It was dark and deathly quiet on Saturday morning when Ellen and Nick steered the boat out of the Hatteras Harbor Marina towards the deeper waters, making their way parallel to where William Ying first stood on the beach the day FBI agent Gunston took the photo. Reaching their destination, Nick turned off the engine and looked to shore.
“Out far enough do you think?” Ellen asked.
“This will do it,” he answered. “So they could be looking for a boat or ship to come in or, I know this will sound a bit out there, but a submarine to rise.”
“You’re right, it’s out there. But hey, never say never. I’ll have a look if there’s anything untoward below, other than a couple of wrecks.”
“Isn’t it too dark to go down yet?” Nick said.
“Maybe, but it’s another hour until sunrise. I’ll see what I can see; I like watching the underwater world wake up,” Ellen said. She put on her diving gear and Nick casually opened a fishing box, pulled out the bait and grabbed a fishing rod, then went through the process of baiting it and throwing it overboard.
“I hate fishing,” he whined. “Seriously who could sit still, just waiting… waiting.”
“I think that’s the point,” Ellen said, “normal people can sit still. It’s supposed to be good for you. Besides Henri told me it’s a great spot for fishing, supposedly lots of king mackerel and red drum … that’s a fish.”
Nick gave Ellen a wry look. “Really? Don’t be long.”
“I won’t. I’ll just have a cursory look around.” With that Ellen sat on the side of the boat and flipped over into the water. He watched the surface of the water still after she disappeared into it and he looked at his watch. He felt a tug on the line.
“Already?” he said aloud with increased interest. “Or is that you Ellie being funny?” He reeled it in and felt it tug some more. I guess I’m fishing then, he thought. He continued to reel it in and pulled up an empty line. The bait was missing. I hate fishing, he thought again.
In the quiet and still of the morning, Nick sat back and studied the area, steadying himself as the boat rocked with the tide and rising wind. He took the binoculars and scoped the area, including the lighthouse. He couldn’t see Mitch or Samantha—as it should be, he thought—nor could he see anything out of the ordinary. Nick mused on the best area to bring a boat to shore if he was collecting someone; it was near where William Ying kept watch the day Gunston saw him.
He considered the best place to liaise with a boat, if they were taking a person out to sea, taking on board visibility areas and access. Nick checked his watch again, keeping track of how long Ellen had been underwater.
Mitch left Samantha watching from the darkened hotel room and jogged to the lighthouse. Dressed in black, he kept to the shadows. He arrived and was not surprised to find the entry door to the lighthouse was locked. He grabbed a thin hook pick from the kit in his jacket, inserted it, clicked the lock and entered, closing the door behind him. Mitch took the stairs two at a time toward the top, counting automatically.
Two-hundred-sixty-eight, he exhaled victoriously on reaching the top. The area was clear.
He moved to the side frame of the glass window, out of sight, and looked below.
No sight of anyone yet.
He looked out to sea and could make out Nick’s figure fishing on the boat; he appeared to be alone. He glanced at his watch. Nearing six a.m., still dark. Surely they’ll do this test before the sun rises … if they are true to their usual activity, they should be here soon, he thought.
He looked towards the parking lot and saw a blue RAV4 pull up. The lights were off. Four car doors opened and the men alighted. Mitch watched and looked out to sea again but could see nothing unusual.
Nick glanced to the waters below, but no sign of Ellen yet. His phone vibrated and Mitch’s name came up.
“What’s happening?” Nick asked.
“I’ve got four in sight; they’re about to head down the beach your way so try and look convincing while you’re fishing.”
Nick chuckled. “Yeah sure, I’ll slouch. How far off are they?”
“Less than a minute,” Mitch said. “Can’t see anything else strange happening inland or out. Anything out there?”
“Not a thing.”
“OK, remember, if you see us, you don’t know us,” Mitch said.
“Done.” Nick hung up. “C’mon Ellie.” No sooner had he said it, than she appeared. Nick helped pull her in.
“What did you find?” Nick asked not taking his eyes off the shore.
“It’s amazing down there, even in the dark,” Ellen said, with a shiver. “But my scanner didn’t pick up any active devices. There’s plenty of room and depth for marine equipment to enter the area, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
She removed her tank and wrapped a large towel around herself. They sat in the boat watching the shore.
“Here we go,” Nick said, seeing the men on the beach. “The same test as yesterday, two in the water … disappearing underwater … one of them timing … where’s the fourth one?”
“He’s heading back to the car,” Ellen said. “Call Mitch.”
“Already seen him, thanks,” Mitch whispered to Nick. “Not a thing happening out at sea that I can see from here. And there?”
“Same, nothing out here. But this is the same exercise they did yesterday.”
“Right,” Mitch said. “Then I’m guessing this is how the VIP is going to be lifted at sea. Why swim out though, unless he’s going underwater …” Mitch thought aloud.
“A sub?” Nick said. “We were just talking about how far-fetched that would be.”
“That would be something. Talk later.” Mitch hung up and began the descent. Half way down the stairs, he heard someone coming up.
Is that the fourth man? Damn, he’s driven here to look out to sea too. Mitch leaned forward, identifying that it was definitely one of the Asian party. He turned and silently began the run back up the iron stairs. He stopped and listened; the man continued upwards, puffing loudly. Mitch looked around; there was no choice but to keep going up, nowhere else to go unless he swung underneath the stairs. In daylight, there would be no chance of hiding with the design of the spiral staircase, but wearing black and in the dark pre-dawn, he might just get away with it.
