Flags of Sin - 05 Page 12

  Hilton Beijing Hotel, Beijing, China

  Today

  “Professor Acton?”

  James Acton looked over at the front desk and saw one of the clerks waving at him. He didn’t recognize him, and wondered how the man knew who he was. He fingered his room key in his pocket, and questioned if it had an RFID type chip in it that triggered something as they came through the doors.

  Any other day he would have thought it cool, but after today’s experience at the hands of the Chinese authorities, he found it rather chilling.

  Acton walked over to the desk, and the man handed him an envelope.

  “This arrived for you earlier.”

  Acton forced a smile, took the envelope, then headed toward the elevator with Laura in tow. They didn’t say anything to each other, or even acknowledge the envelope, until they entered their room and had secured the door.

  Laura looked at the drapes, and so did he. The windows were wide, the sun pouring in, and Acton knew what she was thinking.

  How paranoid should we be?

  Acton tossed the envelope on the bed and they both attacked the drapes, closing the room up tight from outside prying eyes, then turned on the television, radio, and ran the shower along with the sink taps.

  As each precaution was taken, he found his heart beating faster, and by the time they were ready to open the envelope, though only a few minutes had passed, he found his hands shaking from the adrenaline.

  He sucked in a deep, slow breath through his nose, filling his lungs and stomach, then slowly exhaled through his mouth, calming himself as he had been repeatedly trained.

  Shaking hands can’t shoot straight.

  He tore open the envelope, and emptied its contents onto the bed.

  And was disappointed.

  It was a brochure, in English, for the Beijing National Stadium, or the Bird Cage as it had come to be known during the 2008 Olympics. Acton pulled it open.

  “What’s this?” asked Laura, as she leaned over on the bed, looking at the map inside.

  “Not sure. There’s nothing written on it that I can see.” He flipped it over, then back again to be sure.

  “Invisible ink?” she asked, her tone indicating she wasn’t serious.

  Acton chuckled. “He’d want us to be able to determine it was him.”

  Laura pointed at the front of the brochure. “Look at the ‘B’ in Beijing, and the ‘D’ in Stadium.”

  Acton smiled. They both had pen dots in them. In fact, there were pen dots and scratches all over the front that he hadn’t noticed when he first looked at the brochure, his focus to open it and see the inside. But only those two letters of any words on the front had dots in them. And they could stand for only one person.

  B.D.

  Big Dog.

  Burt Dawson.

  Acton had known Burt Dawson for a couple of years, but only as a “good guy” the past year or so. His first encounter with him had been horrifying, and had resulted in a tremendous amount of heartache for him, and a terrifying rush for survival, that had eventually brought him to Laura for the first time. He had never forgiven Dawson completely for what happened, and every time he saw him he was haunted by the memories of his students, but he had eventually come to understand that Dawson and his team had been under orders, orders that had them believing he and his students were terrorists, and had even begun to question those orders at the risk of their own lives, and those of their loved ones.

  It was something they didn’t discuss, but both knew was there. They had since fought side by side, and had earned each other’s respect, and trust, and Acton now considered Dawson a man he could rely on, and even call upon, in a time of need.

  And now, for some reason, Dawson was reaching out.

  “It has to be about what happened today,” said Laura, almost reading his thoughts.

  Acton frowned. “But how could he know what was going to happen?”

  Laura’s hand darted to her mouth. “You don’t think he could be involved, do you?”

  Acton’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “God, I hope not. I mean, this is China. You don’t screw around here. Saudi Arabia, Iran, Egypt? Sure. But here? You could start a war we’d actually care about.”

  “Okay, let’s assume he didn’t know about today. He’s obviously trying to warn us about something. These pen dots might give us a clue.” Laura opened the brochure again, and there was the odd dot on the page, the occasional scratch, but nothing obvious as to a message. “There.” Laura pointed at the legend. There was a dot beside the number 6, the Metro station for the Olympic Sports Center.

  “That has to be it,” said Acton, finding the spot on the map. He glanced at his watch. “We have less than an hour to get there.”

  “Can we make it?”

  “If we leave now, probably.”

  “We need to change first.”

  “No time,” said Acton, getting up and folding the brochure so it would fit in his pocket.

  “Have you seen yourself?”

  “Huh?”

  “Go look in the mirror, Darling.”

  He stepped in the bathroom and wiped the steam from the running shower off the glass. His eyes popped in surprise. Not only was he covered in dirt, he was covered in blood as well. The fact none of the hotel staff had said anything was a remarkable indication of their restraint and professionalism.

  I can only imagine what the guests were thinking.

  He immediately began stripping out of his clothes, and Laura did the same. Minutes later they were showered, dressed, and heading out the door with only half an hour to spare.

  We’re never going to make it.

  Building 202, Zhongnanhai Complex, Beijing, China

  September 8, 1976

  Li Anhong sat silently in his father’s hospital room in Building 202 in the massive Zhongnanhai Complex in Beijing, where the People’s Republic of China was actually governed. Mao Zedong had had a number of heart attacks, but his most recent, only days ago, was thought to be near fatal, and he might never recover.

