Authors: J. Robert Kennedy
Outside Bo Yang’s Mobile Headquarters, Beijing, China
The door burst open before Spock had a chance to pull on the handle,
a soldier apparently sent to investigate the earlier gunfire, poking his head
out. Spock reached up and grabbed him by the jacket, yanking him from his
elevated position and into a controlled slam onto the ground. Two quick punches
to the face, the man’s head smacking on the pavement each time, had him out
cold.
Acton
and Laura took up positions on either side of the still swinging rear door of
the headquarters, Acton peering down the hallway and seeing it was deserted.
The lights flickered and went out, and he heard Niner’s shoes pounding on the
pavement. Spock and Niner charged up the few steps and into the hallway, their
weapons at the ready, flashlights illuminating swaths of the darkened interior.
A lone
emergency light flickered on at the end of the hall, casting long shadows of
every nook and cranny along the walls and floor, as Acton and Inspector Li climbed
inside, rushing to cover their respective doors, Laura remaining outside to watch
their backs. Confused shouts could be heard, most from the far end of the hall,
most in fact coming from the other side of the door Acton found himself
covering.
He
dropped to one knee and focused his weapon on the door, chest height, ready to
eliminate anything that may come through. He glanced down the hall as Niner
threw open the first door, apparently unlocked, and Spock entered. A single
gunshot echoed down the hall, and the confusion on the other side of his door
seemed to suddenly find order with silence.
The next
door down the hall was kicked open by Niner, with Spock stepping inside, the
flashlight flickering on the walls, but no shots fired, the room empty.
A single
voice snapped an order on the other side of his door and he tensed up, regaining
his attention as the final door between him and the Delta duo was kicked open.
A burst of gunfire erupted from the room, causing Spock and Niner to both twist
away from the door. They stepped back, then emptied their clips into the walls,
waist height, leaving a row of holes torn through what, based upon the dust,
Acton judged to be gyprock. There was no return fire, and Spock stepped inside
for only a moment.
Shots
blasted from the other side of the door Acton stood on, and he found himself
falling backward in shock, then rolling to the side on instinct. He looked back
at the door, it now shredded at chest level, the wall behind where he had stood
moments before pockmarked with bullet holes, the only thing having saved him
was the fact he had been on his knee.
Spock
and Niner rushed past him, motioning for Li to leave his door and cover
Acton’s, they apparently having decided the final door was the sleeping
quarters Laura had been held in, and most likely to be empty. They cleared the
room with no shots fired as another burst of gunfire sliced through the door of
the final room, sending Li diving to the floor. The shots stopped, and a lone
voice yelled something.
“He’s
out of ammo!” yelled Li as he jumped to his feet and kicked the door down,
screaming something in Chinese.
“Shit!”
muttered Spock as he and Niner rushed in after the Inspector, Acton following.
Gunfire erupted, and before Acton could get inside he found Li with a weapon
pointed at the man Laura had recognized on the television, Spock with a gun on
an elderly man in full military regalia, and Niner covering a room of corpses.
And at
the back of the room, the proud flag of the Qing Dynasty hung on the wall,
stained with the blood splatter of one of its adherents who had died for the
cause.
Bo Yang’s Mobile Headquarters, Beijing, China
Could it be over? If it was, this was never how he would have
expected it. Bo looked at the people in the room. A police officer if he ever
saw one, two Caucasians, probably American, another Asian man, possibly Korean
in origin, but based upon his companions, probably an American as well. Three
people who shouldn’t even be in the country, let alone interfering in its
politics, and one lone cop.
How
could his plans, laid out in intricate detail, over decades, be unraveled by
these people? He, an emperor, superior in intellect, title and station, halted
by a group of Americans and a police officer. His mind reeled from the shock of
what his eyes were taking in.
He
looked at Liang, his comrade, his friend, his partner in all of this, and could
tell that he too was just as shocked. They had expected to succeed, but if they
hadn’t, they had at least expected to have died fighting troops loyal to the
regime, dying in a blaze of glorious gunfire, martyrs of the empire, their
deaths eulogized in story and song for centuries to follow, hopefully inspiring
the next generation to victory.
