“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Niner. “Somebody’s going to war!”
Acton watched as at least a dozen heavily armed attack helicopters passed overhead.
“Where are they going?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.
“They’re heading straight for Tiananmen,” replied Niner as he dialed the phone. A moment later he was giving a rapid update to Dawson. “Helicopters approaching your position. You should see them any second. BD, you gotta get out of there, now!”
There was a pause as Spock put the car in motion again, racing down the side street, slowing at each intersection to peer up the road, but each time they found the same thing.
A blockade.
It was clear the authorities were blocking any and all access to Tiananmen, but the question was why? Why were they blocking off access and sending columns of tanks and squadrons of helicopters because of a bunch of kids? He knew the Chinese didn’t tolerate dissent, and would rapidly remove anybody who looked suspicious from the square, but this seemed an overreaction, even for them.
And if there was a coup, why would they converge on Tiananmen? It wasn’t a military target, it was purely civilian. A coup should be taking control of the key government and military installations, not public squares. He could understand setting up road blocks, spreading your presence throughout the capital, but to concentrate forces on Tiananmen made no sense.
Then suddenly it did make sense, and his heart slammed against his ribcage as blood rushed through his ears.
“Tell them they have to get out of there, now!”
North-East Corner, Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China
“We’ve got incoming,” announced Dawson as he spotted the lead chopper clearing the roofs of the Forbidden City to the north. Inspector Li rolled over, climbing to his knees and looked as Laura twisted her head. They both gasped.
“We have to get out of here!” cried Laura, looking about desperately for a route, but they all knew there was none.
Another sound distracted Dawson, and he looked behind them to see a column of vehicles, mostly troop carriers, moving toward them from the south-east side of the square. They appeared to be People’s Armed Police as opposed to military, most likely the standard riot squad response that would be deployed in the event of a flash mob.
Dawson pointed.
“Police are arriving.”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Laura, but he didn’t share her sentiment. These were lightly armed police, who were riding into something far bigger than they had planned for.
“They’re going to be slaughtered.” He looked at their new arrival. “Inspector, you have to warn them off!”
Inspector Li looked at the arriving column and shook his head. “There’s no time!”
Dawson looked at him, then over his shoulder at the flash mob that continued to party, their numbers in the thousands, if not tens of thousands.
This is going to make 1989 look like a random shooting.
Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China
Somebody had a boombox blaring the latest Gaga, and Li Juan belted out the words along with all her friends. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had this much fun. Whoever’s idea this had been was clearly a partaay genius, and should be getting full social cred tomorrow for their accomplishment.
She was so happy when her mother had let her go. She knew getting home so late would be a little unusual, and if her dad, the disciplinarian of the household, had been home on time, she had no doubt he would have refused her pleas.
But he hadn’t shown up for dinner, and for that she was eternally grateful.
She exchanged hugs with her friend Ching. They both tilted their heads back and screamed at the night until they were out of breath, then broke down into a fit of laughter as a tune from the Biebs roared at them, and as much as she hated to admit it, she secretly loved Justin and looked about to make sure others were singing before breaking out into full voice.
She began rhythmically jumping in the air with the rest of the crowd, when she felt her phone vibrate on her hip.
It was her mother.
Aww, Mom!
She answered but couldn’t hear a thing, for which she thanked God.
“I can’t hear you, Mom! I’m okay! We’ll be leaving soon and I’ll call you when it’s quieter!”
She tried to listen for a reply but there was nothing she could make out, so she hung up and was about to shove the phone in her pocket and return to her dancing and singing, when she noticed a message indicator. She hit the button.
12 missed calls
7 unread messages
She hit ignore, and slipped the phone back in her pocket, determined not to let her overprotective parents ruin what was turning out to be the best night in her sixteen years of existence.
They worry way too much. It’s just a party. And in a public square. What could possibly go wrong?
The song ended and she stood with her feet on the ground, rather than splitting the time between the concrete and the air just above it, and before the next song could kick in, she heard the roar of an engine to her left. In fact, several more large engines, like trucks, seemed to start, but were soon drowned out by the next tune from a local band.
She shouted in delight and grabbed her friend by the hands as they spun around in a circle, her friend soon losing her grip and careening into the crowd. Fortunately it was so thick with people, she didn’t actually fall, and was helped upright by the others, as Juan grabbed her knees, laughing so hard she thought she might puke.
And that’s when she noticed her feet and legs, in fact her entire body, was vibrating.
It wasn’t in time with the music, it was something else.
And it was ominous.
She slowly reached into her pocket, and retrieved her phone. She opened the list of text messages, and saw half a dozen from her mother, and one from her dad. She selected it.
This is daddy. Go home now. You are in danger!
