Flags of Sin - 05 Read online

  The screeching of treads behind them added a new sense of urgency to their situation as they looked about for somewhere to hide.

  Oh James, I wish you were here!

  En Route to US Embassy, Beijing, China

  Nothing much had been said since the breakout. Acton was still in shock from the knowledge he was about to be executed, and with the further knowledge that he was now an escaped fugitive.

  In China.

  They had to make it to the embassy so that at least he would be protected, and then negotiations could begin for the charges to be dropped. Clearly something was going on that none of them knew anything about. The death penalty for trying to help? He could understand being arrested and questioned, then released. He could even understand deportation. But sentenced to death, with the execution to be carried out within twelve hours of the arrest?

  To him it sounded Iranian, not Chinese.

  If he weren’t paranoid—which after everything that had happened to him over the past couple of years it was a miracle he wasn’t—he’d think he was being targeted for some reason. But no one could have known he would be where he was, so that couldn’t be it.

  But if he had injected himself into the middle of something he wasn’t supposed to, perhaps that’s why he was being targeted. But then why did they take Laura?

  And who were they?

  They couldn’t be the authorities. The authorities already had him. They had to be the people at Tiananmen. And those people were well equipped. He recognized the sound of a sniper rifle, and those weren’t easy to come by. It was as if they were being targeted by—

  “Holy shit!” he exclaimed.

  “What?” asked Spock, looking in the rearview mirror.

  “Do you guys have any intel on what’s going on?”

  Spock said nothing. Neither did Jimmy or Niner.

  “Come on, I’m in the loop now.”

  Spock looked at Niner who sat in the passenger seat and nodded.

  Niner turned back.

  “Okay, here’s the dealio. Over the past two weeks foreign tourists have been murdered, most by sniper rounds, with anti-foreigner propaganda leaflets thrown about. Today they targeted our ambassador, and that’s what you stumbled upon. We were called in to do a security assessment, and had warned against taking the exact route he took, because he takes the same goddamned route every effin’ day.”

  “Take a breath, dude!” urged Jimmy.

  “Sorry, Doc, but it just pisses me off when politicians ignore perfectly sound advice, then get themselves up shit’s creek. Then it’s guys like us that have to go and rescue their asses, or die trying.”

  A phone rang and Spock fished it from his pocket, handing it to Niner. Niner flipped it open.

  “Green here.”

  His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened as a smile spread across his face.

  “BD! Where the hell are you?” he asked as he put the phone on speaker.

  “We’re pinned down near Tiananmen.”

  Spock jerked the wheel to the left, pulling a one-eighty with no warning.

  “Pinned down?”

  “Yeah, by a tank.”

  “Are you messin’ with me?”

  “I wish I were. I’ve got Professor Palmer with me, a local cop who was kidnapped with us, along with our ambassador and two innocent bystanders. The Ambassador’s badly wounded. Won’t make it if we don’t get some real cover and a chance to dress his wound.”

  “We’re on our way, ETA…”

  “Ten minutes!” yelled Spock.

  “You get that?”

  “Yup. Listen, they arrested me with both professors. I don’t know where Professor Acton is—”

  “I’m right here, Sergeant Major. Tell Laura I’m okay.”

  “Good to hear your voice, Professor. Spock, get your asses over here but be careful. Something big is going on and I’m not sure what. There’s a lot of heavy equipment involved. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’re in the middle of a coup d’état.”

  There was silence in the car at these words and they all exchanged glances, and the concern in the eyes of these men made Acton all the more scared.

  “Understood, Bravo One. We’ll be there ASAP. I assume you can be reached at this call display number?”

  “Confirmed. Contact us when you arrive.”

  Niner flipped the phone closed and looked at Spock.

  “Should we notify the embassy?”

  Spock nodded. “Give them a sit rep, and tell them to expect a contingent of US citizens coming in hot.”

  Niner nodded and began to dial the phone.

  Acton leaned back in his seat and looked out the window and gasped.

  “What the hell is that?” he asked as they rounded a corner.

  On the opposite side of the road was a column of tanks, armored personnel carriers and troop transports, racing in the opposite direction.

  “What are those markings?” asked Jimmy, leaning over Acton’s lap.

  Acton looked, but they appeared to merely be a solid gold, oddly reminiscent of the background of the Qing Dynasty flag, but without the blue dragon emblazoned across it so boldly.

  “Regimental colors?”

  “Doubt it,” replied Niner. “Those usually have symbols of some type. That’s a solid color. I’d guess it’s meant to distinguish them from other units.”

  Acton frowned, looking at the armor as it roared by.

  “I have a feeling your Sergeant Major’s hunch is right. We’re in the middle of a coup.”

  North-East Corner, Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

  The sense of déjà vu was almost eerie. With the exception of there being no natural light, she was in nearly the exact same spot as earlier today, only the characters had changed. She, Dawson, Ping, the Ambassador and the two Chinese delivery men were huddled behind a large planter. Across the square, instead of a white van, was a tank. But for some reason it hadn’t fired; it was merely holding its position.

