Daniel Suarez - Kill Decision

The pilot nodded and started turning the wheel.

Odin called out, “Wun! Hey, Wun!”

The Chinese man looked up.

Odin gestured to the docks, and Wun nodded, heading up into the boat’s wheelhouse.

Before long they were cruising along the concrete coast. It was a wall twenty feet high with stone pilings every ten yards or so, faced with thick rubber stanchions laced with chains. There was no apparent way to get up to the level of the container yard. But as she looked ahead, McKinney could see a smaller dock at water level linked to the island by gangways leading up. Several men in shirtsleeves, ties, and hard hats were waiting there, waving.

Before long the engine of the workboat roared into reverse, kicking up turbulent brown water, and the pilot brought the boat skillfully to a stop inches from the dock. The waiting men were fiftyish Han Chinese, with moles and jowls, smiling and nodding as the Americans came ashore. Apparently they didn’t know a word of English, because the lead one merely extended visitor badges and gestured for them to clip them to their lapels. Another handed them hard hats and motioned for them to follow him up the aluminum gangway. Evans went first, then Odin, and McKinney followed, looping her arms through both backpack straps to be certain it didn’t fall into the water.

She glanced around and spoke sotto voce to Odin as they walked in single file up the ramp. “What if the authorities show up?”

“These are the authorities. Unofficial arrangements are a national sport in China.”

When they got to the level of the shipping yard, McKinney got a full appreciation for just how vast the place was. Interlocking flagstones stretched away in two directions to a vanishing point. The yard was a hive of activity: Vehicles and people rushed to and fro, signaling as they guided crane clamps down onto the containers, and truck tractors roared around with and without loads.

Their hosts had a white compact car with a driver ready for them. The Chinese writing on the side was a mystery, but it had a circular logo identical to one on the massive cranes looming above them. McKinney and Evans took the backseat, while Odin got in on the passenger side, nodding good-bye to Wun-who waved enthusiastically.

The driver was a grim-faced, rail-thin man who could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty years of age. He looked more Vietnamese or Laotian than Chinese.

Odin looked in the rearview mirror. “Evans, tell him to just drive around from lane to lane. Let’s open all the windows.”

Odin and McKinney started rolling window handles, while Evans leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

“Dai qu. de kan huogui.”

The driver nodded and got them in motion, racing around despite all the truck traffic.

Evans made a steering wheel motion with his hands. “Hey, pal. Let’s not get us killed, okay?” He pointed. “ xiang ge!”

The man laughed but didn’t change his speed.

McKinney held the pheromone sensor up to the cross-breeze. “If there’s any perfluorocarbon here, even in low concentrations, this should find it.”

The driver brought them for miles along narrow lanes dangerous with trucks racing around blind corners. McKinney wondered if the copious diesel fumes would ruin their sampling, but on they went for the better part of an hour. The team was weary by the time the car emerged at the end of the container yard to a stretch of open pavement extending several hundred yards along the sea. The damp outlines where containers had been were evident in neat rows on the stone.

As the driver turned the car to circle back, the LED counter on the detector started racing upward from zero to several hundred parts per billion.

“Whoa! Wait a second.”

Odin motioned to the driver. “Stop!”

The car stopped.

The LED leveled off at three hundred twelve. Odin gestured back to the open stretch of pavement. “Go back. Over there.” He pointed.

The driver shifted into reverse, turned around, and then headed out into the open area. Almost immediately McKinney watched the detector readout race up past seven hundred.

“It’s getting stronger.”

Indeed, McKinney could already smell the familiar peppery scent. “That’s with nothing physical left behind. Whatever was here must have been bigger than what was in Gaddani.”

They were driving along the empty dockside now. Odin looked to her. “They must have just loaded it. If we find out where that shipment was going, we might be able to intercept it. Jot down those bay numbers, Mort. And tell the driver to bring us to the shipping office.”

F ifteen minutes later they were standing in a tiny cubicle in a grungy office that smelled of cigarettes and cheap aftershave. They were crowded around Wun’s dusty computer screen, looking at a map of the vast container yard with thousands of little squares moving on it.

Wun changed some dates on the edge of the screen, and the pattern changed.

Odin pointed. “They were in Bays three thirty-six through five fifty-two.”

Wun spoke with a thick accent. “Container IDs?”

“No container IDs, Wun. Just give a printout of all the containers that went on that ship-and the name of the ship. That’s all we need.”

“Probably more than one ship.” Wun swept his hand across the yard map. “Big area.” He clicked through a few command menus, and then snorted. “Ah… big ship too.”

“Big ship-you mean they all went on one ship?”

Wun nodded. “Fourteen thousand two hundred forty-two container.” He held up his index finger. “One ship. Ebba Maersk — biggest ship there is.” A printer somewhere started spitting out paper.

McKinney leaned in. “The Ebba Maersk. That’s the name of the ship?”

Wun nodded. “Big, big ship. Half kilometer long.” He then scrolled through the list of containers in the manifest, shaking his head. “Different companies, same product and same weight. Machine tools. Six thousand two hundred three container machine tools.”

McKinney was puzzled.

Odin pointed at the description line: Machine Tools. “Kind of unusual to have so many of one thing from different companies, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Never see before.”

Odin narrowed his eyes. “Where’s the ship heading?”

Wun ran his finger along the screen, then stopped on one line. “Singapore.”

“You have Internet access?”

Wun rolled his eyes and gave Odin a dirty look.

“Okay, fine, Wun. Can I use this for a second?”

Wun pushed back and Odin leaned in to open a Web browser. He quickly typed into the URL line as McKinney and Evans watched.

She leaned in again. “What are you looking for?”

“Commercial marine traffic is carefully tracked. Retailers and other clients need to gauge arrival times.”

Evan pushed in as well. “Ah, cool, what do you use?”

“Marinetraffic. com.”

Odin entered the name Ebba Maersk in the ship name box, then clicked SEARCH. Moments later a Google map appeared showing a line of waypoints leading away from Hong Kong and forging out into the center of the South China Sea.

Odin stared at the screen without moving for several moments.

McKinney watched him. “What’s wrong?”

“The route.” He stood up, looking straight into McKinney’s eyes.

She stared back. “You think all those containers are carrying ship-cutting drones.”

“Eighty racks per container. Six thousand two hundred containers. What is that?”

Evans answered with a nervous laugh. “That’s nearly half a million drones, Odin.”

“Okay, so, what if they don’t all contain drones? What if some contain fuel or pheromone chemicals, weapons-whatever; that could still leave a hundred thousand or more ship-cutters.”