The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

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.”

2

GREENLAND

ELEVEN MONTHS LATER

THE NAVIK ICE SHEET was a lonely and desolate place. Treeless, barren and flat, it was shrouded in mist and lit in a pale light. Even at high noon, the sun hung just above the horizon.

Two figures trudged across that landscape. Both of them bundled in red snowsuits that brought a shock of color to the monotone world.

“I don’t understand why we’re bothering to check so far north,” the smaller of the two figures called out. Wisps of blond hair stuck out from her fur-lined hood. Her accent was vaguely Nordic. “The other readings told us what we need to know.”

The larger of the two figures pulled back his hood and removed a pair of goggles, revealing a rugged face and deep, iridescent blue eyes. Kurt Austin was in his mid-thirties, but he looked older. Crow’s-feet at the corner of his eyes and wrinkles in his f

orehead suggested a lifetime in the elements instead of an air-conditioned office. The silver color of his hair gave him a knowing and dashing quality, while the rest of his face was covered with a month of unshaven beard. “Because I have to be sure of the truth before I hand my government a report they won’t want to believe.”

The woman pulled her hood back and raised her goggles as well. Ice-blue eyes, chapped pink lips and mid-length straw-blond hair confirmed her Nordic heritage. She pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. “Seven readings from seven different glaciers isn’t enough proof for you?”

Her first name was Vala; her last, a long mix of consonants, umlauts and other letters that Kurt found completely unpronounceable. She was a Norwegian geologist whose assistance and knowledge had been invaluable, especially here on the top of the world.