Clive Cussler and Graham Brown
THE RISING SEA
A Novel from the NUMA® Files
Odessa Sea (with Dirk Cussler)
Havana Storm (with Dirk Cussler)
Poseidon’s Arrow (with Dirk Cussler)
Crescent Dawn (with Dirk Cussler)
Arctic Drift (with Dirk Cussler)
Treasure of Khan (with Dirk Cussler)
Black Wind (with Dirk Cussler)
Trojan Odyssey
Valhalla Rising
Atlantis Found
Flood Tide
Shock Wave
Inca Gold
Sahara
Dragon
Treasure
Cyclops
Deep Six
Pacific Vortex!
Night Probe!
Vixen 03
Raise the Titanic!
Iceberg
The Mediterranean Caper
The Romanov Ransom (with Robin Burcell)
Pirate (with Robin Burcell)
The Solomon Curse (with Russell Blake)
The Eye of Heaven (with Russell Blake)
The Mayan Secrets (with Thomas Perry)
The Tombs (with Thomas Perry)
The Kingdom (with Grant Blackwood)
Lost Empire (with Grant Blackwood)
Spartan Gold (with Grant Blackwood)
The Cutthroat (with Justin Scott)
The Gangster (with Justin Scott)
The Assassin (with Justin Scott)
The Bootlegger (with Justin Scott)
The Striker (with Justin Scott)
The Thief (with Justin Scott)
The Race (with Justin Scott)
The Spy (with Justin Scott)
The Wrecker (with Justin Scott)
The Chase
The Rising Sea (with Graham Brown)
Nighthawk (with Graham Brown)
The Pharaoh’s Secret (with Graham Brown)
Ghost Ship (with Graham Brown)
Zero Hour (with Graham Brown)
The Storm (with Graham Brown)
Devil’s Gate (with Graham Brown)
Medusa (with Paul Kemprecos)
The Navigator (with Paul Kemprecos)
Polar Shift (with Paul Kemprecos)
Lost City (with Paul Kemprecos)
White Death (with Paul Kemprecos)
Fire Ice (with Paul Kemprecos)
Blue Gold (with Paul Kemprecos)
Serpent (with Paul Kemprecos)
The Adventures of Vin Fiz
The Adventures of Hotsy Totsy
Typhoon Fury (with Boyd Morrison)
The Emperor’s Revenge (with Boyd Morrison)
Piranha (with Boyd Morrison)
Mirage (with Jack Du Brul)
The Jungle (with Jack Du Brul)
The Silent Sea (with Jack Du Brul)
Corsair (with Jack Du Brul)
Plague Ship (with Jack Du Brul)
Skeleton Coast (with Jack Du Brul)
Dark Watch (with Jack Du Brul)
Sacred Stone (with Craig Dirgo)
Golden Buddha (with Craig Dirgo)
Built for Adventure: The Classic Automobiles of Clive Cussler and Dirk Pitt
The Sea Hunters (with Craig Dirgo)
The Sea Hunters II (with Craig Dirgo)
Clive Cussler and Dirk Pitt Revealed (with Craig Dirgo)
UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia
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Michael Joseph is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in the United States by G. P. Putnam’s Sons 2018
First published in Great Britain by Michael Joseph 2018
Copyright © 2018 by Sandecker, RLLLP
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover artwork © Mike Heath
ISBN: 978-1-405-93072-7
Yoshiro Shimezu — Samurai warrior, engaged in rebellion against the Shogun.
Kasimoto — Shogun, feudal lord controlling much of central Japan.
Goro Masamune — Japan’s greatest swordsmith, crafted the Honjo Masamune, considered the finest Japanese sword ever created.
Sengo Muramasa — Alleged to be Masamune’s apprentice, second-greatest swordsmith of historical era, crafted the Crimson Blade.
Wen Li — Powerful, shadowy figure in the Chinese government and Communist Party, shrewd strategist also known as the Lao-shi or learned Master.
Walter Han — Half Japanese, half Chinese, wealthy industrialist, sometimes proxy for Wen Li.
Mr. Gao — Han’s chief engineer, robotics and computer expert.
General Zhang — Important member of the Chinese secret service, head of the Ministry for State Security.
Rudi Gunn — Assistant Director of NUMA, graduate of the Naval Academy.
James Sandecker — Former head of NUMA, now the Vice President of the United States.
Kurt Austin — Head of NUMA’s Special Projects division, world-class diver and salvage expert, once worked for the CIA.
Joe Zavala — Kurt’s right-hand man, expert in design and construction of engines and vehicles, also an accomplished helicopter pilot and amateur boxer.
Paul Trout — NUMA’s lead geologist, also tallest member of the Special Projects team at six foot eight, married to Gamay.
Gamay Trout — Marine biologist, married to Paul, Gamay is a fitness aficionado, an accomplished diver.
Priya Kashmir — Multidisciplinary expert, was supposed to join a NUMA field team before a car accident left her unable to walk, assigned to the Rising Seas Project.
