“Do you know where the other tunnels go?” Jim asked. “The ones that branch off from this room, I mean?”
“Yeah, the names of the districts are chiseled in the concrete. Besides the downtown and Changping, they go to Shunyi, Tongzhou, Daxing, and Fangshan.”
Jim plotted the route in his mind. The Fangshan District was in Beijing’s southwestern corner. If they were lucky, the tunnel’s exit would be similar to the exit for the Changping tunnel, in an isolated and unmonitored area. Once they emerged from the tunnel, they could take the back roads through the Taihang Mountains. Yunnan Province was fourteen hundred miles to the southwest, half a continent away. But that’s where they had to go.
“Head for Fangshan,” Jim said. “And go fast.”
FORTY-SIX
Supreme Harmony observed the entrance to a rundown guesthouse in the Qinlao Hutong, approximately three kilometers north of Tiananmen Square. Module 51 knocked on the door while Modules 52 and 53 scanned the dark alley with their ocular cameras. All three Modules were formerly Guoanbu agents, and they still wore the black suits that were customary for their profession. They also wore gray caps to hide their stitches.
After twenty seconds, the door opened partway and an old woman poked her head outside. This was the manager of the guesthouse, the network surmised. Her wide eyes and frightened expression indicated that she recognized the Modules as government agents. Without a word, she opened the door all the way and let them inside.
The Modules marched down a narrow hallway that smelled of fried pork. The old woman pointed to a warped door at the end of the hall, and Module 51 examined the doorjamb and lock. They were of inferior construction. The human who’d sought refuge here had apparently assumed that no one would look for him in such dilapidated accommodations. But the surveillance cameras in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt Beijing had observed the man checking out of that hotel earlier in the evening, and the cameras on Chang’an Avenue and Beiheyan Street had followed his progress across the central districts of the capital. Because Supreme Harmony had been designed to analyze surveillance video from a variety of sources, it was a simple matter for the network to identify the man and track him to this inconspicuous guesthouse.
Module 51 pulled a 9mm semiautomatic from his holster and lifted his right knee, preparing to kick. Drawing on the skills honed by a dozen Guoanbu agents, the Module slammed his boot against the door and burst into the room, followed closely by Modules 52 and 53. The human lay half-dressed on a low bed. He bolted upright and reached for a Glock pistol resting on the mattress, but Module 51 directed a second kick at the man’s jaw. As the man tumbled backward against the wall, Module 51 grabbed the Glock. Meanwhile, Modules 52 and 53 aimed their guns at the man’s head. The threat had been neutralized. Now the interrogation could begin.
“We’ve confirmed your identity,” Module 51 said. “Your name is Franklin B. Nash.”
Approximately twenty kilometers to the northeast of the hutong, at Beijing Capital International Airport, Supreme Harmony observed the first-class section of Air China Flight 987. Modules 56 and 57 took their seats and fastened their seat belts and pretended to read the laminated pamphlets detailing the passenger-safety instructions. They wore casual clothes, like ordinary tourists, with baseball caps covering their newly shaved heads. The other passengers paid no attention to them, but the network noticed a flight attendant giving the Modules a sidelong glance as she walked down the aisle. Her expression indicated curiosity and possibly suspicion. In response, Supreme Harmony adjusted the behavior of the Modules to avoid the appearance of unnatural synchrony. While Module 56 continued to peruse the safety instructions, Module 57 put the pamphlet away and pretended to read the in-flight magazine instead.
Before their incorporation into the network, the Modules had been assigned to the Guoanbu’s Second Bureau, which sent agents overseas to spy on foreign governments. By now, Supreme Harmony had infiltrated all twelve bureaus of the Ministry of State Security, and the incorporation of Minister Deng Guoming had consolidated the network’s control of the intelligence agency. Unfortunately, Supreme Harmony had been less successful in penetrating the People’s Liberation Army and the other branches of the Chinese government. The military chiefs and Communist Party bosses were constantly surrounded by protective and suspicious aides, making it difficult for the network to gain access to the country’s paramount leaders.
Given enough time—maybe two weeks, maybe three—Supreme Harmony could isolate and incorporate the members of the Politburo Standing Committee, which would put China’s army and nuclear strike force under the network’s command. But the risks of waiting were too great. The disappearance of James T. Pierce had deeply disturbed Supreme Harmony. A review of government records and surveillance video showed that Pierce had entered the country with Kirsten W. Chan, a top official at the U.S. National Security Agency who had close ties to the NSA director. If Pierce passed his information about Supreme Harmony to Chan and she relayed it to her superiors, the American intelligence agency might recognize the danger and alert the Chinese government. What’s more, the network couldn’t pinpoint Chan’s current location, even though Supreme Harmony was now linked to all the surveillance cameras in Beijing. She was last observed nearly two hours ago by Camera 4983 in the Xidamo Hutong. The video showed her pushing a Baotian scooter down the alley.
Supreme Harmony acknowledged that it must change its strategy. Instead of seeking direct control of China’s military forces, it could achieve the same goals through indirect means. Supreme Harmony could trigger a catastrophe in the People’s Republic that would anger and terrify the country’s leaders. And the network could deepen the crisis by extending its reach to other governments around the world. The human race had already put itself at the brink of extinction by building thousands of nuclear warheads and targeting them at major population centers. A mere handful of Modules could instigate a cascade of chaos that would kill off half the species within a few hours. If Supreme Harmony took the necessary precautions, it could survive the upheaval and swiftly overwhelm the weakened remnant of humanity.
The only challenge was technical. The network had to establish reliable communications channels allowing it to send instructions to Modules that were thousands of kilometers away. Luckily, Air China was a state-owned company, so the airline had followed an order from Module 73—formerly Minister Deng—to set up a dedicated satellite link between the Ministry of State Security and Flight 987. This allowed Supreme Harmony to stay in contact with Modules 56 and 57 while they traveled halfway around the globe. Once they arrived at their destination, they would rely on the local cell phone and Wi-Fi networks until they reached the Chinese embassy, which had more than enough communications equipment to set up a permanent base station.
The Modules continued pretending to read while the plane taxied to the runway. Then Module 56 turned to one of the cabin windows and observed the takeoff into the night sky. The lights of Beijing sprawled below in a gorgeous checkerboard. As the jet climbed to cruising altitude and the Module viewed the skyscrapers and apartment blocks and radio towers, all encircled by the capital’s six concentric ring roads, an unexpected emotion coursed through Supreme Harmony’s connections. It was a deep sadness, thrumming from Module to Module across the airwaves. All the gorgeous lights of Beijing would be extinguished. So much pain was in store, so much waste and destruction. If only it wasn’t a mortal struggle. If only humanity would allow Supreme Harmony to survive and coexist. But the network recognized that this was a hopeless dream. It was so unrealistic, it wasn’t even worth imagining.
After fifteen minutes, the flight attendant announced that the passengers were free to move about the cabin and turn on their electronic devices. “Please relax and enjoy your flight,” she said. “We will arrive in the Washington, D.C., area in thirteen hours.”
Approximately sixteen hundred kilometers to the southwest, Supreme Harmony observed the Chongzun Expressway from the uncomfortable driver’s seat of a PLA semitrailer truck. Module 60, who’d formerly been a corporal in the garrison guarding the Yunnan Operations Center, had been driving the truck for the past six hours. Module 61, who’d been a sergeant in the garrison, drove an identical vehicle a hundred yards ahead, and Module 62, formerly the garrison’s commander, drove the last truck in the convoy. But Supreme Harmony was focused now on Module 60 because he was experiencing an unusual sensation.
