38
Approaching Apo Island
November 2, 10:00 a.m. CST
I watched the weather reports throughout the day as Typhoon Kiko intensified.
When I wasn’t watching the live updates, I wandered about Red Dragon as we voyaged toward the Philippines. Restless, uneasy, I lingered for a time in the library, with its reading nooks and glass-doored bookcases, then took my lunch alone in my stateroom, again glued to the screen, doomscrolling news about deteriorating China-US relations. For an hour, joined by Lukas, I hung out with George in his lab as he examined the handful of specimens he’d collected during our journey and explained their significance.
Lukas was fascinated. But discussions of Abantennarius rosaceus and the recently discovered Hyalinothrix vitrispinum failed to engage me. Leaving Lukas and George to their discussion, I dropped in on Captain Peng on the bridge. Peng was gracious with my intrusion and shared stories about his childhood growing up in Beijing while we idly watched the live marine traffic on multiple displays. Colorful triangles crawled everywhere around the Philippines and Malaysia and swarmed the heavily trafficked port of Singapore. Orange fishing vessels. Red tankers. Green cargo ships. I recognized the name of one of the cargo ships Matthew used, the optimistically christened Kingmaker . He’d taken me on board once when the ship was making a delivery in the US. Kingmaker ’s size had astonished me, but the delays it had encountered on its journey made me realize how vulnerable our sea lanes are to storms and pirates, politics and disease.
I wished that with all this ship-related noise, George and Li-Mei could simply slip away. But the Chinese would be watching the same traffic on their screens. On the tracker, Red Dragon showed up as a purple triangle, indicating a pleasure craft, vibrant against the pale-blue background. Red Dragon ’s submersible would pop onto their sonar images the instant she launched.
All that could be done now was to watch and wait. Hope that the US Navy came through. That their lure pulled the Chinese away. That Kiko veered east.
Oblivious to my turmoil—or perhaps too kind to mention it—Peng chatted as we drank tea and reviewed the typhoon’s possible paths and our own potential responses. Peng pointed out pockets in Kiko’s path where we could shelter if need be, which port would be safest from the storm surge, and cheerfully described past storms he’d sailed through. He was a lively storyteller. But when his first officer came in to review charts, I became uncomfortable. The officer was a friendly man, amiable. But Connor had identified him as a likely plant with the Second Department.
When the officer lingered, I grabbed a pair of binoculars, bade Peng farewell, and went outside to walk the decks, shrugging into a sweatshirt as I strolled.
The afternoon was gray and blustery, the seas choppy. Everything on Red Dragon ’s decks had been covered up or battened down. The boat rode the swells so gracefully I hardly felt them, but other than one of Connor’s men stationed on the aft deck, I seemed to be alone. I was content with that, unafraid in my element. Storms at sea must be respected. But on a modern ship with modern equipment, they didn’t frighten me in the same way my fellow humans did. Storms followed the laws of physics.
Humans—at least some of them—followed only their own savage appetites.
I stepped into a sheltered niche and checked my phone. Typhoon Kiko was now on a northwestward path, a common initial trajectory for tropical cyclones in this part of the world.
It was too early to know which way she would turn.
I walked out to the railing and raised the binoculars, scanning for our Chinese escort. In the near distance, a cement carrier sailing under a Korean flag rode the waves. A tanker powered past.
Connor’s voice startled me. “I thought I might find you out here.”
I lowered the binoculars and turned.
“I just spoke with George,” Connor said. “Our friends are keeping an eye on Kiko. They’ve decided to delay their approach to the Spratlys by a few hours. See which way the wind blows, in a manner of speaking. They can make up the time.”
“Are we still on for tomorrow night?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And if the ruse doesn’t work? If the Chinese decide to hang out with us?”
Connor scratched along his jaw. “We go dark and run all the way to Australia.”
“I like that idea better than the original strategy.” I lightly fisted my hands on top of the rail. “You know, I haven’t yet asked the obvious question.”
“You want to know what happens to us after Mèng and his family escape.”
“Mind reader,” I said. He laughed and I scowled. “I’m serious. Your men. Lukas. The captain and crew. You and I. Won’t we all be considered culpable in Mèng’s escape?”
“We’ve stacked the deck in our favor in case the Chinese want to play rough. Diplomatic channels are open and ready to hum. The US Navy is in the area. A reconnaissance plane carrying a New York Times reporter is scheduled to do a flyover the day after George’s disappearance. It’s been in the works for months—the Times wants to verify Filipino claims about Chinese naval assaults, and the timing works for us. The most immediate intervention will be when Peng commits a minor maritime infraction that requires the Philippine authorities to escort Red Dragon to a safe location while our governments sort it out.”
I gripped my hands together, watched the knuckles turn white. “How do you feel about armed backup?”
He laughed. “You mean in addition to our navy?”
“I mean someone whom the Chinese want to keep happy for economic reasons.” I swept the horizon with my hand. “Somewhere just out of sight is Kingmaker , a cargo ship leased by Matthew Hoffman’s company and crewed by his own men. The crew is armed and probably willing to show up and just be a presence. But more importantly, because of his trading ventures, Matthew has a direct line to some of the most important people in the CCP.”
I had Connor’s full attention. “What are you suggesting?”
“Get me a secure line. Let me call Matthew and ask him to be on standby in case we need extra help. I don’t want to spend the next ten years of my life in a Chinese prison. I don’t want that for the crew, either.”
I watched emotions come and go across Connor’s bearded face. But after a few minutes, he shook his head. “Involving Matthew, and especially Kingmaker , is a legal and ethical quagmire. We can’t risk it. We need to go through established channels.”
“What if I, as an individual, ask another individual to help a friend?”
“Don’t do it, Nadia. We can’t manage or monitor your friend. It’s too easy for unintended consequences to complicate things. Swear to me you won’t reach out.”
“I—”
“Swear.”
“Son of a bitch.” I frowned at him. “I swear. But I would have felt better having Matthew close by.”
We stood in silence, watching the water sprout whitecaps as the sky lowered. A light rain fell.
Connor said, “Most people I know would be hunkered down inside. But you seem happy out here.”
“Happy is a stretch. But less worried. Or sad.”
The wind raised its voice to a howl, flapping Red Dragon ’s flags and spraying us with mist. In the next instant, the gale softened. Connor and I leaned into the railing.
“I grew up in San Diego,” he said. “When I was a kid, I built a Sunfish. Took it out almost every day.”
“I had a Sunfish as well,” I said, memories flooding. “My dad helped me build it.”
“They’re amazing little boats, aren’t they? After I started sailing, I began to fantasize about getting out on a real boat—something of my own. And here I am.”
“On another man’s yacht.”
“The best in all the world. Custom built by Ocean House. It was fun while it lasted.” Lightly, he touched my arm. “Dinner and sleep. Tomorrow, we arrive at Apo Island.”