He swiped his e-tablet’s screen and rotated the world until Australia and Southeast Asia appeared. A second continent-size shadow appeared, spreading under the Pacific.

  Daiyu straightened after studying the screen. “You think these two blobs are the remains of the planetoid Theia?”

  “Not just me. It’s the growing consensus of the scientific community. The latest geodynamic research further confirms this supposition.”

  Daiyu leaned back in her chair, trying to imagine shattered bits of an alien planet buried under the crust of Earth. “You mentioned these blobs posed some threat. That it could destroy us all. How?”

  “Whether or not these LLSVPs are truly from Theia, what is known is that they’re the cause of tectonic instability, especially at their edges. The African blob has been the source of violent volcanic activity throughout Africa’s history. It’s also the reason the continent has slowly been rising, pushed up from below by the mass beneath it.”

  Aigua pointed to the schematic still on his tablet. “The Pacific LLSVP has been equally problematic. It’s one of the main engines that drive the volcanic Ring of Fire around the Pacific Ocean. Throughout Earth’s history, these blobs have driven up millions of cubic kilometers of lava, oozing upward in huge plumes. It’s believed one such plume triggered the Great Dying at the end of the Permian Period, an extinction event that wiped out most life on the planet. And even today, those blobs remain geological time bombs. Especially if they’re disturbed.”

  “How do you disturb a continent-size chunk of an ancient planet?”

  “That’s why I’m here. Because we did just that.”

  “What? How?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. If we can discover the answer, it could lead to a weapon that would make the world’s nuclear arsenal obsolete. To cement China’s dominance for centuries.”

  Daiyu cast him a doubtful look.

  Aigua continued, “When Chang’e-5 was drilling into the lunar plain, we momentarily lost satellite contact with the lander. When it was re-established, the drill had stopped and appeared inoperable. We told the world that we had hit a layer of shale that restricted us from digging deeper, but that was not the reason. When we examined the lander’s drill after it returned, its electronics had been melted.”

  “What happened?”

  “We don’t know. But what we did detect—and it took us years to even recognize the significance—was a faint radio burst at the same time. It was picked up and recorded by our WEM sensory array in the Dabie Mountains of Huazhong. At the time, the operators judged the incoming signal to be insignificant, especially as it only lasted seconds. They had attributed it to radio interference.”

  Daiyu frowned. She knew of the WEM installation. She had toured the highly guarded facility back in 2019, shortly after the project—the Wireless Electromagnetic Method—had become fully operational. Its purpose was to produce ELF transmissions, extremely low-frequency signals that were capable of traveling through water and rock. The array allowed the military to maintain communication with Chinese submarines, even when they were deeply submerged.

  “It was Xue, my son,” Aigua continued, “who noted the correlation between the radio signal and the issue with the lunar lander. He’s currently involved with the Chang’e-6 and 7 projects. He had been studying all the events surrounding that moment when we lost contact with the Chang’e-5’s lander and when the drill malfunctioned. He hoped to discover the cause of the failure, to protect those future missions.”

  “Why does your son think the signal was significant and not coincidental, especially when the WEM operators had already dismissed it?”

  “Two reasons. First, because of where it originated. Other radio telescopes and antennas had also picked up the signal. Their records allowed us to triangulate its origin. The signal came from a location north of New Zealand, along the Tonga-Kermadec Trench. In the middle of the ocean. And it couldn’t have come from any ship passing through the area.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of the second reason. The signal received was in the ELF range—which as you know takes a massive transmitter to generate. It’s nothing that could be carried on a ship.”

  She nodded. The WEM mountain array covered four thousand square kilometers. It took something that large to be able to produce ELF transmissions.

  “It’s why we sent out the Changzheng 24,” Aigua explained. “To search for the source of the signal. It would take something huge to generate that ELF signal.” He pointed to the large shadow lurking under the region. “Something the size of a continent.”

  “You’re saying the signal came from the LLSVP.”

