Chapter 54: The Unexpected Stowaway
"Building B?" Liu Zheng found this curious. He had no idea what the camp looked like, but surely it couldn't be laid out like some apartment complex with separate residential blocks.
The reality proved more mundane. The entire camp followed a neat grid pattern—rows of tent barracks arranged with military precision. The ground had been raised and covered with a layer of sand and soil to keep out moisture, and the perimeter had been dusted with lime and realgar to repel snakes and insects. Following the signage at an intersection, he quickly located his assigned tent. "Building A" and "Building B," it turned out, simply designated the single men's area and the couples-and-families section. A well-lit road separated the two zones.
"Nice—someone actually thought this through." Liu Zheng had brought his wife along, and the prospect of being separated from her after a full day's labor would have been unbearably dull. He paused mid-stride, wrinkling his nose. "What the hell is that smell?"
A strange odor permeated the camp—an acrid blend of the Health Group's anti-snake-and-insect pesticide mingled with the smoke of burning mugwort. Even more annoying: the walkways were already plastered with "NO SMOKING!" signs. Right now, all Liu Zheng wanted was to dig out that pack of 555s from his backpack and take a few long drags.
His pack was stuffed with good stuff—camping gear, military field rations from half a dozen countries. He didn't entirely trust the Committee's logistics capabilities. Even if they managed to get a cafeteria running, public canteens were notorious for failing at both efficiency and taste. The first few days would surely mean surviving on dry rations, and Liu Zheng preferred relying on himself.
While logging in the mangroves earlier, he'd woven several net bags from thin vines. Mangroves were biological paradises, teeming with fish, shrimp, and crabs. During breaks, he'd managed to catch about half a kilogram of shrimp and a decent-sized crab, which he'd bound with vines and tucked away—planning a proper feast with his wife tonight.
Along the roadside tents, small clusters of transmigrators sat gnawing dry rations and washing them down with water. The cafeteria was clearly a no-go. Others had already collapsed into their tents and were snoring, too exhausted to care about food.
As he walked, a group of Military Group members led by Ran Yao stepped into his path, torches in hand. They were escorting someone whose head was covered with a black plastic bag.
"Night check. Show your ID card." Ran Yao's voice carried that distinctive Beijing cadence that made Liu Zheng briefly nostalgic for his time in the capital.
He handed over his ID card. The scanner beeped, and his number flashed across the PDA screen.
"You're Liu Zheng?"
"Yeah, that's me." He was confused now. Were they checking residency permits out here? Did the Committee need him for something?
"You brought foreign military field rations?"
"That's right." His mind raced: Are they requisitioning supplies? No way.
"What brands? How many?"
"Can't remember exactly. Let me think—MRE numbers 4, 7, 8..."
"That's enough." Ran Yao cut him off, exchanging glances with the other Military Group members. He produced four or five brown plastic pouches from his own pack, along with a carton of 555s. Liu Zheng recognized them immediately—his own supplies. That cigarette carton still had the label he'd stuck on the seal.
"My cigarettes!"
"We found these on him." Ran Yao gestured toward the hooded figure. "He was coming out of your tent."
"What?!" Liu Zheng could hardly believe it. Someone stealing on the very first day of the crossing. Human nature—so damn ugly.
"We didn't expect it either. Honestly, we figured having the Military Group patrol the camp was overkill. Didn't think we'd actually catch someone red-handed on day one."
"What happens to him?"
"Not our call. The Committee will handle it." Ran Yao offered a thin smile. "Back in the twenty-first century, this amount would just earn him an educational lecture and release—two days' detention at most."
Liu Zheng watched them walk away, cigarettes in hand, unable to suppress a twinge of sympathy for the unlucky bastard. Getting a record immediately upon arrival—too miserable for words. He'd lost all interest in going down to the beach for a smoke.
Ran Yao brought the man to the command post. He wanted to clarify the situation before reporting to the Committee, because beyond the theft, the guy had accumulated too many suspicious details.
During the arrest, he'd attempted to resist. Though quickly subdued, his movements betrayed obvious combat training. The body search had turned up a Type-64 pistol—not some workshop knockoff, but genuine military issue with a proper serial number. Ran Yao knew that real Type-64s were rare on the black market. Some transmigrators had the connections to obtain firearms, but nobody would bother chasing down a "small firecracker" 64 when better options existed.
Under the lamplight, Ran Yao removed the hood. The mystery only deepened. At first glance the man looked young, ordinary features, but his eyes were sharp and seasoned with experience. Ran Yao recognized that look immediately—this should be a colleague. He knew every police officer among the transmigrators, and this man wasn't one of them. Combined with the Type-64...
The clothes were standard-issue tropical training uniforms, the same as every other transmigrator. He wore a basic-labor armband but had no electronic dog tag.
"Name, age, occupation?" Ran Yao asked casually. "Where's your ID card?"