But
instead, here they stood, hands in the air, prisoners. Prisoners of three
Americans and a cop. He couldn’t accept this. It was intolerable. It was
unbelievable. It was an eventuality that had never occurred to him.
It was
an eventuality that couldn’t stand.
The
American covering Liang spoke in English.
“Tell
him to give the stand-down order.”
The
impudent man who dared to point a weapon at his emperor, spoke.
“I am
Inspector Li of the Public Security Bureau. You are under arrest for crimes
against the State. I am ordering you to notify your troops that this coup is
over, and to stand down so that no further lives are lost.”
Bo
evaluated the man delivering the ultimatum. This man, this Inspector Li,
impressed him. Li was clearly out of his league, probably from some lower caste
family considering his age and limited title, but here he stood, daring to try
and put an end to the most important event in Chinese history since his
grandfather had taken control of China. A simple policeman, doing his duty,
serving his country faithfully, yet ignorantly, but with the courage to hold a
weapon to the head of a man he knew far greater than him, and far more
powerful.
Bo smiled.
“Do you
have any idea who I am?” he said in English for the benefit of the room filled
with foreigners.
“I know
exactly who you are. You are Bo Yang, criminal and traitor.”
Bo shook
his head, lowering his hands. Inspector Li jerked his weapon up several times,
implying Bo should put his hands back up, but he chose to ignore the order,
instead placing them defiantly on his hips.
“Do you
not recognize the flag that stands behind me?”
Li
nodded. “Everyone would.”
“For
those of you who don’t know,” he said, looking at the Americans, “that is the
flag of the Qing Dynasty.”
One of
the men, the last to have come through the door, stepped forward.
“I
recognize it. But it hasn’t been an official flag for almost a century. What
does it have to do with you?”
Bo smiled
at the man.
“To whom
do I have the honor of addressing?”
“Professor
James Acton.”
The name
rang a bell with Bo, his mind flashing back to the report he read on one of
their former prisoners.
“I trust
your fiancée is safe?”
This
appeared to catch the man off guard, something Bo always enjoyed seeing.
Information was power, and possessing it when no one else thought you had it,
was even more powerful. To catch your enemy in a lie was one thing, to reveal
to your enemy you knew their secrets, was something entirely different, for it
left them wondering what else you knew. Reveal one tiny tidbit, even if it were
the only item you knew, and it left their minds reeling with the possibility
you knew far more.
Which
could lead to further revelations, revelations of things you may never have
discovered.
Play
along, and let them hang themselves.
For he
knew something none of the new arrivals knew. He knew if he drew this out long
enough, the defense force that should have been here guarding them, that had
been dispatched to the Zhongnanhai Complex assault, would return at any minute,
Liang having ordered their recall as soon as the power went out, with an old
style walkie-talkie that never left his hip. The SOS had been received, and it
was only a matter of time.
Professor
Acton recovered from the shock of his question.
“Yes,
she’s fine. No thanks to you.”
Bo
shrugged.
“This is
war. She interfered.”
Acton
took a step forward.
“Actually,
I’m
the one who interfered.” He raised his weapon, pointing it at Bo.
“And I believe our friend here”—he motioned at Inspector Li—“gave you an
order.”
“You
expect me to order my troops to stand-down?” Bo laughed. “Never.”
“It’s
over, and you know it,” said Li.
Bo
looked at Li. “I find it highly doubtful that a mere inspector in the Public
Security Bureau would know the status of the armed conflict now unfolding.”
Li
smiled from half his mouth, his eyes narrowing.
“Even I,
a mere inspector, knows that if a battle is going well, you do not dispatch the
very troops guarding your headquarters.”
Bo
covered the surprise he felt with a smile and a nod.
“Very
good, Inspector, very good. You are more astute than I gave you credit for.” Bo
leaned forward, his fists in balls, pressing against his desk. “But what are
you going to do about it? You have no way to communicate with the outside
world, and you have shut off the power, so I have no way to give the order you
demand of me.”