  Ping was furiously texting, and had been since Dawson had relinquished the commandeered phone. Dawson was now lying flat on the ground, peering around the side of the planter at the tank across the square.

  “If he decides to fire, we’re dead,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Laura thought of James, and how he had rushed off to try and save the Ambassador earlier, and how he was now rushing to try and save her this very minute. Her heart was tight in her chest as she realized what Dawson said was so true. Just one shot from that tank and they would be finished. It wasn’t like the horror she had gone through earlier when she watched the snipers try to chip away at the planter her beloved had hid behind, the only thing saving him the large amount of soil it contained. If it had merely been concrete, it would have split in two with the first shot, and James would have been exposed.

  But tonight, soil or no soil, that tank’s round would slice through the planter like brie. And right now she could think of nothing to do about it.

  She tied off the tourniquet she had made from the Ambassador’s tie, having cleaned the wound as best she could with the water Ping had managed to keep carrying, and wrapped it with a bandage from the med kit contained in the pillow case, but the wound was deep, and still seeping blood. The Ambassador was weak, and could barely speak.

  He won’t make it if we can’t get him to a hospital soon.

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” said Dawson, shuffling over to them. “Right now that turret is pointing down the street, perpendicular to us. The tank’s at zero degrees from us, like a compass. We’re at one-eighty, the turret’s pointed at ninety. The moment he starts to aim at us, you two”—he pointed at the delivery men—“go that way”—he pointed to their left—“since that will give you the best chance at surviving. Just keep running until you’re out of sight, and lay low. They don’t know who you are and aren’t looking for you.”

  Laura had to smile to herself that his thoughts were to protect the innocent bystanders first. He looked at h
er after Ping had finished translating.

  “Professor, you and the Inspector head this way”—he pointed at a forty-five degree offset from the deliverymen’s escape route. “Get behind those cars, then keep moving down the street as best you can. Watch for the tank in case he repositions. If he does, switch to the other side of the cars. Keep retreating until you can get out of sight, then try to make your way to the US Embassy. Hail a cab or something. Just get the hell out of here.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll follow you with the Ambassador, but we’ll be slower. I don’t want us holding you up.”

  “That’s bollocks, Sergeant Major. I’m not leaving you behind.”

  Dawson gave her half a smile. “You and Professor Acton were made for each other,” he said, shaking his head. “Listen, there’s nothing you can do. I have to carry him alone, and you can’t provide cover fire, since it’s a tank we’re dealing with. My duty is to you and the Ambassador. He’s an American citizen, and you’re the citizen of an ally. This is my job, let me do it.”

  She realized he was right. There was nothing she’d be able to do. The best thing she could do would be to take care of herself so he wouldn’t have to worry about her.

  “You’re right, of course, Sergeant Major.”

  He seemed relieved to hear her say that, and he shuffled to get a look.

  “Something’s happening.”

  Laura looked up and her heart sank. Two columns of tanks were roaring toward them on either side of the boulevard they had just crossed. Cars were slamming their brakes on, swerving to avoid the armor that advanced like a juggernaut, what they hit and who were in their way of no concern. Several vehicles tried to reverse out of their path, and she winced as one car, a Jaguar convertible, its top down so its occupants could enjoy the evening air, stalled out as its driver panicked. She sighed as they managed to jump clear of the vehicle moments before the column of tanks rolled over it as if it were nothing more than a tin can.

  Other more reliable vehicles were able to mostly scramble out of the way either by heading headlong into the sidewalks, or by reversing direction and jumping the boulevard to the other side. Some even tried to bail into the square itself.

  Her eyes were focused on the civilian chaos, but when she noticed the closest column turning to flank the square, alongside where their pursuit tank had already taken up position, she caught a glimpse of something that made no sense.

  “Those tanks!” she began, but stopped. At first she could have sworn she saw the blue of the Qing dragon on the bright gold flags flying proudly from the rear of the tanks, but she couldn’t spot it again. Your mind is playing tricks on you. She flashed back to the Qing flag she saw in the room of the mobile HQ, and it was clear to her what these flags represented.

  Dawson looked at her. “What?”

  “That gold flag they’re flying. It’s exactly like the flag I saw at the headquarters when we were escaping, except for the blue dragon.”

  “What are you talking about, Professor?”

  “Sergeant Major, they’re essentially flying the flag of the Qing Dynasty,” she said as she looked back at the column, the flag fluttering on the back of each of the tanks as they approached. “I think you’re right, Sergeant Major. We’re in the middle of a coup!”

  Bo Yang’s Mobile Headquarters, Beijing, China

  “Everything is going according to plan, sir.”

  Bo looked up from the screens displaying active updates of his troop placements in over a dozen cities across China. His heart hammered in anticipation of the upcoming days as he consolidated power, and returned his family to its rightful place on the throne of China. Chairman Bo. Emperor Bo. It mattered not. What flag flew behind him, mattered not. All that mattered was China.