  “That’s what we were trying to determine when we dispatched the Changzheng 24. It could be a natural phenomenon. We know lightning strikes and earthquakes can also generate ELF waves. Over the past year, geologists have been testing the WEM array as a means of early quake detection.”

  “And what did you find in that trench?”

  Aigua shrugged. “That’s just it. We don’t know. When the Changzheng 24 was over the trench, I had the WEM array transmit an ELF signal, an exact mirror to the one recorded in 2020. The submarine verified it had received it—then we lost all communication.”

  “Like with the Chang’e-5.”

  Aigua nodded. “Minutes later, a large seaquake was detected. With the epicenter near where the submarine had last been reported.”

  Daiyu frowned, beginning to understand the weapon that Aigua had mentioned. “Are you suggesting the ELF signal somehow triggered the quake at that location?”

  “We did something. Because since then, the trench has been swarming with quakes, all localized at that one spot. They’ve been growing worse and spreading wider, threatening to destabilize the entire area. Projections and modeling suggest the region may be headed toward an unprecedented apocalyptic event.”

  Daiyu wanted to belittle such a claim, but the man’s earnestness was hard to dismiss.

  “That’s why we must leave no stone unturned, and why I’ve come here. The inexplicable state of the submariners could be important. My son is convinced of it. Especially as there is a possibility this is not the first time that such bodies have been found in this region.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “After learning of the fate of the submariners, Xue did a deep search for anything that corresponded to such a strange affliction—much like he did when he uncovered a signal that everyone else had ignored. Two days ago, he discovered a historical record. An account of another near-apocalyptic event, when Mount Tambora erupted back in 1815. It was written by Chinese traders living in Singapore during that time.”

  “What was in those records?”

  “It was a sketchy account, but it told of bodies turned to stone during the Tambora eruption.”

  She sat straighter. “What?”

  “It also told of a cure discovered and kept secret by a former lieutenant-governor of Java, Sir Stamford Raffles. In addition, it hinted at a means of appeasing quakes and eruptions. The knowledge was said to be locked in a steel box, along with a sheaf of papers, and secured in a museum he had founded.”

  “Surely that account must be some opium-induced fantasy,” Daiyu said.

  “Many must have believed the same over the centuries. And I might have, too, except for one detail that my son dug up.”

  “Which was what?”

  “The current incarnation of the same museum does list among its inventory of historical artifacts a metal box and private papers belonging to Sir Stamford Raffles. The entry is dated 1825, shortly after the museum was founded.”

  Daiyu pictured the state of the submariners, the agony of the petty officer. Beyond any cure, she recognized the desire in Aigua’s eyes.

  A weapon that would make the world’s nuclear arsenal obsolete.

  The man hoped to be able to control quakes, to turn those continent-size chunks of ancient planetoid into earth-shaking weapons.

  She slowly nodded. “If those papers can offer any answers . . .”

  Aigua collected his e-tablet from her desk. “That’s why I hired a strike team to secure the artifacts over in Singapore.”

  Before Daiyu could respond, a loud klaxon rang from outside.

  Her secretary rushed in with Aigua’s son. “There’s a major problem down in the med lab!”

  12

  January 23, 3:10 P.M. SGT

  Republic of Singapore

  Held at gunpoint, Seichan could not prevent her attackers from yanking her Glock out of her boot holster. Her hands were zip-tied behind her back. She glared at Valya the entire time.

  Gray was also bound and stripped of his weapon.

  Next to him, Kwong breathed hard. The museum director’s wrists remained free. Valya clearly did not consider the small man a threat. Plus, the pistol grinding into his ribs encouraged his continued cooperation.

  Their capture was all done swiftly and surreptitiously. A glance around revealed no cameras pointed their way. They had been ambushed in a blind spot. She and Gray likely only lived so they could be questioned later. The Chinese would want to know how deeply the U.S. was involved in all of this. Or maybe the strike team feared leaving any bodies behind for a roving security guard to stumble upon and raise an alarm.

