Flags of Sin - 05 Page 17

  But this wasn’t back home, or the United States. This was China.

  Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it.

  The often misquoted statement from George Santayana echoed through her mind, memories of watching the Tiananmen massacre when she was the same age as some of these kids flashing by like an old movie reel.

  She turned to Ping. “Can you cancel the flash mobs?”

  “Why would you want to do that?” she asked, her eyes revealing how idiotic she thought the request was.

  It was Dawson who replied.

  “These are civilians, we can’t risk their lives to save ours.”

  Horror spread across Ping’s face as the realization of what she had done sank in.

  “Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” she cried as her thumbs flew over the keyboard, but they were interrupted by a cheer from the crowd. They all looked to see the crowd pointing to the south end of the square. Laura spun around and saw hundreds if not thousands of people rushing into the now unguarded square, the majority of the police meant to prevent just such a thing crowded in the north-east corner where the initial crowd had arrived.

  “What are they doing?” asked Laura as she saw the square get swarmed with more and more kids, who appeared to sit down and do something with their arms.

  “Pretending to have a picnic,” said Ping, her shoulders slumped.

  Immediately police began to redeploy, running toward the new crowd, which freed up the original crowd to rush around the officers that remained, their numbers having swelled while they were blocked.

  “How many of these did you organize?” asked Dawson.

  “Five.”

  “Here comes another crowd,” said Laura, pointing toward the tomb of Mao Zedong to the south.

  “Hats,” muttered Ping. She dropped the phone in her lap. “It’s too late. There’s no way I can stop it.”

  “Then we might as well take advantage of it,” said Dawson. He pointed at the deliverymen. “Next group that walks by, you two join it,” he said. Ping translated, and the men rose to their knees. A group of youth rushed by, their colorful outfits an unfortunate contrast to the drab outfits the men wore, but in seconds they were lost in the crowd.

  Laura peeked over their hiding place and could see no reaction from the tanks, but noticed something else that sent her pulse racing.

  “Something’s going on.”

  Dawson looked then rolled over, grabbing the phone from Ping’s lap. He quickly dialed.

  “ETA?”

  He frowned.

  “We’ve got infantry starting to deploy here, plus thousands of civilians filling the square.”

  He listened for a moment, his frown getting deeper.

  “Understood.”

  He flipped the phone closed and looked at Laura.

  “Things are about to get a lot worse.”

  Approaching Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

  Acton looked out the window, his frustration growing. We need to get there, now! Something was definitely happening, and it wasn’t good. Traffic was getting heavier, most of the cars flowing in the same direction they were, causing a slowdown, exacerbated by dozens of cars just stopping randomly, letting out their passengers, mostly young people, who then began rushing down the sidewalks toward Tiananmen.

  Sirens wailing from behind caused them all to look.

  Lights flashed in the distance, approaching far too quickly to be in the same traffic they were in.

  “They’re serious,” said Niner. “Looks like they’re coming up the sidewalks.”

  “Shit!” exclaimed Spock. “Look.”

  Acton spun around and saw a sea of red brake lights as the entire side of the boulevard they were on came to a screeching halt. Spock, apparently already anticipating this, cut across several lanes and jumped the curb, pulling a one-eighty and roaring away in the opposite direction, the traffic fairly light on this side.

  “We’re going the wrong way!” protested Acton. His visions were of Laura trapped in the square, the tanks and soldiers apparently already there, opening fire.

  Tiananmen all over again.

  “That’s a police blockade they just put up. Last thing we need is to get questioned with an escaped fugitive in the car,” replied Spock, who cranked the wheel sending them into a side street. Another turn and they were heading back toward the square, but on a smaller street that appeared to not yet have attracted the attention of the authorities.

  “Call BD. Give him a sit rep. I think Tiananmen is going into lockdown.”

  Niner nodded and began dialing when Acton’s heart slammed against his chest. In a nearby parking lot were a mass of soldiers, tanks, and a large semi-truck, bristling with antennae.

  This is a staging area.

  But for what, he feared to ask.

  North-East Checkpoint, Approaching Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

  Inspector Li showed his ID to one of the officers manning the blockade and the man nodded, waving for the gate to be raised. Li had intended to take his own car, but the idling squad car had been too good an opportunity to pass up. He’d probably be reprimanded tomorrow, but he’d just blame his head wound if need be. The squad car’s lights and sirens had allowed him to push through the traffic, and eventually take the sidewalk up to the blockade.

  And now he was through.

  A staging area was to his right, and he could see hundreds of People’s Armed Police assembling in riot gear. Whatever was going on at Tiananmen had been deemed unacceptable, and the rapid response team set up after the 1989 incident was moving in.

  But what could she mean? Trapped?

  Trapped by who? By what?

  As he sped toward the square, he could see thousands jumping around and dancing, others sitting, and more arriving, the security cordon obviously not completely in place.

  Please don’t let my daughter be here!

  He couldn’t believe the idiocy of these kids. Didn’t they know what happened the last time something like this occurred?