Robert Henley — NUMA geologist, assigned to the Rising Seas Project in Paul’s absence.
Kenzo Fujihara — Reclusive scientist, and former geologist, now leader of an antitechnologist sect, developed method for detecting Z-waves.
Akiko — Sergeant at arms for Kenzo, formerly connected to the underworld, acts as his protector.
Ogata — Member of Kenzo’s antitechnology sect.
Superintendent Nagano — High-ranking member of the Japanese Federal Police, assigned to the Fujihara case, expert on the Yakuza and organized crime.
Ushi-Oni — Former Yakuza assassin, now a rogue force, also known as the Demon, distant relative and sometime associate of Walter Han.
Hideki Kashimora — Yakuza underboss in charge of the Sento, an illegal gambling establishment and fight club on the outskirts of Tokyo.
The thunder of charging horses gave way to the clang of swords as two armies met on a field in the highlands of Japan.
From the saddle of his horse, Yoshiro Shimezu fought with a combination of power and grace. He whirled and slashed, maneuvering his steed with precision, all without hakusha, or spurs. The samurai did not use them.
Clad in brightly painted armor, Yoshiro sported wide shoulder boards, heavy gauntlets and a helmet adorned with stag horns. He wielded a gleaming katana that caught every bit of the light as it cut through the air.
With a flick of the wrist, he disarmed his nearest adversary. A backhanded cut followed, snapping another opponent’s sword in two. As that soldier fled, a third foe lunged at Yoshiro with a pike. The tip struck his ribs, but his scaled armor that lay in pleats prevented mortal damage. Yoshiro wheeled around and killed the man with a downward hack.
Free for a second, he turned his horse in a tight pirouette. The horse, dressed in armor to match Yoshiro’s, reared up, kicking with its front legs and then leaping forward.
Its iron-clad hooves smashed a pair of attackers in the face, sending them bloodied and battered to the ground. It came down on a third man, crushing him, but enemy soldiers were now massing on all sides.
Yoshiro turned one way and back again. He’d taken the field against the Shogun, who arrived with overwhelming numbers. The battle had gone predictably and Yoshiro was facing the end.
Determined to take as many foes with him as possible, Yoshiro charged the closest group, but they pulled back in a defensive formation, raising shields and long pikes. He turned and galloped toward another formation of troops, but they, too, held their ground, cowering behind a forest of spears.
Perhaps they meant to capture him. Perhaps the Shogun would demand he commit seppuku in front of the court. Such an end Yoshiro would not accept.
He urged his horse one way and then the other. But with each move, the foot soldiers drew back. Yoshiro pulled up. He had no wish to see his steed uselessly killed. It was a beautiful animal and his only advantage.
“Fight me!” he demanded, turning from quarter to quarter. “Fight me if you have any honor!”
A primal grunt caught his attention. A spear was hurled his way. With superb reflexes, Yoshiro parried the incoming missile, slicing through the wooden shaft with his sword, both deflecting and dividing it. The weapon fell harmlessly in two pieces.
“Do not attack!” a voice shouted from behind the mass of troops. “His head belongs to me.”
The soldiers straightened at the sound of the command and one section of the circle opened, allowing the rider to enter.
Yoshiro recognized the silk draping of the horse, the golden breastplates of the armor and the winged helmet. The Shogun had come to fight at last.
“Kasimoto!” Yoshiro called out. “I did not think you’d have the courage to cross swords with me in person.”
“I would not allow any other to vanquish a traitor,” Kasimoto said, drawing a sword of his own, a katana like Yoshiro’s, though it was a darker weapon with a thicker blade. “You swore allegiance to me as feudal lord. You are in rebellion.”
“And you swore to protect the people, not murder them and steal their land.”
“My authority is absolute,” the Shogun bellowed. “Over them and over you. I cannot steal what is already mine. But if you beg for it, I will be merciful.”
The Shogun whistled and a small group of prisoners were brought out. Children. Two boys and two girls. They were forced to kneel while servants of the Shogun stood behind them with daggers.
“I have more than a thousand captives,” the Shogun said. “And with your rabble defeated, nothing stands between me and the village. If you surrender now and take your own life, I will kill only half the prisoners and leave the village standing. But if you fight me, I will slaughter them to the last man, woman or child and I’ll burn the village to ash.”
Yoshiro had known it would come to this. But he also knew that many in the Shogun’s ranks had grown weary of the brutality, expecting it to land on them sooner or later. That gave him one flicker of hope. If he could kill the Shogun here and now, wiser minds might prevail. At long last, there might be peace.
Yoshiro considered his chances. The Shogun was a cunning warrior, strong and possessing great expertise, but he and his horse were unmarked by blood, sweat or soil. It had been a long time since the Shogun fought for his life.
“What answer do you give?”
Yoshiro kicked his horse in the side and charged, raising his gleaming sword above his head.
