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Gamay sat by a window in the eighth car of a twelve-car train. Despite the speed and noise outside, the cabin was quiet and the ride exceedingly smooth.
“I’m glad to be getting out of Tokyo,” she said. “Especially after what Kurt told us.”
Sitting next to her, Paul craned his neck around to see if anyone was in earshot. The Tokaido Shinkansen rail line was the original bullet train route in Japan. And though it was the most heavily used high-speed rail line in the world, the premium car, in the off-hours express, had plenty of unfilled seats to offer.
“Could
n’t agree more,” he replied. “On the other hand, Rudi wasn’t joking when he said getting past the Chinese patrols would be almost impossible. Look at this.”
Paul had a notebook computer open on the tray table in front of him. He’d spent half the ride studying the information Rudi sent. He turned it her way.
Gamay adjusted the angle of the screen and found herself looking at a map of the East China Sea. Curving lines looped here and there, representing the timing and routes of Chinese naval vessels; broad swaths were marked in gray, indicating the known flight paths taken by Chinese antisubmarine aircraft, while a row of overlapping circles tinted red told them there were no breaks to exploit in the line of sonar buoys.
“They’re not messing around,” she said.
“This level of security confirms that they’re hiding something down there,” Paul replied. “But trying to sneak past all of that is a wasted effort. We might as well send them an email announcing our arrival and make our own reservations at the Shanghai jail.”
“Much as I’d like to disagree with you . . .” she began.
Her voice trailed off. She wondered if there was another way. Maybe they didn’t have to cross from Japan. Maybe they could come in from the south. She expanded the map and discovered additional naval patrols in that direction. The Chinese had left nothing to chance. Then she noticed something else. “What about the shipping lane?”
“What about it?”
“Shanghai is one of the busiest ports in Asia. If we could book passage aboard a freighter . . .”
“And then jump overboard for a leisurely swim when we’re halfway there?”
“Not us personally,” she replied. “But suppose we dropped something overboard. Something with cameras, sonar and a remote hookup that could be controlled from the ship.”
Paul brightened noticeably. “We’d have to leave it down there.”
“A small price to pay,” she replied.
“Good point,” Paul said. “But we still have the matter of getting passage on a freighter to China at the last minute—which might raise a few eyebrows—and then sneaking a rather bulky ROV on board without anyone checking our luggage. Not to mention dropping it over the side without the crew getting suspicious.”
“Not if we’re booking passage on the Osaka-to-Shanghai ferry.”
She turned the computer his way, the dashed line of the shipping route highlighted on the screen. “If this is correct, the ferry travels within five miles of the target area.”
“That solves the first problem,” Paul said. “What about the ROV?”
Gamay drummed her fingers. “I’m still working on that.”
A grin crossed Paul’s face. “I think I have the answer,” Paul said. “When does that ferry leave?”
Gamay linked up to the internet and checked the schedule. “It’s twice weekly. The next run departs at noon tomorrow.”
“I think that will give us just enough time,” Paul said.
“For what?”
“You ever hear of the Remora?”
“The fish?” she replied. “Yes, I’m well aware of it.”
“Not the fish,” Paul said. “The Joe Zavala mechanical creation inspired by the fish. One of our newest ROVs.”
Gamay shook her head. She had a hard time keeping up with Joe’s unending line of aquatic machines, but, based on the name, she could imagine how this one worked. “The Remora. Sounds interesting.”
