“Can you stand?”
Jimmy made a valiant effort, then shook his head.
“Sorry, BD, I can’t move.”
Jimmy’s voice was weak, barely audible. Dawson looked around and saw a gurney on its end in the corner. He unhooked it from the wall and it slammed on the floor with a crash. Pulling it beside Jimmy he was about to load him on it when the door clicked open behind him. He shoved the gurney hard, slamming it into the door, the surprised guard who had come to investigate staring through the window.
Dawson looked at the handle and frowned, pressing the little button on the door knob to lock it, knowing it wouldn’t hold a good stiff shoulder. Reaching up, he grabbed hold of a large cabinet on the side of the door and pulled. It tipped then finally fell with a thunderous rattle, blocking the door. He shoved it tight against the frame, then hauled the lieutenant, still groaning, to his feet, pressing the man’s weapon against his temple.
“If I don’t hear from the United States Embassy, he dies.”
Now he just hoped somebody spoke English out there to understand him.
Tanze Road, Beijing, China
“Left at the next big intersection, just ahead, then the gate is on the right!” yelled Li.
Acton nodded. It had felt like the longest ten minutes of his life. They had been lucky for the most part, their speed and the openness of the side streets Li had led them on limiting their pursuers to three jeeps, the tanks unable to keep pace. But the small arms fire from the lead jeep managed to occasionally hit them, leaving their rear window shattered, to which Niner had replied, “Finally!”, repositioning himself so he could return fire out the rear window as opposed to the side window that had a built in child safety feature, limiting it to lowering halfway. A limitation that had only lasted a few minutes before Niner got frustrated and smashed it out with the butt of his weapon.
“We’ve got company!” yelled Spock.
Acton glanced in his rearview mirror but saw nothing other than the jeeps several hundred feet back. He adjusted his side mirror up with a push and nearly shit his pants. Two attack helicopters were barreling down on them, and flashbacks of London filled his mind as he debated whether or not he should slam on his brakes to let them pass overhead.
But this wasn’t London, this was Beijing. And this time they were being pursued on the road too, not just in the air.
He pressed harder on the accelerator, the intersection he knew led to the embassy within sight. Spock fished the satellite phone from his pocket, taking the call he had placed earlier off hold.
“ETA sixty seconds, we’re coming in red hot!”
The cannons opened fire, tearing up the pavement, steadily approaching their rear bumper. Acton swerved to the left, but the guns tracked him, either automatically or manually, how he didn’t care. All that mattered is there appeared to be no way to outrun or outmaneuver them. He cranked the wheel to the right, again to no avail.
Something flashed in front of him and he gasped as his eyes focused on the new threat.
“Look out!” he yelled, everyone turning to see what he was shouting about. Two missiles were screaming down the road toward them, the plane that had fired them burning up the pavement with its afterburners, as if chasing the instruments of destruction it had just unleashed.
Acton slammed the brakes on, his thinking that if they were the target, perhaps a hotter heat source, like helicopter engines, might attract the missiles. The helicopters overshot him, both splitting off in opposite directions, the missiles splitting as well, chasing the choppers down their respective side streets, their heat signatures their doom.
Acton hammered on the gas, the car leaping forward as the jet passed overhead, the three jeeps now upon them. Bullets tore into the driver side. Acton swung the car to the left, slamming it into the jeep that had overtaken them. The driver lost control, crashing into the rear of a parked car, flipping it spectacularly end over end, the occupants spilling out onto the roadway, or atop the line of stationary vehicles.
They were at the intersection. Acton cranked the wheel to the left, skidding around the turn, the embassy, well lit, now on their right, the gate, normally closed, opening as soon as he had made the turn. Behind them in his rearview mirror were the two remaining jeeps, not fifty yards behind them, guns blazing, the muzzle flashes unceasing, the rattle as rounds impacted the light skin of their car, threatening at any moment to take out a tire or rupture the fuel tank, or worse, penetrate the compartment and kill one of its occupants.
