, partly because he seemed to lack the vocabulary to describe what vegetable or meat was involved, and partially because the crush of people and noise increased exponentially as they progressed.
Mick stopped for a few moments to stare at one stall decorated with some rubber chickens. Since he knew chicken was involved, he attempted to identify as many parts as possible. He identified the feet, wings, and perhaps even the crest. It wasn’t an appetizing sight, so they kept walking. Another stall had a huge sign with an octopus on it. Small balls were boiling in oil and piled on the counter like cannon balls. “Octopus balls? Is it really—” Mick began.
“You don’t want to know!” Krishna cut him off with a shake of his head.
At one stall, a large plastic bathtub filled with water had a bunch of young children crowded around, dipping fishing lines into the water. Swimming in the water were medium-sized prawns or shrimps. When a child hooked one, everyone cheered and the unlucky crustacean was thrown on a nearby grill and quickly cooked and handed back to the child to eat.
Most of the items were finger foods or on sticks. Mick found his favorite—grilled squid on a stick. He had first tried it on a dare on a street corner in Taipei and realized he liked it, especially if not overcooked. He ordered a few and offered them to Krishna and Gunter. Krishna declined, but Gunter took it, looking questioningly at it. The tentacles were widely splayed and wiggled suggestively at every slight movement of the stick.
“I know what it looks like, but it’s really good,” Mick said as he took a big bite. “Mmmm.�
� Gunter bit his and chewed thoughtfully before taking another bite and turning to walk away. Mick wondered if he was looking for somewhere to spit.
Mick wandered further, stopping at one puzzling display he had never seen before—large hunks of some kind of jello-like food. What was it? Animal, vegetable, or mineral? Krishna came up behind him and explained: “It is called Aiyu jelly and it is made from some vegetable seed extract. You sort of drink it. I think the name literally translates to ‘love jade.’”
“Love jade, I see.”
They also came across Mick’s least favorite food: the accurately-named stinky tofu. Much to his dismay, Krishna ordered some dried stinky tofu and happily ate away. Mick walked upwind of him until he finished.
Mick snacked on a few less risky items, such as fried tofu, soup, and an oyster omelet.
After they had their fill, they worked their way towards an exit. Just outside, Mick saw the largest collection of scooters he had ever seen—the lot went on for blocks. It seemed that everyone besides them had come on a scooter.
Back at Krishna’s place, they drank a pot of freshly-made oolong tea, then went to bed.
Chapter 1C.
From the Privacy and Other Mirages Blog:
What is “meta-data” and why should I be concerned about protecting it?
Meta data is data about data. Context is another way of thinking of it. It is very important if you are concerned about privacy. Let’s look at some examples.
Think of your web browsing activities. Your full web actives would include every site you visit, what links you click, how long you dwell on each page, what information you fill in on forms, etc. But a distilled version of that would be your browsing meta-data, which might just be a list of which sites you visit. Meta data is much easier to collect (and is done today using third party tracking cookies--yuk!) and analyze (see Big Data!). But it can be easier to justify gathering this information, as it isn’t everything you do.
For phone calls in the old fashioned telephone network, or PSTN, law enforcement had two surveillance approaches; Firstly, the wiretap which records the contents of actual calls. This is time consuming to set up and requires time and effort to listen and transcribe. Secondly, the so called “pen tap” which gives law enforcement your telephone calling meta data--who you called and who called you and when and for how long. This information is already in telephone switches as call detail records, so getting it is easy. This data is easily mined for determining who knows who, and to track the possible flow of information. Again, this meta data is easier to get (in terms of effort, cost, and even court filings) but still provides lots of information.
You should be very, very concerned about the meta data that is being collected about you all the time. Unfortunately, obfuscating (hiding) meta-data is much more difficult than simply encrypting the contents of communication. But there are techniques which perhaps I should write about one day.
Truly privacy conscious Internet users are always thinking about reducing the amount of meta-data is generated about them.
Chapter 1D.
The next day was spent getting ready for the journey. The pickup location selected by the smuggler was an isolated beach on the east coast of the island near Taitung. Krishna suggested they drive in the daylight, then Mick and Gunter camp in the nearby dunes so they could easily make the 3am pickup. Mick had his sleeping bag and other basic camping gear, but Gunter had to buy his in a tiny camping store near the apartment. Krishna lent them a dome tent and a couple of sleeping mats.
Mick had been repeatedly checking the weather forecast. Krishna was right—a storm was headed towards the island, and the timing looked bad. Would the smuggler cancel or delay his trip due to the weather? He hoped not.
To kill time, they again walked around Tainan, all over the Anping district. They visited the Dutch Fort Zeelandia. Mick mused that a few of his Kiwi friends would be interested in this location.
