Soon after coming to rest in the water, the Xingyun Liwu released its covert passenger. It was a quick exit, a hatch door retracting on the underside of its modified hull, the egg-shaped, manned deep-submergence vehicle drifting out and downward like a sluggish amphibian on a cold morning.

The pilot was called Li Quang. Three years ago, with a team of researchers aboard, he had parked a submersible at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. The deepest place on earth. The mission was hailed as a scientific triumph by his government and livestreamed on China Central Television. The entire country had watched it.

In stark contrast, today’s dive was being conducted in secrecy. Only those who needed to know, knew.

Cradled in a sphere of darkness, Li was six minutes into his dive when he switched on the thalium/iodide metal vapor lamp above his forward viewport. The T/I emitted a high-wattage beam in the blue–green spectrum. Green light was the radiance to which the human eye was most sensitive. It was also the wavelength least absorbed by water. With the lamp beaming out in front of him, Li could visually gauge his rate of descent. If he was going down too slow or too fast, he would need to add or subtract ballast.

So far, Li’s uniquely experienced eyes told him he was descending at about one hundred feet a minute—his desired speed—and his visual estimate matched the readings on his control panel. The deep submergence vehicle felt stable and even. All systems were functional. He felt reassured but would not relax his vigilance.

There were many hours of work ahead of him in the enduring midnight of the abyss.

PART TWO

SILENT DRAGON

10

Various Locales
April 17, 2024

New York

Carmody rode straight back into Manhattan from Teterboro. It was the second warm, bright day in a row. The sort of weather that got people daydreaming about summer vacations and barbecues.

Not that he could remember the last time he’d had either.

Riverside Drive was jammed with vehicles. While rumbling south through the gluey traffic, he made a pair of calls to the Terminal on his helmet’s Bluetooth. A quick one to Dixon, then Carol Morse.

“Duchess,” he said when she answered. “You free?”

“What’s that noise?”

“Wind drag. I’m on a bike.”

“Some guys have all the luck.”

“You’re welcome to ride with me.”

“Sure, with very large training wheels,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you. In person. Say, in half an hour? I’ve got a stop to make first.”

A pause. He imagined Morse checking her calendar.

“It’s your lucky day. I have no appointments,” she said after a minute. “I’ll be in my office.”

“Better if it’s our bench.”

“Except you know motorcycles aren’t allowed on the Esplanade.”

“I’ll leave it at the Terminal. That’s my next stop.”

A pause. “What’s going on, Mike?”