The Shogun reacted slowly but deflected the attack at the last moment and urged his animal forward, passing Yoshiro on the left.
The warriors swapped sides, turned and charged once again. This time, the armored animals collided at the center of the circle. Both horses buckled from the impact. Their riders were thrown to the ground.
Yoshiro sprang up first, attacking with a deadly thrust.
Kasimoto parried the assault and jumped to the side, but Yoshiro spun and slashed downward.
With each clash of the swords, sparks flew from the blades. The Shogun regained his form and an uppercut from him tore Yoshiro’s helmet off, opening a gash on his cheek. A return strike from Yoshiro took off one of Kasimoto’s shoulder boards.
Angered and in pain, the Shogun came on furiously, slashing, feinting and hacking, using a deadly combination.
Yoshiro reeled from the attack, nearly losing his balance. The Shogun went for his throat with a cut that should have separated head from body, but with a desperate flick of the hands, Yoshiro deflected the strike with the flat side of his sword.
The impact should have broken his weapon into useless pieces, but Yoshiro’s blade took the blow, flexed and deflected the strike away from him.
In a counterattack, Yoshiro unleashed a powerful crosscut that found Kasimoto’s midsection. The edge of the blade was so sharp and the strike so fierce that it gashed through the painted steel plate and the hardened leather, drawing blood from the Shogun’s ribs.
A gasp came from the soldiers gathered around. Kasimoto stumbled back, clutching his side. He gazed at Yoshiro in astonishment. “Your blade remains in one piece while my armor is carved like wet cloth. There can only be one reason for that. The rumors are true, you hold the weapon of the great swordmaker. The Masamune.”
Yoshiro held the gleaming sword proudly. “This weapon was handed down to me from my father and from his father before him. It’s the finest blade of all the Master’s works. And it shall bring an end to your vile life.”
The Shogun pulled off his helmet in order to breathe and see better. “A powerful weapon indeed,” he said. “One I shall treasure when I pull it from your dead hand—but my sword is the greater of the two. It is the blade that thirsts for blood.”
Yoshiro recognized the katana in the Shogun’s hands. It was the work of Japan’s other great swordsmith: Muramasa, protégé to the famed Master.
It was said the two swordmakers had lived in a state of bitter contention and that the Muramasa had infused his weapons with the jealousy, hatred and darkness he felt for the one who had taught him. They had become weapons of conquest, destruction and death, where the works of Masamune were used to uphold the righteous and to bring peace.
Legends to be sure, but there was always some truth to them.
“Trust in that dark sword and it will bring you to ruin,” Yoshiro warned.
“Not until it brings me your head.”
The two warriors circled each other, wounded and catching their breath, each of them preparing for the final clash. Yoshiro was limping and Kasimoto bleeding. One would soon fall.
Yoshiro would have to act decisively. If he missed his mark, Kasimoto would kill him. If he struck a wounding blow, the Shogun would retreat out of fear and order his men to swarm over Yoshiro. If that were to occur, even the magnificent weapon he wielded would be unable to save him.
He needed a lightning strike. One that would kill the Shogun instantly.
Limping more noticeably, Yoshiro came to a halt. He assumed the classic samurai stance, one leg back, one leg forward, both hands on the sword, which was kept near the back hip.
“You look tired,” the Shogun said.
“Test me.”
The Shogun responded with a defensive stance of his own. He would not take the bait.
Yoshiro had to act. He lunged forward with surprising speed, the flaps of his layered armor spreading like wings as he charged.
In close, he thrust the katana at the Shogun’s neck, but Kasimoto blocked the attack with an armored gauntlet and brought his own blade downward.
It sliced into Yoshiro’s arm. The pain was excruciating but Yoshiro ignored it. He spun in a full circle and launched into a new assault.
The Shogun staggered backward under the weight of the attack. He was pushed to the right and then back to the left and then over to the right again. His legs shook. His breath came in gasps.
Overpowered by the attack, he tumbled, by chance landing beside one of the young prisoners. As Yoshiro began a lethal stroke, the Shogun pulled the child in front of him.
Yoshiro was already in the process of striking, but the sword caught neither the Shogun’s head nor the child’s. It continued down, glancing off the Shogun’s ankle and plunging its tip into the soft trampled earth.
Yoshiro pulled, but the blade stuck in the ground for just a second. That was long enough for Kasimoto. He threw the child aside and swung for Yoshiro with both hands on the hilt of his weapon.
His blade sliced through Yoshiro’s neck and took his life instantly. The samurai’s headless body fell in a heap. But the dying was not over.
Kasimoto’s forward lunge had brought him up from a crouch. As he stepped down, his ankle buckled where it had been smashed by Yoshiro’s final blow. He stumbled forward, reaching out toward the ground to break his fall, and he turned the point of his own sword back toward himself.
It pierced his chest where Yoshiro had cut the armor away, puncturing his heart, skewering him and holding him off the ground.