“Hang on!” yelled Acton, spinning the wheel to the right as he slammed on the brakes, then lifting his foot and shoving the accelerator to the floor, sending the car surging through the gates, two dozen Marines, their M27 Infantry Automatic Rifles at the ready, letting them pass, then rushing the gate as it began to inch closed.
Acton hit the brakes, bringing the car to a stop, as they all turned to watch. Their pursuers made the same turn he just did, but unlike with their arrival, the uninvited guests were met with a wall of lead, two dozen weapons opening fire, shredding the first vehicle to pieces the moment it passed the gate and entered US soil. The engine exploded, and the vehicle careened to the side, slamming into a concrete fortification, the driver and passengers full of far more holes than God had intended.
The second vehicle slammed its brakes on, the front tires crossing the gate, but the men immediately threw their hands up, and when the Marines didn’t fire, bailed from their vehicle, running down the street and out of sight.
Several Marines pushed the jeep straddling the gate out of the way, then the iron bars rumbled shut as Acton closed his eyes, resting his head on the steering wheel, the shouts from outside the vehicle, all in precious English with the occasional twang he loved so much, counteracting the adrenaline that had fueled him for hours.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, a hand he immediately recognized, and gripped it, tight. His precious Laura, safe, their friends, safe, and one Chinese Public Security Bureau Inspector, safe.
Dongzhimen Hospital, Beijing, China
A face appeared at the window, shouting, and Dawson pressed the barrel harder against the lieutenant’s head. This face was older, probably fifties or sixties, and judging by the artwork on his shoulders, a full-bird Colonel.
Finally, someone who can make a decision.
There was shouting, orders being given, yelps from soldiers obeying those orders, and the confusion on the other side of the door seemed to settle down.
There was a knock, and the man’s face peered through the glass.
“Mr. White? I am Colonel Peng. I am here with a Mr. Redford from your embassy.”
“Let me see him!”
Dawson wasn’t going to fall for any tricks. His guard would remain up until he was back at the embassy.
Colonel Peng’s face disappeared, replaced a moment later by Redford, a face he instantly recognized from the security briefings, briefings Dawson remembered the Ambassador not taking seriously, but which Redford did. Dawson relaxed. Slightly.
“Can I come in?” he asked, giving a small wave.
“Just a second.”
Dawson looked at Jimmy, still sitting in his chair. “Can you hold a weapon?”
“’Til they pry it from my cold dead hands.”
Dawson gave him half a grin, pressing the gun into Jimmy’s outstretched palm. He pushed the lieutenant against the wall, then with hand gestures that would make it clear to the young man, said, “If he moves, shoot him.”
Jimmy nodded, taking aim, as Dawson grabbed another weapon from the body of his first kill, then unlocked the door, pulling the cabinet out about a foot.
Redford poked his head inside, frowning at the storage unit still blocking him from entering.
“Can I come in?” he repeated.
“What’s the situation?”
He waved two passports. “I have two temporary diplomatic passports here, that entitle you to unfettered transport to the embassy, then out of the country. All
you need to do is drop your weapons, and we can leave. I have an armored vehicle outside, with two of your friends providing security.”
Dawson exchanged glances with Jimmy, breathing a sigh of relief that their comrades were safe.
“And the professors?”
“Safe, along with a Chinese police inspector.”
“And his kids, the ones we came here with?”
“They’ve been released.”
“And the Ambassador?”
“Under Chinese care here, but with our embassy physician observing until he can be transported back home.”
“I want the hallways cleared,” said Dawson. “All the way to the vehicle, no soldiers.”
Redford looked back and Dawson heard orders being snapped in Chinese from the other side of the door. A few moments later Redford’s head poked back in.
“Done.”
Dawson pulled the cabinet out of the way, then lifted Jimmy to his feet. They stepped out of the room, Jimmy covering the lieutenant until they were through the door. Dawson looked up and down the hall, and the only green uniform he saw was the Colonel’s. Dawson flipped his weapon around, and handed it to the man butt first. The Colonel took the weapon, snapping out a respectful nod, acknowledging it not as a surrender, but as a negotiated peace.
