Red Flag Protocol

The fluorescent lights hummed their evening song. Maya adjusted her wire-frame glasses and traced her finger along the faded Ching Shih formation diagram pinned above her desk.

Two hundred years of organizational patterns spread across the steel shelving. The climate control kept everything at precisely 18 degrees Celsius. Perfect for preservation.

She pulled another piracy record from the 1807 stack. The paper smelled of age and careful archiving. Her index finger followed the squadron deployment coordinates.

Footsteps echoed through the basement corridor.

Maya's hand froze mid-trace. She knew those footsteps. Parade-ground precise. Commander James Harding.

Her refuge was ending.

Harding rounded the shelving unit. His uniform carried the salt tang of open ocean. He placed a manila folder on her cluttered desk.

"Dr. Chen."

She didn't look up from the historical records. "Actually, I'm no longer with the Bureau."

"I know." He opened the folder. "Look at these anyway."

Modern shipping attack patterns covered the pages. Digital printouts. Satellite imagery. Encrypted communication intercepts.

Maya's breathing quickened. The formation diagrams matched perfectly. Squadron coordination. Signal protocols. Hierarchical command structure.

"This is impossible," she said. Her academic voice sped up as connections formed. "Ching Shih's system required specific delegation frameworks that shouldn't exist in modern piracy."

"They do now."

She adjusted her glasses again. Traced the attack pattern with her finger. The organizational genius was unmistakable.

"Six months," Harding said quietly. "They'll control every major shipping lane in Southeast Asia."

The Malacca memory crashed over her.

Six body bags. Six families. Six operatives who trusted her analysis.

Her hands shook as she touched the documents. *Ngo mou liu*. Cantonese slipped into her thoughts the way it always did under stress. *I didn't see it. I missed the pattern.*

"Maya."

Harding placed his forearm on the desk. The old shrapnel scar caught the fluorescent light. He met her eyes without the usual command distance.

"I need you to know something." His clipped military brevity softened. "You were right about Malacca."

She went perfectly still.

"Your analysis was correct. Complete. I overrode your warnings." He rubbed the scar on his forearm. "Political pressure. Timeline constraints. The fault was mine."

The confession hung in the climate-controlled air.

Maya stared at Ching Shih's formation diagram. At the modern attack patterns. At three years of self-imposed exile in history books where decisions stayed theoretical.

"They're using her organizational methods," she whispered. "Adapted. Modernized. But the core structure is identical."

"Can you decode it?"

Her analytical mind was already racing. Squadron hierarchies. Communication protocols. Command delegation patterns. Everything Ching Shih had perfected to control 1,800 ships and 80,000 pirates.

"Yes." The word came out smaller than intended.

"Will you?"

History didn't cost lives. Research didn't require field operations. The Archive was safe. Controlled. Preserved at 18 degrees.

But history was repeating. The pattern was there. And she was the only one who could see it.

Maya stood from her desk. Her legs felt unsteady. She took off her wire-frame glasses and cleaned them with methodical precision.

"When do we leave?"

Harding checked his vintage dive watch. "Operational Theater deploys at 0600. Briefing at 0530."

She nodded once. Placed her glasses back on. Looked at the Ching Shih diagram one final time.

The intellectual sanctuary where consequences lived safely in history books.

She was walking away from it. Back into operations. Back where her analysis would determine who lived and who died.

Maya picked up the manila folder. The modern attack patterns felt heavy in her grip.

"I'll need access to all Red Flag Fleet historical records. Complete organizational charts. Delegation protocols." Her academic voice returned. Precise. Analytical. "Historically speaking, Ching Shih's genius wasn't just structure. It was adaptive coordination."

"You'll have full database access." Harding stood at parade rest. "And Maya?"

She looked up from the documents.

"Thank you." His rare warmth broke through the professional facade. "For giving me another chance to get this right."

The fluorescent lights continued their familiar hum. But the sanctuary was already gone.

Maya Chen had crossed the threshold.