[h1]Russia[/h1]
[h2]Arkhangelsk[/h2]

On the table, a kettle of warm tea was placed. Steaming gently from its spout the soft gentle smell of a warm tea drifted up. It streamed upward into the cool crisp air of the sitting room until a hand grabbed it and turned the pot over, pouring from its silver lips a stream of bubbly golden liquid.

“Entertain us, comrade,” began an officer with a pleasant smile, “What was it that the Priest wanted to speak to you about?” he asked as he looked up from his seat to Shen Shao. The look of wanting on his face bespoke the certain desire a puppy might have for a treat, and he entertained this personal want well as he waved the tin cup containing his tea under his nose.

The tea which he spoke of was Dymtrio Radek, the eccentric and unconventional communist leader who had seized control of the Russian Neobolshevik movement, and by extension his share of western Russia. Though the Saint Petersburg based leader had lost the faith of the White Russians, he was at least recognized by China.

Shao considered, walking over to the table for his own cup as he looked at the handful of other commanders in the room with him. Together they made up Shao's general staff.

“He has a request for me.” he answered the question, “Was that what you wanted to Ji Ho?”

Ho laughed. He was a man of modest appearance, and perhaps forgettable if met once. His wild hair was thin and he already wore a faint net of laugh lines and other fine wrinkles in his face, “Well perhaps, that was a very vivid answer.” he smiled, delicately sipping his tea. The still hot liquid stung his lips, but it was the homely tones and familiar comfortable smells in its aroma he sought for the moment.

“Seriously, what did he want?” he asked.

“He wants us to commit piracy on his behalf.” Shao explained, “At first I didn't take him seriously, but I've been entertaining it.”

“Hence us.” a stockier figure acknowledged. Shao Jian was his name. An elephant of a man. Healed bruises splotched and flawed his complexion and it was hard to tell where the uneven roundness of his face was his given face or the healed injuries from fights. He had acquired a reputation among the friendly Russians as an adept wrestler. His heavy boulder arms barely fit in his blue naval great coat as they crossed his barrel chest.

“I have no opinion on the matter.” he added, “As far as I care Radek is Beijing. So his word doesn't have weight.”

“He knows that, he just gave me an open offer to the matter.” explained Shao indifferently. He took a seat on the couch alongside Ho, and leaned up against the arm.

The sitting room wasn't large, though perhaps the biggest room in the building. Chinese command for the Arkhangelsk detachment comprised a far corner of the city's delta port, although the crown and core of the unit slumbered in the frigid gun-metal gray waters of the White Sea, beyond the wild rocky islands that broke the river mouth into network of shallow or usable deep waterways.

At the edge of this allocated port stood an old wooden house Shao had taken over. It was draft, the floors creaked, and when the sun went down for the winter and the arctic winds blew in the windows rattled in their frames. He had not expected to reside for so long in Russia since the end of the Finnish situation. During horrible spells and the depth of winter he was known to winter within the flag-ship of this northern and distant submarine fleet: the indomitable and massive Bohai.

“He is in particular asking me if we can capture any vessel we come into contact with and to bring it to Sankt Petersburg. Or maybe even here. He believes we might be able to use our assets to resupply him so he and his men could awaken the old Imperial fleet.”

Shao Jian scoffed. “Like hell he wishes, I hope he knows that's a tall order.”

“I'm well aware.” Shao sighed, “After we met I asked to have a brief tour of their ships in Saint Petersburg alone. There's a few there, but they've been afloat in one place in ice and thaw for a long time.

“I can't speak for their submarines. They have additional assets in Estonia, but I think they're just as frozen.”

“Besides, how are we going to get the fuel to start them up, let alone fill them?” inquired a third officer. Su Jiang-Shing. A small weasel of a man. Over sized glasses crowned his rigid bent nose as he leaned into the exposed inner logs of the cottage, “To refuel them and change the oil is a task in itself. And where would you suppose we hunt for Spanish fuel tankers? We'll need to know their shipping lanes.”

“The war isn't in Europe's western ocean.” Ho pointed out, “So the hard part is finding them. To stop and capture one is easy.”