Kasimoto’s mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound came forth. He lay there, propped up by his own weapon, his blood running down the length of its curved blade.
The battle ended this way, as did the war.
The Shogun’s men were tired, weary and now leaderless. They were many weeks from home. Instead of pressing on and burning the village, they gathered up their dead and left, taking with them both the gleaming sword of the Masamune and the blood-soaked weapon forged by Muramasa the apprentice.
Tales of the battle would grow from that day forward and soon became embellished until the claims were beyond imagination.
Yoshiro’s katana would eventually be known as the Honjo Masamune, the ultimate creation of Japan’s greatest swordsmith. It was said to be unbreakable and yet able to bend nearly in half as it swung and whipped through the air. One legend insisted it shined from within, casting enough light to blind its opponents. Others said the blade was so finely honed that when Yoshiro held it before him, it split the light into a rainbow and rendered him invisible.
The Shogun’s dark sword would become only slightly less famous. It was a charcoal color to begin with and was said to have grown darker and reddish in tint after soaking in Kasimoto’s blood. It came to be called the Crimson Blade. Over the centuries, its own legend would grow. Many who took possession of it came to great wealth and power. And most of them came to tragic ends as well.
Both weapons would be passed down from samurai to samurai, from feudal lord to feudal lord, becoming national treasures of the Japanese people. They would be held by the powerful families, revered by the public and prized, until they vanished without a trace in the chaotic days at the end of World War II.
The gray submersible traveled slowly across an aquatic paradise. Sunlight filtered down from above. Kelp beds waved in the current. Fish of every conceivable size and shape darted about. Off in the distance, an ominous shadow loomed in the blue infinity; a huge but harmless whale shark, its mouth gaping wide as it strained the water for tiny clouds of plankton.
From the command chair in the nose of the submersible, Dr. Chen marveled at the stunning array of life around him.
“We’re approaching the Serpent’s Jaw,” a female voice said beside him.
Chen nodded at the information and kept his eyes on the world outside. This would be his last view of natural sunlight for a month and he wanted to savor it.
The submarine continued across the kelp bed until it gave way to a band of coral and then a V-shaped canyon. At first, the canyon was no more than a fissure, but it widened as it ran off into the distance, and from above resembled an open mouth.
The Serpent’s Jaw.
As they traveled out over the canyon, the seafloor dropped precipitously.
“Take us down,” Chen ordered.
The submersible’s pilot manipulated the controls with utter precision and the submarine, filled mostly with supplies, nosed down and descended into the steep-walled canyon.
Five hundred feet down, they lost the light. Nine hundred feet later, they found it again. Only, this time, it was artificial in nature and coming from a habitat anchored to a sidewall of the canyon.
Chen could make out the small living space and the stack of additional modules lined up beneath it. They went all the way to the canyon floor, where a tangle of pipes and tubes could be seen snaking into the ground.
“I trust you can handle the docking,” Chen said.
“Of course. Stand by.”
For the first time, Chen turned to study the pilot. She had wide, expressive eyes, smooth skin and plum-colored lips. It was a pretty face, but her designers hadn’t given her any hair and in places the mechanics of her operating machinery were on full display.
He could make out bones of titanium and polished gearing where the joints of each arm connected to her torso; tiny hydraulic pumps and servos along with bundles of wires that ran like arteries until they vanished beneath white plastic panels sculpted to look like human curves.
The body panels covered her chest, midsection and thighs. Similar panels covered her arms but gave way once again at her wrists. Her fingers were pure machinery; powerful and precise, made of stainless steel, with rubber tips to facilitate grasping.
As an engineer, Chen admired the mechanics of her form. And as a man he appreciated the attempt at human beauty. That said, he wondered why they’d given her such a pretty face, soft voice and attractive outer form without finishing the job. They’d left her stuck halfway between human and machine.
A pity, he thought.
He turned back to the view port as the submersible eased up against the docking collar, bumped it softly and locked on. With the docking confirmed and the seal in place, Chen wasted no time. He stood, grabbed his pack and unlocked the submersible’s inner door. The pilot neither looked at him nor reacted. She just sat, not moving and staring straight ahead.
No, he thought, not half human. Not quite.
Entering the habitat, Chen passed other slow-moving machines traveling on caterpillar tracks. Distant cousins of the submersible’s pilot, he thought. Very distant.
These machines were more like self-driving pallets crossbred with a small forklift. They would unload the supplies and equipment from the submersible and take them to the appropriate storerooms, all without a command from anyone at the station.
At the same time, other automatons would load the sub with the ore extracted from a deep fissure beneath the seabed.
Such a plain word for it. Ore. In truth, the material was unlike anything that had ever been mined before, an alloy trickling up from deep within the Earth, stronger than titanium, a third of its weight and imbued with other unique properties not found in any existing alloy or polymer.
He and the others—and there were very few others who knew of it—called the alloy Golden Adamant, or GA for short. The submerged mining facility had been constructed in secret to excavate it.
