In last week’s episode, the St. Paul’s navigator, Lieutenant Singh, angrily confronted David about basic shipboard operations. In this week’s episode, the nefarious Minister Ping Yi is carefully following the St. Paul’s progress…
If Ping Yi ever felt emotion during one of the endless series of meetings he attended, no one observing him would have any indication. He’d cultivated an expression of serene detachment, and he wore it constantly. There were rumors that his subordinates marveled secretly at his apparently superhuman capacity to remain unflappable under all circumstances. Still, they could not possibly understand that after decades of sacrificing innocent victims to the demon Tiānlóng, business and intelligence meetings were practically vacations for the Minister.
Even here in Tanzania, the meetings were mostly enjoyable despite the incessant rain that continued to dump from the heavily overcast sky of Dar es Salaam. But Ping had little regard for the weather since he spent the bulk of his life indoors safely ensconced behind the walls of government offices, world-class restaurants, and luxury hotels. He had servants to position the umbrella for him on the occasions when travel required that he leave his sedan to cross puddle-filled streets. He did not care for the way the filthy water dampened his expensive Italian leather shoes. To him, the whole African continent was just a vast wilderness long overdue for the civilizing force of progress.
The meeting he attended was another in a long succession of Chinese Ministry of State Security intelligence briefings. The presenter was obviously nervous because he had briefed Ping before in a manner that the Envoy to Tanzania considered to be somehow substandard. While Ping had never expressed or explained the reason for his displeasure, the presenter’s son was subsequently denied entrance into a prestigious university. When in wrath, the presenter sought the cause of his son’s disqualification, it was brought to his attention that his social credit score had been reduced on Ping’s order. The presenter’s son was now paying the price for his father’s inadequacy.
Even if Ping’s emotional state was hidden, he possessed exceptional attention to detail and he demanded the same from his subordinates. He would often query those making presentations with numerous and highly detailed questions that were extraordinarily difficult to anticipate.
The man speaking now was armed with an extensive electronic file of supplementary information supporting the graphics and images he was projecting on the tabletop display. He would be able to access those files in an instant and hopefully slake Ping’s insatiable curiosity. He was clearly anxious, perhaps because the bulk of today’s information came from a Chinese student who was only recently recruited to study abroad in the United States. Ping was already aware of this, of course, and it amused him that the presenter worried that inexperience and lack of understanding would once again lead to a substandard report. It would be most unfortunate if it brought additional suffering to the presenter and his family.
“Yes, Ping Bùzhǎng.” The presenter used the honorific for Ping’s title, indicating his status as a Minister. “The airship St. Paul departed five hours ago from its aerodrome in the United States, bound for Tanzania.”
“From which asset did we receive this information?” Ping asked.
The presenter named the asset and explained that he was a newly recruited student.
“Have you confirmed the reports?”
“Yes, Ping Bùzhǎng,” the presenter replied, anxiously trying to show his efficiency, “and we corroborated the story through the Tri-Cities Herald, the Cascadian Times, and the Hermiston Herald. We also have a live video feed from the aircraft’s landing at the Umatilla base if you wish to view it.”
“That will not be necessary,” Ping replied blandly. “What is on its manifest?”
“At this moment, the St. Paul only carries extra fuel to make the trip across the Atlantic. It is scheduled to rendezvous with the British freighter Galeka near the port of Las Palmas in the Canary Islands in two days. From there, they will replace the extra fuel tank with a cargo of refugee tents that they intend to bring here.”
“Why do we think the Americans are sending this aircraft to Tanzania?” Ping automatically assumed that any international effort with such high visibility must surely be sponsored by the United States government.
“Clearly, this is an American attempt to establish an economic claim to the helium deposits in the Rukwa Valley.” The presenter answered the obvious questions with grim intensity. He flipped nervously through his file of supplementary information in an attempt to be ready for any questions that came next.
“Do we know who is flying this aircraft?” Ping’s voice was mild as he flipped through files on his own screen.
“The pilot is Captain Douglass Pruitt, and the co-pilot is First Officer Jim Foote. Both of these men were formerly helicopter pilots working for a company called Columbia Aviation based out of Aurora, Cascadia, in the United States. Captain Pruitt is older and has been piloting airships for more than ten years, while First Officer Foote is the junior with less than four years of experience. Both men are currently married, but Foote is separated from his wife. There is also a navigator, Lieutenant Ivan Sing. He has a master’s degree in meteorology and recently completed airship flight school in Hillsboro, Cascadia, with Vevila Araveli, although he is still awaiting certification as a pilot.”
“Araveli?” The mention of this name caused Ping to look up from his files. “The autistic pilot who won all the aerobatic contests?”
“Yes, Ping Bùzhǎng.”
“Continue,” Ping replied, looking back down at his files.
The presenter experienced a moment of obvious terror that delighted Ping as he considered what additional information the Minister wanted him to continue with. There were many different areas of potential inquiry.
Mastering his emotions with visible effort, the presenter continued with what might, in relative safety, be considered the next logical question. “Our analysis indicates that upon arrival in Tanzania, the American team will seek to participate in one of the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent cluster coordination meetings. Cluster meetings are composed of various humanitarian organizations, representing each of the main relief sectors such as water, health, and logistics.”
“I know what IFCR cluster meetings are,” Ping said dismissively, without looking up. “Who is the Humanitarian Coordinator?”
The presenter swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “Andreas Meijer is East Africa Country Cluster Support Team Operations Coordinator.”
“Ah, Meijer, I know him.” Ping looked back up, crossed his hands, and asked, “Who is the Rukwa Cluster Coordinator?”
“Emmanual Mkaruka.” The presenter’s face brightened when he anticipated the question, and then he hastily added “Ping Bùzhǎng,” to show humility. It upset Ping when his subordinates failed to show humility. “There is additional information on him in the files as well.”
“Yes, I see.” Ping flipped through the files on his screen. “Tell me more about the American operation.”
“They are sending an advance team here to Dar es Salaam. Airline records indicate that the team is enroute now and should arrive tomorrow. We anticipate their eventual participation in the cluster meetings.”
Ping turned towards another subordinate and dictated a quick order: “Contact Meijer, arrange for my participation in the East African cluster meeting. I wish to participate personally.”
“Yes, Ping Bùzhǎng,” the attractive female subordinate answered crisply.
Then Ping focused his full attention back to the presenter. “Do you have internet access to the St. Paul?”
“Yes, Ping Bùzhǎng,” the presenter nodded, “they maintain a public website through the PIRA organization. We can access the craft’s location and speed in real-time and even obtain valuable imagery through the web-enabled cameras that they have provided.”
“Have you attempted to penetrate the vessel’s computer systems and install surveillance software?”
The presenter’s expression froze in a mask of shock at the question. He did not have the authority to authorize a cyberattack without the consent of his superiors. “No, Ping Bùzhǎng.”
“I see,” Ping said in the same even voice, and he returned his gaze to the files before him. “You are dismissed.”
The presenter moved stiffly out of the meeting room as though he could hardly feel his arms and legs.
Ping knew full well that on his own, the presenter did not have the authority to authorize a cyberattack, but the implied task was now clear. It was most unfortunate that understanding had not dawned on the presenter in time to save his career, or his family’s continued safety.
In the few precious moments Ping Yi found between meetings, he considered the game of Go he recently played with Tiānlóng. Indeed, the demon had warned him that his operations in Tanzania were at significant risk, and now surely the Americans were making their first feeble attempts at surrounding his position. It was pathetic. He doubted the Americans even understood the rules of the game, much less who they were playing against. He would have to prepare his own report and communicate his findings to Tiānlóng immediately.