Mitch looked down. The man had stopped ascending. Mitch waited and a few moments later the Asian man began to climb again. Mitch swung over the rail, and locked himself in under the stairs. His black gloved fingers would be visible on the edges of the stair rail only. He was just over halfway up; it would be a hell of a fall.
Christ, hope he doesn’t stop for breath and look down through the stairs. Mitch waited. He could hear the footsteps getting closer now. Suddenly a flashlight shone up the spiral stairwell and Mitch turned his face to the wall. The flashlight continued above. He’s seeing how much further he has to go, Mitch thought. A cell phone rang and the man stopped to answer. He was no more than ten steps below where Mitch waited suspended. The man was talking in Mandarin, and began to take the steps upwards again. He climbed over where Mitch hung underneath him, stopping three steps further on.
Mitch tried to breathe steadily; his muscles aching with gripping on. Hurry the fuck up, he swore to himself, willing the man to leave. The man continued to talk, not moving from the stair he stood on. Mitch gritted his teeth and held on. Finally he heard the man turn and descend the stairs. He walked over Mitch and down to the entrance.
Mitch sighed with relief and pulled himself back over the rails. He shook himself out, squatted and waited until he heard the door to the lighthouse close. Mitch bolted down the remaining stairs. He heard a car start outside, pulling out of the lighthouse parking lot.
After counting off the four men on the beach, Samantha raced to the parking lot and drove out of town. There were no cars on the road and she dimmed her lights as she turned off the main road and into the forest area towards the house where the men were staying, keen to do another sweep while the premises were clear. She parked in Maple Lane, left the car unlocked and ran through the bush to the house, stopping far enough away to observe there was no one around, no lights on and no change in the house surroundings. The slightly graying dawn light was enough to help her find her way.
So if all four are on the beach, she mused, I should be able to get the print of the fourth person and maybe even photograph a few files. Maybe even a print from the VIP! I wonder where that room is that can be seen through the camera. She went to the back of the house this time, picking the lock and entering. It was deathly quiet and dark. She waited for her eyes to adjust.
Samantha began scanning furniture for hairs and bagging fibers. She quickly moved from room to room. The house was spotless, as though uninhabited. She kept getting the eerie feeling that someone was watching her but every time she turned, she was alone. She went to the film room, turned on the monitors and saw the four areas again. Samantha looked around; the vision wasn’t being taped, just feeding in real time. Where is that room that the monitor is focused on? Wish I knew. Ha! She could see the boat that Nick and Ellen were in but could not make them out; it was just another boat floating offshore. She couldn’t see Mitch but she saw the men coming in from the shore … What are you three up to? Crap, only three of them, where is the fourth? Better move in case he’s on his way back.
That feeling again … she turned around, no one there. She shuddered. Samantha swiped the keyboard and desks for more prints and hairs. She turned off the monitors as she had found them and headed for the door. With one final look to check she had left it as she found it, Samantha locked herself out. She began the jog back to the car. Driving out, she kept her lights off but did not pass anyone; on the main road, she saw the blue car at the gas station, where the Asian man was getting gas. She returned to the hotel, swinging her car into the parking lot.
Mitch ran the distance to the beach. In the rising light, he took cover and watched the three men finish the test, dry off and wait on the beach. Minutes later, the fourth member returned and collected them.
Where did he go after the lighthouse? Mitch wondered. Samantha might have seen.
He waited until the men departed and went to the water’s edge. Mitch stripped to his trunks and followed their exact exercise—swimming out the same distance, staying underwater for the same time and allowing himself to drift. He came back to shore, grabbed his clothes, and, shivering, headed for the hotel room.
He jumped into the shower, changed into dry clothes and then logged into his laptop for the latest intel. Marcus had not been able to identify the fourth member of the Asian party from Samantha’s photograph. He had not entered the US before under his own name, he had no fingerprints on file, but the facial recognition software had him entering the country with the other Beijing Armed Police Forces’ officers and after comparing him with the press clippings, it was clear he wasn’t Zhou Ta, the police officer whose passport he entered the country with. Mitch shot him back an email to say thanks.
He opened the file with the translation of last night’s dialog from the house where the Asian men were staying; the house that Samantha bugged. He read the summary that Justin had put together: they’re calling it the VIP house, Mitch mused and they’ve referred to the VIP as a ‘he’. So is the VIP there yet? The test is definitely happening on Sunday morning … the storage area ‘is suitable’ … for what? He read the translation that said the VIP was nervous … hmm, interesting … some interesting names mentioned here too - Froggy, unusual, must be a frogman … an underwater tactical combat man, that’s a worry … Hai, Ru, William … yep, got you William Ying.
He looked up as Ellen entered the room.
“OK?” he asked.
“Good, are we meeting?”
“Yeah, how about the cafe for breakfast in twenty?” Mitch suggested.
“Perfect, I’ll let the others know. Sam’s just back now.”
Mitch looked up. “Back from where? She was supposed to stay at the window.”
“Right, forget I said anything.” Ellen backed out.
Mitch shook his head. She’s killing me … got to do something about Sam.
He sent Justin an email and then pulled Joseph Kinaird’s diary onto his lap. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes until we meet; time for some more riveting reading in the life of Joseph. He sighed.