He nodded to an assistant who extended a sealed envelope. Unwilling to give his commodore the satisfaction of a reaction, Chan tucked it into his pocket.
“You have your orders,” the commodore said. “And I have mine, which I will follow despite their absurdity. I’ve prepared the mess hall with a dinner for your entire crew. Alcohol is permitted, but no man may leave the waterfront. It is secured until you depart.”
“And when is that, sir?”
Chan allowed himself petty delight in seeing the commodore’s brow furrow.
“I assume your orders will say. I am obliged to give you top priority of all waterfront facilities until then.”
“The irony, sir,” Chan said, “is that you would deny a man of my abilities command in your squadron. But now that I report directly to fleet headquarters, I have a submarine of my own, full use of your facilities, and no requirement to do a damned thing you say.”
“You will regret those words if you return from whatever mission you’re undertaking.”
Chan snorted.
“If I return, sir, I expect that I will do so in a body bag before I would risk reporting to you again. My crew?”
“The mess hall is ready,” the commodore said. “You may send your entire crew there now. In fact, I recommend that you do. None of them want to see what’s about to happen on that rusting relic of a submarine.”
Chan returned to his Romeo and had Gao take the crew to the catered dinner. As the ship emptied and assumed an eerie silence, he walked into his stateroom.
He unfolded his desk and placed his buttocks on the leather cushion of his four-legged chair. Tearing open the envelope, he cut his finger and cursed.
The orders included a brief congratulations and an allowance to rest a day in port before taking station in the risky waters east of the Japanese Ryukyu Islands. No changes. No updates. No clarity on a target.
He picked up a wired phone handset and called the waterfront’s operator.
“The mess hall, please,” he said. “Any officer. This is their captain.”
He heard the young and eager voice of a junior officer.
“Captain?”
“Tell Gao that tomorrow is a ship’s holiday and that every man may indulge in food and drink tonight.”
After the officer acknowledged the order, Chan left his stateroom to join his crew at dinner. He heard footsteps on ladder rungs, and a young uniformed officer greeted him.
“I’m doctor Lin,” he said.
“You’re here for the bodies?” Chan asked.
“Indeed. I’ll store half of them in the torpedo room, half in the engineering spaces. Overflow will go wherever they fit. You’ve cleared room to stack them?”
“Yes. How long do you need?”
“My team is large. Three hours. This will be quick.”
“Do you mind if I watch?” Chan asked.
“Of course not. But I assure you, you will be bored after watching the first body.”
Chan sat in his foldout chair behind the periscope and watched men in lab coats and operating masks enter his ship with body bags. The first pair dragged a Korean corpse from the gap between two electric cabinets and rolled it onto the deck plates.
The body had a greenish blue hue, and its face seemed inhuman. The rotting scent of meat became pungent and repulsive again to Chan as he watched the men wrestle the body’s Rigor Mortis. Straightening the limbs, the men slid a body bag over the shoes and wiggled it up the dead man’s length. Once the plastic consumed the head, they zipped the bag closed.
Chan knew more was coming.
One man plugged an iron into an outlet while the other folded a plastic lip over the zipper. With impressive efficiency, one man ironed while the other walked plastic along the bag’s length.
“That’s a watertight seal?” Chan asked.
“Plastic welding,” one man said. “Good to an atmosphere and a half. It’s plenty, but we’re leaving a few extra bags in case of leaks.”
The other man moved to the ladder and waved his arm. A hose slithered down, and he pulled it down the ladder deeper into the control room. Satisfied with his slack, he returned to the bag and snapped the nozzle into a valve Chan had not noticed.
The man squeezed a handle, cocked his head to listen, and stopped. Then he grabbed with both hands and let the fluid flow. A minute later, the bag swelled.
“Formaldehyde?” Chan asked.
“Better,” the man said. “But conceptually the same. The decay will cease, and the bodies will be at your disposal for whatever purpose. And despite what I might imagine, I have no desire to know what your purpose is.”
Chan only half-knew his purpose, but he assured himself it was worthy.
CHAPTER 12
Jake Slate propped open the hatch, grabbed a railing, and hoisted himself atop the Hai Ming’s conning tower sail. Disgusted and careless, he staggered in the shallow water swells and cursed as he braced himself against flat steel.
Sliding his hand into his parka, he groped for his waterproof global satellite phone. He withdrew it, tapped a button, and pressed it against his cheek.
As he awaited a response, he scanned the horizon and saw a solitary unnatural light in the moonlit darkness. Its radiance rose and fell with the rhythmic rotation of a navigation aid, and he recognized it as a navigation beacon on Yonaguni Island, the Japanese landmass closest to Taiwan.
His heart hit his throat at the sound of his wife’s voice. She sounded elated.
“Hi, honey,” Linda said.
He tried to feign coolness but knew he sounded giddy.
“Hey, honey,” he said. “It’s morning there, right?”
“Yeah. I miss you. Come home.”
“Who’s with you?”
“Your brother’s been staying at the house,” she said. “He’s out getting coffee now. He’s been great. The kids are with my mom tonight.”
Jake credited what little calmness he discerned in his wife’s voice to Nick. Despite his augury weirdness, his brother embodied compassion.
“No, I mean who else is there?” he asked.
“There’s always a guy in a suit in the house. They work in shifts and they’re supposedly here to protect me. They try to act polite, but they’re creepy.”
“They’re not protecting you,” he said. “They’re policing you. They’re listening to us talk, and they’ll cut off this conversation if they don’t like what we say.”
“I hate this. I just want you to come home.”
Priorities and loyalties became muddled in Jake’s gut. Although accompanied by friends, twisted fate stranded him on an alien submarine fighting someone else’s war.
“I can’t,” he said.
“I pray for you to come home every day. I want God to answer my prayers.”
Nick’s omen played in Jake’s mind.
“He will. At least I think so. I don’t know. I mean, nothing’s certain.”
“You say that Pierre has always said you’re charmed. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. I’m scared.”
“Pierre says a lot of things.”
“I don’t like him.”
“You don’t know him like I do,” Jake said. “He saved my life. Granted what we did long ago was stupid, but I needed revenge, and he gave it to me.”
“You talk like he rescued you.”
“He did. I needed him.”
“Yeah, well he needed you, too.”
Jake squinted at the beacon and wondered if Renard needed him now. In his French friend’s operation, he saw himself as a checker piece on a chessboard.
“Okay,” he said. “I see your point.”
“I’ve lost too much in my life,” Linda said. “I can’t lose you. I need you.”
“I have something I need to do now.”
“No! Don’t go!”
“I’ll call you back. I promise.”