Authors: J. Robert Kennedy
He
sighed.
“I’m
more concerned with the fact that
you
did it. We have people for this
sort of thing. If he has become a problem, we let them deal with it. That way
our hands are clean. Now...” His voice drifted away as he tried to imagine what
might now happen.
“He was
going to phone a friend he had at the Times right then and there. I couldn’t
let him do that, and there was no time to call our people. So, I had to poison
him. Don’t worry, I made it look like he committed suicide.”
“I doubt
that will fool the authorities for long. It does worry me however that you had
poison so readily available to you.”
She
smiled. “You know me, Darling, I’m always prepared.”
He
frowned. “Too prepared sometimes, it would appear. The correct course of action
would have been to agree to his demands for more money, then have him killed.”
She sat
down beside him and sipped her martini. “You’re right, of course, but what’s
done is done.”
Bo Yang
removed his cellphone and hit the speed dial for his fixer.
“This is
Liang.”
“We have
a problem,” he said to his trusted confidante. “A
big
problem.”
7
th
District Police Station, Beijing, China
Today
James Acton was exhausted, sore, scared, and worried. Worried about
Laura, and to a lesser extent Dawson.
He signed up for this shit. We didn’t.
He frowned.
Yeah, if you had run
away
from the shots like a sane
person, Laura would be at the hotel, safe.
The thought triggered an
epiphany.
What if we were arrested because we were with Dawson, and this has
nothing to do with Tiananmen?
The door
clicked open and he looked up at the smiling face that entered the
interrogation room he had been held in for hours. He had woken here, handcuffed
to the table, his head pounding from where he had been hit, and nobody had yet
had the courtesy to even let him know what was going on.
In fact,
the man entering was the first person he had seen.
“Professor
Acton, my name is Mr. Brown. I’m from the State Department, and am here as your
representative with respect to this matter.”
Acton
frowned. “Mr. Brown,” he nodded, as Brown took a seat across from him. “How did
you find out I was here?”
A single
eyebrow shot up Brown’s forehead, and both eyebrows shot up Acton’s as he
suddenly recognized the man.
Spock!
He had
no idea what the man’s real name was, but he had met him several times, and
knew he was part of Dawson’s Bravo Team. He wanted to ask him what was
happening, why he was there, why Dawson was in China, if he knew anything of
Laura, and when the hell he was getting out of here—either through the front
door as a free man, or rescued through the back door, as a fugitive.
But he
knew he had to play along.
Spock
seemed completely calm, as if this were a matter of fact situation he dealt
with every day. He was every bit the professional operator Acton expected him
to be.
“We
received a call at the embassy about your arrest, and I was sent as soon as we
located you.”
Acton
nodded. “I met a Mr. White on the plane. He invited me and my fiancée to meet
him at the Olympic stadium. That’s when we were all arrested.”
“And
where is Mr. White now?”
He
doesn’t know!
“The van
was attacked and he was taken, along with Lau—”
The door
was thrown open, the metal frame slamming against the concrete wall.
“Time’s
up!” yelled the man, apparently none too pleased at the information Acton had
just revealed.
Acton
stood, as did “Mr. Brown”. Spock extended his hand.
“Professor,
I hope to have you out of here as soon as we can clear up this
misunderstanding.”
Acton
nodded, wondering how to fish something more definite out of him.
“Any
idea how long I’ll be here?”
Spock
smiled as he released Acton’s hand. He felt one of Spock’s fingers press into
his palm, and Acton closed his hand around the tiny object deposited there.
“I think
you’ll have to swallow your pride”—Spock seemed to incline his head slightly at
this statement—“and wait probably four hours or so for further word.”
Acton
nodded as Spock was ushered from the room. The door slammed shut, and he sat
back down, crossing his legs so he could open his hand slightly. In the palm,
he saw a tiny metal ball. What it was, he had no clue, except that it must be
some sort of tracking device, and Spock’s none-too-subtle hint suggested he
should swallow it.
Now.
