Blackbird, Chapter 5

The dead come back to life.

New artwork this week!

Also, I had a friend stop by and watch me write this!

wyattwerneauthor

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You can go back to earlier chapters, here: https://wyattwerne.substack.com/s/blackbird

Synopsis:

When China steals advanced artificial intelligence microchips from an unknown source and uses them to attack the USS Enterprise, Ty Stone and his partner Alexis Kane are called to find its vulnerabilities before China capitalizes on its new first-strike capability.

To defeat this new technology, Stone and Kane need to find the lab making it. But whose technology is it? No known lab can print semiconductors this detailed. Stone and Kane must hunt the globe under the ticking time bomb of war.

Fuzhou’s steely bow and forward guns towered over Captain Yi, demanding he decide quickly. His wife and daughter returned an innocent smile from the phone in his left hand. Shi snapped the photo days ago, from their living room couch selfie-style, and pasted a hurry-up-come-home-soon heart sticker on it. His daughter Jing held the panda bear she’d slept with since she was six, grinning ear-to-ear. She turned thirteen in a few months, and her new pink glasses and matching t-shirt announced she’d soon trade the panda for a boy.

At her age, he earned scowls from his mother for slinking from the house. The tanks and guns outside fascinated him. He thought he’d given up tiptoeing and evading. He’d played by the PLA Navy rules. But the wheel of life had returned him here. Some habits and thoughts were simply too deep for the PLA to uproot and kill.

Something plopped nearby. His spine tensed, but all he saw were ripples rolling away from the concrete pier.

He shivered and his stomach sank. Jing was born two weeks earlier than the doctor expected. She walked early, and talked early. Her first word was no, and her first instinct was to show her independence, emphatically ejecting toys and food from her highchair. She was ahead a grade in school and wanted to be first a fighter pilot, and then an astronaut. She was a good kid. Precocious, stubborn, and smart like her mother and grandmother. Jing meant ‘peace and quiet,’ and was his mother’s name. But names were simply what parents wished for their kids. Life had other plans. Until today, he’d thought living by the rules would guarantee her a peaceful, quiet life.

He shook his head. The name hadn’t worked for his mother, either.

He stared at Fuzhou’s white-on-gray numbers. Weak, muddy waves splashed its hull. Standing here wasted time, but he needed a few seconds to stop shaking and breathe so he could think. He’d killed people in the Navy, but always from a distance, pushing buttons or barking orders to fire missiles, never seeing the burned faces and broken bodies except from a satellite image like a high-stakes video game. He could still see Chao’s tears as he strangled her. A part of his brain repeated that it had been his family or her, like a mantra, to soothe his nerves.

Metal clicked at the pier entrance. The gate was two hundred meters away and hidden by a white concrete building, so he couldn’t see who was coming.

He needed to move. He couldn’t be sure how long it would take to find Chao’s body. As soon as it was, encrypted messages would be sent. Ministry of State Security teams would be activated. Shi and Jing would be picked up, if they weren’t already, where they would be bound and gagged and held for ransom.

MSS agents would demand his surrender, along with China’s only copy of Blackbird, now in his right hand. He clutched the green briefcase like one of those balls the nurse had him squeeze when he gave blood. So tight, someone would have to rip his arm off to steal it. He didn’t doubt that if one of the MSS teams were eyeing him through a high-powered rifle scope right now, they’d blow his arm off to get Blackbird, then fish it from the bay and leave him for the bottom feeders.

Fuzhou’s boarding gangway was seventy-five meters down the dock. Seventy-five steps, each more treacherous than the next. He turned to march towards it before whoever was strolling towards him could catch a glimpse.

How much could he get for Blackbird? A billion U.S. dollars? Or more? Could he get one US dollar for each of Blackbird’s trillion transistors? More valuable than Blackbird, maybe, was Chao’s phone in his pocket. He had China’s last copy, but she’d known where they stole it from. Chao was cavalier with Blackbird. She thought she was protected by her father, the general, and the PLA. Maybe she’d been cavalier with the source of Blackbird, too.

He inhaled and shook his head, his pulse racing ahead of his steps. He knew nothing about foreign bank accounts, cryptocurrency, or however money was laundered. Money was a means to an end. He wanted his wife, his daughter, and safety. A hostage for a hostage. A trillion tiny hostages in a briefcase for the safety of his family seemed more than a fair barter.

A shadow on the silty water inched along the pier. Tall, familiar, but slightly slouched and limping.

Fuzhou’s ardent guns asked him what choices he had? By the time he arrived in Potou, Chao’s body would be discovered. He might die, his family might be killed, but the minute Chao boarded Fuzhou with Blackbird, she’d sacrificed him and his family to the PLA gods of war. Before her re-education, his mother said, people can’t be controlled, they can only submit. His mother submitted to political reform, although she never talked about it. He submitted his entire career, and it led him here.

