Before she even spoke, Batista saw the gleam in Yuryevna’s eyes as a plan took shape. “Jim… you could let me tinker with CHIMERA. I could generate some deepfakes we could test and make ready to use when the time’s right?”
The room stirred when she mentioned CHIMERA. Cognitive Hyper-Intelligent Media Engine for Realistic Alteration was TF Nightfury’s most potent digital tool. In the wrong hands, it could make anyone say or do anything on video, complete with perfect audio matching — a dangerous capability they wielded carefully, and under the strictest of rules.
Batista sat back as he absorbed the discussion happening within his team. Cyber weapons were clean in theory, code instead of bombs and bullets. But when the time came to launch this attack, it would leave a trail of death and destruction in its wake.
“Colonel, if it comes to it and we need to authorize this attack, what’s your confidence level on a clean execution without a digital trail leading right back to us?”
“If ordered — high. We’ve run simulated attacks over a thousand times without a single trail of evidence that could be traced back to us.” The cyber commander’s certainty was absolute. “Give the word, hoss, and pick the trains. Within a few hours, physics takes over.”
“You’re absolutely certain about the attribution?”
“Yes. We’re ghosts inside their systems,” Colonel Rooke confirmed as he pulled up a forensic analysis. “The attack uses their own switching logic against them. There’s no malware signatures to look for. No external connections to back-trace. To the investigators, it’ll look like the catastrophic failure it was.”
“And if we nudge them a bit with CHIMERA, they’ll believe whatever narrative we feed them,” Yuryevna added.
Batista smiled slowly. Another tool of war. Another crossed line in defense of his country.
“All right, Colonel, Yuryevna. Keep the capability warm but weapons tight. This is a wartime-only option unless directed otherwise.” Batista checked his watch. Nearly noon. “And on that cheerful note, let’s break for lunch. Reconvene at 1400.”
Chairs scraped back. Conversations sprouted in small groups. Special Agent Cross caught up to Colonel Rooke near the door. “Hey, Colonel, out of curiosity, does it bother you that some of these actions you talk about will invariably lead to the death of civilians who are certain to be caught in the crossfire??” The FBI agent’s voice carried an edge. “It seems cold how we choose who lives or dies when these people are just doing their job.”
Colonel Rooke paused, studying the younger man. “I do. I think about it every day.” His drawl returned, softer. “The same way I think about our port workers if the PLA succeeds in their attempts to harm our people. It’s war, and war has casualties.”
Rooke’s hand found Cross’s shoulder. “We’re supposed to be better?”
He leaned in. “You think we’re the good guys. They think they’re the good guys. Know the difference?” His eyes hardened. “I want my kids to have a future. Not theirs. If they win, my family loses.”
Cross stared, uncertainty shifting to understanding. The weight of their decisions was suddenly real.
Chapter Five:
Baltic Disaster
The Baltic Sea lay shrouded in predawn darkness, its surface disturbed only by the gentle wake of merchant vessels following the invisible highways of international shipping lanes. Twenty-three nautical miles southeast of Gotland, Sweden’s strategic island fortress, the HSwMS Lulea maintained her patrol station.
The Lulea was a cutting-edge warship, barely three years out of the shipyard. At 2,400 tons and 110 meters in length, this corvette represented Sweden’s leap into next-generation naval warfare. Her sleek hull incorporated the latest in signature management technology, while her combined diesel-electric and gas turbine propulsion system balanced efficiency with a sprint capability exceeding thirty-two knots. Armed with RBS-15 Mk4 antiship missiles, a 57mm Bofors gun, and the latest Saab 9LV combat management system, she was built specifically for the confined waters and complex threats of the Baltic.
Tonight, she ghosted along at eight knots on electric power alone, her passive sensors cataloging the electronic heartbeat of every vessel within sixty kilometers.
Lieutenant Commander Mats Algotsson hunched over the communications console in the state-of-the-art combat information center, his face illuminated by the blue-white glow of LED displays. The flash priority header from NATO Maritime Command made his stomach tighten. He read the message twice, then grabbed the internal phone.
“Bridge, CIC. Wake the captain. Immediately.”
Captain Henrik Dahl arrived on the bridge at 0441 hours, his uniform crisp despite the hour. Twenty years in the Swedish Navy had trained him to transition from deep sleep to full alertness in seconds. The concerned expressions on his officers’ faces gave him an additional boost of adrenaline — something was up.
“Talk to me, XO.”
Algotsson handed him a tablet displaying the encrypted message. “MARCOM alert came in twenty minutes ago. High priority. A US Air Force RC-135 Rivet Joint detected anomalous electronic emissions from a Chinese-flagged vessel approximately forty kilometers from our position.”
Dahl scrolled through the report, his expression hardening. The American surveillance aircraft, bristling with signals intelligence equipment, had picked up military-grade radar emissions from what should have been a civilian freighter. They were short bursts, precisely timed — the kind of pattern used to test targeting systems.
“Which vessel?” asked Dahl.
“MV Hai Qing 678, sir,” Algotsson replied. “Bulk freighter, sixty thousand tons. Departed Saint Petersburg thirty-six hours ago, declared destination Shanghai via the Suez Canal. Currently making ten knots on bearing two-three-five, following standard shipping lanes through the Baltic.”
Lieutenant Stefan Lindström added from the navigation plot, his fingers tracing routes on the holographic display, “Sir, at her current course and speed, she’ll pass directly over the GosNet-1 cable junction in approximately three hours.”
Dahl felt his jaw tighten. The fiber-optic lifeline connected Gotland to Sweden and mainland Europe, carrying everything from civilian internet traffic to military communications. Damaging it could cripple the island’s digital infrastructure for weeks.
“Pull up her history,” Dahl directed.
Lindström’s fingers flew across the haptic interface. “Chinese registry, home port Shanghai. This is her fourth Baltic transit in eighteen months. She always travels along the same route — picks up cargo in Saint Petersburg, usually grain or timber, then returns to China.” He paused, highlighting a section of data. “Sir, she was in the vicinity during the Estonia-Finland cable incident last October. One of three vessels that could have been responsible.”
“Never proven,” Algotsson added quietly.
“No,” Dahl agreed. “But suspicious enough.” He moved to the large tactical display dominating the bridge’s forward section. The Baltic stretched before them in three-dimensional representation — shipping lanes marked in blue, territorial waters in various shades, critical infrastructure pulsing red. The Hai Qing appeared as a yellow icon, plodding steadily toward their cable.
“Range?” asked Dahl.
“Thirty-eight kilometers, sir. She’s approaching Fårö Island to our north.”