Chapter 1234 - Lamay Island
Chen Haiyang personally visited the Political Security Bureau, and Wu Mu came out in person to receive him. Chen Haiyang got straight to the point, requesting access to all secret materials on file regarding the ship's crew.
"No problem, I'll take you to the archives right away." Wu Mu readily agreed. "Director Zhao has already given me instructions."
"I understand." Chen Haiyang said briefly. "I've already had a preliminary look at the Ten-Man Team reports. No suspicious points. I can only see if you have more valuable materials here."
"This is your entry pass to the archives." Wu Mu handed him a special pass. Besides the standard name and position entries, there was a line of small print: "Single use only. Valid only on date of issue."
Wu Mu led Chen Haiyang into a courtyard with guards posted. Inside stood several tall brick buildings like warehouses, built on high foundations.
Unlike the greening-obsessed other departments, this courtyard had no landscaping at all. The ground was paved with hardened stone slabs. The walls were very high, topped with densely-packed broken glass.
A stone staircase led to the basement archives entrance. Inside the doorway was a guard post. Two guards with blue collar tabs carefully examined Wu Mu and Chen Haiyang's credentials, then logged entry and exit times in a register.
The archives were dimly lit—for a moment Chen Haiyang could barely see anything. His vision only recovered after a moment. The room smelled of paper and dust. In the light streaming through high clerestory windows, he could see rows of shelves and cabinets. Everywhere were piles, stacks, and bundles of materials and files.
Not far from the entrance sat a uniformed female archivist. Wu Mu said a few words to her; the archivist immediately disappeared among the masses of shelves and cabinets.
"She's gone to check the index cards," Wu Mu explained. "Let's sit for a bit. It won't be quick."
About fifteen minutes later, the archivist brought a cardboard box.
"It's all here, Chief."
"Go about your business. We'll take our time," Wu Mu said.
He opened the box. Inside were thin paper file folders. Secret files from the Political Security Bureau for all twenty-three people aboard Hong Kong Coast Guard 64—from Zhao Zhulong down to the lowest third-class deckhand—were all here.
Their personnel files were at the Navy Department. Hong Kong Coast Guard 64's Ten-Man Team reports were at the General Staff Political Department. Here were the Political Security Bureau's original political evaluation reports, quarantine camp performance reports, and similar materials.
Wu Mu looked at the material list and shook his head: "Nothing juicy. All the most ordinary materials."
Chen Haiyang was somewhat disappointed, yet also somewhat relieved. He reviewed these simple materials one by one. These people's backgrounds and experiences were largely similar—Cantonese, Fujianese, boat people, Hakka... fishermen, sailors, farmers...
Most had been pirates at some point—some in the big gangs, some with independents. They all had minor blemishes, but from these alone nothing major could be identified.
As for complex social connections—that was almost unavoidable in the Navy. Many naturalized naval personnel, due to their backgrounds, had countless old connections to pirates. Someone was acquainted with Zheng Zhilong's men; someone's relative worked under Liu Xiang—all utterly common. Such leads were as good as none.
Chen Haiyang had hoped the Political Security Bureau held some secret investigation materials—quite possible, since the Political Security Bureau had the authority to independently investigate any naturalized citizen deemed "suspicious" without needing the host department's consent.
"What's your take on this situation?" Chen Haiyang asked Wu Mu.
"We can't reach conclusions until we have all the materials," Wu Mu said cautiously. "But based on what we have, I don't think mutiny is likely. More probably it was hijacked."
Anti-defection was a priority focus of the Political Security Bureau's work, especially in the Navy. Naturalized personnel operated all kinds of Senate vessels—there were even naturalized sailors on old-timeline ships like 8154. Any defection would cause serious equipment losses with grave consequences.
Chen Haiyang didn't know exactly how the Political Security Bureau conducted its monitoring, but presumably they had their methods. Just from the Ten-Man Team reports, there were no suspicious points: to launch a mutiny, you'd need to suborn at least half the crew to have decent odds. Someone would have had to been actively making contacts beforehand. Neither of the two Ten-Man Team members' reports mentioned such activity.
Chen Haiyang nodded. If it was hijacking, there were fewer suspects—basically Liu Xiang and Zheng Zhilong. The Dutch and Spanish weren't impossible, but highly unlikely.