He smiled one last time at Jing and Shi, then turned his phone over. Did he need to disable it and toss it in the water? Removing the sim card was a two-hand operation and he could not let go of the green briefcase in his hand. He took a slow, ragged breath, then eyed the communications masts atop Fuzhou as he walked by. He’d need to have them disabled.

The hunched silhouette sped up and now slid along Fuzhou’s waterline. Step-limp-step-limp-step-limp. Each footfall made Yi wince as if his own knees and ankles ached. He dared not turn to identify the figure. None of his crew had been injured, as far as he knew, and he saw something sinister along the darkened jawline, something scraggly he recognized. He quickened his step.

What would he say to his Executive Officer, Ding Heng? He could lie to the conscripts, the petty officers, and even some of the senior officers, if they were aboard. His crew was accustomed to carrying out orders without asking questions. But he needed someone to run the ship while he slept, someone to trust. No captain could stay awake forever.

The sun disappeared behind clouds, and with it, the crooked, limping shadow. He only had thirty more steps to Fuzhou’s gangway.

Where were Heng’s loyalties? It was said that to serve with a person aboard a boat was to know them, but not in the PLA Navy. Until this point, Lieutenant Commander Heng was loyal to his career, which meant honing his ability to decipher what the political commissar’s true opinion was, and nodding ferociously when Chao voiced it.

Former Lieutenant Commander Heng. A speech began to take shape as he reached the gangway. He paused, looking up the metal ramp into the belly of Fuzhou. There were no guards today, and why should there be?

The muzzle of the shadow’s gun dug into his kidney at the same time Yi took the handrail. Gripping the pistol, a bloody arm, a tattered uniform, and the angry, bruised face and sooty, scraggly beard of Salman, the leader of the Islamists they’d been training.

“You betrayed us.” Salman’s breath, or beard, smelled like burnt oil, seawater, and cheap tobacco. His yellow teeth sickened Yi.

Sarcasm welled in Yi’s chest. What did he expect from Chao and the PLA? Yi looked up the gangway to Fuzhou and pinched his sarcasm. Somehow, miraculously, Salman survived whatever hell the U.S. Navy had unleashed on the fishing trawler.

His mind germinated an idea. “Chao betrayed us both.”

“My crew is dead because of you.”

Yi felt that was an oddly hypocritical complaint from a religious nut bent on suicide for his god. “Put your pistol away. We have little time.”

“I want Chao. Where is she?”

Yi started up the ramp. “She is in her office, at the end of the dock. Come, quickly. The MSS will be here soon.”

Salman’s shadow raised the pistol to the back of Yi’s head. “Take me to her.”

From five steps, Salman could not miss. Yi shook his head, but kept walking. Salman was fanatical, and greedy, but not stupid. “Chao is dead. When the MSS discovers her body, they will blame you and I. We must go.”

“Why would they blame us?”

“Because you’re not dead, and we’ve been seen together.”

Salman’s silhouette swiveled, his head in profile as he eyed the pier entrance. When Yi was three quarters of the way up Fuzhou’s gangway, Salman’s shadow lowered his pistol, gripped the rail, and hobbled up the ramp. Yi stepped aboard and saluted the flag hanging on the wall. He felt hypocritical and decided he would take it down as soon as he could. He was the captain, this was his ship, and it had no flag now.

As Salman stepped aboard, Yi said, “Push away the gangway and close the hatch. Then find a petty officer on the main deck and help cast off.” The thought of Salman stumbling around and dirtying his ship made him ill.

“Where are we—”

“No time for questions. Once we are underway, we will get you medical attention.”

The idea of medical attention softened Salman’s face. His khaki uniform was frayed and bloody where he’d been hit with shrapnel, and his face couldn’t hide the pain of walking on an aching knee and ankle. But the plan taking root in Yi’s head required Salman to be alive. At least until he rescued his family.

Yi picked up the ship’s phone and ordered the crew to general quarters. Battlestations. That would get the crew’s attention and squelch questions, for now. He didn’t know who was aboard, but the fewer, the better.

Behind Yi, metal creaked as Salman shoved the gangway and closed the hatch. Yi clanged up metal stairs to the bridge. Empty, except for a junior petty officer he didn’t recognize standing at the helm and swiping through display screens.

Where was Lieutenant Heng?

The petty officer noticed Yi and snapped to attention. “Officer on Deck.”

“Petty Officer—” Yi paused, because he didn’t know this man and had to read his nametag. He also needed to be cautious with his words. “Petty Officer Wang, who is the officer on watch?”

“You are sir.”

Yi shook his head. Wang was trained well by drill instructors that posed trick questions. “Before me.”

Petty Officer Wang hesitated a fraction of a second. Yi took this to mean that Wang didn’t know, and was waiting for Yi to give him a hint.

“Where is Lieutenant Heng?”

“In his quarters, sir. Packing, I believe.”

Heng had been reassigned, but usually there was a transition period until new officers arrived to take over the ship. He tried not to let a smile creep across his face. No one had been left in charge. He wouldn’t have to kill anyone else to get Fuzhou out of port. Relief washed over him.

