The Fishy Chips

By Robert Miller

Loyalty and betrayal quickly become conflicts in this novel set in the Silicon Valley of California where many of the titans of the computer world have research and development operations and manufacturing facilities. Educators, under the control of Chinese agents are using students from the Mission Community College’s Semiconductor Manufacturing Program to obtain a top-secret computer chip being manufactured by Intel for use in the United States Military's anti-ballistic missile system. Rick has to reconcile his loyalty to his students with loyalty to his country as he works with his friend from the FBI to recover the stolen component.

Also telling the story is George Yuan, a nineteen-year-old alienated Chinese-American. Through the help of a beautiful female spy, George discovers his love and loyalty to China. He agrees to help steal the computer chip. In the process of recovering the stolen computer chip, the FBI captures the members of the spying ring, and two others are murdered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Miller
• Release date: Dec 10, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458076236

Robert Miller

R. H. Miller is a retired widower living in Nevada. Prior to retirement, he served in the United States Marine Corps and later as a middle manager in a large corporation. Life experiences provided much of the fictional material for the book. In addition, many events in the lives of family members and friends are fictionally depicted. The author’s intention in writing the book is to provide the reader with an interesting and, at times, humorous understanding of problems and dilemmas individuals encounter in unusual relationships.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Office of the Director, Second Department. People's Liberation Army. General Staff Headquarters, Beijing, China

There was a knock at the door and Colonel Tao, a short, balding man entered the room.

Sir, he said, we've a problem with our group working at Mission College in the Silicon Valley of California. It appears that one man might have compromised the operation. He...

There's no problem, General Zhow interrupted firmly. I want that chip. Tell the intelligence officer in charge to eliminate him and anyone else who gets in the way.

It was a bit of unpleasantness of the sort General Zhow usually sought to avoid. But, problems were problems, and he had found, over the years, that a simple assassination was often the easiest way to solve them. As the Colonel saluted and took his leave, General Zhow smiled.

It was, General Zhow thought as he leaned back in his office chair and sipped his Lapsang tea, worth the hazards associated with his driver dodging through traffic, to get to the office early so that he would have time to focus before finally beginning the day's work.

As always, he enjoyed sitting at his Elmwood writing desk. It had been originally crafted during the late Ching dynasty in Shanghai and was the focal point of a very comfortable office. The walls were painted yellow, the color of royalty. Everything about his office was elegant, as befitted a man in his position. The intricate carving on the back splats representing the feathers of a massive bird adorned a pair of Elmwood chairs from the Hebei province. Gilt framed pictures on three walls honored the famous leaders of the People's Liberation Army, and a huge red and gold flag was displayed directly behind the desk. The floor was covered with red carpets portraying dragons, a symbol of great power, and phoenixes denoting immortality.

A picture of the general, placed front and center of his desk, showed him in dress uniform standing ramrod straight, replete with medals, clearly a man of conviction. It was his hope that, if he accomplished all of his goals, perhaps his superiors would honor him by using this picture on a giant poster that would hang next to the other heroes of the People's Liberation Army that presently adorned his walls.

This morning, the general reflected on the progress made over the past five years regarding modernizing the army. It was his job to oversee the procuring of advanced computer parts and systems from countries throughout the world, and he was particularly pleased with his efforts in the United States. Two operatives, a man and his wife from Wisconsin, obtained $500,000 worth of computer parts that would enhance his country's missile systems. Unfortunately, they had been convicted of espionage before they completed their work. Oh well, he thought, it didn't really matter because over 3,000 companies in the US alone helped with these efforts. He took another sip of tea and smiled as he thought about the most important mission of his career. The computer chip that was at the heart of the American anti-ballistic system would soon be in his hands and it didn't matter if a few people would die in order for this goal to be accomplished.

Chapter 2

Rick

Mission College, Santa Clara, California

Before I entered my classroom at exactly 8:30 am, I straightened my tie and tried to button my sports coat, which must have shrunk when I had it dry cleaned at the end of the last school year. Now it barely fit around my midsection.