To keep that secret, and to maximize the station’s efficiency, it had been built to be almost fully automated. Only one human was stationed there at a time, directing the efforts of two hundred automated workers.
The machines came in all shapes and sizes. A few had humanoid form, like the submarine pilot; others were referred to as mermaids, since they combined human-like grasping arms and a spherical camera-filled “head” with a propulsion pack where a human swimmer’s legs would be.
Others looked like the classic ROVs of aquatic exploration, and still others resembled heavy machinery at a construction site. Most of the later models worked on the seafloor or within the deep borehole itself. All of them operating on batteries recharged by a compact nuclear reactor that had been repurposed from a Chinese attack submarine and secured in the lowest module.
On his first visit, Chen had been in absolute awe of the station. He’d spent time in every nook and cranny. His second posting had been exciting as well. But now he rarely left the upper level, the only section of the habitat truly designed for humans.
He arrived at “the office,” his home for the next thirty days. Inside, he found the man he was due to replace. Commander Hon Yi of the People’s Liberation Navy.
Hon Yi was packed and waiting, his duffel bag resting beside the door.
“I see you’re ready to go.”
“You’ll feel the same after another month down here with no one but machines for companions.”
“I find some of them interesting,” Chen said. “Our submersible pilot in particular. And some of the dive robots have expressive features. I understand they’re working on a full human replica to keep us company.”
Hon Yi laughed. “If they make her too real, you’ll be fighting over who should make dinner.”
Chen laughed with Hon Yi, but he wouldn’t have minded a robotic companion that looked human, providing they could eliminate the eerie dead stare that happened when the machines settled into an inactive mode.
“What’s our status?” he asked, getting down to business.
“I’m afraid the recovery is faltering,” Hon Yi said. “Worse than last month. Which, as you know, was worse than the month before.”
“And the month before that,” Chen added with a grimace. “It seems the yield is falling off a cliff.”
Hon Yi nodded. “I know how valuable this ore is. I know what you and the engineers say it can do, but if we don’t find more of it or a more efficient way to extract it, someone in the Ministry is going to be brought up on charges for spending all this money.”
Chen doubted that. The Ministry had endless money. And in this case they were partnering with the billionaire who’d developed the robots. He doubted either group would miss their pennies, but when he looked at the numbers on the computer console, he was surprised by how little of the Golden Adamant had been processed. “A hundred kilos? Is that all?”
“The vein is played out,” Hon Yi said. “But don’t think I’m going to tell our bosses that.”
The intercom crackled. A human-sounding voice, male this time, spoke. “TL-1 reporting. Deep-basin injectors ready. Harmonic resonators charged. Impact range, Z minus one hundred and thirty.”
Far below the station, the robots were getting ready for the next phase of the mining operation. By the sound of it, they were targeting the deepest section of the fissure.
Chen looked at Hon Yi. “You’ve gone to the depths.”
“Ground-penetrating sonar indicates the only remaining vein of ore runs straight down. If the operation is to continue, we must excavate the deep vein. The only other option is to shut down.”
Chen wasn’t sure about that. There were known dangers in mining too deeply.
“Shall I give the order?” Hon Yi asked. “Or do you prefer the honors?”
Chen held up his hands. “By all means, make it your order.”
Hon Yi pressed the intercom button and spoke the order in the specific manner in which they’d been trained to command the robots. “Proceed as scheduled. Overriding objective: maximize ore recovery and speed. Continue operation until ore recovery falls below one ounce per ton unless otherwise directed.”
“Confirmed,” the TL-1 replied.
A distant humming sound filled the station seconds later. It was a side effect of the mining. It was so constant when the operation was running that Chen knew he’d forget about it in a day or two, only to be reminded when the machines took a break to repair themselves, reevaluate the process or switch batteries.
“The station is yours,” Hon Yi said. He handed over the command keys and a tablet computer.
“Enjoy your ride to the surface,” Chen said. “It was sunny when I came down.”
Hon Yi grinned at the thought of sun, grabbed his duffel bag and hastened out the door. “See you in a month.”
Chen was left alone. He immediately looked around for something to do. Of course there were plenty of reports to read and paperwork to shuffle—they’d yet to build a robot to handle those chores—but he had plenty of time for all that and no wish to rush into the monotony.
He put the tablet computer down on the desk and walked over to the fish tank. Several types of goldfish lived in the tank: fantails, bubble eyes and one lionhead. Hon Yi had suggested they get a beta and put it in a separate tank on the shelf, since betas couldn’t live with other fish. But Chen had talked him out of it; there was enough solitude going on down there as it was.
Looking through the glass, Chen noticed that the fish were darting about the tank. They always became agitated when the excavation first resumed. To calm them, Chen picked up the shaker of food and sprinkled some in. As soon as the flakes hit the water, the fish raced to the surface to eat it.
