The Imperial Hunter - Chapter 84: Eclosion (11)
The next morning on the passenger ship Becklux dawned amid a cacophony of noises. The first racket came from cutting and welding steel. Windows that wouldn't open had been reinforced with bulletproof glass for added defense, while some were refitted as gun ports in preparation for close-quarters battle. Unnecessarily abundant chairs were stripped out and carted off as scrap, the freed space partitioned into additional cabins. The inner hull was lined wall-to-wall with Kevlar fiber to guard against shrapnel from the Black Sea Party's improvised explosives.
'Even a damn tin can can make an Explosively Formed Penetrator (EFP).'
Compared to the massive devices that had punched clean through People's Liberation Army vehicles in a single blow, it was the man-portable bombs that posed the real threat. If someone disguised one as a canned good, how could you screen for it every time? Even a pineapple can-sized EFP could pierce at least ten centimeters of reinforced concrete from thirty meters away. Shape the metal liner into fragments, and you had a scatter mine that could shred five or six people without breaking a sweat. A can, some gunpowder, a metal plate. That was the deadly utility of a directed blast bomb. The igniter could be as simple as a flash powder charge and a primitive fuse.
The second noise was from loading new vehicles and cargo. If we were to impersonate Public Security, we'd need their vehicles, gear, and IDs. Having tested my crew and me yesterday, Gao Xusen had his men deliver the necessities at the crack of dawn. Among them was an Audi SUV—likely one from his personal fleet, made by FAW, the local producer.
But Kyung-tae and I focused less on the cars themselves than their plates.
"Fancy plates, hyungnim."
Kyung-tae nodded in agreement at my remark.
"This'll breeze through any checkpoint like it's got an express pass, hyungnim."
The plate read 「Yue O88899 Jing」. Yue denoted Guangdong Province—also called Yue Province—the regional identifier. The letter O marked it as official use. Eight and nine were lucky numbers to the Chinese. And Jing declared it Public Security property. The other vehicles had similar setups, just with slightly less elite digits. At least two eights or nines in a row ensured onlookers assumed they carried mid-to-high-ranking officers.
Kyung-tae scratched his head, pleased yet thoughtful.
"Plates are top-notch, but rolling like this? We'll draw every Black Sea Party eye in the city just by driving. We should ask for some plain ones too."
"You're showing your inexperience."
A first-grade inspector thinking like that? He'd probably made the call solo, without consulting his men, smug about it. The hallmark of a parachute appointee: party career over field smarts.
Once you had that O, you could legally ignore traffic laws and drive like a maniac. The fancy numbers were nice-to-haves at best. Great bait, sure—but you couldn't hunt with bait alone.
"Reminds me of those plates we used tracking game near Beijing. Back when regs were a joke—easy hunts, easy cash grabs. Remember stuffing the trunk with gold bars till the rear axle sagged, and still blasting straight to the port?"
Kyung-tae reminisced about the golden age of our human-hunting ops in China. Beijing had a prime plate supplier then. Sold so many official ones he got nabbed by the Discipline Commission. Turns out he'd cleared over four billion won at the time, pure profit from plates alone.
Boom!
A thunder-like rumble rolled in from the city, reaching the docks. This was the third noise heralding the ship's morning: the Black Sea Party infiltrating streets and alleys, striking at troops and Public Security.
A few blasts echoed, chased by staccato gunfire. From the sound alone, I could ID the weapons and estimate the distance.
Kyung-tae, inspecting the weapons crates first, glanced up and shrugged.
"Where the hell do they get all this powder and gear?"
"Who knows."
Since yesterday, downtown blasts had been nonstop. The explosives volume far exceeded estimates. Hoarding over time could explain it without backers... but.
"We'll check the Black Sea Party's captured weapons today. Might snag a clue."
The British lurking in Hong Kong could've reached this far, or some other shadow force. Highly likely.
As we talked, a fresh scent cut through the thick river stench. Click-clack. Park Mi-joo approached in a suit, arms full of brown envelopes—one for each of us.
I took mine. "You could've rested more."
Inside: forged citizen IDs, Public Security badges, passports, and Communist Party cards with plausible histories. Gao Xusen's courtesy, but we'd supplied the photos. IDs don't always match perfectly, right?