Now they needed to find Hong Kong Coast Guard 64's whereabouts—that would reveal who did it and their intentions. Chen Haiyang left the Political Security Bureau, got into his carriage, and told the driver: "To the Foreign Intelligence Bureau!"
That evening, the Foreign Intelligence Bureau telegraphed the Leizhou, Guangzhou, and Taiwan stations, ordering them to immediately notify all coastal intelligence operatives to watch for a single-masted patrol boat having recently docked or passed nearby. Any sighting was to be reported to Lingao immediately.
Just as Lingao's various departments were springing into action to track the ship's whereabouts, Hong Kong Coast Guard 64 was cutting through waves, heading for Taiwan.
The vessel had veered not only from the sea lanes commonly used by Chinese ships, but far from routes commonly used by European ships as well. On the vast sea, there was only this solitary vessel. The seas were rough, with large waves constantly washing over the patrol boat's deck. All flags on mast and stern had been furled; cannons and typewriters were wrapped in canvas covers. Aside from essential crew, not a soul was visible on deck.
The ship made a wide arc at sea, approaching Kaohsiung from the southwest—but its destination wasn't this Australian-controlled port. Instead, it headed for Lamay Island—a coral island eighteen nautical miles from Kaohsiung.
That evening, before the sun had fully set, the sunset glowed red on the horizon. Twilight was gathering, with less than half an hour till dark. Hong Kong Coast Guard 64 appeared in the waters off Lamay Island.
With unprecedented agility, it sailed at full canvas past the white-foamed waves toward the bay entrance. Any sailor who'd navigated here knew the danger of this maneuver—Lamay was a coral island, its edges dense with coral reefs and shoals, extremely prone to grounding. A shipwreck here meant doom for sailors: the Lamay islanders were notoriously savage; falling into their hands meant certain death. So though European mariners and Fujian fishermen had long known of this place, it had nothing to interest Europeans, wasn't a good harbor, and with its savage natives—despite being close to both Kaohsiung and Tayuan—ships rarely ventured into these waters.
Yet the ship showed no sign of slowing. The wheel had already been turned windward. The small ship, catching the wind, threaded through the winding channel, proceeding with incredible stability—as if thoroughly familiar with these waters and unconcerned about the lurking dangers. On the helm, the captain was wrapped head to foot in a raw wool waterproof cloak, hood pulled over his head.
In a low, calm voice, he occasionally gave commands to adjust the sails' angle to the wind. From time to time he raised his spyglass as if searching for something. Just then, in the depths of the bay, a fire blazed up, blinking on and off in a certain rhythm. Clearly the captain had been waiting for this signal. He immediately gave the order, spun the wheel, skirting shoal and reef, and shot toward the fire like an arrow.
Thus Hong Kong Coast Guard 64 avoided the reefs, evaded the shallows, and slipped lightly into a secluded, desolate bay. All around were green jungles. In an instant, all her braces were slacked, the anchor dropped into the sea, and with a final shudder from the cable, the ship came to anchor. Almost simultaneously, an indigenous canoe suddenly appeared in the bay, rushing toward the patrol boat.
The canoe came alongside the single-masted vessel at mid-ship on the port side. Several fully-armed burly men climbed from the canoe onto the deck.
The captain swept back his hood with one hand, his face fully revealed in the helm's lantern light—it was the burly man who'd commanded the hijacking. The men who'd climbed aboard bowed respectfully in unison.
Ten minutes later, the canoe left the sailing ship, carrying the burly man to a temporary wooden pier at the bay's edge. The pier was concealed by green vines—invisible unless you came close.
He was of medium build, wearing a thick felt round cap. Under the cloak, he wore a European-style fitted jacket, but made of cotton. A leather sword belt crossed diagonally over his broad chest, bearing an Arabian curved sword. Two leather pistol holsters hung from his waist. He wore loose linen trousers suitable for shipboard activity, the legs tucked into high boots.
The man had typical East Asian features. In his stern eyes shone a determined gaze. No beard. Broad shoulders. Strong, powerful limbs. Black curly hair spilling over both shoulders. He appeared about thirty-five to forty—a man in his prime. His face was darkened by sun, with deep wrinkles already on his forehead—clearly a man weathered by life's storms.
(End of Chapter)