  But they didn’t.

  It was a stain on the regime’s history that had been washed away with the fire hose of censorship, like the hoses used to clear away the blood of those crushed under the treads of the tanks as they roared toward the square. These kids weren’t alive when it happened, or if they were, they were still in diapers. They would never hear about it at school, never hear about it on the censored Internet, and their parents would never tell them about it, for fear they might repeat it to their friends, and it would get back to the authorities.

  If you can’t learn your history, then whose fault is it when you repeat it?

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed home. He sighed when his wife answered quickly.

  “Where are you?” she asked groggily. “I fell asleep waiting for you.”

  “There’s a problem. Is Juan there?”

  “No. She went to some party with her friends, said she’d be back a little after midnight.”

  Li sighed. A party was fine. A party meant someone’s apartment most likely, with he hoped adult supervision. But at this point he didn’t care. As long as she wasn’t anywhere near here. But midnight?

  We need to set an earlier curfew.

  He pulled to a stop on the boulevard north of the square, the crowd less than a hundred meters away.

  “Where’s the party?”

  “Tiananmen. Some dance was being organized or something.”

  Li’s heart froze as his world closed in around him.

  Juan!

  North-East Corner, Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

  “Now what?”

  Dawson looked across the square, filled with revelers, their five minute flash mobs having converged, the time limit now ignored. It was turning into an impromptu gathering in defiance of the authorities, everyone naively in such a good mood, they must have figured themselves invulnerable.

  Kids always think they’re immortal.

  “That’s not one of
mine,” said Ping as she peered over the planter. Hundreds more were arriving from Mao’s tomb, but this group carried gold flags, some on poles, some held over their heads, others wrapped over their shoulders.

  But they all had them.

  “That’s the same flag as on the tanks,” observed Laura.

  “What did you say it represented?”

  “I’m assuming the Qing Dynasty. They were the last of the emperors. I saw the full flag, with the blue dragon, hanging on the wall in an office as we were escaping their HQ.”

  “So, what? Somebody’s trying to reestablish the dynasty?”

  Laura shrugged.

  “It’s been almost a hundred years since they were in power. It doesn’t make any sense. More likely someone is using it as a cover. It’s been almost romanticized today in Chinese popular culture, with many of their traditions still carried on. It’s plausible that someone thinks a coup staged with the Qing symbolism might succeed where yet another communist regime, under a different dictator, might not.”

  Dawson looked back at the new arrivals who swarmed into the midst of the already massive crowd, their flags fluttering above the throngs. Whatever was going on, he knew it didn’t concern them. He had to get the Ambassador to safety.

  “Okay, let’s get out of here. Our friends’ departure doesn’t seem to have triggered any reaction, so chances are they’ve given up on us.” He pointed at Laura then Ping. “Next group, you two mix in, then get out as quickly as you can.”

  “What about you?” asked Laura.

  “I’ll take the Ambassador as originally planned. Hopefully the crowds will keep us out of view.”

  Laura frowned. “I think you have a better chance if you and I carry him out, as if he’s drunk or something, rather than a fireman’s carry.”

  Dawson shook his head. She’s determined to get herself killed.

  “Absolutely not.” He pointed at a group passing nearby. “Now go!”

  Ping jumped up, far too quickly for his liking, and rushed toward the group.

  A snapping sound rung out, followed by several screams. Dawson popped his head up as another clap rang across the square, and more screams were heard.

  And to his horror, he saw bodies being thrown toward their position as snipers opened fire across the square, trying to take out the police officer. He turned toward her as she stood frozen in horror.

  “Get down!” he yelled, but it was too late. Her body jerked and was blasted backward, her arms and legs dangling in the air as if she were a ragdoll, finally coming to rest near the road they so desperately needed to get to.

  They know exactly where we are. But why aren’t they moving in to get us?

  East Chang’an Street, North-East of Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

  “Start calling her and texting her now. Don’t stop until you hear from her. Tell her she has to get out of Tiananmen Square immediately, the police are moving in. Tell her anything you need to tell her, just get her out of there!”

  “You’re scaring me, Dear, what’s happening?”

  “There’s no time to explain,” said Li as he climbed out of his car, his eyes now peering into the crowd, desperately trying to find not only his partner, but his daughter. “Just do it, and call me when it’s done.” Suddenly something occurred to him. “Wait!”

  “What?”

  “Don’t mention the square or police or anything. They might look at the messages later and we don’t want them knowing she took part.”

  “Took part in what? You’re really scaring me!”

  “I’m scared too, Dear. Just get our baby home!”

  He hung up then quickly typed a text to his daughter.

  This is daddy. Go home now. You are in danger!

  A cracking sound followed by screams ripped across the square, followed by several more. He peered into the throng and was almost sick as he saw the crowds scattering, large pools of emptiness created as whatever they were running from was abandoned.

