509: Chapter 509 Short Selling Explodes, Cobalt Ship Sets Sail

When the gantry crane hoisted the first batch of cobalt concentrate into the cargo hold, João stood on the port's approach bridge.

The bandage on his left arm had been changed, and the gauze was new.

Mineral powder trickled down from the gaps in the loader's bucket, raising a fine haze of dust.

A puddle near the approach bridge was splashed by the mineral powder, turning the water surface blue.

"Cobalt content." Anvil walked up behind him, the lenses of his metal-rimmed glasses reflecting the blue light in the puddle, "Cobalt ions in the mineral powder."

The engineering Death Soldiers changed into work clothes soaked in sea water and saved all the electronic data from the disassembly process—the mooring mine fuse logic, the communication protocol of the remote control module, and the disassembled photos of the hydroacoustic communication antenna—into a data disk, handing it over to João.

"The frequency of this batch of mines' remote control modules can be changed." He tapped the edge of the data disk with the tip of his pen, "That terminal was added just seven days ago. Merida's people are still sending technicians to the front lines. As long as they are able to move, the next batch of mines might use a new frequency. Vega needs to update its hydroacoustic frequency band monitoring algorithm—I've also copied the disassembled fuse logic into it."

When the cargo hold of the "African Star" was full, the sun had already climbed over the gantry crane's boom.

The mineral dust-proof cloth on the deck covered the entire cargo hold, billowing in the morning wind like a dark gray sail.

Nine o'clock in the morning.

Naypyidaw Command Center.

Zhang Cheng received the news—all seven smart mooring mines in the Nacala Port channel had been cleared, one of Council of Elders' remote operators was killed and another was captured alive, and the "African Star" had completed loading with 110,000 tons of cobalt concentrate and was about to weigh anchor and leave port.

Li Lanzhi handed over the latest intelligence brief.

The first page was the loading progress of the "African Star".

The second page was the decrypted information from the captured operator's mobile phone in the fishing village—the last prefix of the call history was +52, and the last line of the encrypted telegram had only two words:

[ Phase 2 Active. ]

"They have initiated the second phase." Li Lanzhi's voice was calm and her tone cold, "Vega just intercepted an encrypted transoceanic telegram sent from the Merida estate to two hedge funds in London and New York."

She pushed the tablet over.

The decrypted telegram was very short, and Zhang Cheng glanced at it:

[ Short Asian Digital Currency. Full position. Margin on cobalt. ]

Short Asian digital currency. Full position. Anchor on cobalt.

"They know cobalt concentrate is the underlying support for our digital currency-anchored assets. As long as they short the Asian digital currency, they can tear open a gap from the financial end."

Li Lanzhi swiped to the next page—Vega's financial monitoring interface.

The real-time market data on the screen from the New York Mercantile Exchange, London Metal Exchange, and Singapore Digital Currency Exchange beat like a heart, "The short market is just established now. But if they smash the market before the 'African Star' leaves port—"

"I won't let them smash it." Zhang Cheng pressed the tablet onto the desk, causing the desktop to vibrate slightly, "The channel is cleared. Cobalt concentrate is being loaded. Their first-stage mining area and second-stage channel have both failed. As for the game in the financial market—let them fill their short positions to the brim."

He pressed the encrypted channel.

Opposite him was Li Lanzhi.

"Connect to Zhao Gang. The statement on the anchoring of Asian digital currencies with rare earths and chips must be released before the London market opens."

Li Lanzhi's fingers tapped three times on the keyboard.

Zhao Gang's encrypted channel was connected.

The background was the sound of keyboard tapping.

"The commander is aware." Zhao Gang's voice was steady, "The draft rare earth anchoring statement has been drafted and will be released globally one hour before the London market opens."

Vega's financial monitoring interface refreshed simultaneously—on the Singapore Digital Currency Exchange, for the Asian digital currency-to-US dollar trading pair, a buy order of 50 million coins was placed within three seconds after the sell order smashed the market.

The price was forcibly pulled back above the opening price.

Manhattan.

Hedge fund trading room.

The trader stared at the draft rare earth anchoring statement that suddenly popped up on the screen, his coffee cup suspended mid-air.

The freshly filled short positions were devoured by the bulls within three minutes, and the price was pulled back 2.7% above the opening price.

He slammed the keyboard, cursed, and picked up the phone to call Merida—busy tone.

The data on Vega's financial monitoring interface kept beating.

On the Singapore Digital Currency Exchange, for the Asian digital currency-to-US dollar trading pair, there were seven large sell orders smashing the market within three minutes, each exceeding three million coins.

The hedge fund "Meridian Capital", which ranked first in seller lots, had just added 1,500 lots of short positions.

At the exact same second, the rare earth anchoring statement was released globally.

Rare earth futures on the New York Mercantile Exchange surged 8.3% within four minutes after the statement was released.

The price of the Asian digital currency-to-US dollar trading pair was forcibly pulled back by the bulls to 1.5% above the opening price.

Meridian Capital's floating loss on short positions popped up as a red number in the lower right corner of the screen—a negative sign followed by seven zeros.

Zhang Cheng didn't look at that number.

He picked up his teacup; the tea was still hot.

"Let them fill their short positions to the brim."

On the balcony of the Merida estate.

The phone of the financial faction member on the right vibrated seven times on the table.

He picked up the phone and swiped the screen—the messages sent consecutively by the hedge fund trader were full of curses.

He turned the phone to show the person with silver-gray short hair: "The trader at Meridian Capital says that as soon as the rare earth statement came out, two thousand lots of their short positions were devoured within three minutes. Someone is artificially driving up the market in reverse. Not retail investors—it's a sovereign fund-level massive buy order."

The person with silver-gray short hair didn't take the phone.

The cobalt futures market on the London Metal Exchange on the tablet screen was still jumping—new short positions were still being added, but the spread between ask one and bid one had been widened to 3%.

The whistle of the "African Star" sounded again, its deep roar rippling far across the waters of Nacala Port.

Under the dust-proof cloth on the main deck, 110,000 tons of cobalt concentrate resonated at a low frequency in the cargo hold.

Beside the chart table in the wheelhouse, the captain typed four words into the navigation log: Fully loaded and set sail.

At the end of the port's approach bridge, João pinched the encrypted chip dismantled from the remote control terminal and held it up to the light to inspect it.

On the back was a line of handwritten ink: Razor / Phase 2 Activate.

"Merida welded the blade of the Razor between the mine and the channel—blow it up if you can, and if you can't blow it up, stab it from the financial market."

Anvil glanced at the line of words and put the data disk into a waterproof bag.

João watched the "African Star" sail out of the port's main channel, the white foam churned up by its bow rolling.

He let go of the mortar shell tail fin fragment, which dropped onto the iron plate of the approach bridge and bounced twice, making a crisp sound.

"Tell Chief Zhang—the cobalt concentrate has been loaded and set sail. Merida's two Razors are both broken."

The second the voice fell, three monitoring triggers popped up simultaneously in the lower right corner of Vega's tactical screen: abnormal short position opening volume of London Metal Exchange cobalt futures contracts within five minutes—1,700 lots thrown out in two minutes; four massive sell orders suddenly appearing at midnight for the Asian digital currency-to-US dollar trading pair on the Singapore Digital Currency Exchange, each exceeding 5 million coins; the comparison result of satellite images of the Merida estate—a reflector antenna newly erected outside the garage, pointing directly at New York.