Chapter 510: Silent Arrival

November 17, 1916, 6:30 a. m.

The liner "Kabet" cut through the lead‑gray waters of Chesapeake Bay, slowly heading for Pier No. 3 at Baltimore Harbor. This 18,000‑ton Yingguo ocean liner looked ordinary; its dark‑gray hull bore only a line of small white letters indicating the ship's name, and the red‑black paint on the Crown‑Da Company's smokestack was already flaking. Yet near the waterline, a close look reveals fresh repair marks—remnants of a near‑miss shell that had scarred the vessel a few months earlier when it was chased by a German U-boat in the mid‑Atlantic.

He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si stood by the captain's cabin porthole, watching the dock's outline grow clearer. He wore a dark‑gray wool coat, its collar stiffly turned up to fend off the biting wind blowing in from the bay. The 65‑year‑old Prime Minister looked older than his years, heavy bags under his eyes, and the nasolabial folds at the corners of his mouth as deep as carved knives. He held a cup of tea that had long since gone cold, yet he had not taken a sip.

"Twenty minutes until we dock, Prime Minister."

The speaker was his private secretary Mo Li Si·Han Ji, a sharp man in his early forties whose hair had already begun to thin. Han Ji held a folder marked with three sets of documents, each labeled with a different color—red for urgent intelligence, blue for today's itinerary, yellow for backup material.

"Arrangements on shore?" He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si's voice was a little hoarse; ten consecutive days at sea had irritated his throat.

"Handled according to the 'lowest‑profile' principle," Han Ji opened the blue folder. "The Meilika State Council has sent Mr. Fei Li Pu Si, Third Assistant Secretary of State, to meet the ship—no military representatives, no band, no press corps. Our motorcade will be escorted by four motorcycles dispatched by the Baltimore Police Department, proceeding straight to Union Station to board the 10:15 a. m. special train to Washington."

"Special train?"

"It's an ordinary first‑class carriage of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company, attached to the 'Congress Express.' After arriving in Washington, the motorcade will take an underground passage into the West Wing of the White House. The entire itinerary will not appear on any public schedule."

He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si nodded, his gaze returning to the window. On the dock, a few black silhouettes could already be seen, moving like cut‑outs in the morning mist. Farther away, the outline of Baltimore's city appeared cold and unfamiliar in the winter dawn.

"Do they know why we're here?" he asked suddenly.

Han Ji paused: "Wall Street knows part of it. The State Council knows we request a meeting, but not the specific agenda. As for the general public…" He gave a wry smile, "The Baltimore Sun's third edition today carries an eighty‑word notice: 'Yingguo trade delegation arrives in Meilika, possibly to discuss post‑war economic cooperation.'"

"Post‑war," He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si repeated, his tone laced with sarcasm. "They think we've already begun discussing the post‑war period."

The captain's cabin door was gently knocked. Sir Bei Er Fu, the Navy Minister, entered, holding a freshly decrypted telegram. The 68‑year‑old Conservative Party elder's complexion was worse than He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si's, his eyes rimmed with dark circles, yet his gaze remained as sharp as an eagle's.

"The latest battle report from London," Sir Bei Er Fu said without small talk. "Last night, Degjun launched a new round of probing attacks at the Ippel salient. We lost eight hundred men, most of them ANZAC. Worse still—Faguo officials privately disclosed that they may not withstand next spring's offensive."

He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si took the telegram, scanning the cold figures quickly. Eight hundred. Another battalion's strength vanished from the list. He recalled Lord Ji Qi Na's words in the War Department's underground operations room before leaving London: "If we cannot secure reinforcements of at least thirty divisions by March next year, the entire western front's right wing could collapse. Then Paris will have no defensible ground."

Thirty divisions. Six hundred thousand men. Yingguo can no longer muster that many.

"What about the Sakura Nation?" He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si asked.

"Xi Yuan Si Gong Wang is still dragging his feet," Sir Bei Er Fu lowered his voice. "Chen Feng has put pressure on him, demanding simultaneous supplies to both Yingguo and Deguo. The current situation is that we've pledged £250 per person, while the Germans have offered £280. Xi Yuan Si Gong Wang wants to play for a higher price."

"Greedy monkey," He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si muttered softly, then waved his hand. "Never mind. When we return from Meilika, if we secure enough loans… we'll raise the price to three hundred. We need men, the sooner the better."

Sir Bei Er Fu opened his mouth as if to speak, but ultimately only nodded. He moved to the opposite side of the porthole, watching Meilika's coastline draw nearer. This country, this continent, so vast and fertile, yet it seemed separated by a pane of glass, unreachable.

"Do you think Wilson will listen to us?" Sir Bei Er Fu asked suddenly.

He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si remained silent for a long while.

"He will listen," the Prime Minister finally said, "but not to our talk of morality, democracy, or 'the responsibilities of the civilized world.' He will listen to numbers, to interests, to those concrete things that make his country—and, more importantly, his constituents—understand."

A low, lingering whistle sounded. The Kabet began to turn, its hull tilting slightly as it approached the berth. On the dock, a few men in black coats were already waiting, beside them three black Packard luxury sedans.

Han Ji glanced at his pocket watch. "We'll dock at exactly seven o'clock. Prime Minister, we should prepare to disembark."

He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si took a final sip of the cold tea, setting the cup on the table. He smoothed his coat, inhaled deeply, as if he were heading not to a diplomatic negotiation but to another front.

"Remember," he said to Sir Bei Er Fu and Han Ji, "from the moment we set foot on this land, every word we speak, every expression we make, is part of the war. And this war, we must win."

11:20 a. m., West Wing underground passage.

The wheels on the concrete ground emitted a low, rumbling friction sound. He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si sat in the rear seat of the third vehicle, watching the unusual entrance through the dark windows—no signs, no guardhouse, only two massive steel doors slowly sliding apart. The motorcade entered a dimly lit tunnel, its sides lined with exposed pipes and cables.

"This is the 'President's Emergency Passage,'" the assistant secretary of state, Fei Li Pu Si, sitting in the co‑driver's seat turned and explained, "It was built during President McKinley's era; in theory only the President and a few senior officials may use it. President Woodrow specifically authorized its use this time to keep your itinerary completely confidential."

He Bo Te·Heng Li·A Si Kui Si politely nodded in thanks. He noted that the Meilika official was about fifty, speaking with the modest accent characteristic of New England, his eyes cautious yet shrewd. A typical career diplomat, unlikely to reveal his true thoughts easily.