Red Tide

by William C. Dietz

  The Macau seaplane base was the nicest such facility Wride had ever docked at. And that made sense because the city was a magnet for the richest of the rich. Not to mention the creatures that fed off their leavings.

  So now, even as WWIII raged, Macau was awash in cash. And because the Chinese government shared in the profits, the city had been allowed to do business as usual.

  The Americans weren’t coming any more. Nor were the British, the French and half a dozen other nationalities. But wealthy individuals from Axis countries were quite visible, as were people from neutral states, some of which had subtle ties with China.

  Uniformed dock hands rushed to help Brody with the mooring lines, girls in short skirts arrived carrying trays of Champagne, and the dock master helped Brody complete the necessary paperwork.

  Once the formalities were complete Kelsey led the team up an aluminum ramp to the street above. Two distinctly different vehicles were waiting at the curb with lights flashing.

  One was a retro looking Hongqi L5 luxury sedan. The other was a Mercedes stretch limo. “This is where we part company,” Kelsey told them. “The Hongqi is for me. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  Chaney frowned. “I’ll come with you.”

  “You can’t,” Kelsey answered. “But thanks. Keep everybody sober just in case.”

  Then, afraid that she might cry, Kelsey turned to the Chinese car. A man in civilian clothes held a door open for her. An MSS agent? Of course.

  They sat opposite each other on the nearly six-foot-wide back seat. Neither of them said a word as the car made its way through the city’s streets.

  Rather than being blacked out as some European cities were, the lights were on. And at one point Kelsey caught a glimpse of the famous Grand Lisboa Hotel in the distance. It was shaped like an art deco lotus flower and, like the skyscrapers crowded around it, was lit to perfection.

  There had been long range bombing attacks against Macau. But damage had been minimal. And, unless that changed, Chinese authorities wanted to keep the city open for business. The lights were part of that.

  The hotel disappeared as the car turned and left the downtown area for a parish called Sao Lourenco. That’s where the Portuguese-era Macau Government building was located. And where, on previous occasions, Kelsey had been required to meet with an MSS “handler” named Wei Ching.

  To protect her identity from prying eyes in orbit, the Hongqi L5 entered an underground parking garage, which was considerably newer than the building above it. From there Kelsey was led up two flights of stairs to a highly polished hallway and a small conference room.

  A guard in plainclothes stood with his back to a wall. Ching was present. He stood and bowed. His English was perfect. “Good evening, Ms. Parker. Thank you for accepting our invitation. Please take a seat.”

  It was more of a command, rather than an “invitation.” But in keeping with the Chinese cultural tradition of “face,” his approach was intentionally respectful.

  “You’re welcome,” Kelsey said carefully. “What can I do for you?”

  Ching was thirty something, had a receding hairline, and was wearing a pair of rimless glasses. He looked more like an accountant than an intelligence agent.

  “We have seven suitcase-sized packages which need to be delivered to locations throughout southeast Asia,” Ching replied. “It’s our expectation that one of your ships will rendezvous with one of our ships—at which time your personnel will accept responsibility for the items in question—and make sure they are delivered.”

  Kelsey felt nauseous. What would the packages contain? Communications gear? Suitcase sized nukes? The Russians had detonated one such device in the European theatre.

  But if she could slow roll the delivery process, and the prison break was successful, maybe she could prevent the packages from reaching their destinations. She forced a smile. “We have a saying. ‘The devil is in the details.’ An assignment like that will involve some complicated logistics.”

  The better part of half an hour was spent discussing security, the difficulties involved in the initial transfer, and how deliveries would be made. All of which had to be memorized.

  It took all of Kelsey’s strength to focus, repeat the instructions Ching gave her, and maintain her composure.

  Finally, when the ordeal was over Ching stood. And Kelsey was about to do the same, when he gestured for her to stay. “I have a surprise for you,” Ching said. “A reward for good behavior.” And with that he gestured to the guard. “Bring her in.”

  The guard opened the door and Rong entered the room. Despite the lack of makeup, and her drab clothing, Rong was still beautiful. And the resemblance to her mother was striking. Rong’s eyes widened. “Kelsey … This is a surprise.”