  Still, from the glee in Valya’s eyes, Seichan guessed the likeliest reason for their capture: to make their demises more painful and prolonged.

  Once they were secure, Valya turned aside and spoke into a wrist radio. “Lock down the security control room. We’re hard out in ten minutes.” She then waved her SIG Sauer to the others. “Get them moving.”

  They were hustled quickly toward the elevator. Guns were kept out of direct view. Several men split off and headed for the stairwell on the far side, to cover the museum’s other flank.

  “What are you looking for?” Gray asked as he was pressed into a corner of the elevator.

  Valya rolled her eyes at him, clearly not willing to share anything. She tapped a stolen keycard to allow them up to the floor above. Either her team had been supplied with the security cards, or they’d dispatched a few researchers to obtain them. Seichan failed to understand why Valya hadn’t already completed her task.

  Why wait to ambush us?

  The answer came as the assassin’s eyes narrowed on Kwong.

  Valya needed him.

  Their lengthy museum tour must have stymied her raid. She had been forced to lie in wait, keeping hidden, until she could secure the director. Everything had been on hold until this moment.

  As the elevator opened, Valya herded them into a small lobby. She stopped before a door that led out onto the fifth floor. Beyond it, Seichan heard a muffled pop-popping, accompanied by a single strangled scream. The other half of the strike team must be sweeping and securing this level. From the gunfire, the assailants were no longer concerned about leaving dead bodies in their wake.

  The door flung open ahead of them. A student researcher burst out, trying to escape the gunmen behind him—only he ran into Valya’s blade. She thrust the dagger deeper into his chest, twisting the hilt. The young man fell to his knees. Valya ripped her blade free and slashed his throat, silencing his rising scream. She kicked him aside.

  Kwong choked and tried to back away, but his captor pressed the pistol’s muzzle harder into his spine.

  With the floor cleared, they were marched down a hall. It opened into a research lab sectioned by long rows of workbenches. Microscopes and photographic mounts lined the tops. Three more bodies draped the floors in pools of blood. Ahead, one of the gunmen guarded the far hall that led into a suite of offices. Valya left another man behind them to protect that flank. The other seven closed ranks around their group.

  Valya pointed to a door at the back of the research space. “Over there.”

  Their group hurried across and pushed into a cavernous storage room. Crates and boxes climbed shelves. The place smelled musty. Dust motes hung in the air. Valya led them unerringly to the back wall, to a six-foot-tall circular door of black steel. A large wheel fixed its center.

  The vault door had an antiquated look to it, like something out of the turn-of-the-century. Only from the glowing red pad next to it could one tell that the door had been retrofitted with a biometric lock.

  No wonder Valya had needed to secure the director.

  One of the guards nudged the curator forward.

  “Open it,” Valya ordered him.

  Kwong glanced to Gray, who nodded at the man. “Do as she says.”

  The director fumbled and swiped his keycard through a reader, then placed his palm atop the glowing pad. The screen buzzed, then turned green. A rumble of gears sounded, accompanied by a sliding of metal.

  A gunman grabbed the wheel, spun it, then heaved the foot-thick steel door open. Past the threshold, a large space opened. It was the size of a two-car garage and looked like a microcosm of the larger museum. To the right, rows of open shelves were crowded with bottles of every size. From the yellowing of the glass, Gray surmised that the collection was old, going back to the museum’s earliest years. To the left stretched rows of tall steel drying cabinets.

  Valya left them outside and passed into the vault by herself. She consulted a scrap of paper and searched down the rows of cabinets, studying the dates on them. She crossed all the way to the back, to the oldest section, and bent down by one of the cabinets. With her back to them, she opened its door and ran a finger down a stack of wooden drawers. She tapped one and drew it out, sliding it fully free so she could carry it forth.

  With the drawer in her hands, she crossed back to the door with a hard, satisfied smile.

  Seichan glanced at Gray.

  He nodded and said one word. “Now.”

  3:17 P.M.

