185: Chapter 185 Commander Chuan is getting anxious

Okinawa.

Kadena Air Base.

Inside the joint operations command center, a CNN broadcast was displayed on the big screen.

Victoria Harbour had been cleared.

The lights on both shores were cut off by cordon lines, rescue boats lined up on both sides of the water, and searchlights swept over the emergency landing area again and again.

Subtitles scrolled at the bottom right of the screen.

"CX890 is expected to arrive over Victoria Harbour within fifteen minutes."

John Browning sat at the head of the long table.

The coffee in front of him had been replaced for the fourth time.

It was still cold.

He didn't touch it.

In the conference room, none of the dozen or so officers could sit still.

Some were scrolling through Twitter.

Some were staring at the live broadcast.

Some were looking down at the East China Sea combat damage report.

Ohio-class strategic nuclear submarine.

uss louisiana.

155 officers and crew.

All lost.

That line from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the East, "The US side knows the current status of this submarine," didn't need translation; everyone understood it.

"You hit a civilian airliner."

"We hit a submarine."

John pushed the coffee away.

The CNN anchor was connecting with an aviation expert.

"CX890 is still in the air, which means all four tomahawk missiles were intercepted."

The aviation expert paused for a moment.

"If the pilot is indeed not a registered pilot, then what he is doing now has already exceeded the training scope of the vast majority of professional captains."

John stared at the green dot on the screen.

Single engine.

Fuel leak.

boeing 777.

According to normal accident models, this plane should have gone down long ago.

But it was still flying.

The person in the cockpit had hijacked an F18 in Dubai half a year ago and even scored two to zero.

John didn't believe in God.

But he was starting to feel that some people were just not normal.

The red direct line on the table rang.

No one moved.

The phone rang a second time before John picked up the receiver.

"Mr. President."

There was no small talk on the other end of the line.

"Is he going to make an emergency landing?"

"Confirmation is underway. CNN is broadcasting it."

President Trump snorted coldly.

"I don't watch CNN. Fake news."

John didn't respond.

The voice on the phone added, "FOX is broadcasting it too, so I watched it."

John rubbed his temples.

"Mr. President, CX890 will enter Victoria Harbour in a dozen minutes."

"Do you think he can land it?"

John paused for two seconds.

On the screen, the green dot was still approaching Hong Kong.

"It's possible."

This wasn't comfort.

It was a judgment.

The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds.

Then, President Trump spoke.

"Initiate Plan C."

John sat up straight.

"What level?"

"All of it."

John's hand froze on the desktop.

"Mr. President, are you sure about all of it?"

"Activate all available networks in Hong Kong."

President Trump's voice lowered.

"The CIA's deep cover agents in Hong Kong, the people from Israel, and the old relics left over from London. Mobilize everyone who can move."

John didn't answer immediately.

The conference room was quiet.

The Chief of Staff, standing by the door, had already looked up.

President Trump continued.

"If the plane successfully makes an emergency landing, the East military and the Hong Kong police will seal off the scene immediately."

"Snowden and the hard drive will be taken away by them."

"We won't be able to get them through normal channels."

John spoke: "So, create chaos?"

"Protests, conflicts, explosions, riots, whatever."

President Trump paused for half a second.

"I just need Hong Kong to be in chaos."

John understood now.

Chaos was just the shell.

The real targets were Snow and that hard drive.

"What about London?"

"I've already briefed them."

President Trump's speaking speed was slow.

"MI5 will activate their old network in Hong Kong."

John tapped his fingertips on the table twice.

The Hong Kong Political Department.

That organization which, in theory, had been disbanded before the handover.

In theory.

"They will be responsible for the final step."

President Trump continued.

"Take Snow away."

"If you can't take him, make him shut up."

John didn't speak.

The US military provided authorization.

The CIA provided support.

Israel provided manpower.

MI5 provided the blade.

Four parties joined forces, all for one programmer and one hard drive.

John spoke in a low voice: "Mr. President, this will push things to another level."

President Trump's tone turned cold.

"John, I just lost an Ohio-class."

"155 people."

"Congress will ask me why four tomahawk missiles were fired at a civilian airliner, and yet we got nothing in the end."

"How do you expect me to answer that?"

John was silent.

Only one last sentence remained on the other end of the line.

"Execute."

The call ended.

John put down the receiver.

A dozen pairs of eyes in the conference room were all looking at him.

The Chief of Staff walked over.

"What did the President say?"

John stood up and pushed his chair back.

"Connect me to General Watawobuhu."

— Somewhere in the Middle East.

In General Watawobuhu's office, maps hung on three walls, and a seventy-inch TV hung on the other.

The CNN broadcast was still showing Victoria Harbour.

General Watawobuhu sat with his legs crossed, a plate of pistachios in front of him.

Seven or eight mobile phones were strewn on the coffee table.

When the phone rang, he had just bitten into an empty shell.

"Tch."

He threw the empty shell into the plate and answered the phone.

"John."

John got straight to the point.

"New mission."

Watawobuhu peeled another pistachio.

"You guys really played this ugly this time."

John didn't respond.

Watawobuhu continued.

"Four tomahawk missiles hitting a civilian airliner."