  Kelsey got up and went over to hug her sister. The embrace felt stiff. “How are you?” Kelsey inquired, as they broke contact.

  “How the fuck do you think I am?” Rong demanded. “What’s the problem? When are you going to get me out of this shithole?”

  “I don’t know,” Kelsey replied honestly. “At the moment I’m focused on keeping you alive.”

  Kelsey thought she saw a subtle change of expression in her sister’s eyes. She was scared. As she should be. “How long will I be in prison?” Rong inquired anxiously.

  “Until they turn you loose,” Kelsey said. Part of her wanted to hint at the possibility that Rong would be freed soon. But Kelsey knew that would be a mistake while Ching and the plainclothes guard were present.

  “And meanwhile you’re going to parties and having a good time,” Rong said resentfully.

  “That’s right,” Kelsey replied wearily. “That’s all I do.”

  “Okay,” Ching said, as he turned to the guard. “Escort the prisoner out.”

  “I hate you!” Rong yelled, as she was hustled out of the room.

  Ching smiled apologetically. “I’m sure she didn’t mean that.”

  Kelsey knew Rong did mean that. But she smiled agreeably. “Of course not.”

  “Your escorts are waiting in the hall,” Ching said. “They will take you to your car.”

  Kelsey’s thoughts were whirling as she returned to the enormous car and took her place next to same man she’d ridden with before. Seeing Rong in person had been a shock. Not just because of what her half-sister had said. But because of what she hadn’t said. At no time had Rong inquired about her father. He was a given. A figure rather than a person. It would come as a shock to Rong when he died someday.

  Kelsey struggled to clear her mind. The night wasn’t over. Far from it. She had another meeting to attend. A meeting with Dragon Head Andrew Soo. How? Where? Kelsey had no idea. “Soo has people everywhere,” the go-between promised. “A person will contact you.”

  The fact that the driver took Kelsey to her hotel without asking where she was staying spoke volumes. Every move she made was being tracked by the MSS. The Chinese knew about her plane, they knew about her team, and they knew about her hotel.

  And, should Kelsey take a walk, she would be tracked by the country’s ubiquitous surveillance cameras. Cameras that fed images to facial recognition software that would produce her name in a matter of seconds. So, how did the triads not only survive, but thrive? Kelsey was about to find out.

  The car dropped her under the stylish portico that fronted the hotel. Kelsey made her way in, crossed the lobby to the reception desk, and identified herself. “Ah, Ms. Parker,” the receptionist said. “Ms. Chaney checked you in. Your bag is in your room. Here’s your keycard.”

  Kelsey thanked him, made her way over to a bank of gleaming elevators, and took the first available lift to the third floor. After walking the length of a long hall Kelsey stopped in front of her door, slipped the card into the reader, and saw a green light appear.

  The door opened smoothly. And there, sitting in a chair, was a young woman in a maid’s uniform. “Hi,” she said brightly. “My name is Mee-Mee. Mr. Soo sent me. Just so you know, this room is free o
f cameras and listening devices. Please change into the uniform that’s lying on the bed. A wig and a pair of glasses are waiting for you in the bathroom. And hurry … Mr. Soo will be cross if we’re late.”

  Kelsey took the dark blue uniform into the bathroom where she hurried to remove her street clothes and don the one-piece dress. It fit. The wig was black and the bangs were perfect. The fall of hair touched the top of Kelsey’s shoulders. And, in a city where most women had black hair, the “look” made sense.

  “Good,” Mee-Mee said as Kelsey emerged from the bathroom. “Let’s go. Help me with the cart.”

  The cart was loaded with linen, cleaning supplies, and the complimentary items that the hotel provided to guests. The sight of two maids push-pulling it down the hall wouldn’t attract the attention of hotel security or MSS personnel if they were watching.

  Mee-Mee led Kelsey to a service elevator. Once the cart was aboard Mee-Mee pushed the button for the first floor.

  The lift stopped on the second floor to let a real maid board. She looked from face-to-face and turned her back. Nothing had been said, nor did it need to be. The maid knew that Mee-Mee and Kelsey were imposters and was determined to ignore the fact.

