Spying

25 Trigger

A middle-aged army officer in a military uniform stepped out of the car, wearing an officer’s belt and a red badge pinned to his chest. In the Nationalist army, there was a saying: "Stand at attention at the sight of red." And when Lu Peng recognized his face, he immediately saluted—

Zhang Zhizhong, the Northwest Military and Political Chief, a second-rank general in the army, Han Guizhang’s direct superior since the days of the Military Affairs Commission’s Aide-de-Camp Office, and the very school superintendent who had signed Lu Peng’s graduation certificate from the Central Military Academy.

"General," Lu Peng said respectfully.

But Zhang Zhizhong merely glanced at him before walking straight past and stopping in front of Han Guizhang. Before the latter could instinctively snap to attention and salute, Zhang extended his hand first and said, "Mr. Zheng."

Lu Peng froze on the spot.

Han Guizhang was also stunned for a moment but quickly regained his composure and shook his hand. "General Zhang."

Zhang Zhizhong said, "Mr. Tong from Huagai entrusted me to see Mr. Zheng off for his flight. However, after the meeting at Army Headquarters, I chatted a while longer with my old friends Liangzhen

Yu Jishi, Presidential Advisor on National Policy

and Yudong

Guan Linzheng, Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Army

, so I’m late. I hope I haven’t delayed Mr. Zheng’s schedule?"

"Not at all. There was just a minor misunderstanding, which I’m currently clarifying with this officer," Han Guizhang replied.

Then, both men turned their gazes toward Lu Peng.

At this moment, Lu Peng was inwardly shocked. Zhang Zhizhong’s words, though ostensibly directed at Han Guizhang, were clearly meant for him: on one hand, deliberately misidentifying the man before him as "Zheng Jialiu" rather than Han Guizhang; on the other, invoking the names of the Director of the Presidential Office’s Third Bureau and the Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Army to assert authority—implying that since these two were aware of the matter, shouldn’t he release the man?

But under Zhang Zhizhong’s sharp gaze, Lu Peng steadied himself and still asked, "General, you know Mr. Tong Jun?"

"My residence on Shen Juren Lane was designed by Mr. Tong, so we became acquainted. This Mr. Zheng came all the way from Hong Kong to visit him, and I was asked to see him off. I wasn’t aware the Confidentiality Bureau had an operation here. But Director Lu, surely there’s no misunderstanding?"

"Whether there’s a misunderstanding or not, this gentleman—whether he’s Mr. Zheng or Commander Han—will have to accompany me to Huangpu Road. After all, it’s on He Jinggong’s orders. I trust the General understands?" Lu Peng deliberately avoided mentioning the Confidentiality Bureau’s headquarters at Honggong Lane, instead naming Huangpu Road and invoking the Minister of National Defense to imply that even if you name-drop the Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Army, it still isn’t enough.

As the two sides remained deadlocked, another black car drove straight across the tarmac and stopped on the runway.

This time, it was a vehicle from the Ministry of National Defense.

When Ren Shaobai stepped out, Lu Peng initially thought reinforcements from the Ministry had arrived. However, after hastily saluting Zhang Zhizhong, Ren quickly approached Lu Peng and whispered in his ear, "The situation has changed. Director Yu and Deputy Commander Guan went directly to the Retreat Residence. They said Commander Han once saved the President’s life, so… the higher-ups’ orders are to let him go."

The plane began taxiing, its massive roar shaking the ground.

As it picked up speed, the tail lifted, and the fuselage tilted upward. The aircraft, carrying a man later known as the "Invisible General"—an underground Communist operative—broke free from all resistance, leaving the earth behind as it soared into the clouds.Far from the edge of the runway, Ren Shaobai's face betrayed no emotion. Lu Peng beside him assumed he shared his own resentment, unaware that Ren was drenched in cold sweat from the narrow escape.

While Peng Yongcheng's third layer of defense and Han Guizhang's composed adaptability might have fooled the by-the-book security personnel, they might not have passed muster with Lu Peng, who had once escaped from heavily guarded enemy territory.

After deploying forces at the docks and train stations, Li Helin, stationed at the Ministry of National Defense, suddenly ordered the Confidentiality Bureau to head to Ming Palace Airport. Thinking quickly, Ren Shaobai recalled Zhang Zhizhong, who had not yet left Nanjing. This Northwest Army general not only had close ties with Han Guizhang but had also participated in the Chongqing negotiations, being one of the few peace advocates within the party at the time.