"CNN is broadcasting it, BBC is broadcasting it, Al Jazeera is broadcasting it too."

"The whole world saw it."

He tossed the nut into his mouth.

"The key is, you didn't even hit it."

"Four missiles, and all missed."

"Did your Pacific Fleet have its training budget cut recently?"

John's jaw tightened.

"I'm not here to listen to your debriefing."

"Then what are you here for?"

"If CX890 successfully makes an emergency landing, your people are to create chaos in Hong Kong."

Watawobuhu's hand stopped.

"Hong Kong?"

"Hong Kong."

"Scale?"

"The bigger, the better."

Watawobuhu didn't answer immediately.

The sound of the mute button being pressed came from the other end of the line.

Ten seconds later, he spoke again.

"More money."

John was prepared.

"How much?"

"Five times."

"I'll give you ten times."

Watawobuhu was silent for two seconds.

John continued: "Don't play games. Activate everyone you have available."

"And Yossi."

Watawobuhu paused even longer this time.

"Are you sure you want to let him loose?"

"He has a personal vendetta against Li Li."

"Once he's out, he might not follow your script."

John leaned back in his chair.

"I don't need a script."

"I need Hong Kong to go up in flames."

"The bigger the fire, the better."

Watawobuhu tossed the last pistachio into his mouth.

"Yossi isn't cheap."

"Money is no object."

"Then it's a deal."

Watawobuhu hung up the phone and brushed the salt off his hands.

He picked up another phone on the coffee table and dialed a Southeast Asian area code.

— Southeast Asia.

A mountain resort.

The chirping of insects in the rainforest drowned out the sound of the air conditioning unit.

Inside a two-story wooden house, the lights were very dim.

Yossi sat in a rattan chair with a laptop on his knees.

The screen was also showing the CNN broadcast.

Victoria Harbour cleared.

Police lights on both shores.

The green dot was closing in.

The phone rang.

Yossi glanced at the caller ID and answered.

Watawobuhu finished delivering the orders in less than forty seconds total.

Yossi didn't write anything down.

After the call ended, he put the phone back on the table and continued watching the screen.

A photo popped up in the corner of the CNN screen.

Tousled hair.

Work jacket.

Li Li.

Yossi's right ring finger was missing half a section.

There was an old scar on his face.

His leg bone still ached to this day.

These were all debts left over from Dubai.

Delia died there.

He almost died there too.

"Li Li."

He recited the name.

A tall, thin man stood beside him, with a buzz cut and a tattoo on his neck.

Yossi turned his head.

"Where is Jiang Rumu?"

The man with the buzz cut opened his tablet.

"Hong Kong."

"Attending a cocktail party at The Landmark Mandarin Oriental in Central tonight."

Yossi tapped the table.

"Send a squad over."

The man with the buzz cut looked up.

"Mission?"

Yossi stared at that green dot on the screen.

"Kill her."

The room went quiet.

Yossi continued: "Create an explosion while you're at it."

"Make it loud."

The man didn't move.

"Boss, what if the plane crashes?"

"If Li Li dies, is there still any point in killing Jiang Rumu?"

Yossi closed the laptop.

"He won't crash."

The man didn't respond.

Yossi stood up and walked to the window.

The scar on his face was reflected in the glass.

"This guy isn't right."

"We checked him."

"Ordinary person, architect, reality show contestant."

"But he can fly an F18."

"And can come back alive from the island."

Yossi turned around and picked up the phone on the table.

"This kind of person won't die so easily."

"The more he stays alive, the more valuable it is to kill Jiang Rumu."

The man put away the tablet.

"Bonus?"

"Five times."

"Understood."

The man turned and walked out the door.

Yossi was the only one left in the wooden house.

He reopened the laptop.

The CNN feed cut back to an aerial view of Victoria Harbour.

Searchlights swept across the water.

The green dot was getting closer and closer to Hong Kong.

Yossi's severed finger tapped against the armrest, one beat after another.

— Hong Kong.

The Landmark Mandarin Oriental in Hong Kong.

Jiang Rumu's phone screen was still lit.

The line sent by Li Li remained in the chat box.

[If I am alive in ten minutes, in one piece, will you be my girlfriend?]

She didn't reply.

Not because she didn't want to.

It was because she couldn't.

At this time, any message could distract Li Li.

And Li Li was currently holding over three hundred lives in his hands.

On the TV, the CNN feed suddenly switched.

"Breaking news."

"CX890 has entered Hong Kong airspace."

"Expected to arrive over Victoria Harbour in eight minutes."

The anchor flipped to the last page of the script.

"The world is witnessing the most dangerous water landing in the history of civil aviation."

Jiang Rumu turned off her phone.

The unsent message was still lying in the edit box.

[Li Li, whether you live or die, you are my boyfriend.]

She stood up and walked to the window.

Thirty-second floor.

Outside the window was the night view of Victoria Harbour.

It was still beautiful tonight.

But her hands were very cold.

The white light of the searchlights swept up from the water, one beam after another grazing the glass.

On the edge of the distant skyline, something was approaching.

She saw twinkling lights in the sky in the pitch black night.

She couldn't see clearly.

But she knew.

That was him.