The young man said nothing, head bowed. Ran Yao had never conducted formal interrogations, but he'd observed plenty of suspects over the years—every variety of expression and mannerism imaginable. He'd never seen anything quite like this: extreme, genuine confusion.
Finally, the man spoke, answering with a question of his own: "Who are you?"
Ran Yao was momentarily stunned. Since the heroic rescue of Director Wen, very few transmigrators failed to recognize him.
"I'm Ran Yao. Leader of the Security Group."
"Security Group—security group of what, exactly?" Guo Yi looked him up and down. This was the guy who'd led the takedown. The grappling technique was definitely public-security or armed-police style, and the bearing matched too—one of his own. But why was a cop wearing Crossing Company clothes? Why was he on this ship?
Questions piled upon questions. But for Guo Yi, ever since yesterday, questions had become mountains.
Originally, after Guo Yi and two American agents learned the ship's destination, they'd tracked it to the port. To their disappointment, the cargo proved utterly unremarkable—all loaded by the local port company. After studying the manifest, the three of them couldn't figure out Wen Desi's purpose. But during surveillance, they'd spotted Wen Desi leading a group of people aboard the Fengcheng. After a quick discussion, all three decided to go undercover. They dressed like the other passengers, obtained assistance from the port authority to slip aboard, and found hiding spots on the ship. The senior officers knew they were there. Guo Yi had even notified his superiors of his action plan.
Then events took unexpected turns.
That night, when Xue Ziliang spotted the suspicious sailboat—a potential weapons-smuggling vessel—rendezvousing with the Fengcheng, he thought his big break had finally arrived. Heart pounding with excitement, he dialed his phone to report. The signal cut out mid-call.
The three of them spent the following night and day in mounting terror. First, none of their phones worked—not even Xue Ziliang's expensive rented maritime satellite phone could find a signal. Then, at dawn, Guo Yi discovered that the ship had arrived at a completely unfamiliar, desolate place.
All three concluded they must have reached some remote Vietnamese island. Analyzing the ship's speed and the surrounding geography made this plausible enough. But the satellite phone still wouldn't work. It wasn't interference—there was simply zero signal. The explanation eluded them completely.
Watching the ship disembark passengers and unload cargo, Guo Yi decided to investigate. He simply mixed into the queuing crowd and, amid the chaos, grabbed a basic-labor armband. No one noticed an extra unassigned person wandering the beach. The Military Group had established guard lines on the outer perimeter—it had never occurred to anyone that there might be stowaways aboard. He'd wandered the camp all day unchallenged. Only when hunger struck did he think to grab some food to bring back to the others. He hadn't expected to be caught immediately. Even if this was work-related, if his colleagues ever found out, he'd be laughed at forever.
"Executive Committee, Internal Affairs and Civil Affairs Committee Security Group!" Ran Yao's voice cut through his thoughts. "Any problem with that?"
Guo Yi raised his head. He didn't understand what Ran Yao meant, but this organization clearly wasn't part of the People's Republic of China. Could it be some kind of criminal syndicate?
Ran Yao was now basically certain: this man wasn't a transmigrator. He recalled the family that had been sucked in by the wormhole the previous night—was this the same situation? But this one had clearly come with purpose, deliberately targeting them. Stealing an armband to infiltrate the camp—this was no innocent bystander.
"Alright, I've answered your questions. Now it's your turn. Who are you, and why did you infiltrate us?"
Guo Yi refused to speak. The more he saw, the more convinced he became that these people were extremely dangerous organized criminals. Throughout the day, he'd observed professionals at work everywhere, massive equipment and machinery being unloaded, well-equipped guards—many clearly of military origin—and now this interrogator who was obviously a fellow officer...
The reach of this criminal syndicate was enormous. Smuggling weapons from America, building a base in Vietnam, recruiting veterans and corrupted police officers... Guo Yi shuddered. Finished. Falling into their hands, he'd surely be tortured to death. Xiao Guo had known from day one that his job might make him a martyr, but actual martyrs were few and far between—maybe one or two every several years. And martyrs never knew beforehand they'd die heroically. That was easier to face than sitting here, waiting to become one.
Stay resolute. Years of Party education steeled Xiao Guo's resolve. He kept his silence. Let them torture him if they wanted. Now he just hoped those two clueless Americans could somehow escape and bring hope of rescue. He just didn't know if they were as capable as the heroes in American movies.
Ran Yao could tell the man was frightened—only human, after all. But duty clearly came first for him, and he stubbornly refused to talk. This was getting tricky. Coercion obviously wouldn't work. Even if he'd sneaked aboard with ill intent, in this timespace he could only become a companion like everyone else. But how to explain that? Ran Yao genuinely didn't know how to put it—wouldn't he sound completely insane? Xiao Zishan had spent all afternoon trying to explain the situation to that accidental family, and all he'd earned for his trouble was a stream of Sichuan profanity. He hadn't convinced anyone of anything.
(End of Chapter)