406: Chapter 406 The coordinates have changed

Lin Haisheng lowered his binoculars. "Their position?"

"They are in the center of the northern shipping lane of the Mozambique Channel. Based on their current heading, in four hours they will enter our scheduled route into the channel."

"Continue monitoring." Lin Haisheng turned and walked to the chart table. His executive officer, Zhao Mingyu, had already marked the positions of the three US Military warships on the chart—a red triangle, stuck in the exact center of the northern entrance of the Mozambique Channel, like a locked deadbolt.

A buzzer sounded from the internal communication device on the bridge. It was the voice of Chen Jianfeng, a senior captain in the Dragon Country Navy and commander of the "Sea Patrol 31" fleet: "Captain Lin, their 'Ford' has sent a radio call. Channel 16, public frequency—demanding we state our identity and sailing intentions."

Lin Haisheng picked up the microphone. "Reply: Federation of Myanmar Navy destroyer 'Bhamo', Dragon Country patrol ship 'Sea Patrol 31', conducting a routine escort mission from Kyaukpyu Port to Nacala Port, Mozambique. The route passes through the Mozambique Channel. Freedom of navigation, no reporting required."

There was silence on the other end of the microphone for a few seconds. Chen Jianfeng's voice came through again, carrying a hint of undisguised amusement: "They replied—'The area you are entering is currently conducting a US Military freedom of navigation exercise. We suggest you change course to avoid misjudgment'."

Lin Haisheng switched the microphone to his left hand. "Reply: Our route is in accordance with laws and regulations and will not be changed. If avoidance is necessary, please have the exercising party adjust accordingly."

This exchange was fully recorded by the "Bhamo"'s electronic warfare system and transmitted in real-time via an encrypted data link back to the Presidential Palace in Naypyidaw. Zhang Cheng listened to this conversation in his office, his fingers tapping lightly on the desktop twice.

"Let the 'Bhamo' continue on its original course," he said to the communications officer. "Also, have the shipborne helicopter take off and film the situation at the northern entrance of the channel—especially the condition of the 'Ford's' deck. If their carrier-based aircraft are preparing for takeoff, get clear shots. Push all footage globally in real-time via 'Shuguang Cloud'."

The communications officer turned to relay the order. Li Lanzhi stood beside Zhang Cheng, holding a document in her hand. "Barrett has approved Harper's Plan B." She placed the document on the table. "Target—Mozambique President Nyusi. Method—assassination, framed on us. Executors—remnants of 'Blood Moon', departing from Johannesburg, South Africa, expected to arrive in Maputo within seventy-two hours."

"How many people are left in 'Blood Moon'?"

"Three in the core executive layer, nine in the peripheral support layer. The leader's code name is 'Razor', a former French Foreign Legion sniper who was forced to retreat by 'Shadow Blade' once in Mali in 2019, though they never engaged in combat. His right pinky and ring finger were amputated due to frostbite during the retreat—that was the price he paid for being pursued for four days and four nights on the southern edge of the Sahara Desert."

Zhang Cheng opened the file and glanced at the photo of "Razor". A gaunt white face, deep-set eye sockets, a nose that had been broken twice and not set correctly, and a missing piece of his left earlobe. "He knows Night Owl won't go to Africa, which is why he dared to take this job."

"Then he is wrong," Li Lanzhi said.

Zhang Cheng did not respond to that. He picked up the encrypted phone and dialed João's frequency.

"Two days from now, Maputo. Twelve people are going to kill the Mozambique President and then frame you for it. The leader's code name is 'Razor'. I want you to pin them down and kill them one by one on the streets of Maputo before they pull the trigger."

João's voice came over the satellite link, accompanied by very faint sea breeze noise. "I need authorization."

"Upgraded. Your redemption list now includes light armored vehicles, field hospitals, and the 'Shadow Dancer-2' optical camouflage individual combat system. I will send four people from Naypyidaw—not ordinary Death Soldiers, but 'Shadow Blade'. The leader was personally selected by Night Owl."

"Their arrival time?"

"Twelve hours before you." Zhang Cheng hung up the phone.

Northern entrance of the Mozambique Channel, four hours later.

The "Bhamo" was only twelve nautical miles from the "Ford" carrier strike group. This distance had already entered the outer defensive perimeter of the carrier strike group—under normal circumstances, an "Arleigh Burke"-class destroyer should have moved out to intercept by now. But it didn't move.

In Lin Haisheng's binoculars, the deck of the "Ford" was clearly visible. There were no fighter jets on its flight deck—all the F/A-18s and F-35Cs were parked in the hangar. On the deck, there were only a few tractors and a group of deck crew members repairing the arresting gear. Above the island, the signal mast flew a set of international signal flags—translated, it read: "You are entering an exercise area, please be safe."

It was not "No Entry", not "Leave Immediately", but "Please be safe".

"They didn't get authorization to open fire." Zhao Mingyu lowered his binoculars, his voice carrying an incredulous calm. "Their aircraft carrier has been drifting at the northern entrance of the Mozambique Channel for two weeks, waiting for us to come—and then they didn't dare to do anything."

"It's not that they don't dare," Lin Haisheng said. "It's that their president is waiting for Yellen's press conference. Yellen is waiting for the market's reaction. The market is waiting for us to pass through the channel."

He picked up the ship's internal broadcasting microphone and pressed the all-ship broadcast button. His voice resounded simultaneously across every deck, every battle station, and every living compartment of the destroyer.

"Attention all crew. This ship is about to enter the Mozambique Channel. This is the first time a Federation of Myanmar Navy vessel has traversed this strategic waterway off the east coast of Africa. The ensign will not be lowered, the course will not be changed, and the speed will not be reduced. Over."

The bow cut through the swells of the Indian Ocean, its wake pointing straight toward the northern entrance of the channel. Five nautical miles away, the commander of the "Ford" carrier strike group stood on the bridge, watching the two warships that did not belong to the US Military pass through the middle of his blockade line. He could order carrier-based aircraft to take off, he could order destroyers to close in and track them, and he could issue more severe warnings over the radio.

But he could not open fire.

Because at the very moment the "Bhamo" entered the channel, seventeen video platforms globally were live-streaming this scene. The footage came from the "Bhamo"'s shipborne helicopter's infrared camera—in the frame, the "Ford" looked like a grey behemoth sitting on the sea surface, its deck empty, while the two much smaller warships were passing by it unhurriedly.

On social media, an anonymous account posted a comparison image: on the left was an aerial photo of a US Military carrier strike group intruding into the strait during the 1996 Taiwan Strait Crisis, and on the right was a screenshot of the "Bhamo" passing through the northern entrance of the Mozambique Channel at this moment. The caption for the image had only one sentence: "The coordinates need to change."

Maputo, CIA safe house, 2:00 AM.

Harper sat in front of the encrypted communication terminal, the blue light of the screen reflecting on his face, illuminating his three-day-old stubble to a grayish-white. Spread out before him were three satellite photos—the first was the boundary marker of João's "People's Defense Zone", sprinkled with white lime powder at the junction of the beach and the coconut grove, looking like a thin, long dashed line from the satellite. The second was the makeshift field hospital on the north side of Mueda Village, with eight tents arranged in a neat rectangle, the tops of the tents painted with red cross symbols, but from the infrared thermal imaging, one could see cable trenches buried beneath the tents—those were for powering portable air defense radars. The third was the newly built perimeter wall of the coastal natural gas terminal in Cabo Delgado Province, with a line of Portuguese slogans painted on the wall: "Mutale Security Services—Unauthorized entrants will be treated as armed invaders."