  Maybe she knew who Mee-Mee was, or maybe she didn’t. Either way, ignorance was bliss.

  The doors opened onto the first floor. The maid hurried away while Mee-Mee pushed the cart out and into a line of identical conveyances that were lined up against a wall. Then she said, “Follow me.”

  Mee-Mee led Kelsey through a maze of hallways to a door labeled “Employee Entrance.” It opened onto a loading dock where three vans were unloading. Kelsey could see the security cameras and assumed that Mee-Mee could as well. “That’s our ride,” Mee-Mee said. “The one with a cartoon on the side.”

  The cartoon figure was that of a plumber, judging from his overalls and the humongous wrench clutched in his right hand. They entered through the back. Kelsey sat on one of the bench seats lining the walls and took a quick look around. There were no tools or fittings to be seen. A shuttle then. Used for moving people around.

  The doors slammed shut, the motor started, and the van pulled away. Mee-Mee was checking her phone. That left Kelsey free to think. The visit with her sister had left her shaken. Had Rong always been so mean? No. They’d never been close. The age gap had a lot to do with that. But there had been moments of girlish fun. Outings, pranks, and shared secrets.

  Then they’d gradually grown apart. And now, after only rare moments together, Kelsey barely recognized Rong. None of that was apparent to George Parker however. Rong could do no wrong. The pun caused Kelsey to smile.

  The van slowed, paused momentarily, and rolled down a slope. “We’re about to enter the 1917 Club,” Mee-Mee announced. “It caters to Russians. ChiCom apparatchiks (functionaries of the Chinese communist party) aren’t allowed. But Mr. Soo is welcome, as are his guests, so you’ll be safe.”

  Kelsey had never considered the Russian presence inside China before. But it made sense. As did some sort of Chinese presence in Russia. However, even though the two countries were allies, it was with the knowledge that they might be enemies in the future.

  The van stopped, someone opened the back doors, and Mee-Mee got out. Kelsey followed. They were in an underground parking garage. Overlapping pools of light led the way to retro elevators with scissor-style gates. A plaque with the number “1917” was mounted above them. “Why nineteen-seventeen?” Kelsey inquired.

  “Nineteen-seventeen was the year of the Russian revolution,” Mee-Mee replied, as they entered. “And that’s a big deal.” Kelsey was embarrassed. The date was a big deal and she should have known.

  The elevator rattled loudly as it took them up to the first floor where a security checkpoint was waiting. Both women had to pass through airport-style scanners prior to a pat down by a Russian woman who seemed to relish the process.

  Once cleared Kelsey found herself in what had been a hotel lobby but was now a nightclub. Art from the time of the Soviet revolution covered the walls.

  Among them were pictures of stylized tanks overcoming obstacles, images of Lenin’s jutting profile, paintings of peasants carrying flags, triumphant tractors looming over well-tilled farmland, and mobs of identical soldiers attacking unseen enemies.

  The art, combined with the linen covered tables, gleaming cutlery, and well-groomed patrons made for an elegant atmosphere. A singer crooned. Cigar smoke drifted. And Chinese girls in scanty uniforms waited on tables. “Over there,” Mee-Mee said. “Under the chandelier.”

  The table Mee-Mee referred to was large enough to seat six but was currently occupied by a single person. Mr. Soo? Yes. And as Kelsey neared the table, she was struck by how ordinary the Dragon Head looked. His hair was short and parted on the right. His glasses had black fames. And the nose they sat on was flat, as if broken by a fist many years earlier.

  Soo stood and extended a hand. “Ms. Parker … I’m Andrew Soo. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mutual,” Kelsey replied, as they shook hands.

  “Please,” Soo said. “Have a seat. How did the meeting with Mr. Ching go?”

  Kelsey sat down. “As well as it could. You are well informed.”

  Soo nodded agreeably. “I try. Two of Ching’s associates work parttime for me. That’s why I can help you.” Kelsey liked the no nonsense approach.

