Authors: J. Robert Kennedy
He was
lucky to be alive.
His
instinct to help nearly got him killed, but it was his nature to not just
standby. His training as a soldier in the Gulf War, his position as an
archeological professor and father figure to many of his students when they
went on remote dig sites, and now as someone training in martial arts and
weaponry, all lead him to rush into the action to help, rather than just run in
the opposite direction when someone was in distress.
And it
would get him killed one day.
He
looked at Laura who was being interrogated by a female officer. He caught her
eye and gave her a slight smile. He didn’t wink just in case it might be
misinterpreted by his interrogator.
He
looked at the man and realized he was just doing his job. If he were back home,
would he expect anything less? A massacre had essentially just taken place, and
he was a key player.
“I’m
sorry, Inspector Lee, but I’m tired, sore, and just want to get back to my
hotel room.”
“Where
are you staying?”
“The Hilton.
Room eight-thirteen.”
“Very
nice hotel. How can you afford such a thing on a teacher’s salary.”
Acton
smiled slightly, knowing he had to keep calm.
“
I
can’t,
but my fiancée can. She inherited a large sum of money from her brother when he
died.”
“And her
name?”
“Like I
said before, Professor Laura Palmer, Head of Archaeology at the British Museum,
and a tenured professor at University College London.”
“Ah yes,
so you did,” said Inspector Li, flipping through his notes. He looked up at
Acton. “And when you heard the gunshots, you chose to run toward them, instead
of away.”
It
wasn’t a question, so Acton said nothing.
Inspector
Li continued to eyeball him, and when that didn’t elicit a response, he looked
back at his page. “I suppose I might have done the same.” He looked at Acton.
“But then again, I’m a police officer.”
Again
Acton said nothing. But his mind raced. If he offered up that he was an
ex-soldier, that might cause problems, since China was technically an enemy. He
certainly couldn’t mention any of his recent involvement in London, Italy or
Iran. And he definitely couldn’t mention the special ops training he and Laura were
receiving from her ex-SAS security personnel.
But he
had to say something.
“I don’t
know what I was thinking. I guess I just reacted.”
Li
looked at him, steadily, to the point it made Acton uncomfortable. But he
refused to look away.
He was
saved by another officer running up and handing the Inspector a sheaf of
papers. Li thumbed through them, and looked up.
“I don’t
think you are being entirely truthful with me, Professor Acton.”
Acton
felt his chest tighten. He knew a lot of what he had been involved in had been
covered up as best as could be expected in the press and on the Internet, but
intelligence communities were another story. And the Chinese had an extensive
intelligence network. They could infiltrate anywhere, and not stand out, simply
by claiming to be an immigrant. Try sending a white man into China to spy.
Far more
difficult.
He
sometimes wondered if the Chinese military had a fifth column of troops and
agitators disguised as immigrants spread throughout the Western world, just
waiting to be activated, much like the Soviet sleeper agents of the Cold War.
“I’m not
sure what you mean.”
“You
were a soldier. You failed to mention it.”
“Ex-reservist,
twenty years ago.”
“You
fought in the Gulf War. Not exactly what I would call typical reservist activities.”
Acton
shrugged. “Pretty much every reservist has seen combat in the past five years
in my country.”
“Ah yes,
America’s penchant for invading foreign countries. You should be more like us
Chinese and respect people’s borders.”
“Korea
and Tibet come to mind,” blurted Acton, immediately regretting it.
Li
smiled. “We were invited into both those countries.”
Yes,
much like Hitler was invited into Austria and Czechoslovakia.
He
wanted to bring up the land disputes over islands and oil rights in the South
China Sea with Japan and the Philippines among others, but this time he bit his
tongue.
“You
want to say something?”
Acton
shook his head. “I think it’s best I shut up now.”
Li
chuckled. “Very wise.” He paused, then tapped his pad on his chin. “I wonder
about you. You have been very busy of late.” He shook the papers he had been
handed. “You are fortunate I am a Catholic, as I am a little more trusting than
some of my associates. From what I have read here, I believe you are a good
man, with a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but seem
to always be on the right side of whatever is going on. My supervisor”—he
nodded toward a man standing a few dozen yards away—“would insist I take you
downtown, but I think you are what you say you are. A tourist.” He flipped his
notebook shut and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “You are free to go,
Professor Acton. I suggest that for the remainder of your trip in China, you
run away from trouble, as opposed to toward it.”
Acton
smiled slightly and nodded.
“Good
advice in any country, Inspector.”
Li
yelled something in Chinese, and the female officer interrogating Laura nodded,
then motioned for Laura to leave. She walked quickly toward Acton, who held his
arm out and took her under his wing.
“What was
that all about?” she asked. “I got the sense there’s something else going on
here.”
“You
too?”
“Definitely.
When you were off doing your hero bit, I picked up a couple of papers that were
blowing across the square.”
“What
did they say?”
“I don’t
know, but when I showed her one of the pages—the one interviewing me—she turned
pale and snatched it out of my hand, burying it in her bag, and looking around
as if she was afraid someone might have seen me hand it to her.”
“Did she
say anything?”
“No, I
asked her what was wrong, but she said ‘nothing’. The rest of the questions
were pretty routine. Repetitive, but routine.”
“Yeah,
me too.” Acton flagged a taxi. “Let’s get back to the hotel. We have an
appointment we’re almost late for.”
