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General He Gang sat at the borrowed desk in his makeshift office on the naval base. He raised the glass of Moutai and swallowed the contents in one gulp, feeling the immediate heat of the baijiu spread across his gut. He was a disciplined man, but his operation was at a critical phase, and he relied on the distilled liquor to calm his mind.

Unlike the pompous fools who declared themselves leaders of his country, He Gang didn’t wear a customary uniform adorned with various medals awarded more for compulsory service to the state than any specific act of heroism. Instead, he wore a simple dark blue suit, plain white shirt, and Western-style tie. He had removed the tie hours ago but still sat erect in the high-backed leather executive chair with his suit jacket on.

The phone sitting on the desk blotter vibrated, and He Gang observed the number with curiosity for a moment before answering.

“Yes,” he said.

“The Americans have rescued her.” The voice was breathless with anxiety.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the tension evaporate from his body. They had been careful to move the American spy to a secure location that was beyond the normal scope of US intelligence-gathering efforts to make it appear as if they were moving her someplace more secure.

“Good,” the General replied.

“Sir?” The voice on the other end was understandably confused. There were only a handful of people within his ranks who knew the full breadth of their operation. And none of them were within the eighth bureau that was responsible for counterintelligence.

“I must meet with Admiral Qin Guoping immediately. Keep me advised.”

The General ended the call and reached for his red silk tie resting on the blotter atop the simple wooden desk. With practiced hands, he flipped up the collar of his shirt, tied a flawless double Windsor knot, and smoothed out his collar before checking his appearance in the dirty mirror on the wall next to the door.

He had chosen not to divulge details of the operation with the military until this exact moment. And though it had come with risks, the result was more than ample to justify the means.

With one more glance in the mirror, He Gang stepped out of the office and walked briskly down the hall to the stairwell at the opposite end of the building. The Admiral’s office was a short walk away, but there was no guarantee he would be there at this early hour. If he had to track the Admiral down at his quarters, it would add unnecessary risk to the timeline.

Let us hope he is there.

As he walked, he dialed a number and waited for the person on the other end to pick up. Regardless of the time of day, he always answered the phone.

This time was no exception as the hoarse voice answered after three rings, “Yes, General.”

“The trap has been set.”

The man on the other end grunted in acknowledgment. “And the doctor?”

He Gang pushed open the door at the end of the hall and stepped out into the clear and humid night. “Move in now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me when it’s done.” He Gang ended the call and lengthened his stride as he hurried across the small courtyard to the building housing the South Sea Fleet’s submarine headquarters on the installation. Based in Zhanjiang, the South Sea Fleet was one of the largest in the People’s Liberation Army Navy due to the contested waters and islands off the coast of Vietnam. While the fleet’s surface force was based in Zhanjiang, the submarine fleet was based in Yulin, and its commander was the ranking naval officer on the base.

He Gang walked through the front door and bypassed the helmeted guard at the quarterdeck who was largely ceremonial despite being armed with a polished QSZ-92 service pistol in a starched canvas holster. Whether the pistol was loaded with 5.8 x 21mm armor-piercing rounds was irrelevant to him. The sentry knew better than to stop the General.

He pushed through the double doors into an operations center abuzz with a flurry of activity as naval officers ran back and forth across the room. He Gang spotted the Admiral and hurried to close the distance between them.

The Admiral looked up to see the General approach and held up a hand. “It’s not a good time. We are under attack, and I need to deploy our fleet to the safety of open water.”

“We are not under attack, Admiral,” He Gang replied calmly.

Admiral Qin Guoping set the phone he was holding back onto the cradle and considered him with curiosity. “Two of our frontline fighters and one helicopter have been shot down. What is that, if not a prelude to war?”

He Gang repeated himself. “We are not under attack, Admiral. May we speak in private?”

The Admiral gestured over his shoulder to the private conference room behind his desk on the floor of the operations center. He Gang led the way into the room and waited for the Admiral to enter before closing the door to seal them off from the commotion on the floor.

“Explain yourself,” the Admiral said tersely.