“General Chao ordered Lieutenant Heng’s transfer belayed. Our orders are urgent. I want this ship out of port yesterday.”

Wang saluted. Yi pivoted to find Heng. What would he say? Would he tell Heng the truth?

Five steps from Heng’s cabin, Chao’s phone rang from his pocket. Yi eyed the name on the screen and his heart skipped. He debated whether to pick it up.

He declined.

Heng’s cabin door was open and his cabin a mess, as if a tornado had ripped through. Two open boxes on the bed awaited belongings and clothes piled on the floor. Heng was at the center of the storm, hunched over, sitting cross-legged. His eyes were red and puffy. Crying was unbecoming an officer, but understandable, and until now he’d been alone.

Chao’s phone rang again. Heng looked up and moved to stand, but Yi waved for him to sit.

Yi answered the phone to a deep, gruff voice saying, “I am going to cut your ear off and feed it to you, you know that?”

Yi smiled at Heng. “General Chao. Nice to hear from you.”

Steel creaked and moaned. Fuzhou was leaving port.

“Be nice to the security team when they board. Maybe they will kill you quickly.”

“Salman is alive, did you know that General Chao?”

Chao didn’t respond. Yi heard breathing and clicking at the other end of the phone. Heng’s eyes widened, then he moved a pile of clothes and rose.

“Did you hear me, General Chao, Salman is alive.”

“I am not surprised the Americans fucked that up. This bodes well for our invasion plans. He’ll be dead before he talks.”

“Do you have my family, Shi and Jing?”

“Do you want me to lie to you and tell you they will be safe? Surrender, and they will die painlessly. The guards, I am told, have been asking about Jing—”

Yi cut him off before Chao’s description of guards violating his thirteen-year-old daughter defiled his brain. “Do you have Lieutenant Heng’s family, too?”

Heng’s red, puffy face now gazed at Yi expectantly. Yi read the answer in Heng’s eyes, that Heng’s family was under the same quarantine, but wanted to hear Chao say it.

“He is no longer Lieutenant Heng—”

Yi interrupted because he knew it would anger General Chao. “Assemble them at South Port, on Naozhou Island, within two hours. Set up a live feed so that we are assured that they are unharmed. Prepare a rigid inflatable boat. We will arrive in eighteen hours. Once there, I will send further instructions.”

Yi calculated the trip would take ten hours, seven of which were during daylight. They would hug the coast so beachgoers could witness whatever drama General Chao and his security team created. He said eighteen hours, but they would track Fuzhou by satellite and would know he arrived in ten. They’d wonder what he planned for the other eight hours.

In his mind, the silence on the other end of the phone changed qualities. First, General Chao was indignant that Yi made demands. Then Chao asked himself, who is Yi to make demands? He had no leverage, he imagined Chao telling himself. Next, Chao’s spine would tense, and his stomach churn.

“And why would I do that?” The question came haltingly, because General Chao thought he guessed the answer.

“Your daughter was careless. When I die, it goes to the Americans.”

Yi hung up. It was human nature to fear the unknown more than the known. The known could be described, reduced, disassembled, and analyzed for weaknesses. The known could be defeated, while the unknown was the all-powerful god in the darkness. With its full definition ethereal, there was no way to know how to attack it. Right now, General Chao was wrestling with the unknown: Did Yi have Blackbird? Had his daughter left Blackbird’s source on her phone? What did Yi know, and who in the American Navy had he contacted? How much time did he have?

Heng fixated on Yi’s briefcase. “Is that—?”

“Are you in or out?”

Heng studied his gray cabin wall for a few minutes, then exhaled. “Do you really think I will see my family?”

“No guarantees, except that every second I hold this briefcase, we keep them alive.”

Heng nodded. “What will we tell the crew?”

“Salman. Our cover story.”

Heng’s eyes looked at the ceiling, as if he could see Salman through the steel. “Some won’t believe it.”

“It doesn’t matter, so long as they follow orders.”

Heng nodded. “That they will do.”

“How many aboard?”

“Most of the crew was given shore leave. Two officers, you and I, four petty officers, and twenty one enlisted. Mostly maintenance crew.”

Maintenance crew wouldn’t ask questions, they’d be too busy riveting and drilling. “Good. We need to take all communications offline.”

“What about a place to stash—” Heng glared at the briefcase. “That.”

Yi would eventually tire of holding the briefcase. Later, he would need to eat and sleep. If he held it long enough, would his hand grow around the handle, like a tree grew around an obstacle? He’d seen images of trees that had grown around all sorts of things—golf balls, bicycles, tombstones, even old rifles.

Yi shook his head. “I will hold on to this, for now.”

He stared at his white knuckles clutching the green briefcase. He looked like a skeleton, clinging to hope of an afterlife. For the first time since he could remember, he was operating outside the PLA’s five and ten-year plans for him. On instinct. It took his own imminent death to feel alive. What would he do with Blackbird? And Chao’s phone?

He had less than ten hours to decide and only knew what he wouldn’t do.

He wouldn’t give it back to General Chao and the PLA.