The old British trading house showed how the port had remained an important place even after the Dutch withdrawal in 1662. Taiwan had always been a crossroads for trade in the region due to its proximity to China, Japan, and the rest of south-east Asia.
They arrived at the pickup location in the late afternoon after a scenic four-hour drive. Krishna dropped them off with their gear and said farewell. They thanked him profusely, but Krishna just grinned at them and wished them luck.
They walked as the sun set sun over the mountains. Mick carried most of the gear, as Gunter was neither an experienced backpacker nor in great physical form, but he made no complaints and managed to keep up.
They hiked for about an hour, and Mick tracked their progress on his GPS as they made their way towards the planned campsite not far from the beach. Krishna had said there was a small abandoned ham shack near the spot—perhaps used by smugglers in the past before satellite communications. They found the little shack and set up their tent nearby, unpacked, then repacked for their crossing with the smugglers. Mick noticed that there was no wireless coverage. He had considered purchasing a satellite phone for the trip, but decided against it to avoid attracting attention.
The Milky Way rose and spiraled in the night sky above them as the hours passed. They ate a freeze-dried meal and drank tea, then sat around poking the fire.
Mick dozed for a few hours before waking with a start. He pulled out his mobile to check the time.
What the?
He pressed the button a few more times, coming to the realization that it was dead.
“Hey, what time do you have?” he asked Gunter, who was also dozing.
“23ØØ,” he replied.
Mick thought over why his mobile was not running. He took it out again and noted that it felt slightly warm, despite the chill in the air. It hadn’t against his body, so it wasn’t body heat he was feeling.
The battery had drained! Why?
He concentrated to try to come up with a reason. Then, he recalled reading about a bug in the open-source phone application he used related to losing coverage. If no wireless access points are in range, mobile phones increase their power output to try to reach further, and periodically retry to see if any come into range. The bug caused the mobile to get stuck in a loop and keep transmitting on the highest setting, draining the battery in just a few hours.
Stupid!
Mick was angry at the software, but also angry at himself for not performing the latest update. He felt like he was getting sloppy these days. Sometimes he didn’t even change his passwords every week. Now, he was paying the price.
“Does your phone do mesh networks?” he asked hopefully.
“No, my phone is old school. If you have any of that GPS crap it can easily be used against you. I won’t even buy a phone with a camera. If I want a picture, I’ll use my old Leica. But you know all this.”
Mick did know—he was just hoping.
“The battery is dead on mine. How are we going to make wireless contact with the ship?” he asked.
“Can’t we use your computer? You have all kinds of radio software on it, right?”
“Normally, yes, but I wiped it already for our trip—just in case we get caught.” Mick replied, referring to his routine of removing all data and interesting software from his computer before crossing international borders to avoid searches, increasingly common for people in his previous line of work as a security consultant. Right now, his computer had the latest version of the most popular commercial operating system running on it—he wasn’t even sure if he could operate it as it was so awful and archaic.
“Can’t we power it from your computer battery?”
“No, I discharged it fully—it is something I do for safety during transit.
“It’s just a little power pack,” Gunter grumbled. Mick smiled to himself—he knew it wasn’t just a ‘little power pack’ and did need special handling. Also, when it was fully discharged, it gave few clues what it was, which also would invite less scrutiny in a search. It seemed like such a lo
ng time ago that Vince had given the super battery to him in New Mexico. “Why do you have to be persnickety all the time?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But what are we going to do now? I’m going to see what’s in the shack,” Mick called out as he sprinted away.
By flashlight, the shack seemed even more shabby than it did during daylight. The door was half open, and the roof afforded views of the sky, which was now rapidly clouding over.
There wasn’t much there, besides dust, dirt, and sand. On a shelf were some old capacitors and inductor components and some vacuum tubes, probably from a short wave transmitter. There were also a few ancient meters stacked in the corner. A couple of wide-mouthed glass jugs sat on the floor, surprisingly unbroken. The table had layers of wax from countless melted candles. A few random tools were scattered about and an old pair of gloves.
Damn, damn, damn.
He kept searching and found an old power supply. Of course, with no power at the shack, he couldn’t use it to charge his mobile. He needed a source of power. Just then, a flash of lightning in the distance illuminated the sky.
Is it possible?
Mick, walked out the door and looked up at the sky at the gathering storm. He did some mental math and was happy with the results.
But I still need one more thing.
He searched around on the ground outside the shack, widening his search radius from the building. He was about to give up when he spied what he was looking for half buried in the sand: a piece of pipe. He moved it and heard a clanking as it banged against another pipe. Mick smiled—this just might work!
“Gunter, get over here and give me a hand!”
Returning to Zero (Mick O'Malley Series Book 2) Page 11