Chen couldn’t help but smile at the irony. A tank within a tank. One kept fish alive in an air-dominated environment and the other kept him and Hon Yi alive in the depths of the sea. Both groups with nothing to do but stare out the window and eat. If the pattern held, he’d be ten pounds heavier when he returned to the surface.
Chen sprinkled in more food, but the fish stopped eating and went still without warning. All of them at the very same instant. Chen had never seen that before.
They drifted downward. Their fins weren’t moving, their gills were flat. It was as if they’d been stunned or drugged.
He tapped on the glass. Instantly, the fish began darting around, racing from one side of the tank to the other. They seemed panicked. Several of them slammed into the glass walls like bees trying to get through a window. One went to the bottom of the tank and began burrowing in the gravel.
As Chen stared, ripples formed on the top of the tank and the gravel at the bottom began to jump and dance. The walls of the habitat began to shake as well.
He stepped back. The vibration of the mining operation was growing louder. Louder than it should have been. Louder than he’d ever heard it before. Books and pieces of decorative coral began to vibrate on the shelf. The fish tank fell and smashed down beside him.
He pressed the intercom button. “TL-1,” he said, calling out to the command robot. “Cease mining operations immediately.”
TL-1 responded calmly and immediately. “Authorization, please.”
“This is Dr. Chen.”
“Command code not recognized,” the robot replied. “Authorization required.”
Chen realized instantly that robots were listening for Hon Yi’s voice. He had yet to log on the computer and replace Hon Yi’s authorization with his own.
He reached for the tablet computer and tapped the screen furiously. As he typed, a deep rumbling sound became audible, like boulders grinding against one another. The pounding grew louder and closer with terrible speed until something hit the station.
Chen was thrown to the floor and then the wall. Everything tumbled end over end. A jet of water burst through a torn seam in the metal, slamming him with more force than a fire hose. It broke bones and gouged flesh and crushed him against the wall as easily as a speeding truck would have.
In seconds, the module filled with water, but Chen was dead long before he would have drowned.
Outside the habitat, the submersible had just detached from the station when the shaking began.
Hon Yi heard the rumble through the walls of the sub. He saw the destruction coming from above as huge slabs of rock fell through the glare of the work lights higher up. At the same time, clouds of sediment were exploding upward from below.
“Go,” Hon Yi said to the pilot. “Get us out of here.”
The pilot reacted with mechanical efficiency but no true urgency.
The avalanche hit the top level of the station and sheared it from the rest of the structure, the impact sent debris raining down on the submarine.
Instead of waiting for the robot to sense the mortal danger it could never perceive, Hon Yi reached over and grabbed the controls. He tried to push the throttle to full, but the robot’s grip was unbreakable.
“Relinquish command.”
The robot let go of the controls and sat back impassively. Hon Yi pushed the throttle to full and turned the valve to blow the ballast tanks. The submersible accelerated and began to rise.
“Come on,” he urged. “Go!”
The sub pushed forward. A wave of pebbles hit the outer hull, sounding like hail. A fist-sized rock slammed against the canopy, chipping it. Larger stones hit the roof and dented the propeller housing.
Hon Yi attempted to guide the sub away from danger, but with the propeller housing bent, he couldn’t get the craft to move in a straight line. It turned, even as it accelerated, and wandered right back into the danger zone.
“No!” he shouted.
A second wave of tumbling debris hit the sub square on. The canopy shattered. A boulder crushed the hull like a tin can and the avalanche of debris drove the submarine downward, slamming it to the bottom of the Serpent’s Jaw.
At first glance, the scene was a bucolic one, two old men sitting in a park, hunched over a game of pure strategy. But the park, with its trees and bushes and black-water pond, was actually the private yard of the second-most-powerful man in the Chinese government. The sculpted garden hid surveillance cameras, the flowering vines in the distance covered a twelve-foot wall. And the wall was lined with sensors, topped with razor wire and watched by armed guards in case anyone was foolish enough to approach too closely.
Beijing sprawled outside that wall, frantic, crowded and chaotic. Inside lay a sanctuary.
Walter Han had been a guest here many times before. Never had he remained for so long or with such little talk between himself and his mentor. With no words between them, he was forced to concentrate on the game board between them, a nineteen-by-nineteen grid partially filled with black and white stones.
They were playing the ancient game of Asia. Older than chess and infinitely more complex. Called Weiqui in China, the game was known as Igo in Japan and Baduk in Korea. Westerners simply called it Go.
Sensing an opening, Han pulled a small white stone from a cup at his side and placed it into position. Satisfied with his move, he sat back and admired the gardens. “Whenever I come here, I’m amazed to know we’re still in the city limits.”
Han was in his late forties. Taller than most Chinese men, he was also lean and wiry. Some would describe him as spindly. Born in Hong Kong to a Chinese father and a Japanese mother, he’d been given a Western name because that made it easier to do business with the European and American companies that so loved the island outpost.