Mi-joo shook her head calmly.
"I'm fine. Gao Xusen designated me field liaison, so I'll head early, secure our spot, keep things smooth."
"If you're good, then fine."
"Also, from the secretary general: Diamond Casino accepts your proposal. They want to discuss details soon."
"Good."
Mashath couldn't guess my "consulting" was preemptive training to integrate them later. Basic terrorist boot camp would shave weeks off weaponizing them.
"By the way, you're calling me hyungnim now?"
"...Yes."
"You and your team are the knife I plant in their command. If Gao Xusen gets ideas, put a bullet in him yourself. Head, balls—whatever pisses you off."
"Yes."
Mi-joo erased a fleeting smile and bowed.
"I'll go ahead, hyungnim."
"Take care."
Kyung-tae watched her board the Public Security SUV, then asked, "Something with Director Park?"
"Heard some drunken truths last night. Promised to help with a favor if I could."
"Favor?"
"Yeah."
With few others calling me hyungnim, curiosity burned in him. But Mi-joo's confessions were private. Revenge-related. If a solid subordinate wanted to stack debts on an existing one, I'd consider it favorably. I wouldn't tolerate haggling over sworn loyalty, though. Cocky types got their tools smashed and dumped at sea.
Mi-joo had begged carefully; I'd said yes if feasible.
"How're the videos from yesterday doing?"
I changed topics. Kyung-tae grinned.
"Insane. Topped real-time charts on Youku and Tudou since dawn. Wanna see?"
"No need. Negatives are censored anyway."
"True, but still."
The Black Sea Party biker assault was prime Party propaganda. Dashcam and civilian footage popularity tracked straight to Gao Xusen's survival odds. We'd keep stacking merits with parallel PR ops.
"Good reactions mean his crew breathes easier. When Mi-joo signals arrival, tell Gao Xusen I want the seized Black Sea Party weapons checked. Open the city bureau's evidence vault. Need an escorting officer too."
"Got it."
"Prep reagents for non-destructive penetration testing too."
"Uh... that on short notice? Might take hours to source."
"City Public Security's Tech-Comms Division stocks it. Or pull from linked unis. Even if he's isolated, they won't skimp on spray cans for show. Division's not frontline faction fodder anyway."
"Makes sense. On it."
Gao Xusen's bureau was close; contact came quick. Fifty minutes later at Guangzhou Public Security HQ, I frowned seeing him with close aides and guards, greeting personally.
Why show the top dog for a minion's errand? Weight misjudgment aside, it'd draw eyes from rival factions. What's that prick doing here? Who's he greeting like that?
'Our cover's thin enough as-is.'
Silicone masks were out for sustained combat—couldn't handle acceleration, impacts, or ability strains without warping. A twisted face would scream suspicion. Tinted shades, balaclavas, or gas masks it was. Tear gas popping everywhere made it convenient.
If he'd ID'd a mark to steal and came paranoid to avoid leaks... understandable. But this fool, oblivious to my caution, beamed wide.
"You're here. We waited."
"...Watch the eyes on us."
"Ah."
Ah, my ass. Gao Xusen switched gears, booming.
"Inside! For Party and country, let's work hard today! Haha!"
The evidence vault lay underground past security, past stairs: barred windows, bulletproof counters, blast doors like bank vaults. For high-risk, high-value items. Adjacent exam room, naturally.
Hushan Liang, third-grade inspector and familiar face, flashed his ID at the counter cop. A buzzer and hydraulic hiss opened the blast door. The armed auto-rifle guard handed over internal keys, deadpan and mechanical.
"Authorized time: two hours. No external removal without approval. Tampering or loss means punishment regardless of rank. In the exam room, only pre-approved items and methods. Record initial state meticulously beforehand. Use the provided checklist."
The dry warning irked the communist noble. Door shut, Gao Xusen scowled, venting.
"Daring to talk to me like that. Even after my position's flipped..."
Hushan Liang eyed his boss, then the ceiling cams—visual-only models, no blind spots.
"Just luck, he'll think. Dead man walking anyway. Stack merits, and they'll bow first."
"Merits, merits..."
The noble's softened gaze turned to me.