The Rising Sea

26

Paul stood on the ferry’s top deck, staring at the Shanghai skyline. It was a beautiful city. A modern metropolis, with glittering buildings, high-speed trains and multilane highways. Paul looked forward to exploring it… if they ever got there.

“Any idea what’s causing the holdup?” Gamay asked.

They were a mile from the dock, sitting idly in the harbor, as containership after containership passed them in both directions. A pilot had come on board two hours ago, but the ferry had yet to move.

“No,” Paul said. “The engines are still running. I haven’t seen any maintenance crews moving about. Maybe we just have to wait our turn. Shanghai is the busiest port in the world, you know.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “But I’m getting the sense this isn’t a normal event.”

Paul had to agree. The crowded deck was rife with murmuring and hushed conversations, most prominently among the Chinese passengers who were going home. The Japanese businessmen and the foreign tourists seemed less concerned.

When a patrol boat began moving toward them, every eye on deck focused on it. The lethal-looking vessel was painted battleship gray, armed with multiple guns and missile racks. It flew a military flag.

“Something tells me it’s not the Port Authority,” Gamay said. “What do you say we go back inside and get something to eat?”

“Great idea,” Paul said. “I think I left something in the cabin anyway.”

Shouldering their backpacks, they moved against the general direction of the crowd and made their way inside and down the stairs. Reaching their deck, they continued down the hall.

As they neared their cabin, an announcement came over the intercom. First in Chinese, then Japanese, then English. “All passengers return to your cabins. Have your passports and belongings ready for inspection.”

“That proves it to me,” Paul said. “We need to hide. Or get off this ship.”

Paul unlocked the cabin door and ducked inside.

Gamay followed, shutting the door behind her. “Not sure our cabin is the best place to lay low.”

“We’re here only for the moment,” he said, moving to the window and looking down at the sea. “We’re in luck. The patrol boat docked on the other side of the ferry. Get out the transmission cable and tie it securely to something.”

“Are we swimming for it?” Gamay asked.

“Only as a last resort,” Paul said. “Let’s move quickly. We don’t have a lot of time.”

On a lower deck, the captain of the ferry stood nervously by the main hatch. He watched as the gangway swung toward the patrol boat and locked in place. Twenty armed soldiers came across, followed by several officers and a man in civilian clothes.

The reasons for the stop had not been given and the captain knew better than to ask. He held tight to the knowledge that he’d done everything they had ordered him to do and that, as far as he knew, there was no contraband on his ship.

Behind the soldiers and their officers was the older man in civilian clothes — a rumpled suit that looked more comfortable than stylish. The man came across the gangway slowly, clutching the rail for balance. As he stepped onto the ferry, the officers and men stood at attention.

“My name is Wen Li,” the older man said to the captain. “Do you know who I am?”

The captain grew more nervous now than before. Party officials did not visit old ferries in the harbor — not without good reason. He remained at attention as if he were a cadet on his first patrol. Sweat trickled through his hair. “It’s an honor to have you aboard, Minister. I’m at your service. What can I do for the Party today?”

Wen offered a kindly smile. “You may relax, Captain. I require only that you keep the ship secure until my men speak with two of your passengers.”

From inside his jacket pocket, Wen produced a folded sheet of paper and handed it to the captain. On it were two names — odd-sounding names to the captain — either European or American.

The captain called for the purser. In a moment, they had the cabin number. “I’ll take you there myself,” the captain insisted.

They went up three decks and then walked aft along the main hall. Passengers stood and gawked and then moved out of the captain’s way as he came toward them with the armed soldiers close behind.

A glance back told the captain only a third of the troop was following. He suspected others had been dispersed around the ship to block possible avenues of escape.

Moving quickly, the captain checked the numbers on each door, stopping one door from the cabin they were looking for. “It’s that one,” he said, pointing and stepping aside.

Wen nodded and motioned to one of the officers. The soldiers moved past them. Weapons were drawn, batons readied. One man stood back and then lunged forward. His swift kick hit the door right beside the handle. The door flew open, the flimsy lock coming apart in the effort. Two soldiers rushed in with their batons.

No combat ensued, no shouts of desperation or demands for submission. Just chatter between the soldiers. The tiny bathroom and small closet took only seconds to check.

One of the soldiers emerged. “Cabin secure,” he said. “They’re not here.”

Wen stepped through the door and the ferry’s captain followed him. He found the cabin in great disorder. Furniture had been tossed about, clothing and boots lay near two hastily discarded packs, the contents of which seemed to have been rummaged through and dumped.

A thin black cable had been tied around the bed frame. It crossed the far side of the cabin, stretching toward the window and vanishing beneath a gauzy curtain that wafted in the gentle breeze.

Wen put his hand on the cable and followed it. Pulling the curtain aside, he discovered that the inner window frame had been bent back and forced open.

The captain studied the damage. “The windows only open eight inches.”

“Obviously, that was not enough,” Wen said.

The captain looked outside. The cable hung straight down the side of the ship, where it vanished into the dark water of the harbor. It was evident what had occurred.

“They’re in the water,” Wen told the officers. “Get the boats out to search for them. Immediately!”

“It’s a mile to shore,” one of the officers replied. “The current is strong and the water is like ice this time of year. Surely, they’ll drown if they try to swim for it.”

Wen shook his head. “These Americans are part of NUMA. They’re trained divers and strong swimmers. They may have equipment: compact rebreathers or oxygen bottles. Do not underestimate them. I want police patrols along the shore and every boat you can requisition involved in the search.”

As the captain watched, the officer put a radio to his mouth and made the call. In the meantime, Wen took one more look around the cabin, made a brief search of the backpacks — and then left without another word.

The soldiers followed him out and the captain was left in the stateroom alone.

He glanced out the window again. There was no sign of anyone swimming, but the patrol boat could be heard coming around from the far side of the ferry.

American agents. Trained divers. High-ranking officials from the Party boarding his ship.

It was more excitement than he’d seen in years. For a moment, he wondered exactly what was going on, but, after thinking twice, he realized it was better if he didn’t know.