Authors: J. Robert Kennedy
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 bitch 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 21
st
, 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.