I began by giving my famous first-day lecture, explaining that the course would be a combination junior/senior literature class, focusing on the theme of loyalty, following which I distributed an information form for them to fill out. Usually I was beset with the first-day jitters, but today I was unusually at ease, probably because the college environment forced the students to behave like adults.

Mr. Podowski, do you want us to put our last names first? one eager student asked.

Some things never change. Students at all levels can't follow directions and that just drives me nuts.

Just follow the directions on the form, I said controlling the impulse to season my response with a pinch of sarcasm.

Having been a high school teacher for some thirty years, I was presently on a special assignment for one semester at Mission Community College, taking part in a program called Project Achieve which provided selected eleventh and twelfth grade students with classes in English, government, and study skills taught by high school teachers, the rest of the day being spent taking regular college classes. Since many of the high-risk minority kids in the program were from Central High, my old school, I had been a logical choice to be their core teacher, sharing the honor with Jennifer Jolly, who taught the course in government.

After they had completed the forms, we did some get acquainted exercises. Why don't you tell us about yourself, sir? the girl in the front seat third row said in a way that immediately identified her as the class suck-up.

I usually spend my weekends going to the theater, movies and the symphony. I said, deciding to oblige. After all I am only human and I love talking about myself.

So you are really into culture, the class suck-up replied. Are you married?

My wife died in a car accident several years ago, I said, ignoring the comment about culture. Since I really didn't want to go into details about the accident, I said, I'm half Polish and half Italian, and as you can see from my beautiful full figure, I like to eat.

I waited until they stopped laughing and I continued, In fact, I went to the Polish festival this weekend and had a plate of traditional foods which included bigos, pierogi, and stuffed cabbage.

That sounds terrible, someone said.

On the contrary, I replied. It's wonderful. Bigos is a stew made with cabbage, sauerkraut, and Polish sausage. The cabbage leaves are filled with rice and meat and the pierogi are dumplings filled with potatoes and cheese. I love it all. Now, if you want to talk about something terrible, then, let's talk about my grandmother's duck blood soup that she always cooked as a special Christmas treat for us. The broth is made with blood, vinegar, spare ribs, spices and prunes. The noodles are added afterward.

Teenagers seldom hide their feelings and so it came as no surprise to me when a few of them muttered, gross. The chatter that followed told me that it was time to go to work before things spiraled out of control.

So, after making out a seating chart, I began.

Today we're going to explore the subject of loyalty, I said. How do you feel about that particular attribute?

You only have to be loyal to yourself, Ruby volunteered confidently. You must be loyal to your beliefs.

I don't agree, Ernesto said angrily. My grandfather, my uncles, and my father all served in the military. Loyalty is greater than the individual.

You think that you owe loyalty to those who suppress you? Hiroo protested. Remember, my people, American citizens, were put into concentration camps by this government during the Second World War.

The period was almost over, and from the intensity of the short discussion, it looked as though it was going to be an interesting semester.

You did a great job starting us off, I told them and honestly, I felt really good about what we had accomplished in this short time. Your homework is to write a one or two page paper explaining why you chose to enroll in the Project Achieve Program and explain your goals for this semester. You have a ten-minute break now before reporting back here for Ms. Jolly's history class. I'll see you at three o'clock for study skills.

All of the students left, except one, a short, black haired Asian-American girl. Hi, Mr. Podowski, she said. Remember me? I was in your ninth grade English class.

It's Allison, right? I replied. Actually, I remembered her very well. When she had entered my high school English class, she didn't understand a word of our language, but by the end of the year, she was able to carry on a basic conversation. I counted her as one of my success stories. Now, only three years after entering this country, she was speaking like a native.

I remember that great paper you wrote about your grandmother, I told her. They published it in the literary magazine.

That's me, she said grinning. I'm so happy that you're going to be our teacher, but I should tell you that I might have to miss class because my brother is in the hospital.

