Acton looked back and saw Inspector Li still standing on the sidewalk, his mouth agape, apparently stunned at the efficiency in which the six men had been dispatched. Acton was still shocked at how slow he was on the draw, the two Delta Force operatives having eliminated two targets before he had even the chance of eliminating one. And if he knew them, they probably could have eliminated the other two, and were probably prepared to do so, if he or Laura had missed.
But they hadn’t. Double tap to the chest, just as they had been trained. Don’t try to go for the headshot, that was the movies. Two in the chest, he’d be down, and most likely dead, the heart considered by some to be an important, if not vital, organ. Headshots would kill, but the target was much smaller and much more likely to move when you least expected it.
With the bodies cleared, Spock began handing out flashlights that had been on the soldiers’ belts, then pointed at the generator rumbling between the truck and the trailer. “Cut the power on my mark,” he said to Niner, then motioned for the rest to follow him to the door at the end of the HQ. Li had now joined them, the shock at the speed of what had just unfolded seeming to have worn off.
Niner grabbed the handle and turned to Laura.
“Layout?”
“A long hall down the left side to the end. Rooms are all on the right, five of them I believe, but I can’t be certain. The last one is the sleeping quarters we were held in.”
Spock nodded.
“I go first. It may be dark, so use the flashlights. People could come out the doors in a hurry, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Don’t think, just shoot. We’re not concerned with friendlies here. We clear the hallway first. If that’s empty, we’ll each cover a door, Professor Palmer, you cover our sixes. When Niner joins me, he and I will begin clearing the rooms, the rest of you provide cover.”
They nodded, and Acton flicked on his flashlight, readying his weapon.
“Give him the signal,” said Spock.
Acton leaned around the side of the truck and gave Niner a thumbs up.
Dongzhimen Hospital, Beijing, China
Jimmy swung the car into the hospital complex, gunning it toward the ramp at the front entrance. As they turned Jimmy cursed, immediately cutting their speed as they rapidly approached over a dozen heavily armed PLA regulars. They rolled to a stop in front of the entrance and were immediately surrounded.
“Everybody stay calm,” said Dawson, his hands raised and a smile on his face. “Girls, remember, you just tell them the truth, you’ve done nothing wrong, your Dad asked us to take you to safety, you don’t know us, he doesn’t know us. You just want to go home.”
The doors were hauled open, the startled girls screaming, which actually seemed to calm the troops a bit, their weapons turning their focus to the two white men in the front seats.
Dawson slowly climbed out, his hands raised. He was shoved to the ground by one of the troops, and two Type 80s danced in his face. Shouting on the other side of the vehicle, and Jimmy’s calm, reassuring voice, told him the same was happening to his fellow soldier.
A blur to his side and an excited shout had the weapons pointed at his head suddenly swing to the back of the car, and at the terrified Chinese girl who burst from the backseat. She was babbling in Chinese, a language Dawson had not even a basic understanding of, pointing at the backseat then at Dawson. The weapons re-aimed at Dawson’s head, and he wondered what the hell she was saying to them, when she jumped in front of him, hugging him, shielding him from their weapons.
Dawson wasn’t sure what was going on, but when several white coats came running out the front entrance, then congregated at the backseat, he breathed a sigh of relief that the Ambassador might finally get the medical attention he so desperately needed. He wasn’t concerned about his wound, he already having pulled the piece of shrapnel out and treating it with the med kit Professor Palmer had handed over. He’d be out of commission for a few weeks, but would live.
Juan was pulled away by one of the soldiers, the weapons now regaining their clear shots at Dawson, as she was carried inside the building, kicking and screaming, shouting in Chinese, her friend, carried between two soldiers, her feet stumbling, merely whimpered, the shock of the entire night apparently too much, what little control she had had now gone, her young mind having decided this was the end of her ordeal, and it was time to shutdown to protect itself.
A gurney was rushed up and the Ambassador loaded onto it, then pushed inside. Dawson heard Jimmy offer up his identification, identification that Dawson no longer had, his having been confiscated by the police when he was arrested. Which probably meant the moment he gave them his Virgil White, State Department cover, he’d be tossed in a cold dark cell somewhere.
It’s time to let Jimmy do the talking, and get us a phone call.
The clapping of helicopter rotors triggered a bout of shouting, the soldiers rushing away from the car and toward the edge of the elevated ramp. Dawson ventured a glance and saw four attack helicopters hovering a few hundred yards away, their cannons and weapons pods highlighted by the street lamps below. He looked back at the hospital entrance and saw the two girls were nowhere to be seen, and neither was the Ambassador, his charges now inside and hopefully safe from whatever was about to happen.
He glanced to his right, and down the ramp they had just come, then to his left. The exit was blocked by a jeep, which would provide cover, but might also be a primary target. Forward toward the hospital entrance would simply mean he’d be running with the bullets, and they were a hell of a lot faster than his legs.
He turned slightly toward the ramp they had just driven up and exchanged a glance with Jimmy who had repositioned himself with apparently the same conclusion. They traded barely perceptible nods, and Dawson’s eyes refocused on the choppers, still hovering nearby. He tried to see into the cockpits, to sense what they were thinking, to anticipate when they might open fire, but it was no use. The chopper to the right dipped, and Dawson’s legs began to push him to his feet, then he froze.
The chopper banked away, followed by the other three, revealing their gold flags emblazoned on their tail section, and leaving him and the soldiers sighing in relief, firing on a hospital apparently not on the agenda of those attempting a takeover of the most populous country in the world.
Which meant the weapons once again returned their attention to him and Jimmy.
Out of the frying pan and back into the fire.
Inside Bo Yang’s Mobile Headquarters, Beijing, China
A burst of weapons fire, muffled by the insulated walls of the trailer they were in, had the room at a standstill. Bo Yang, standing in the corner while his keyboard was replaced, looked at General Liang. Liang pointed at one of the guards.
“Go find out what that was!”
The soldier left the room on the bounce and Bo returned his attention to the screens occupying almost every square inch of wall space.
“Status?” asked Liang, his voice almost hysterical, the usually in control soldier apparently beginning to lose that veneer of the calm, professional that had attracted Bo to him. Liang had been groomed for over a decade for this very night, and Bo knew the man had invested his life in their cause, and, like Bo, stood to be executed, after lengthy torture sessions, should they not succeed.
“We have lost air superiority, sir,” replied a young officer manning one of the tactical stations. “Our squadrons have either been eliminated or have bugged out.”
“Cowards!” screamed Liang. “Miserable inept cowards!”
“And the assault on Zhongnanhai?” asked Bo, returning to his seat as the technician indicated his computer was working again.
“Our Tiananmen units have encountered heavy resistance, and have not yet arrived. Our units from here are on their way, but have not yet arrived. The 32nd is just too large a force, sir.”
Liang looked ready to tear the head off the poor bastard who had just delivered the bleak assessment. Bo’s shoulders slumped as the lights fl
ickered, then went out.
What now?
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.
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