He
rolled it between his fingers, and faked a cough, covering his mouth and
letting the device drop in.
He
swallowed.
Then
looked at the clock on the wall.
It was
six p.m.
And he
knew in four hours, something was going to happen.
Chongqing, China
Two months ago
Bo Yang sat quietly, sipping his port, waiting for the call. Everything
was nearly lost. The secret had come out, it being too big to keep, and no
matter how hard he had tried, he had been unable to protect his wife. She had
been arrested, charged, and put on trial. The only question now was whether or
not she would be put to death.
But it
didn’t matter.
She was
no longer part of the plan, and no longer a hindrance due to her sometimes
irrational acts.
And
once you are in power, you can free her.
And it
was power that he was about to achieve. The money had traded hands, the markers
had been called, and the pieces were falling into place. They had tried to
disgrace him, but the populace had spoken. No matter how they, the Party, had
tried to discredit him, to stifle his support, it kept popping up on the
blogosphere, the Internet, social media, and plain old print media. People had
been arrested, people had disappeared, but the support continued, and the more
it became a social phenomenon, and the more he injected his own disinformation
surrounding his wife into the fray, the more the Party feared him.
For he
was now an idol to the masses. Betrayed by the Party he had dedicated his life
to, his wife framed for a murder she didn’t commit, his career and life
destroyed because he had chosen to stand by her side.
It was a
PR campaign that would have made an American media mogul proud.
Because
it had worked.
And now
he awaited the final phone call, the call that would let him know he had the
last piece of support he needed.
His
phone vibrated on the table, and he placed his drink down. Taking a deep
breath, he picked up the phone and flipped it open.
“Yes.”
“We have
their support.”
“Very
well.”
He hung
up and placed the phone back on the table, picking up his glass.
Then
smiled as he looked across the room at the ancient flag, gold and blue, draped
behind protective glass.
In
two months, the Qing Dynasty will reign once again.
Unknown Location
Today
Laura Palmer groaned, then righted herself. Opening her eyes, she
blinked away the blur, and sucked in a quick breath as the memories of what had
happened flooded back.
James!
She looked around but he wasn’t there. She
recognized the Delta Force commander, Burt Dawson, lying on a cot, apparently
out cold, the female police officer, sitting with her legs tucked up under her
chin, and an older man she didn’t recognize. They appeared to be in a cramped room
with no windows, several office-style halogen lights in the ceiling providing
light, and four cots, one along each wall. Nothing else besides the locked door
with a small grill blocking a Judas window.
“Good
evening. At least I think it’s evening.”
It was
the man sitting across from her. She looked at him and nodded. “Good evening.”
“British?”
She
nodded.
“How did
you get mixed up in this?”
“My
fiancée ran forward when he should have run back.”
“Excuse
me?”
Laura
smiled.
“There
was a shooting in Tiananmen Square. My fiancée tried to help. Then we were
arrested later with our friend”—she nodded toward Dawson—“by her”—she tossed
her chin at the female officer—“then were ambushed. They injected me with
something—knocked me out.” She looked at her watch. “I guess about three hours
ago.”
“I’m
Ambassador Davidson,” said the man, rising from his cot and extending his hand.
“Call me Ian.”
Laura
rose as well and shook the man’s hand. “Laura Palmer. I’m guessing it was you
my fiancée was trying to save.”
“What’s
his name?”
“Professor
James Acton.”
The
man’s eyebrows shot up. “Really! Heady company, your fiancée. I’ve read much
about him. And you too, Professor.”
Laura
shrugged with a slight smile, then looked over at the cop.
“Are you
okay?”
The
woman nodded, but seemed to be nursing a head wound.
“Let me
look at that,” said Laura, stepping toward the woman.
The
woman recoiled in fear, shoving herself against the wall.
“I won’t
hurt you. You know I’m not involved in this, otherwise I wouldn’t be here with
you.”
The
woman looked at her for a moment, then visibly relaxed, her shoulders slumping
and the veins in her neck and forehead receding.