Her chest became tight and she stopped even the slightest movement that she may have been involuntarily performing in synch with the beat. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes to try and see where the sound she had heard earlier had come from, but could see nothing but the crowd. Why do I have to be so short? She continued to peer through the throng, and for one fortuitous split second, everyone dipped as they imitated the music video they all knew by heart, and she alone stood erect.
And cried out.
A row of tanks lined the square, and their turrets were turning toward the crowd. She spun around and saw the other side of the square lined with trucks, police pouring out of them and spreading to the north and south sides of the square, cutting off any escape.
But she knew what she had to do. She grabbed her friend by the hand, and began to run through the crowd.
Away from the army, and toward the police. For the police were her daddy’s friends, and if she could reach them, they might stand a chance.
Oh Daddy, I wish you were here!
North-East Corner, Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China
Laura watched the trucks jerk to a halt and the police begin to pour from the rear of the carriers, their crowd control gear at the ready, and their weaponry apparently at a minimum. They were here to break up a party, not a riot. She had no doubt they knew about the flash mobs, and the fact it was thousands of children they were dealing with.
And she had no doubt they had no idea what faced them on the other side of the square.
As the police fanned out to their left and right, creating a cordon along the entire eastern side of the square, she heard an ungodly boom, and she spun toward the crowd to see a burst of dust and concrete, and something else, flying through the air near the center of the square.
“What was that?” she asked.
“A tank just fired on the crowd,” replied Dawson. He dialed the phone and it was soon answered.
“They’re opening fire on the crowd. Do not approach the square. What’s
your location?”—he nodded—“Got it.” He flipped the phone closed.
“Where are they?”
Dawson pointed north. “Side street east of the Forbidden City.” Another boom, and this time she was watching as the shell hit and bodies were blown to pieces, limbs and other unrecognizable body parts, mixed with shattered concrete, tossed into the air. Bile began to fill her mouth.
“We need to stop this!” she cried, knowing how ridiculous it sounded. She turned to the policeman. “You need to warn your people what is going on, what they’re getting themselves into!”
But he was already on the phone, shouting in Chinese, then furiously typing out a series of text messages.
Automatic weapons fire rattled across the square and the crowd finally began to realize what was happening. Screams of terror pierced the night, and the crowd began to surge, but in every direction. Those nearest the police ran away from them, those nearest the army ran away in turn. Laura watched in horror as a young girl was knocked down, then repeatedly trampled by the panicked crowd.
She wanted to look away, to drag her eyes from the carnage in front of her, but she couldn’t. It was a horror that demanded to be remembered, demanded to be witnessed, and she, a historian, an archaeologist, was now witness to history, a history so horrible, she wasn’t certain she wanted to survive, lest she should have to remember the events of this night.
Dawson slapped her on the arm.
“We’re getting out of here, now.”
He heaved the Ambassador over his shoulder, then rushed to the next planter, dropping to the ground. He motioned with his head for her to follow, and she grabbed the cop by the shoulder.
“Come on, let’s get out of here!”
But he shook his head.
“I have to save my daughter!”
He jumped to his feet, and rushed headlong into the panicking crowd.
7th District Police Station, Beijing, China
“Why aren’t you at the hospital?”
Superintendent Hong Zhi-kai stood behind his desk, having leapt to his feet the moment he recognized Li’s voice. The paramedics who were supposed to have taken him to the hospital had just left empty handed, and the officer whose car had been “borrowed” stood in Hong’s office this very moment, his head bowed in shame at having just been reprimanded for leaving the keys in the ignition and losing a valuable piece of state property.
“There’s no time for that!” yelled Li above a raucous noise Hong couldn’t make out. In fact, he could barely make out Li’s voice.
“What’s going on? What’s that noise?”
“Would you shut up and listen, sir!”
Hong’s eyes shot wide open, and he dropped in his chair. He couldn’t remember the last time anybody had spoken to him like that, and was quite certain he had never been spoken to like that by a subordinate.
“I’m standing in the middle of a coup!”
Hong, still stinging from the shock of the rebuke, took a moment to process what was just said.
“Can you hear me?” yelled Li.
“Yes, yes I can,” muttered Hong as what Li had said sunk in. But that’s impossible. “Please repeat what you said.”
“We’re in the middle of a coup. Somebody is trying to take over the government. Our men at Tiananmen Square are going to be slaughtered, tens of thousands of kids are being slaughtered! My daughter—”
Li’s voice cracked, and Hong couldn’t be sure if it was the choppy reception, or Li himself who stopped talking.
“Repeat that last part!”
“My daughter is among those being slaughtered. You need to notify the government and have them send in the army. Our rapid response squad is trying to fight tanks with rifles. They don’t stand a—oh my God!”
“What?”
“Helicopters! Helicopters are opening fire on our men. You need to send help now! Tell them the hostiles are flying gold flags on their equipment. Did you hear me? Gold flags!”