Shaoshan, Hunan Province, China
August 11, 1954
Li Mei heard voices in the shadows.
Who is it that disturbs me at
a time such as this?
It took a moment to realize she had been dozing, and
her eyes were closed. The voices continued, and she listened, rather than
reveal she was awake.
It was
Zedong. She suppressed a smile as her heart skipped a little faster in the
knowledge he had made it. And Anhong, Zedong’s child she had raised in secret
now for almost twenty years. Zedong had only one son alive, at least publicly,
and much to her dismay, Anqing was apparently starting to show signs of mental
illness, most likely due to a severe beating he had received when only seven
years old by a Shanghai policeman. The trauma over his other brothers dying
seemed to have exacerbated the problem.
But she
had her doubts.
The
stories of his mental illness were just that—stories. She hadn’t seen any evidence
of it, other than the heartfelt sorrow over losing his siblings—but if that was
evidence of mental illness, then in her opinion, they were all guilty of it.
He had
visited her over the years, and seemed to be a fine young man. And he had been
with the family, at her side, for the past three weeks, and they had spoken
often, and long, and he seemed a perfectly sane, lucid individual.
And
remarkably intelligent.
His time
in Paris and Moscow had served him well, and he was now a linguist, translating
scientific texts for the government from Russian into Chinese. A valuable,
honorable, contribution to the new empire, albeit not heroic in any sense. He
shunned politics, and that may be why the rumors were being spread by Zedong’s
enemies, for he had them. Many. And if they had their way, they would remove
him in a heartbeat. The power struggle within the country was constant, and
Zedong had had to be ruthless to retain his power, but with each passing year,
his grip tightened, his opponents were crushed, and he ensured the dynasty of
his grandfather continued in secret.
And with
that knowledge in her bosom, she was ready to pass. It had taken longer than
she had expected. She had been ready when the little one had given his
momentous speech, and cried in her arms, but it had finally come. She wasn’t
sure how old she was, she had long ago lost count, but according to some of her
nieces and nephews who were more schooled than she was, she was almost ninety-five.
A good
age to go.
She had
led a full life, a happy life, one filled with love and adventure, more than
any farm girl could have hoped for. She just wished that her beloved Jun could
have lived longer to enjoy it with her.
Her
chest heaved slightly at the thought of him, his dark, creased face, his eyes,
so bright, his hair so soft to her touch. They had fallen in love on the road
from Beijing, and in those desperate nights of trying to keep warm, the baby
huddled between them, they had exchanged their first kiss.
She
smiled as a warmth spread through her at the memory.
“I think
she’s awake.”
It was
Zedong.
She
opened her eyes and smiled.
“Hello,
little one, I’m so happy you are here.”
Zedong
sat on the edge of the bed, Anhong the other, and Anqing stood at the foot. She
took Zedong’s hand in hers, then looked at all three men.
“I have
little time left, but before I go, I must be certain my task is complete, for I
made a promise to my Emperor, and it must be kept if I am to be permitted
eternal happiness in the afterlife.”
“Great-Grandmother,
please don’t talk like that,” said Anhong.
She
patted Anhong, the boy she had raised since he was a toddler, hiding his true
identity even from him.
Oh, the lies are what I most regret.
It had been
a life of lies, a life of hidden truths, a life of deceiving both strangers and
loved ones, and a life that was near a close.
It was
time for all to be revealed.
She
looked at Zedong.
“It is
time to tell your son, Anqing, the truth about his family.” She looked at
Anhong. “And it is time to tell your
son
, Anhong, the truth as well.”
Anhong’s
jaw dropped, and he looked first at her, then Zedong. Zedong smiled at him,
nodding.
“Yes, it
is true.”
Anqing
looked at her, his own jaw betraying his shock. “You mean we’re brothers?”
She was
delighted by the excitement in his voice, and when she nodded, he rushed around
the bed and embraced Anhong as he stood, shaking him back and forth. Anqing
stepped back, his hands still on his brother’s shoulders, and smiled.
“I have
a brother again,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
Anhong
appeared still to be in shock. He neither smiled, nor frowned. In fact, he
displayed little emotion.
“Anhong,
my dear, sit with this old lady one last time.”
Anhong
tore his eyes away from his newly discovered brother, and looked down at her.
She beckoned him and he returned to his perch on her bedside.
“There
is much more for you to learn, both of you, and I have little strength
remaining. Should I not be able to finish, your father will reveal the rest.
But know this before I begin. The restlessness you have always felt inside, the
suspicions you have had of thinking you should be something more, something
greater, are there for a reason. For you are of royal blood, and are destined
to rule China.”
Anhong’s
eyes were wide, and full of fear and doubt. He looked at Zedong, his father,
who nodded.
“Yes,
Anhong. I am the grandson of the Tongzhi Emperor, last legitimate emperor of
the Qing Dynasty, and all I have done, has been to restore our family to the
throne we rightfully deserve.”
There
was a thump as Anqing, still standing at the side of the bed, collapsed.
Anhong
was too much in shock to even notice.
And Li
Mei, with the secret out, the truth revealed to all those who needed to know,
slipped away into darkness, as she heard the cries of Zedong in the distance,
and the shudder of a stiff wind against the old farmhouse, as Heaven came to
collect her soul.
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.