“But if we did we would still need to bring it here.” Jiang-Shing responded. He leaned off the wall and came up onto the couch, leaning over the back, “Then someone will be protecting them.”

“Then we mute the ships.” consoled a fourth, “The Spanish can't deploy protection if they don't know they're being targeted in their backyard.”

“Kuo has a point.” Jian said.

“I fucking should!” he laughed. He was a man much like Ho, but a broader face and heavier built. Not muscular, but not considered overweight. His strange Mongolian proportions was reflected in his height, or lack there of to the rest of his body. And his eyes watched the room, with a more dramatic squint than should be expected, “Li, back me up with these clowns.” he gently implored.

“He has a point.” the sixth said, seated next to Kuo on the couch opposite of Shao and Ho the two sat side-by side. Kuo with his impish legs out as Li cradled on atop his knee. Li was soft-spoken, and IB. Although he wore the coat of an intelligence agent he has mostly set aside the great coat and adopted one of the navy. Like many, he had a cold look in his eyes; not cruel, but it had a damning sense of knowing or not just look at a man, but in.

“What would it take to maybe prevent them from sending an SOS?” Shao asked them. He reached out to the table and poured himself a cup of warm tea. “If we went to take a ship, can we drown the message?”

“We'd need their frequency for that.” Kuo said, the blunt directness of the statement a direct knowing reminder to his role, the entire operation's communications specialist, “And we could run through all the channels, but there will never be any confidence if we found the right one.”

“Did we recognize yet this is crazy?” Jian asked the other officers.

“I was under the impression that was besides the topic.” Ho laughed, respectfully dismissing Jian, “Maybe then if we tricked them into calling for help and we found the broadcast?”

Kuo shook his head, “No, I don't think that would work. I haven't known a ship captain to ever cry for assistance for hitting a minor bump. We'd need to attack the ship directly and wait for them. But by then we would have made ourselves known and our enemies would begin patrolling the waters.”

“We'd need to capture the ship first, find their communications, a log book, or any notes and go from there.” Li added on, shifting his legs, “Or even try to pull something from Europe itself and hope there's a universal frequency for coastal Europe. They may be imperialist swine, all of them; but their not uncivilized or completely backwater. China and the International has the same principle.”

“A storm!” Jiang-Shin laughed, “Something harsh enough, we can tail a liner and hope they call for help when they take in water. We can isolate the frequency then.”

“No, too unpredictable. I already know this would be a waste of our fuel.” Shao protested, “How about just destroying their communications all together?”

“It's grandiose.” Kuo remarked.

“Loud too.” Li added.

“I know it is, but I have the airplanes. The only in the unit really. We dispatch aircraft to perform a run on their bridge, put explosives into the tower. Paralyze the entire thing and we board, take control, and tow it in.”

“You can't erase bomb damage.” cautioned Ho, “Some coast guard is going to notice something if they come too close.”

“Then we pull it at night.” Shao offered.

Ho shrugged. “It doesn't matter, if the entire thing is crazy.”

“Right it is.” Jian repeated. “But even if we do this shit, then what happens when it arrives? What would the South Finns do? Norway? Sweden?

“If we fucking pull that to Saint Petersburg, we're going through the territorial waters of several countries. You're going to need to time it right and keep all of this dark.

“And then when it's here: what can we expect Radek to do with all of it?”

“That's his problem, and not ours.” Ho laughed, “He asked, supposedly promised something in return, so if we have to come back to restock on supplies from China we might as well bring something back in.”

Jian sighed, “I still hold my doubts. Give me some damn tea.” he demanded, holding out a hand for one of the tin cups.

Ho passed him back one and Shao delicately bored the still hot drink into the cup.

“I admit I like this entertaining idea.” Li added, cutting the early silence, “In the event of an escalation in Africa, it would be useful to divert Spanish resources from the front. How much effort or purpose they would put into it to simple hunt for submarines I don't know.

“But even if to destabilize the Spanish economy and isolate it, then I have no problems.”

“What are you thinking?” Shao asked. A professional relationship had taught him that Li – when silent – often meant he had something bottled up. It only need coercion.