At the time of Han’s birth, his father was already running a small electronics company. Unlike many in Hong Kong, Han’s father chose to align himself with the mainland government rather than fight a losing battle for independence. That decision paid handsome rewards. Han’s family were millionaires by the time the British stood down. And in the decades since, Han and his father had built the largest conglomerate across China: ITI, or Industrial Technology, Inc.
With his father gone, Han had spent the last decade running the company on his own. Not only did he maintain close links to the government in Beijing, he expanded them. Some considered him a fifth pillar of the government. The money, power and prestige made him a force to be reckoned with. And yet, he still deferred to the man across from him.
“A place of solitude is essential. Otherwise, one cannot think beyond the noise.” The words came like poetry from Wen Li, a small man with a few locks of white hair remaining on the sides of his head. He had mottled skin and a slight droop to the right side of his face.
As a strategist, Wen had seen the Party leaders through six decades of turmoil. He’d been a soldier, a statesman and a strategist. He was rumored to have personally ordered the crushing of the Tiananmen Square protests and, in their aftermath, to have guided China onto the path of capitalism without giving up the rule of the single party.
He held several offices within the Party, but his unofficial title was more impressive. They called him Lao-shi, the word literally meant old person of high skills, but applied to Wen it was the equivalent of learned Master.
Wen made a move on the board, placing a small black stone beside one of Han’s white stones. Essentially, cutting it off from the rest of Han’s pieces. “You come to me with a heavy heart,” he said. “Is the news that bad?”
Han had been waiting for the right moment to speak. He could wait no longer. “Unfortunately, yes. The survey of the mining site is complete. Our worst fears have been confirmed. The avalanche destroyed most of the exterior modules, filling in parts of the canyon and scattering debris across the Serpent’s Jaw. The reactor was untouched, but the project cannot be rebuilt without a massive effort and expenditure.”
“How large?”
Han knew the numbers by heart. “To excavate the debris would cost a hundred billion yuan. To reestablish the operation and rebuild the station … at least five hundred billion more. The time frame would be long. Especially if the need to operate in secrecy remains.”
“It does,” Wen said.
“In which case, it would be three years before the mine begins producing again.”
“Three years,” Wen said.
The old man sat back, drifting off into his own thoughts.
“At least three years,” Han repeated.
Wen came back from his reverie. “How much ore was the mine producing at the time of the accident?”
“Less than half a ton per month. And falling.”
“Was there any hope of increasing the yield?”
“Very little.”
Wen grunted his displeasure. “In that case, why would we spend so many billions and waste so much time digging additional holes in the seafloor? Why would we even consider it?”
Han took a breath. He’d expected to have Wen on his side. After all, the old man had been the chief proponent of the secret mining operations from the beginning. He’d understood the strategic value of the alloy right from the start.
“Because the ore cannot be priced in yuan or time wasted,” he explained. “As you well know, the Golden Adamant is unlike anything the world has ever seen. A living metamaterial. Five times stronger than titanium, capable of accomplishing things no other material derived from the Earth or created in a lab can match. With it, we can build a generation of aircraft, ships and missiles that are virtually indestructible. Not to mention a thousand other uses our engineers are dreaming up. This mine—our mine—is the only place in the world this material has ever been found. You know this, of course. The cost is irrelevant. We must rebuild.”
The old man looked up menacingly and Han wondered if he’d gone too far.
“Do not lecture me on what must be done,” Wen said.
Han bowed slightly. “I apologize, Lao-shi.”
Wen released Han from his gaze and turned his attention back to the game. “You are partially correct,” he said, placing another black stone. “The orę as we so blithely call it, is the key to the future. Like bronze over copper and iron over bronze. History has always been a tale of who has the sharpest and strongest sword, the lightest and most resilient armor. The nation that controls the Golden Adamant will become unassailable. But you are incorrect to suggest we dig in the same exhausted location.”
Han cocked his head to the side. “But there are no other deposits.”
“None that have yet been found,” Wen replied.
“With all due respect, Lao-shi, we’ve had people scouring the world for years. We’ve found no trace of this alloy anywhere. Not in Africa, South America or the Middle East. Nor throughout our own territory or on the volcanic islands in the South Pacific. Nowhere that we expected it to be. We’ve taken ten thousand core samples from the depths of the sea and found nothing beyond this one source.”
“All true,” Wen said. “Nevertheless, I’ve developed information about another deposit that may exist, and far closer than one would think.” He pointed to the board. “Please, make your move.”
Han looked down at the board. He found it hard to concentrate on the game with such information hanging in the balance. Still, a quick look revealed his side was in a perilous situation. His white stones were being surrounded. Any additional moves he made would only put Wen in a better position. He had to hope the old Master would make a mistake. “Pass,” he said.
Wen nodded. “That is your right.”
“Please, my friend. Tell me, where is this other deposit?”
Across from him, Wen hesitated, rolling the smooth stone between his fingers before putting it on the board. “Somewhere on the island of Honshu.”
Han took a second to process the answer. “Japan? The home island?”