One of
the men nodded to the Asian American, who immediately left the room, Bo assumed
to turn the power back on. It didn’t matter. Every moment of delay meant his
forces were closer, and this interruption would be over.
“Professor
Acton,” he said, returning his attention to the American professor, and
pointing at the flag of his ancestors. “You asked what this had to do with me.”
The man
nodded, saying nothing.
“My
great-great-grandfather was the Tongzhi Emperor.”
Professor
Acton smiled.
“Nice
try, but he had no children.”
“That is
where your history fails you, Professor. He did indeed have a son, born only
days before he was murdered by the Empress Dowager’s forces, his memory sullied
by rumors of his death from smallpox and later syphilis, when his name
continued to carry more honor than his mother could stand.”
“Okay,
I’ll bite. If he had a son, how come no one knows about it?”
“He was
hidden away, raised by my adopted great-great-grandmother Li Mei, the governess
of the baby emperor.” Bo raised a hand to cut off the professor. “Let me
finish. That baby was named Shun-sheng by her and one of the imperial guards, Mao
Jun, who married and raised him as their own, in Shaoshan, Hunan Province.”
“Shaoshan?”
muttered Acton, his eyes narrowing. “Hunan?”
Bo
smiled.
“What
are you a professor of?”
“Archaeology.”
“So you
know your history.”
Acton
nodded.
“Then
why don’t you answer the question that is burning in your mind?”
Acton
frowned. “Are you suggesting that your grandfather is, or rather was, Chairman
Mao Zedong, the founder of Communist China?”
“Jesus,” muttered the other American under his breath.
Bo
clapped his hands, startling Li who for a second Bo thought was about to shoot
him. He held his hands out, open, to calm the excited police officer.
“Very
good, Professor. Yes, indeed, my grandfather was Mao Zedong, who led China for
decades, inspired by the knowledge his grandmother Li Mei imparted.”
“You’re
suggesting Mao Zedong was inspired to rule China because he believed he was the
legitimate emperor?”
Bo
nodded. “You sound doubtful.”
Acton
shrugged. “We’re here, aren’t we?”
Bo
chuckled, his head bobbing. “Yes, indeed. We
are
here.”
“There’s
just one problem,” said Acton as the power kicked back on, the computers
beginning to reboot around them. “You’re not one of Mao’s grandchildren.”
“Ah, but
I am. My grandfather had a son, Anhong.”
“Who
disappeared when he was three, and was presumed dead at the hands of the Kuomintang.”
“That
was
presumed
dead, but was actually delivered to my
great-great-grandmother Li Mei, to be raised in secret. He had a son, me. I was
raised under a false identity, so I could one day reclaim the throne, and lead
China into its ordained future, as the most powerful and ancient country under
the Heavens.”
The
Asian American returned, his mission accomplished, and whispered something in
the other man’s ear. The man nodded, and the Asian American disappeared again.
“Is any
of this possible,” asked the man.
Professor
Acton nodded. “It’s all circumstantial, but yes. The Tongzhi Emperor died when
he was eighteen. If he had had a son, it would have threatened the Empress Dowager’s
control over him, as he would have an heir, and it might have emboldened him.
At the time he was already challenging her control over him, and she was known
to be ruthless. If he had a son, and he had been secreted away, they never
would have admitted it, since that child would be the rightful heir to the
throne. Instead the Empress Dowager installed someone she could control, and
ruled in the background until her death. Shortly after that, the empire fell.”
“But
Mao?”
Acton
shrugged his shoulders. “The names fit, the timeframes fit, but without DNA
tests, there’s no way to know for sure. However, it might explain why Mao was
initially a proponent of democracy and Western ideals, then suddenly turned to
Communism and its inevitable dictatorship.” The professor shrugged his
shoulders, again looking at the other man. “I just don’t know. He”—he nodded at
Bo—“certainly seems to believe it, though.”