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, I said. Her brother, as I vaguely remembered him, was a short, skinny young man whose name was Jimmy. What happened?

Well, I'm not exactly sure, she explained. He's a student here and he's mixed up with some strange people. In fact, he was involved in a fight or something and got really banged up.

I have never heard of a fight at the college level, I told her. Usually that kind of stuff happens only in junior and senior high schools. How bad was he hurt?

It was difficult to hold my tongue. Students having fights in college makes no sense to me. However, I kept my opinion to myself and I deliberately kept the questions general since, from past experience, I knew that it wasn't a good idea to quiz students about personal details. In due course, she'd tell me what she wanted to.

It's not too serious, she volunteered. During the fight, he fell down a hill and banged his head. They are worried about a concussion so they're keeping him in the hospital for a couple of days.

I watched her leave the room, and hoped that this wasn't going to be the beginning of a bad time for Allison and her family.

* * *

During the second hour of class while Jennifer was teaching, I found myself alone in the Project Achieve Office. I thought that it would be a big deal to teach in a college with a real office and a regular desk and all the rest. But no such luck. The so-called office to which I had been assigned had one glass wall covered with notices, and three small desks. It was, at least, color coordinated in an ugly brown. In the corner were two filing cabinets and a large wall cabinet marked in red with the word, Supplies. A twelve-cup coffee machine, powdered creamer, and packets of sugar as well as extra coffee cups sat on top of one of the filing cabinets. The first desk sported a computer surrounded by piles of paper while the third desk was adorned with a white coffee mug, its rim smudged with lipstick. The second desk was mine.

After pouring myself a cup of coffee and resigning myself to the use of powdered cream, I sat down, eager to begin work. I was beginning to deal with the forms my students had just filled out, trying to match names with my mental pictures of their faces, and having little success, when an all too familiar figure dressed in a brown suit wearing wingtip shoes, and carrying a cup of Starbuck's coffee entered the office. Shit, I thought, what does he want? I'm really busy, and this man usually means trouble for me.

However, since I had learned to be a hypocrite when I became a good teacher, I jumped up and said, John Kaczynski, Agent Kaz. It's great to see you.

So you have a new job, he remarked. The last time I saw you was when you and your friends asked the FBI to help you find the murderer of the principal at Central High.

That was really something, I said, smiling as I reminisced about our first case. Remember, the administration building was burning and the body of the principal was inside. Then we tried to protect our friend, the new principal, from that police detective and found out he was crooked and involved in a prostitution ring.

I remember, Kaz said. It was a stressful case and it was solved by the four of you. I remember the first time all of you came into my office and were so sure that you were right. Then, when I asked for evidence, you didn't have any.

We were a great team, I said proudly. Rick Podowski and The Hefty Trio are infamous, having gained our nomenclature after performing a parody of a Frankie Valli and the Four Season's song at the school talent show. All of us, including Leti Rios, Teresa Spinelli, and Erin McGinty, all pleasantly plump, had sung, Central, You're Too Thin For Me and the words were so funny that not only the audience was in hysterics, but Mrs. Rosas, the librarian who rarely cracked a smile, laughed so hard that she fell out of her seat. But the point is, the name has stuck.

Are you still with the FBI? I asked him. What brings you here?

How are Teresa, Leti, and Erin? Kaz asked ignoring my question. Are they still doting on you?

What do you mean? I asked knowing full well that I wasn't about to answer that question.

I just wish I had friends like that, Kaz continued. I remember that stakeout you guys pulled. Sitting in a car for five hours without a bathroom break shows a lot of dedication. The department found a dirty cop because of your efforts, and we were all grateful.

Developing extra strong bladders was part of teacher training, I told him, eying his cup of Starbuck's wistfully. If only my coffee contained real cream. But, let me get back to my original question, I said, forcing myself to focus on the current situation. Are you still an agent and how can I help you?