So, under the name of the Northwest Military and Political Office, Ren drafted a telegram to Zhang Zhizhong. He then slipped into the cipher room of the communications center, mixed it among already decoded telegrams, and told the officer in charge of distribution, "General Zhang Zhizhong is in a meeting next door at Army Headquarters."

The plane had long vanished into the ink-black sky, leaving only two long contrails behind, like a final signature.

Ren Shaobai sighed, turned, and patted Lu Peng's shoulder, comforting him, "Even if he goes to Communist territory, the Communist Party wouldn't dare to actually use him. He won’t have any real impact on our military."

Lu Peng replied, "That’s not what I was thinking about."

"Then what is it?"

"He wasn’t the one who killed Old Yang. You were right before—he’s not the type to shoot an unarmed man in cold blood." Lu Peng's voice was low, its echo thickening in the empty airport. "But if it wasn’t him, then who was it?"

The airport returned to its vast silence. Ren Shaobai needed to return to the Ministry of National Defense to report to Li Helin. As he got into his car and was about to step on the gas, Lu Peng suddenly slid into the passenger seat. "Give me a ride," he said.

Without asking further, Ren nodded and followed the Confidentiality Bureau convoy onto Zhongshan East Road.

Lu Peng actually wanted to privately discuss something with Ren Shaobai and demanded assurance first: "You can’t tell Director Li."

"What is it?"

"The day Han Guizhang escaped from the Ministry of National Defense auditorium, didn’t you ask me if I had any information on the Communist Party’s underground organization in Nanjing?"

"Yeah. You said no."

"I wasn’t telling the truth."

"Huh?" Ren Shaobai turned to him in surprise.

"Watch the road," Lu Peng reminded him. "But I wasn’t entirely lying either, because there really isn’t much of an organization. After we took down those communication hubs in the last round, one of the captives revealed their post-disruption routine—first, they send someone to settle in, find new contact points, and establish a new radio station. But we’ve been strictly monitoring transmitters and receivers these past two months, and even your Second Department’s surveillance hasn’t picked up any new frequencies, right?"

"That’s true…" Ren agreed, though a thought suddenly struck him—how had Peng Yongcheng been transmitting messages, then?

"But there are still one or two who slipped through," Lu Peng added.

"Oh?" Ren kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "How do you know?"

"Two months ago, a Communist radio station we had under surveillance was infiltrated, and then something strange happened."

"How strange?""A dead Communist Party member has been mentioned again."

At the intersection ahead, the traffic policeman pressed the mechanical signal, allowing a transport truck from the perpendicular road to pass first. The Confidentiality Bureau's convoy was cut off, and Ren Shaobai also slowed to a stop behind them.

Lu Peng continued his account: "I captured him in Chongqing at the end of the 32nd year of the Republic. His codename was Silkworm Keeper, a clerk at Zhongzheng Bookstore. I figured out the pattern of his usual contact methods, so he was imprisoned in Zhazidong for a few months and executed by firing squad the following March. But just two months ago, this codename resurfaced. I suspect it's a subordinate he once recruited trying to reconnect with him."

The traffic officer signaled for them to proceed, and the vehicles ahead began moving again.

Ren Shaobai felt his throat itch, making his voice come out dry and hoarse: "But he's already dead. That means the subordinate can't accomplish much."

Lu Peng shook his head. "Not necessarily. If the Communist Party learns of this subordinate's existence, they might reach out too. They could even rebuild Nanjing's underground operations around him."

"Would they? Trust someone who didn't even know his handler was dead?"

"You never know what card the Communist Party will play next. Of course, it's also possible they're just desperate, taking things one step at a time..."

Before Lu Peng could finish, an explosion erupted at the center of the intersection ahead. With a deafening boom, the shockwave rattled the ground beneath them. Ren Shaobai slammed the brakes, sending both men lurching forward—only for a rear collision to smash his head against the steering wheel.

In an instant, smoke and dust filled the air as the entire street erupted with blaring horns and panicked screams.

Ren Shaobai remained slumped over the wheel. Struggling to lift his head slightly, his narrowed vision caught sight of thick smoke and flames billowing from a vehicle at the intersection's center. Before he could turn to check on Lu Peng in the passenger seat, he heard the car door being flung open—

Lu Peng scrambled out and, defying all instinct, hurried toward the explosion's epicenter.