“Possibly offshore,” Wen said. “But most likely on the mainland. And if I’m correct, very near the surface.”
The words were spoken without emotion, but Han felt the wind knocked out of him. “How do you know this? And, more importantly, how can this possibly help us? Even if we find it, we can’t mine without being detected. And should we try and be discovered, all we’ll have accomplished is bringing the existence of the ore to the attention of the Japanese. And that means giving it to the Americans. We’ll be handing our adversary the very thing we seek to control ourselves.”
“Precisely,” Wen said. “And for that reason we have yet to follow up on the initial information.”
“Then we’re at an impasse,” Han said.
“Are we?”
Wen reached down into the cup and pulled a handful of black stones from the container. “Tell me,” he asked, “what is the objective of this game?”
Han tried to hide his frustration. He’d grown used to the Lao-shi trying to impart wisdom through unique methods and recognized this as one of them, though he didn’t enjoy it. “The object of the game is to surround your opponent, deny him liberty and thus deny him life.”
“Precisely,” Wen said. “And which nation has the greatest players?”
“China,” Han said. “After all, we invented the game.”
“No,” Wen said, placing a black stone. “That is ego, not wisdom.”
“If not us, then Japan.”
Wen shook his head once more, Han passed and the old man placed another black stone.
Han frowned. He was losing the game. And the argument. He passed again. “Korea is known to have many renowned players,” he said, a tinge of desperation in his voice.
“The Americans,” Wen told him. “They are the greatest players this game has ever known. More precision and mastery have they displayed than any nation on Earth.”
Han resisted the urge to scoff. “Are you sure? I can’t think of a single American expert.”
“Because you’re looking at the wrong board,” Wen said. “Look again and think of it as a map.”
Thoroughly confused, Han studied the board once more. He noticed a vague resemblance between the board and the world map. Not the Western maps with North America in the middle but the Asian where China took central stage.
His force of white stones in the middle was China. Black stones looping up one side and down the other might have been Europe and North America.
Before he could speak this thought, the Lao-shi continued with the lesson. “They have armies in Europe,” he said, placing another black stone. “They control the Atlantic, the Mediterranean and Indian oceans. They have bases in the Middle East, they station troops in territory that used to be Communist Russia. They launch aircraft and ships from islands around the Pacific.”
Wen was no longer playing the game; he was searing the lesson into Walter’s mind, naming one American asset after another, placing stones to represent each one. “Hawaii, Australia, New Zealand,” he said, as three black stones went down. “Korea, the Philippines and Formosa—which they call Taiwan—and, of course … Japan.”
As the last stone went on the board, the white pieces representing China were encircled.
With the lesson complete, Wen looked up. The intensity of his gaze banished any thought of frailty. “From their island continent, the Americans have surrounded the world. Our world.”
Han’s confidence was replaced by the sting of embarrassment. “I understand. But what can we do?”
Wen pointed to the board. “Which stone would you remove?”
Han studied the game once more. It was the last one that mattered most. The one that had closed the circle and ensured that white side—that China—would die. “This one,” he said, sliding the piece off the board. “Japan.”
“And so it must be,” the Master told him.
The enormity of Wen’s suggestion hit Han at once. His heart pounded at the thought. “You can’t be considering military action?”
“Of course not,” Wen said. “But if Japan were changed from black to white—from an American ally to a Chinese one—the board would be redrawn instantly. We would not only begin to roll back American dominance, but we’d be free to mine all the Golden Adamant known to exist in this world.”
“Can it be done?” Han asked. “There are centuries of animosity between us. War crimes and territorial disputes.”
“A plan is already in motion,” Wen said. “One that you are uniquely qualified to see through.”
“Because I’m half Japanese.”
“Yes,” Wen said. “But there is another reason also: the corporations you control and the various technologies your engineers have mastered.”
Han listened to the veiled words and wondered exactly what Wen was getting at. He knew the details would only come forth once he’d committed. “I will do my part,” he said. “Whatever it is that you need.”
“Good,” Wen replied. “Among other things, this task will require more machines. Automatons that can impersonate human behavior. You have been funded for years by the Ministry to study such a project. Now you must report your progress. Can you make them perfectly? They must be indistinguishable from those whom they will replicate.”
Han smiled. He always assumed the blank check had come as part of some strategy. The Lao-shi must have been crafting this plan for years. “We’re very close.”
“Good,” Wen replied. He cleared the board and placed the stones back into their respective cups. “My secretary will give you a package on the way out. Instructions lie within. Your first meeting will be in Nagasaki. A deal is being crafted to build a factory there and a Friendship Pavilion to celebrate the new ties. The factory will be yours. It will be your base of operations.”
Han stood, energized. “And what if the Americans interfere?”
“They know nothing of this,” Wen insisted. “But this is not a game for the fainthearted. At the end, one side will be denied liberty and denied life. If the Americans attempt to stop us, you will make sure they fail.”