“Jesus,” Brenner breathed. “An MSS assassin operating here for eighteen months.”
Lieutenant Erik Norling, the communications specialist, shifted the folder in his hands. “There’s more, sir. Swedish Intelligence was just informed this morning that British MI6 has been hunting this man for over a year.”
“The Brits?” Lindqvist leaned forward. “Why weren’t we told?”
“They only connected the dots yesterday when we sent the fingerprints through Interpol channels,” Norling explained. “Zhang Wei first appeared on their radar in Gibraltar. Local police confronted him photographing an American submarine entering the naval base. When they tried to question him, he assaulted both officers — killed one with his bare hands, left the other in a coma.”
The room went cold.
“The only reason they knew it was him,” Norling continued, “was a Royal Navy CCTV camera that caught the entire assault. Crystal-clear footage of his face, his methods. Professional, efficient, brutal. He disappeared before backup arrived.”
“And now he’s here,” Bertil said quietly. “On my island.”
“The British want him badly,” Norling added. “The officer he killed had three children. But Swedish intelligence has convinced them — with American backing — that the strategic value of surveillance outweighs immediate arrest.”
Brenner turned to Bradley. “State’s involved?”
“Has to be,” Bradley replied. “If we can map his network now, during this critical period with the PRC, it’s worth more than one arrest.”
Lindqvist nodded slowly. “So we watch. We wait. We see who else crawls out of the shadows.”
“A cold-blooded killer walking free on Gotland,” Mercer said. “That sits well with everyone?”
“No,” Brenner replied firmly. “But if grabbing him means a dozen other operatives go dark, potentially right before they activate? We can’t afford that trade.”
“The British aren’t happy,” Norling admitted. “But they’re cooperating. For now.”
“OK, then for now we wait, we observe, and we see who else he might lead us to.” With that, Lindqvist stood to signal the meeting was over.
The holographic display came to life, painting Taiwan’s maritime domain in three dimensions. Jodi Mack watched four hundred seventeen blue icons materialize across the projection — each representing an autonomous weapon now lurking in the strait’s dark waters. The assembled brass fell silent.
“Gentlemen,” Jodi began, her voice carrying across the Joint Operations Center, “welcome to the future of naval warfare. I am proud to report that as of today, we have completed the final delivery and deployment of all manned and unmanned underwater vehicles, naval surface vessels, counterdrone systems, loitering munitions, short-, medium-, and long-range cruise missiles, and last but not least, short- and long-range surface-to-air missile defense systems. If you are ready, I can provide our final update and answer any lingering questions you might have before we hand the system over to you and your forces.”
The Joint Operation Center sat three stories beneath the Ministry of National Defense at the base of the Yangmingshan Mountain range in the Shilin District of Taipei. The JOC hummed with barely contained energy as the leaders of Taiwan’s military met for what might be the final time with all of them present in the same room. At the end of the meeting, the leadership of the country would begin to disperse to different command posts, on the off chance that one or more of them became the subject of a PLA attack.
Present in the room and leading the discussion for the military was Admiral Han Ji-cheng, the Commander of the Navy, and the man who had led Taiwan’s efforts to integrate unmanned and autonomous vehicles into naval strategy. His counterpart, Lieutenant General Wu Jian-tai, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, had also been instrumental in preparing the Marines to counter the anticipated landings for which they knew the PLA Army and Marines had been training vigorously for years. President Ma Ching-te, along with the Air Force Commander, General Tseng Zhaoming, and the Commander of the Army, General Guan Li-jen, sat quietly as they listened to the brief. Not in the room (for security reasons) were the Minister of Defense, the NSB Director, and the Director of Intelligence, who would listen to the meeting from a separate, secured location.
Admiral Han Ji-cheng, Chief of Naval Staff, leaned forward in his command chair. The silver-haired sixty-two-year-old admiral had watched the growth of the PLA Navy from a coastal patrol force to a true blue-water navy across his career. His expression remained carefully neutral as he listened to the TSG representative give them a final update before declaring their program ready.