“That at the least it would be unwise for Arkhangelsk to become forgotten when things turn violent. That we have a unique position to be a flanking force. Not large, but as a distraction. We could goad Spain into opening a second front.

“We could force them to enter the Russian quagmire, we would be sacrificing the stability and safety of the Communes simply to pull Spain into a front it does not need to fight.

“With fighting in two regions, we can pull Spain thin. With our submarines we can drown enough Spanish soldiers that over time they would be loosing battles they never fought. Public opinion sours as blood spills, Sotelo finds himself standing on thin glass.

“Beijing continues to push until that glass shatters, and we crash upon Iberia like a tide and purge this cancerous tumor of nations from existence, and then we take Europe.”

“That's a pretty aggressive and daring move.” noticed Shao, “Would anyone go along with this?”

“It's unlikely, but it's a scenario all the same. If we're going through scenarios it only helps our position by considering all the odds. As we were just doing.

“If it helps us at all, I'll write back to Beijing and ask for a proper analysis on this. We can get some advisory comments on the entire concept and a best course of operation. And who knows: we might even get supplied better.”

“Ping would appreciate that.” Shen Shao remarked, a smile crept across his face.

“We could also always do something about the Finnish navy on top of that.” Jiang-Shing added, “It would be beyond the call and perhaps even what we're justified to do. But if there's anyone closer to us that can figure out what we're doing: it's them. Radek will need absolute control of the Gulf of Finland for absolute security.”

“We'd be starting another war in Finland.” said Jiang.

“I know.” Jiang-Shing admitted, “But there's things that need to be concluded. They might eventually involve themselves someday. And if we're going to involve Spain in something they don't need to fight, as Li suggested: it'd be in provoking the Helsinki no doubt.”

“Would the rest come in after?” asked Kuo, “This could easily spiral out of control. Sven would love the opportunity.”

“Sweden would join, Norway might follow.” said Li, “If it's not handled carefully we'll have all of Scandinavia on the move. It'd be best here to coordinate with Sven and Radek and to find an opportunity where it would be best for us.

“Until then I do support an initiative to blind Helsinki, but we might have to simply use Saaremaa and Hiiumaa as a mid-way point. We can offload civilians there and let the Russians process them as prisoners in Estonia before taking the rest to Saint Petersburg.

“I may be in support of stretching Spain, but not stressing us. Only when we can handle the rest of Scandinavia do we provoke Helsinki.”


[h1]China[/h1]
[h2]Beijing[/h2]

The ringing of telephones echoed in a soft song among the hushed chatter of office workers, desk sergeants, and the tapping of a few typewriters. In the central offices, it was business as usual within the headquarters of the National Police. The low wood panel wainscoting trimmed and braced the glass walls that divided the higher-ranking officers of the command center from the general population of the present floor.

Wearing a uniform that was little more than a plain Zhongshan suit with red and orange trim, detective agent Chu Sun. A plain white turtlenecked shirt crawled up from under the folded collar of the simple uniform suit to underneath his wide jaunted chin. Metals flashed in the incadescent lighting of the national offices as he walked between the rows of desks to the far window-side office. Giving passive acknowledging glances to the laboring men and women he continued his march.

Chu Sun wasn't a large man, but his stride was confident. He had a purpose in his head with his summons, his arms swinging at his side like an officer on parade. Shallow-set brown eyes flickered from an intense look of determination to the door ahead and the people he passed. His head and face was a rounded shaved landscape, save for the crown which grew short course hairs in a receding march from his furrowed brow.

Reaching the door, Sun stepped inside.

Separated from the chiming of phones and the soft ringing and tinkering of type-writers, the office he stepped inside had a zenful air. From behind frosted glass it carried a full panoramic view of the room outside, clear into the furthest cubicles at the far end. And backed by large windows it was flooded with warm summer sunlight. Beijing stretched out beyond it, spanning clear to the foothills of the ancient city where the haze overtook all clarity and the world blurred.