Yes, I'm still an agent, Kaz said. I'm assigned to the High Tech Squad of our San Jose Office. It's called the CHIP unit. CHIP stands for Computer Hacking and Intellectual Property Unit of the United States Attorney's Office.

Let me guess, I said with just a touch of sarcasm, people at Mission are stealing chips.

Not everyone, Kaz replied. Last night the brother of one of your students was hurt. He's in the college's Semiconductor Manufacturing Program, and he's just been placed in an internship at Intel. We believe that he's involved in a plot to smuggle highly classified computer chips out of the country to China.

Right, I said, making sure the word dropped. Yes, I know about Jimmy Lee getting hurt. Allison, my former student told me about it, but what does this have to do with me?

Rick, this is serious, Kaz told me. The politeness game was over I realized that it was now time to find out the real reason for this meeting. These chips have the highest security classification. They're used in our anti-ballistic missile guidance systems. If the Chinese get a hold of them, they'll be one step closer to building a counter system that will make what we've done obsolete. Which means, among other things that we'll have wasted billions of dollars.

Isn't it always like that? I replied. We develop a secret, they steal it, and then we do the same thing to them. Why would Intel allow a college student to get close to highly secret chips?

We know that this is a new way of spying, Agent Kaz said, ignoring my comment. But as far as we know, this is the first time the Chinese have used our youth to spy against us. We have two objectives: The first one is to keep the Chinese from obtaining these chips and the second is to arrest and embarrass everyone involved, so they will never try to use our kids again.

I knew what he was doing. He would continue talking and hopefully wear me down. I wanted to stop him, but I didn't know what to say.

An operation like this is divided into four parts, he went on, sitting down at Jennifer's desk. Part one is planning and financing. The next part is identifying and recruiting students. Part three involves training and supervision. The last part is transporting the chips out of the country. If we get the leaders, and plaster their faces all over the news, we'll shut the operation down at all four stages and send a strong message that they shouldn't try to manipulate us.

This is bigger than the students at Mission College, I observed. There is a lot at stake, and someone could get killed.

There is a lot at stake, Kaz said, which is why we need your help. Production on the chip begins in about a week and there isn't much time. Let's get down to brass tacks. We want you to befriend Allison Lee and find out what's going on. Jimmy Lee and his friend George Yuan are involved and we have to know how they plan to steal the chip and who's being paid off.

I'm sorry, I can't help you, I said firmly.

The first time we had met, this man had impressed me favorably because he was Polish. But, then he kept shooting down my theories and making it clear that he wouldn't get involved. And when, finally, he believed me, we discovered that my information was wrong which meant that I clearly embarrassed him in front of his peers. In the end, of course, he came through and used our information to convict the man that killed our principal. I was prepared to acknowledge that I owed him a favor, but the whole situation last time had been so stressful, and I had no intention of going through that emotional trauma again.

As usual, Kaz tended not to hear anything he didn't want to hear. So far, all we know is that Datin at Central High recommends the kids, Kaz said. Bestos at Mission places the kids, and someone is going to take the stolen chip to China. Are Datin and/or Bestos freelancing this whole operation and just giving the chip to the Chinese in exchange for money, or is it the implementation of a structured plan from the highest levels of the Chinese government? Because if it is, we may have a really big national security problem.

I know Datin from my work at Central High and I doubt he could run this operation because he is so disorganized, I said all too uncomfortably aware that I was in the process of taking the hook he was dangling in front of me. But who is Bestos?

Bestos is the lead instructor in the Semiconductor Manufacturing Program at Mission, Kaz replied. He's been there since the program started. He's also a 1960s radical who was the head of the Students for a Democratic Society at San Jose State University, an organization that was a front for the communists. Datin was also a member. Now, are you going to help us?

I'm a teacher, I protested, not a detective. I don't know anything about this kind of thing.

Look Rick, we tried to infiltrate the group with one of our people, Kaz told me earnestly, "but it didn't work because they wouldn't let him in the program. This chip is the most advanced one made, and we