  Anhong had been working by his father’s side since he had discovered the truth about him twenty years ago. But their relationship had been kept a secret, he still going by the family name Li. His father, the most powerful man in China, and in Anhong’s mind, one of the most powerful men in the world, had enemies.

  Not the least of whom was his wife.

  Jiang Qing.

  The supreme bitch, or so some of the staff called her behind her back if they dared.

  Her and her Gang of Four had committed untold atrocities, resulting in the deaths of innumerable political enemies and rivals. Officially they were supposed to do his father’s bidding, but with his weakening condition, and her lust for power, it was widely believed they often acted on their own.

  And now with his father dying, he knew she would attempt to seize control.

  Which was exactly what she appeared to be doing right now.

  “Comrade, the doctor said the Chairman cannot breathe on his right side, he has a very bad lung infection.”

  “Mind your own business!” she screamed, as she rolled her husband onto the side Anhong knew was bad for him. Two nurses assisted her, and a doctor watched, frowning, having protested her orders. Yesterday she had sprinkled powder on him, despite the objections of the doctors, as it could worsen his lung condition.

  But they were too afraid to push their objections.

  Lest they find themselves dead like so many others.

  But now, she had insisted he be rolled over onto his right side, and almost immediately, Anhong’s father, and China’s beloved leader, stopped breathing, and began to turn blue.

  Anhong leapt to his feet.

  “What have you done?” he screamed. She glared at him as the doctor rushed into the room, pushing her aside. They began CPR, and within minutes had him breathing again, but it was clear by the expressions on the staff’s faces there was nothing more to be done.

  The supreme b
itch had succeeded.

  She had effectively killed her husband, and was now free to make her grab for power. She stared at Anhong as tears streamed down his face.

  “Why do you care so much if he dies?” she asked, the disdain for him and her husband clear in her voice.

  “Because he is my father.”

  The room stopped, as if frozen in time, as everyone looked at him. It was well known that Chairman Mao had only one surviving son, and he was quite mad, in and out of mental institutions, and rarely spoken of.

  “How dare you claim to be the relation of my husband!” she screamed, charging toward him. Anhong cowered into a corner, the doctor coming between the two of them before it came to blows.

  “Leave us.”

  It was barely a whisper, but it silenced everyone. Anhong rushed to his father’s side and took his hand.

  “Everyone out except you and my wife, and Anqing if he is here.”

  The voice was weak, but clear, and the staff immediately obeyed, and Anhong looked up at the door as it closed behind them, then at Jiang Qing, still glaring at him, her eyes narrowed in hate.

  He shivered.

  She terrified him, and the thought of being alone in a room with her was almost more than he could bear. Before the door clicked shut however, it suddenly was pushed open again, and a smiling Anqing stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.

  He looked confident, strong. And completely sane.

  Anhong sighed in relief at no longer being alone with that hateful bitch of a wife his father had had to tolerate for so many years. Why he had, was only known to his father, but the rumors of his sexual exploits outside of the sanctity of marriage seemed explained by the private relationship, or lack thereof, between him and his wife.

  “Tell her the truth,” whispered his father.

  “The truth about what?” demanded Jiang, rounding the bed, her fists clenched. Anqing came up beside her, reassuring Anhong with a glance. He hadn’t seen his brother in months, and it was a relief to see him well again. The years of cultivating the cover of him being mad had paid off, but also taken its toll, for he had to actually spend the time in the mental institutions for it to be truly believed.

  He looks old.

  “The truth about us. About our family. And about how you will never achieve what you have planned,” said Anqing, his voice cold, even, menacing. A voice that sent shivers up Anhong’s spine.

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  “We are direct descendants of the Tongzhi Emperor, last of the legitimate rulers of the Qing Dynasty, and it is us who will rule China after our father dies.”

  Jiang’s jaw dropped, then she looked at her husband, as if looking for the truth.

  He nodded as an alarm blared from one of the many machines monitoring his health. The door burst open, and the doctors and nurses rushed in, ending their conversation.

  Jiang glared at both of them, then turned on her heel, storming from the room.

  And Anhong knew they had made a mistake in telling her.

  Metro Station, Olympic Sports Center, Beijing, China

  Today

  “You’re late.”

  Acton nearly jumped out of his shoes at the voice. Laura’s death grip on his hand indicated her own shock. He resisted the urge to spin around, instead freezing in position, while trying to look natural.

  “Relax, Professors, otherwise you will draw attention to us.”

  Burt Dawson, leader of the Delta Force unit known as Bravo Team, rose from a park bench, and joined them. He was dressed in civilian clothes, much like the time they had seen him outside the Vatican. In fact, if Acton didn’t know better, it might be the same disguise, save the camera he had been sporting back them.

  “Sorry, ah, Mr. White. There was an incident today.”

  “At Tiananmen?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were there?”

  “Yes.”

  Dawson shook his head. “It’s as if you two are cosmically drawn to trouble.”