"Senior brother..." Ren Shaobai wanted to call him back, but as soon as he uttered the first word, his eyelids grew unbearably heavy, and darkness swallowed him whole.

When he awoke again, he was lying in a bed at Central Hospital.

"Section Chief, Section Chief..."

Ren Shaobai forced his eyes open, the light revealing Wei Ningsheng's face hovering close before suddenly jerking away. He heard him shout, "Doctor! The patient's awake over here!"

It took several seconds for his senses to return. With difficulty, he croaked, "Wei..." while groping beside his pillow—

"Section Chief, your glasses are gone," Wei Ningsheng immediately understood and explained. "Probably lost in the car. Do you remember? There was an explosion."

"Explosion..." Ren Shaobai closed his eyes again. Though his vision was blurred, his mind vividly replayed the intersection of Zhongshan East Road and Huangpu Road—the sudden eruption of smoke and flames from that exploding car. That car...Wei Ningsheng eagerly answered the questions he might want to know, whispering by his ear: "Chief, Director Lu brought you here. He’s fine, just a few scrapes." Then he asked with concern, "The doctor said you have a concussion. How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?"

Ren Shaobai tried to sit up, and Wei Ningsheng quickly moved to support him. Noticing his gaze drifting toward the water pitcher on the bedside table, he swiftly poured a glass.

After drinking the entire cup, Ren Shaobai finally managed to ask coherently, "Where is Director Lu now?"

Wei Ningsheng replied, "He went to the Traffic Division at the police station—probably to investigate that bomb."

"Bomb?"

"Yeah, the one on the Confidentiality Bureau’s car. It was either homemade or a grenade, but the blast radius was very precise—"

"Which Confidentiality Bureau car?" Ren Shaobai suddenly interrupted.

"Uh, I don’t know the license plate…" Wei Ningsheng hesitated, then added, "Oh, but the driver’s surname was Shi."

A chill ran down Ren Shaobai’s spine. Shi… wasn’t that Lu Peng’s driver? Before he could ask further, Wei Ningsheng continued, "The driver died, along with a traffic officer at the intersection."

Another wave of pain surged through his head. Ren Shaobai raised a hand to his forehead, only then realizing it was wrapped in bandages. Wei Ningsheng immediately stopped him. "Chief, don’t touch it. Wait for the doctor."

Ren Shaobai frowned, his nerves throbbing as if being yanked—whether from the concussion or the flood of unanswered questions, he couldn’t tell.

The doctor arrived promptly and began examining him, checking his pupils and temperature. Ren Shaobai mechanically answered questions about his condition, but his mind was elsewhere.

A bomb. An attack targeting Lu Peng. If he hadn’t taken Ren Shaobai’s car at the last minute, he’d be dead.

Not long ago, what had Lu Peng said to him?

—"If someone really wanted to target the Confidentiality Bureau, they’d go after a bigger name. Worry when I mysteriously drop dead—then it’ll be worth your concern."

His careless tone echoed in Ren Shaobai’s ears. But now—could he still afford to be careless?

At that very moment, in the police station, Lu Peng was recalling those same words.

But before that, there was another question to solve: how had this small bomb been detonated?

After inspecting the wrecked car and the scene, the Traffic Division had made some discoveries. First, the bomb wasn’t a grenade as initially assumed, but a homemade device assembled from materials easily bought at a hardware store. And second—

"What’s this?" Lu Peng stared at the two hacksaw blades in front of him."The trigger," explained the armorer from the Army Headquarters' Transportation Department who had been consulted. "You were asking why it exploded at that particular moment, right? It's because this trigger mechanism is designed to activate when the vehicle experiences a jolt—like hitting a rock or a pothole—causing the suspension to compress and press against the trigger. Based on the investigation of the situation at Huangpu intersection at the time, a transport truck had just passed through before your vehicle. It's likely that a small clod of dirt or something similar fell off that truck. Then, the car you were supposed to be in ran over it, causing the two saw blades to make contact, releasing the safety and detonating the bomb."

Lu Peng listened, his expression growing increasingly grave. The bomb had been meant for him—he had only escaped death by sheer luck.

With this, one conclusion became unmistakable.

Pan Dahe, Zhao Xiaowu, himself, and now Old Yang—all were targets in the same line. Someone was carrying out a hunt, and their sights weren't just set on the Confidentiality Bureau, but on the former Military Intelligence Section as well.

Now, he was certain—this couldn’t possibly be the work of the Communists.