A heavy-weight man looked up from his ornate desk. With a disconnected voice he looked back down as he continued to scratch together a note. “Good afternoon, comrade.” he said plainly, continuing his writing, “Take a seat and I'll be with you in a moment.”

“Absolutely, comrade Hui.” bowed Sun, he held his hands at his stomach as he stepped aside, pulling out a chair. Sitting, he patiently waited for the commander of China's national police to look up and acknowledge him.

“Have you heard the news?” Handoi Hui asked, putting down his pen. He looked up to Sun, hands folded together atop the desk.

Handoi Hui was a whale of a man. Already a fat figure, it was exacerbated by his age. Pale skin began to hang loose from his chin and jawline and folds of liver-spotted flesh curled underneath his ears. With his head shaved bald he looked like a military Buddha. And he sounded like a shark.

“The political attacks?” he said, “I have.”

Handoi nodded, “We need to get involved.” he grumbled stiffly, “Orders from Hou himself. How's your caseload been?”

“Admittedly it's been light,” confirmed Sun, “By now I have everything finished, it's been regular work these bad few weeks.”

“Then you got time to travel.” Handoi pointedly noted, “I want you on the ground on this case. I need someone good, and you're as good as any. A previous IB career, you're well suited.”

“Thank you, comrade.” Sun nodded, he folded his arms across his lap. “But wouldn't this be the case of the IB themselves?” he queried. Namely it often would. He worked the case of the Red Guard Gang and usurping Mao from his office. It was by then he had cashed in his service and hung up his coat; he didn't want to play the politics again.

But now against his intentions, he'd be coming back. The idea made him feel sick to his stomach. But he had to hold it, to outwardly express it might attract Handoi's ire; and termination wasn't in his plans either.

Politics here would be the lesser of his evils.

“So what's the course of action?” he asked politely, swallowing that bitter question.

“You and your men are going to report to the chief of the municipal police in Nanjing,” Handoi ordered, “he will help direct you on the investigation. Look over the forensics, bring it here to be examined, help them in casing the matter.

“You have full rights and power in this, and should it jump beyond their jurisdiction you are allowed to follow it; I don't need to remind you about this.

“But this situation his high-profile. So we can't ignore it, understand that.”

“I understand.” Sun acknowledged.

“Great.” smiled Handoi, nodding. His chair creaked heavily as he leaned back from his desk, “You should also set up to interview the victim's – Dong Wu's – family again. Deduce whether they know anyone that might be leads.

“I can give you access to the national directory of known dissidents there. And maybe you can go through old IB networks; but that's strictly a measure off the books.”

Chu Sun nodded slowly, the IB were always off the books. It was a disturbing idea to say the least. And he knew how they worked.

“I don't need to tell you anything more, it's been on the radio and printed by the NPN. The real details will be in Najing when you arrive.”

“I understand.”

“Good, then be on your way.”

Sun eagerly got out of his chair. “I will.” he bowed curtly.

[h2]Hong Kong[/h2]
[h3]Tai Po night market[/h3]

A narrow alley packed between the cold stone walls of brick houses and low high-rises lay filled with nightly vendors, the sound of people, and that of music. Strung overhead, red lanterns swung from wires and clusters of incandescent lighting shone a vibrant golden light onto the alley below, raining onto the night-time shoppers as they wandered through the golden evening glow of mid-night lighting. From food-stalls, the smells of smoldering sea food such as prawns, oysters, and fish. Sweating vendors with oily complexions threw rice and vegetables in large aluminum-cast woks over phantom gas-fire flames from their wheeled food carts as they lorded over their tiny domains with a cook's fury.

Between the food vendors sat huddled among their huts of tarpaulin and trinkets men and women selling the hand-made wares or factory-made options of life in China's southern port city. Nestled between the claustrophobic confines of booths packed with all manners of cloths from pants to shirts to bras and dresses, or the modern output of Chinese design: the ECG radio, telephones and appliances that were once much too big to sell on the street. And sprinkled among the chaos the foreign merchants who lived on Chinese shores sought to sell the image of their homelands, Hispanic merchants from Mexico vied awkwardly with cobble-space with those of Africa or Vietnam; few really knowing well the language but seeking to exchange the universal capital in the Communist empire of the far-east.