  Acton had to admit it certainly seemed like it. In fact, he sometimes wondered if it would be safer for the world if he simply stayed home. He had done just that on December 21st, 2012, just in case the Mayan’s had been right, and he was the catalyst. Since nothing had happened, and he had stayed home, he’d never know if he saved the world or not.

  But judging from his history, being at home didn’t seem to protect him regardless.

  “I was going to warn you two that foreign tourists are being targeted by snipers. At least a dozen so far, if not more. We’re still trying to put together the numbers, but they appear random to a point, in that we can’t find a pattern beyond them being white, and being tourists. We’re assuming it’s politically motivated, but don’t have any proof of that.”

  Laura reached into her pocket and unfolded the piece of paper she had picked up in Tiananmen.

  “I found a couple of these floating around the square after the attack. The cop I gave a copy to seemed very nervous and grabbed it away from me.”

  “Do they know you have this?” asked Dawson as he took a photo with his phone.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Dawson pressed a few keys, then returned the phone to his pocket.

  “Mind if I keep this?”

  Laura shook her head.

  “No, probably best I don’t have it.”

  “Okay, I have to get back to the embassy. I suggest you two get your asses out of China tonight if possible, tomorrow at the latest. Charter a jet if you have to, but this is not the place you want to be right now. The Chinese are moving troops from outside the capital into staging areas. We suspect they’re going to declare martial law and lock this place down tight until they can get a handle on what’s going on.”

  “Sounds like Tiananmen all over.”

  “Exactly. And remember what they did then. They brought troops from outside the region. These are men with no ties to this area, or to the residents. They won’t hesitate to kill if provoked. They will shoot first, and ask the proverbial questions later, if they even bother.”

  “When do you think the shit’s going to hit the fan?” asked Acton.

  “Could be any hour, any day, or never. It’s hard to tell with the Chinese. But with the Ambassador now kidnapped, our government will be demanding action, and the Chinese version of action is different from ours. If it happened back home, we’d have every law enforcement branch looking into it. Here, they take a military approach. There is no Posse Comitatus Act here.”

  Acton’s chest was tight, and Laura’s grip hadn’t loosened on his hand. His mind raced as he pictured scenario after scenario of all hell breaking loose like it so often did in his life, and how it always ended up with him and Laura in the thick of it.

  “We’ll go straight to the airport,” he said, looking at Laura. “We’ll send for our luggage, you call your agent and get us on the first flight out of the country. I don’t care if it’s North Korea. We need to get out of China.”

  Tires squealed behind him, causing them all to look. Several vehicles, lights flashing, raced down the road toward them. Acton gripped Laura’s hand harder, and was about to run, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Just stay calm, you haven’t done anything wrong. Just remember, I’m Mr. White from the State Department. We met earlier this year arranging a dig permit for Egypt. You’re tourists, and we arranged to meet here on the airplane.”

  “Unless they know that’s all bullshit,” hissed Acton as vehicles screeched to a halt from both directions.

  He raised his hands, as did Laura.

  But he never let go of her hand, as over a dozen police, or paramilitary, jumped from the vehicles and surrounded them, weapons drawn.

  And out of the headlights partially blinding them in the dusk, strode the two investigators that had interrogated them earlier, and their apparent boss.

  “It would seem we were never really let go,” whispered Laura.

&
nbsp; Acton’s heart sank as the police advanced, cuffs in hand.

  What do we do now?

  Chamber of the Spring Lotus, Zhongnanhai Complex, Beijing, China

  October 6, 1976

  “It must be stopped at all costs, and the only way to do it is to eliminate them all.”

  “But you are talking of his entire inner circle, his entire family. Your family! Think of the scandal! Your late husband will never rest in peace if you go through with this. His soul will haunt you until the end of your days, and into the afterlife.” Wang Hongwen, terrified at her idea, shook his head. “I think this is wrong.”

  Jiang Qing frowned. Pathetic. Weak. To think that I have included him in our meetings all these years, and now, when things are so close, nearly within our grasp, his resolve fails. She made a mental note to add Wang to the list.

  “I am the widow of our greatest leader, of our beloved leader. The people will follow me. The people will follow us. But we must act quickly. There are already those who plot against us, not the least of which are these fools who are working under the delusion they are descendants of the Tongzhi Emperor.” She shook her head, her eyes closed. How could my husband think such an insane thing?

  “I still can’t believe it myself,” said Zhang Chunqiao, a man she both trusted, and respected, his views on the bourgeoisie as legendary as his ruthlessness toward them. “But I will take your word for it that it is true. And since it is, I agree, they must be eliminated immediately. I will see to it today.”

  Jiang nodded. I knew I could count on Zhang. She looked at Wang, frowning. If only you had Zhang’s resolve, you would survive the night.

  “It is essential we act swiftly. We must be certain to have the support of the Generals before we move, and we must silence that cretin Deng Xiaoping. He is quickly gathering favor, and is popular with the people.”

  “It is unfortunate that you are not,” observed Wang.

  She glared at him.

  “Because I did what was necessary, the people may not like me, but they respect me. And we do not need the support of the people now; we need the support of the military. The people will come later. For now—”