  And China would embrace his leadership, he was certain of it. He intended to be a firm but caring leader, to let the private sector he had embraced himself, thrive under his watchful eye, and to become the cult of personality so necessary in today’s modern world. He would embrace the young through Twitter and Facebook, or at least their Chinese equivalents. One day he hoped that he wouldn’t have to continue the policy of a filtered Google, or IP addresses blocked due to hosting information critical of the regime.

  Because he knew, in time, there would be nothing to be critical of.

  After consolidating power, he planned to bring an end to the killings, the imprisonments, the disappearances. Chinese emperors were once loved by their subjects, and he intended it to happen again. Not a love through fear, but a love like that in the United Kingdom, where the populace adored their Royals. His own son, currently being educated in the United States, would return home and marry a commoner, China’s very own Will and Kate.

  But unlike England, China’s new monarch would remain in control.

  He let out a slow breath through his nose, his focus returning to the General.

  “And our escapees?”

  “We believe they are pinned down in Tiananmen Square. Our ground forces are moving in now, and we should have them in custody shortly.”

  “Very well. Once you have them, bring them back here and execute them all immediately.”

  General Liang’s eyes opened slightly wider.

  “Even the Ambassador?”

  “Yes. We’ll blame it on the former regime if need be.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  General Liang snapped to attention, then left the room, leaving Bo alone with his thoughts.

  We will have complete control in less than an hour.

  7th District Police Station, Beijing, China

  Inspector Li winced as the medic treating him dabbed the gash on the back of his head with what was probably iodine or some equivalent. What it was, he didn’t care, all he cared was that it stung.

  And his head throbbed.

  He waved his hand at his coworkers, urging them away. It was becoming claustrophobic. He realized they were all concerned, all furious, all wanting revenge on whoever had done this, but he also knew that he had pretty much ‘literally’ asked to be hit.

  He had helped the proverbial enemy.

  And he’d do it again.

  There was no way that American professor should have been sentenced to death for what had happened. As the medic announced he would live, but should go to the hospital just in case, he waved him off.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Back up! Back up! Back up!” rapid fired Superintendent Hong, flicking his wrists to make a path. “Give the man some air, he needs to breathe!”

  The crowd obeyed their superior’s orders, and finally gave Li the space he so desperately wanted. Hong stopped in front of him and Li raised his head, wincing at the pounding that seemed to increase four fold.

  Hong wagged a finger at him.

  “You go to the hospital. I don’t want you dropping dead tonight when you get home to that beautiful wife of yours. Go to the hospital, get checked out, and take two days off. More if the doctor orders it!”

  Hong’s shouting didn’t make things any better, and he was probably right. The medics helped him to his feet and he scratched his last thought. He’s definitely right. His head pounded, and he felt slightly light headed as they helped him toward the door, the shouts of encouragement from his fellow officers, torture.

  As they reached the parking lot, one medic let go of Li’s arm to open the door of the ambulance as his phone vibrated in his pocket. Fishing it out, he read the text message and froze. He reread it, then yanked his arm free of the other medic, and marched toward an idling squad car, the medics shouting after him.

  But he didn’t hear them above the pounding in his head, and the concern that gripped his chest. He looked at the message again.

  Its ping. Trapped at tiananmen square ne corner. Help!

  North-East Corner, Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

  “What the hell is that?” asked Dawson, pointing behind them.

  Laura rolled on her back and looked whe
re he was pointing. There were dozens of people—scratch that—hundreds, running up the boulevard toward the square, waving what appeared to be phones over their heads, all sporting the loudest of outfits imaginable.

  “I have no idea,” she murmured.

  “It’s a flash mob,” said Ping with a smile. “That’s who I was texting. They are very popular in China, hundreds occur every day. I tapped into several networks we monitor and organized a bunch of them to happen right here, starting about now. They’ll keep happening over the next half hour, probably growing with each one as the word spreads. They only last five minutes.”

  “What’s with the clothing?” asked Dawson as Laura admired Ping’s thinking. It was genius. Create a flash mob that would fill Tiananmen with young people, blend in, then disappear with the crowd.

  “Usually you have a theme. This one is ‘wildest outfit’.”

  As the crowd approached, policemen who had been distracted by the arrival of the tanks just moments ago started swarming from the square, whistles blowing, waving their arms.

  “Uh oh,” muttered Laura. “This might not work after all.”

  She watched in dismay as several dozen formed a line, halting the advancing partiers, who merely continued to hold up their phones, recording the proceedings, their laughing and dancing not interrupted in the least. This was the new China, and these were the new Chinese. A generation for whom Tiananmen Square was a public park, not a shrine to the victims of a massacre.

  Suddenly the idea didn’t seem such a good one. She looked at Dawson, and the concern in his eyes suggested he was having the same thoughts. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she’d say he never thought it was a good idea.

  Never bring civilians into a military situation.

  Watching or reading the news, she was the first to criticize when civilians were used as cover, or “meat shields” as James liked to call them, and now, here they were, hoping to do the same thing. Slip away amongst a crowd of kids, counting on the tanks lining the other side of the square to not open fire.