Nakamura kept half an eye on Feng. The rest of his attention he devoted to the rendezvous. He steered south and east for an hour, his eyes peeled for any sign they were being followed or observed. Off to his left, robotic container ships bobbed on the horizon, their superstructures illuminated for safety, waiting for their turn to enter the Nha Be River and unload their wares. Ahead, the sea was dark and apparently empty.

His GPS told him it was time. They were in the zone. He killed the engine. At the forward end of the boat, Feng raised an eyebrow.

Access resource “Manta 7,” Nakamura subvocalized. Initiate pickup sequence. Execute.

“You may want to turn around,” he told Feng with a smile. Reluctantly, the Confucian Fist did so.

For a moment nothing happened. And then a patch of dark sea became calmer, darker, flatter.

Something was rising up. Something wide and blacker than the midnight water, shaped like a stretched rounded wedge, a boomerang with a thickened center. It rose above the waves and water ran off of it.

The central fuselage of the sub was a thicker bulge in the middle of the flying V, twenty feet long and perhaps five feet wide. It gave way in a graceful arc to the wide wings, forty feet from one wingtip fin to the other, swept slightly back behind the body. Every surface was curved for stealth and hydrodynamic efficiency. Barely visible were the ports that could open to launch probes, sensors, and weapons. It was a thing of beauty.

Feng whistled softly. “Manta class,” he said, turning back to Nakamura. “Chinese. How’d you get this?”

Nakamura smiled broadly. “Feng, weren’t you listening? I’m with the CIA.”

They loaded the supplies into the sub. The interior was too small to stand upright in, but more than large enough for the two of them and their supplies. When they were done, Nakamura sent instructions to the jeep on the beach. It would tint its windows and drive itself carefully and unobtrusively back to its home.

“This sub…” Feng asked. “If things go wrong, everything’s blamed on China, yeah?”

Nakamura shrugged, then made the ground rules clear to Feng.

“This sub is slaved to me. The controls respond only to me. And if my biometrics fail, it vents the air and dives to the deepest point it can find. If you try to take the controls, it does the same thing. You understand?”

Feng nodded. “I understand.” He smiled grimly. “You my buddy.”

Nakamura smiled in return. “Feng, I’m the best friend you’ve got in the world right now.”

Chapter 57: The Freedom Trail

57

THE FREEDOM TRAIL

Tuesday October 30th