  And each space contained several bodies, and even from his vantage point, he recognized the damage from his previous crime scenes. Another shot slammed into the crowd, and another area opened, and he immediately noticed the line formed across the square. He followed it to its source, and gaped in horror at the line of tanks and infantry on the other side.

  What is the PLA doing here? This is a police matter, not army!

  The sniper was obviously amongst the group of soldiers, but why was only one gunman firing? He followed the widening gap through the square to see what the target might be, and he gasped when he immediately recognized Ping, frozen in place.

  “Get down!” somebody yelled in English, and his eyes darted to the source to see the American man and British woman that had been kidnapped earlier, then his eyes snapped back to Ping as her body was tossed toward him like a doll on a string.

  “No!” he cried out, but he knew it was fruitless. She was dead. There was no way she could survive that hit, not with the type of damage he had seen earlier.

  Willing his own frozen legs forward, he rushed across the street toward the square, and dropped beside her body, momentarily forgetting the danger that lay on the other side. He cradled her head in his hands and wiped the hair from her face. Her eyes, the life draining out of them, stared back at him and a slight smile emerged from the corners of her mouth, then nothing.

  “Get down!” yelled the voice again, and Li suddenly snapped back to reality, looking across the square realizing there was now a clear line of sight between him and the sniper on the other side. He placed Ping’s head back on the concrete and jumped up, racing toward the concrete planter the foreigners were hiding behind just as a shot echoed.

  A sharp pain in his side and he gasped, tumbling forward as he lost his balance. He hit the ground hard and felt strong hands grab him by the shirt, yanking him across the ground, but he knew it was too late.

  He was hit, and was dying.

  Please God let Juan get out of this!

  Bo Yang’s Mobile Headquarters, Beijing, China

  “Flash mob is in place, sir, but there’s something else going on.”

  Bo Yang didn’t like surprises. Not on this of all nights. He looked up at General Liang.

  “What?

  The General shifted his feet.

  “It appears that several other flash mobs have convened in the square. Before us.”

  Bo sat back in his chair. He didn’t believe in coincidences. This had to be related somehow to the events he currently orchestrated. Flash mobs never convened in Tiananmen. The armed response would be swift and ruthless.

  Which was exactly what he was counting on.

  But with this added wrinkle, he had to think.

  Does it affect the plan?

  “Any intel?”

  General Liang seemed to ease slightly as he flipped open a file.

  “Yes, sir. It appears five flash mobs were called for, all around the same time, all from the same mobile number.”

  “Whose phone?”

  “We’re tracing it now, should know shortly. They seem innocent enough. Crazy clothes, crazy hats, pretend to be on a picnic. Seems like kids being kids.”

  Bo shook his head and jammed his finger onto the surface of his desk.

  “Not on this night, of all nights.” His mind raced. He knew the plan. Would it matter if there were more in the square when it was executed? He looked at Liang, decision made.

  “Proceed as planned.”

  General Liang snapped to attention, then hurried from the room.

  If there are thousands more, then so be it. More martyrs for the cause.

  North-East Corner, Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

  “Is he okay?” asked Laura as Dawson, lying on his side, quickly assessed their new arrival. She recognized him as one of the police officers that had interviewed them, and arrested them, earlier. Ping must have been his partner! She felt her chest tighten at the pain he must be going through, losing his partner like tha
t. She glanced over at the body, so close yet so far, the widening pool of blood evidence if any were ever needed that she was most certainly dead.

  Why is this happening?

  A nice vacation. That’s all she had wanted. To get away from it all. To get away from the Triarii, the Vatican, the Pope, the Priests, the Imams, the Jihadists, the ancient cults and the millennia old vendettas. She had thought long and hard of where to go, and China had finally been chosen for the very control people criticized. What had been happening to them just didn’t happen in China.

  Or so she thought.

  Now here they were in the middle of a coup d’état, people dying all around them, and James only God knows where.

  “He’ll live,” pronounced Dawson. “He just got a sliver of concrete in his side from when that shot hit the ground behind him.”

  “Can you take it out?” she asked, her journey of self-pity interrupted.

  “Already did and there’s hardly any bleeding, but he’s in shock. Keeps muttering something.”

  Laura helped Dawson roll the officer onto his back, then fished some water from the pillow case and held it to the man’s lips. The water dribbled down the sides of his mouth at first, but then he began to come around and was quickly drinking the water thirstily. His eyes fluttered then focused on Laura.

  “Juan!”

  Laura smiled at him reassuringly, she hoped. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Chinese. You’re going to be okay. You were just hit by a piece of concrete. You’re going to be fine.”

  “Juan,” he whispered, then suddenly shoved himself up on his elbows. “My daughter, Juan, she’s in that crowd.”

  Laura’s hand darted to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears, and her head with a prayer for the safety of a girl she knew nothing about.

  Approaching Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

  The sound sent waves of fear tingling up and down Acton’s spine. The whoosh of helicopter blades as they sliced through the air was unmistakable, and never seemed to bring good news. Spock brought the car to a halt and they all looked up.