  A waitress arrived, took Kelsey’s order, and left. “So,” Kelsey said. “You understand the nature of the task. Tell me how you plan to handle it.”

  Soo nodded. “The Ministry of State Security is going to move your sister to an inland prison two weeks from now. It’s situated hundreds of miles from here, and beyond our reach. That’s the bad news. The good news is that the move offers us the perfect opportunity to strike.

  “My personnel will intercept the convoy, divide it into sections, and claim what is ours. We’ll transport your sister to the fishing village of Coloane. That’s where you’ll meet her. It’s well clear of Macau’s harbor defenses.”

  Kelsey frowned. “I was hoping you would be able to make the transfer at sea.”

  Soo shook his head. “We aren’t sailors, Ms. Parker. There are smugglers though … I could put you in touch with one of them.”

  Kelsey’s Mojito arrived along with three spring rolls. She took a sip. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. I’ll put something together. So, Mr. Soo … How much will this operation cost?”

  “Six million U.S.,” Soo replied. “With one million down, payable in bitcoin, which must be transferred within forty-eight hours. The balance to be paid within forty-eight hours of delivery.”

  Kelsey bit into a spring roll. It was delicious. “Four million. Five hundred down. The rest paid on delivery.”

  Soo shook his head. “No. Five million, one million down, with four on delivery. That’s my final offer.”

  Kelsey nodded. “Done. Let’s shake on it.” A great deal had been left unsaid. Including the fact that Soo would send assassins to kill the Parkers were they to renege on the deal.

  Soo’s hand was cool and firm. “Would you like to join me for dinner? The chef is very good.”

  Mee-Mee had been silent throughout. A testimonial to the trust Soo had in her. Kelsey made eye contact. “Is your last name Soo?”

  Mee-Mee nodded. “Mr. Soo is my father.”

  “Then the three of us will have dinner,” Kelsey said. “And I will pick up the tab.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Manado Harbor, Indonesia

  There were few lights to be seen as the Chinese missile boat, and the American PHM that was acting as its escort, entered Manado Bay. A government ordered blackout was in effect. But isolated rectangles of yellow were visible as were occasional headlights.

  A search light mounted on top of the wheelhouse came to life as the 22 neared the unlit warehouse and entered the darkness underneath it. That’s where the boats of Squadron 7 were moored. Camera lights came on and Ryson fou
nd himself at the center of a media circus.

  Seconds after the Type 22 made contact with the dock, Admiral Nathan came aboard followed by a gaggle of reporters and camera people. Ryson was standing on the main deck near the entrance to the bridge. Nathan grabbed his arm. “Here he is!” Nathan proclaimed. “This is Commander Max Ryson, the man who personally captured the warship you’re standing on!”

  “How did you do it?” a diminutive blond demanded, as she shoved a microphone into Ryson’s face. “I didn’t do it,” Ryson insisted. “Lieutenant Commander Moy and the crew of the Arcus did it.”

  “Did you hear that?” Nathan demanded. “The commander is not only brave, he’s modest! I spoke with Captain Moy … And according to him, Commander Ryson was armed with a shotgun when he jumped onto this ship and killed the man who tried to stop him! And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what we expect of our naval officers. Where are the prisoners? Let’s have a look at them!”

  That was just the beginning. The torture continued for the better part of an hour, as Nathan forced Ryson to describe the action from beginning to end. The admiral made no mention of the Sea Dragon however. And for that Ryson was grateful, since to do so would alert the Chinese to Squadron 7’s central mission, assuming they weren’t already aware.

  Finally, after the last crew went ashore, Nathan slapped him on the back. “Well done, old sod! It’s distasteful, I know that. But people all over the world are hungry for good news. And there’s nothing like a tale of derring-do to lift their spirits. Not to mention General Haskell’s.

  “Lieutenant Tyson can finish up here,” Nathan added. “Grab your kit and join me on the launch. I’ll buy you a drink on the Agger.”

  As the launch arrowed across the bay, Nathan kept the conversation light. It wasn’t until they were on the liner, and in Nathan’s cabin, that the talk turned serious. “Your boat action came just in time,” Nathan said, as he poured drinks.