  Upon Gray’s signal, gunfire strafed into the storage room through the open door behind him. He leaped headlong and bowled into Kwong. He knocked the curator behind the nearest shelf of crates. Seichan dove along with them.

  “Secure!” he radioed to Zhuang and Guan-yin.

  The barrage intensified.

  Men twisted and writhed, caught in a crossfire from the two shooters. Guan-yin and Zhuang had taken up positions on opposite sides of the research lab outside, firing through the door into the storage room.

  Earlier, as soon as Gray had been ambushed, he had dipped his chin, activating the throat mike taped over his larynx. During the captors’ rush to secure their prisoners and get them moving, the gunmen had failed to note the nearly imperceptible radio gear. With the device activated, Gray had been able to alert Zhuang and Guan-yin of the attack, letting the two listen in on them the entire time.

  In turn, Zhuang and Guan-yin had kept Gray abreast of their own journey upward. Zhuang had lifted a keycard from a passing guard. Guan-yin obtained the same from a researcher eating lunch. They had split up, coming up opposite sides of the museum to ambush Valya’s two posted guards. Their attack was aided by the team’s IVAS goggles. Using the feed from the CCTV cameras on this floor, they were able to spy on their targets. The two had waited until the guards were looking the wrong way, then silenced them with slashes to their throats. Afterward, they took up positions outside the lab and waited for Gray’s signal.

  As the barrage continued, Gray covered Kwong with his own body.

  By now, Seichan had snapped her ties free on a sharp bolt in the shelves.

  Gray rolled off Kwong. “Keep him safe,” he called to her.

  “Where are you—”

  He didn’t even have time to free his wrists.

  “Hold fire!” he radioed as he lunged up.

  The gunfire ceased for a breath, and he dashed over to the open vault. He shouldered into the heavy door and swung it closed, intending to trap Valya with her prize inside. Before it could seal completely, she rushed out sideways.

  She matched eyes with him, her hate shining brightly. To escape through the narrow gap, she had tilted the wide tray in her hands. She also struggled for her holstered SIG. As she did, the tray’s contents spilled to the floor.

  Valya dove for them.

  Gray did the same, skidding low, feet first, as if sliding into home plate.

  “Resume fire!” he hollered.

  Gunfire strafed over them. Gray’s toe kicked aside a clear envelope of yellowed pages. It slid under one of the shelves. He tried to do the same to a dented steel box, but Valya nabbed it one-handed and rolled away. She came up with her SIG in her other hand.

  She pointed at Gray and fired—but a bullet from outside grazed her shoulder and threw off her aim. Her round pinged off the vault door near his ear. Valya was forced away as the gunfire focused on her. One of her men, bloodied but alive, rounded the shelves on the other side where he had been sheltered. He came to her aid.

  Together, the pair rushed the storage room door, firing nonstop. As they reached the exit, Valya grabbed the man by the collar and shoved him ahead of her. Using his body like a shield, she fled across the research lab. His body jolted and jarred under the impact of rounds.

  With the assailants gone, Seichan dashed out of hiding and retrieved a weapon from one of the dead men. She fired at Valya’s back, but the assassin had reached the end of the row and rolled out of view, tossing the dead man aside. Valya had also somehow gained another weapon—maybe from the assailant she had used as a shield.

  She fired in both directions, driving Zhuang and Guan-yin into hiding, and fled for the stairwell to the right.

  Zhuang shot after her, but Valya pounded through the far door and vanished.

  By now, Gray had followed Seichan’s example and snapped off the wrist ties on a bolt in the shelving. He grabbed the sheaf of old papers and tucked it into the back of his pants under his windbreaker. He also armed himself.

  To the side, Kwong stumbled out of hiding. The director clutched a hand to his neck. Blood poured between his fingers. Gray cursed himself for failing to note the man’s injury.

  He crossed and gathered Kwong under an arm. He carried the man toward the research lab. At the door, Seichan noted the director’s state and came up on the man’s other side. They headed out together.