Laura
sat down beside her and gently moved the woman’s hair aside so she could see
the small cut above the left eye.
“I’m
Laura, Laura Palmer,” she said as she examined the wound. “Forgive me, but I
don’t remember your name.”
“Inspector
Hu.”
“Since
we’re all in this together, do you have a first name?”
The
woman winced, jerking her head away.
“Sorry,”
said Laura, sitting back, her examination finished. “You’ll be okay; it doesn’t
need stiches, but you should get it washed and put a plaster on it as soon as
you get a chance.”
The woman
nodded, gingerly touching the wound then looking at her fingers. Apparently
satisfied that there was no blood, she looked at Laura.
“Ping.”
“Excuse
me?”
“My
name. Ping.”
Laura
smiled as broadly as she could, trying to reassure the woman she wasn’t a
threat.
We need everyone working together and trusting one another if we’re
going to get out of this.
“Pleasure
to meet you.”
Laura
pushed herself off the cot, and stepped over to Dawson’s, looking him over. He
didn’t have any obvious wounds, and his breathing seemed steady and strong. She
gently slapped his cheek, but there was no reaction.
“Out
cold,” she said to the others. “They must have really dosed him.”
“Who is
he?” asked Ping.
“Mr.
White. He’s State Department,” said Ambassador Davidson. He looked at Laura.
“You know him?”
She
nodded, making direct eye contact with him for a moment, and he nodded, she
hoped acknowledging that he realized exactly who and what Dawson was, and that
it wasn’t to be mentioned.
She turned
to the Inspector.
“Ping,
any idea where we are?”
The
young woman shook her head.
“No, I
woke up here only a few minutes before you did.”
Laura
sat back down on her cot, then quickly patted her pockets in the hopes they had
missed her cellphone.
No such luck.
Ping
smiled. “I checked as well. They took my phone too.”
“I never
carry one,” said Ambassador Davidson. “Security reasons.”
Laura
nodded. Phones could be tapped and tracked. Not something you wanted happening
to your ambassador.
A sound
outside the door had them all start, their eyes fixing on the metal grate
covering the Judas hole as it slid open. But any hopes at rescue were doused as
the door opened, and two heavily armed men in body armor entered, followed by a
third who carried a cardboard box that he tossed on the floor.
“Food.
Water. Medical supplies,” he said, pointing at the box.
Laura
eyed the contents, and suddenly realized how thirsty she was. She reached
forward for a bottle of water, when she saw a blur to her left.
Chongqing, China
Two weeks ago
Bo Yang struck an imposing figure, his uniform freshly pressed, his
rank and insignia, ceremonial and not yet official, classified him far higher
than the top generals in the room. He sat at his desk flanked by two gold
flags, their blue dragons boldly displayed, giving the impression they were
clawing their way to the top of the poles that held them, locked in an ancient game
of King of the Mountain.
And in
Bo’s mind, it was he who was that dragon, clawing his way back to the top of
the mountain his family had been so unceremoniously kicked from. His grandfather,
Mao Zedong, had ruled the country for decades, an emperor in everything but
name only, but after his death, the family had been forced underground, but the
reemergence was almost complete.
With
billions of dollars, pounds and Euros, he had bought the loyalties of the men
he needed, and most were in the room now, ready to follow his orders for a
chance at ultimate glory and power, and if all else failed, escape from the
country that would have them shot for even discussing what was about to happen.
“Everything
is ready?” he asked.
His
second-in-command, General Liang, nodded. “The killings will begin today across
all major cities. We anticipate they will be covered up, but that is part of
the plan. Leaflets designed to confuse the issue, will be scattered at the
scenes, and the stories slowly leaked internationally. After one week, we will
ramp up the killings, and the international community will demand a response.
The Committee will meet to discuss this, and I will tell them I’m moving troops
into position to restore order should it be necessary. This will satisfy them,
and by the end of the second week, we will have armored and infantry divisions,
along with air support, in place outside each of the target areas.”