Navigating through the sardine schools of neighborhood shoppers Pui Tui and Yan Cong wound their way through the crowd.

In the eyes of Tui excitement blossomed in his wide-eyes as he scoured the booths and displays of China's back-alley exchanges. A purpose shone on his expression, and a light confidence guided his step. Fresh oil smeared his clothes. But it was all forgone by the freedom of race winnings, lovingly returned to his hands through the Hong Kong government and tactically neglectfully marked book work. And the throbbing after burn of victory and racing lust turned in his head like nicotine and filled his mouth with a dry thirst for a prize, a treat.

Cong meanwhile was not flying on the same dragon, or sitting on the same cloud as his friend as he tried to chase his fleeting figure as it wove through the bodies. The maze of the night-markets was not new to him, but it was always hard. Unathletic, the frail boy fought to keep up, but Tui was always just a few steps ahead. “Tui please, can you tone down your excitement just a little!” he called, stuffed between the elbow of a factory worker off of shift and a young mother trying to negotiate tomorrow's breakfast and lunch through the alleys.

“I swear, I will find a way to kill you.” he shouted sourly to Tui as he was caught by the cloth grocery bags. He lethargically struggled for his freedom, if less to actually escape and more to remind the woman where he was.

“It's not my fault you were born a runt! Come on!” Tui teased, stopping in the middle of the aisle to turn to his friend. The foot traffic continued to work around him like he was a stone in the middle of the stream.

“No, I'm serious. Why did I let you talk me into this?” Cong protested loudly as he caught up to his friend.

“Because no exercise will kill you.” Tui badgered, “Should I hold your hand at all?”

Cong shot a sour look up at Tui. He opened his mouth to again resume protesting. But his friend assumed control and grabbed the youth by the arm and pulled him through. Cong floundered like a hooked, confused trout behind his friend as they navigated the stream of humanity.

“Perhaps I'll treat you to something too.” Tui offered gently as he pushed through the street. His gaze danced between the crude Mandarin and Cantonese signs hanging over the booths, looking for the one particular one he wanted.

“What are you even looking for?” Yan Cong blabbered, “I don't think you ever told me that.”

“A watch!” announced Tui, “I always wanted a watch. A good watch too: metal with a leather strap. Not plastic and that cloth shit.”

Cong bumbled and spat. “Where are you going to find that!?” he snickered.

“Oh, I'm sure I can.” Pui Tui said with confidence as he gave pause. With a pleasant gasp, he turned his friend about and pulled him to the side, and into the shallow recessed enclave of relative peace that was a stall of sparkling watches.

Seated at the stall, a dark-skinned man sat cross-legged on a wooden stool. His elder, leather skin hung from a frail and slender build as he looked at the two youths with eyes so drawn shut from his own brow he may have been blind.

“Good evening.” he welcomed the two.

“Good evening.” Yan Cong responded with excitement. Hanging from small wooden hooks – little more than twigs – an assortment of watches hung from the walls and ceiling of his haphazardly constructed hut. Watches that sparkled in a soft golden glow, others silver. Some with harsh rubberized bands, others some sort of cloth that may have been easily cut from rags. Some were dirty a ragged in their faces, others like they were straight from Europe or America.

The old man looked up at Tui. “They're all on sale.” he said, “I may not be here tomorrow night, so get what you want while they're hot.”

Cong looked up at them perplexedly. He had a strong tinge of doubt at their validity. How he could get so many of this type into the country was as much a curiosity as the man was. But his thoughts and doubts were brushed aside quickly as Cong made his choice without hesitation.

“How's that one?” Tui pointed, looking up at a silvery, metal banded watch hanging among a crowd of cheaper looking ones up high.

The old man looked up and nodded. “Yes, that is a good one. Would you like it?” he invited.

“Sure. How much?” asked Tui.

“Three-hundred Renminbi.” the vendor declared. He straightened his back and shoulders as he took a deep breath, preparing to haggle.

“I'll take it.” Tui declared eagerly.