“Gold fl-flags, I g-got it,” stuttered Hong, still trying to process what was happening. A pounding on the glass of his office caused him to jump in his chair.
“Sir, you have to see this!” said one of his men, pointing at the television screen.
Li’s voice demanded attention. “Sir, I have to go, call in reinforcements, you’re our only hope.”
“Okay, Li, okay,” he murmured as he walked around his desk and into the outer office. It was a YouTube video streaming on their smart TV. If he hadn’t just heard what Li had said, he’d have no clue what he was looking at, but with a context to put the confused imagery to, he dropped into the nearest chair, everyone else in the room standing, mouths agape as they watched tanks firing upon a group of teenage children, dancing only moments before.
Hong closed his eyes, and imagined his own son, only thirteen, and prayed he was at home, safe with his mother and mother-in-law. He reached for his phone when he realized it was in his hand.
“Hello?” he said, but there was no one there.
What should I do?
He heard his mother-in-law’s voice scream in his head. Make a decision for once in your life!
He sucked in a deep breath then stood.
“Listen up!”
The room turned toward him. He pointed at his secretary. “Get me the Commissioner, tell him it’s urgent.”
“But it’s after midnight, sir.”
“Do it!” he yelled. She jumped and grabbed her phone. Hong turned to the rest of the room. “We are in the middle of a coup. Elements of our own armed forces are attempting to take over the city, and are slaughtering our own men, and our own children, as we just sit here. Li is on site, and just phoned in a situation report. His own daughter is caught up in this mess, our own men are dying. This affects us! This affects our families! This affects our country!” He strode toward the TV, another YouTube clip playing showing a different vantage point of the slaughter. “Call in everyone, I don’t care where they are, get them in here, then notify the hospitals, the other stations, every government office you can think of, and let them know what’s going on. The hostile forces are flying gold flags on their equipment. That’s verified by Li on site.”
Nobody moved, nobody said anything, everyone stunned.
Hong slapped his hands together.
“Move!”
The entire room bounced, then rushed into action, phone calls being made, text messages sent, emails typed, as Hong watched with satisfaction, and a pride in his men, and in himself.
Mother-in-law, if you could see me now.
“Sir! I have the Commissioner.”
Hong nodded and strode into his office, closing the door behind him, as he picked up his phone.
I just hope he’s on the right side of this.
North of the Forbidden City, North of Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China
The thunder of the gunfire was unmistakable. Acton had heard enough of it in the Gulf War to know what an exploding round from a tank sounded like. It was terrifying. The screams that erupted along with the automatic gunfire left little doubt that whoever was firing, was firing on the crowd.
Acton jumped from the car, Spock shouting after him to no avail, and sprinted toward the gunfire. Bursting from the alleyway they were stopped in, he turned and rushed up a more significant road, the square becoming visible and the horror it contained causing him to slowly come to a halt, his hands flying up to his head as he pulled at his hair, unable to comprehend the carnage in front of him.
Footfalls came to a stop beside him as the rest of the Delta team caught up, nobody saying anything. To the left were what appeared to be a riot squad of nearly a thousand men, to the right a row of tanks and infantry, and in the middle a mass of living and dead flesh, an undulating sea of panic that ebbed and flowed in all directions, those to the left seeing the police, thinking they were the ones firing, and those to the right, seeing the army, and knowing they were firing.
Acton looked up and saw a squadron of helicopte
rs hovering overhead, and his heart stopped as they tilted forward slightly, streams of rockets erupting from their weapons pods. He followed them as they streaked through the air, then dropped to a knee as the police vehicles erupted into flames, scattering shrapnel in all directions, police and kids alike blown apart, impaled, or tossed like kindling onto an open fire.
Laura!
He had no clue where she was, where to even begin looking. He pushed himself to his feet as Niner sucked in a quick breath.
“Oh my God!” he gasped.
Acton followed his gaze, and they all watched in horror as the tanks spun their treads in opposing directions, and took up new positions facing the crowds, rather than perpendicular as they were a moment before.
Please, God, no!
The first tank jerked forward, followed by the rest, as they roared into the square, those closest to Acton’s position rushing forward along the boulevard to the north of the square to cut off any escape.
“They’re killing them all!” he cried, his mind an explosion of sensations, it being exposed to too much at once. He turned away, unable to look any more, but the roar of the tanks continued, the shells firing indiscriminately into the crowds continued, the small arms fire, continued.
And the screams.
The screams continued.
Bo Yang’s Mobile Headquarters, Beijing, China
“It’s working, sir, exactly as you predicted.”
General Liang gushed with praise, Bo ignoring it. Of course it worked. It only worked better than he could have ever imagined. The other flash mobs added to what he had intended a hundred fold. The original plan called for the death of perhaps several hundred. It was intended to shock the world, and would be used the next day to justify his takeover, as it would be blamed on the government.
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