The old man froze, seemingly to calculate what had been said. He blinked, and turned towards his friend. Coughing lightly, he spoke: “As you wish.” he bowed, sitting up on his steel as he reached up to grab the watch with one skeletal hand. Gingerly, he pulled it down off its hook and passed it to Cong.

Tui took to it like an eager imp, and pulled from his pocket the wad of red bills he kept there. Shakily counting out the desired amount, he paid the man.

Tui watched as the transaction took place, noting the smudged numbers on the inside of the man's arm. He thought to ask, but the payment was complete and the old man was offering them a wonderful, fruitful night. And at the drop of a hat, Cong was withdrawn from the stall and back into the river.

“Tui! Look! I got one!” Tui giddily boasted as he pulled his friend off to the far-side of the alley. Standing against the cold rough stone of the back of some building he flashed the watch up for Tui to see. Its silver metallic face gleamed a fiery gold in the overhead lights. And despite Cong's cynicism towards it, he had to admit it looked attractive.

“It's -uh... Nice...” Cong complimented weakly. He looked up at his friend, and his face struck with the lost confusion to the situation he asked: “But, why a watch?”

“Well, you see: at the races I was approached by a man who congratulated me for my victory. He complimented my victory and told me about luck.” the young man said with a wide boyish grin, “He said that he always keeps a little charm on him. Some carry old Imperial coins, he said. He: he had a watch.”

Cong looked perplexed. Tui picked up on the clear visible lack of understanding in his friend's eyes. “You see: this is my lucky charm. This is what I earned on my winnings!” he cheered.

“You know, you're going to get chomped in the ass for this.” Cong pointedly observed, “Are you sure you're being careful?”

“I am, Cong! I am!” Tui laughed, “I've been doing things right, I'm getting the money in a way that the city won't notice. I'll be set for life!

“Maybe someday I can go live in a house like a party officers. I can move out of my parent's place. Go live in an apartment like Mei's! No: bigger than her's. And no one will know.”

“Tui, there are limits.” cautioned Cong, “Are you sure you're not taking it too far?”

“Bullshit, with this watch: I'll be unstoppable lucky!” he laughed excitedly, wrapping it on over his arms. With a satisfied tug he locked it on over his wrist and smiled, “There, I shall be unbeatably lucky! Do you want something to eat?” he asked

Yan Cong sighed, he wasn't going to win the argument. His friend was too invested in it, and all he could do was hope he would be lucky. “Fine.” he said resigned, “I could do with some dumplings.”

Tui nodded excitedly. “There you go.” he cheered excitedly, “Now let's go eat, I'm hungry.” he smiled, walking back out to the flow of foot traffic.

Unhindered by his excitement and the eagerness, Tui moved at a much slower pace, one where his friend could comfortably keep up. The two knocked through the crowds on their way to the soft glow and promise of sitting food down the market.

They didn't get far, until they stopped at the sound of panicked screamed.

Freezing with the rest of the traffic, they turned to look down a narrow side-alley. People began to part hurriedly, pulling themselves aside as if a plague victim was peeling down the street. Stumbling from some dark shadows to the side, a girl stumbled; arms held up in front of her face as she stumbled and staggered through the rain-whetted gutters. With a sudden umph, her boots tripped on a loose brick and she took a stumble, her arms coming to a crash landing on the pavement, stone, and brick underneath. Her pink sweater packing with grime as she coiled up into a protective ball, quivering.

“THE ANIMALS, THEY'RE AFTER ME! TH-THEY'RE IN THE WALLS!” she wailed helplessly as she coiled up, visibly shivering.

“M-mei?” Cong whispered, baffled. Gingerly he kneeled down, hovering a hand over her shoulder.

“NO, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH HORSES FOR THE NIGHT! FUCK OFF!” she screamed, her voice was course. Tears streamed down her face as she peeked out from behind her arms. Her eyes wide, pupils dilated she lay her sights on Tui and immediately her blood rushed from her face.

She spun to curl on her face, trying more desperately to hide herself from the outside world. “Nononononnonono, this isn't happening.” Mei sobbed tearfully, voice wavering with terror, “Why...”