Jimmy handed his over to Redford, then collapsed in Dawson’s arms. Dawson scooped him up, then carried him down the hall, through the lobby, and out the automatic doors. Their car was still parked where they had left it, but a black SUV, American flags proudly flying from the front corners of the hood, was parked behind it.
The doors opened and out stepped two of the filthiest bastards he had never been more happy to see.
Spock and Niner.
They helped their comrade into the back seat, then Dawson climbed in beside him, along with Redford. Spock took the passenger seat, while Niner drove.
Nothing was said as they returned to the embassy, but when they passed through the gates, Dawson couldn’t help but notice the jeep lying off to the side as they entered, and another one torn to shreds, bodies covered in sheets lined up beside the vehicle.
“What the hell happened here?”
Niner brought the SUV to a stop beside a civilian vehicle that had more bullet holes than body work left.
“Apparently we got Actoned,” said Niner.
“What the hell does that mean?” gasped Jimmy.
But Dawson had a pretty good idea as a smile spread across his face.
Li Residence, Beijing, China
Li skipped the elevator, it too slow for his purposes, and instead rushed up the four flights of stairs to his humble apartment. The moment his key hit the door it was pulled open from the inside, and a pair or arms wrapped themselves around him. He buried his head in his wife’s shoulder, inhaling her scent, hugging her hard.
“Daddy!”
The cry from deeper in the apartment filled his heart with relief and joy. He let go his wife and rushed toward his daughter as she ran around the corner, arms outstretched, tears already flowing freely down her face. He dropped to his knees and she threw her arms around his neck, her chest heaving as she clung to him.
“I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m so sorry!” she cried. He held her tight, so tight he was afraid he’d break her, but he didn’t care. He never wanted to let her go, he never wanted to let her out of his sight again. His precious Juan, his jewel, was safe. He felt a hand on his shoulder, his wife dropping to her knees beside them, wrapping her arms around both of them, and the three of them sat on the floor, hugging and crying, as the horror of the night’s events slowly receded into the past, becoming memories that would never be forgotten.
Beijing Capital International Airport, Beijing, China
Professor James Acton watched as the Ambassador was loaded aboard the US government plane. He followed Laura up the steps, the four Bravo Team members bringing up the rear. Hundreds if not thousands of troops were in the area, throughout the airport, surrounding the tarmac, and this was one of the few flights being allowed to actually leave.
Through the night and the morning they had all been glued to the televisions at the embassy, watching the news, reading the dispatches as they arrived. Bo’s forces had been defeated, the last of which, in Shanghai, had truly held out until the last man. Those participating were being summarily executed, the ensuing massacre far larger than what had happened during the actual coup.
This of course was being denied, but footage was being uploaded to the Internet at a furious pace, and the truth couldn’t be held back. Already in the streets, streets filled with hundreds of thousands of troops, the cleanup had begun, and Acton had no doubt that within weeks, there would be no evidence of what had occurred, and the whitewash would begin.
The Internet was back up, the cellular networks had returned to normal, and the television networks were broadcasting again, the official stories—power outages.
It was a farce, everyone knew it. Those outside of China would discuss it in depth, non-stop, until the next global crisis came along, then it would become a footnote in a colorful Chinese history.
As Acton’s mind flashed back over the events, the images, it was a horror he couldn’t yet fathom. The horrors of the teenagers crushed under the treads of tanks, the indiscriminate killing of civilians, the battles waged between fellow soldiers, one side fighting for a red flag, the other for a gold, the meaning of the colors lost on their adherents.
And the heroism, the selflessness, the acts that stood out above and beyond the call of duty, that would never be known. A US vet rushing to provide first aid to a stranger, a British professor standing down a column of tanks, a Chinese police officer handing his children over to strangers, trusting the basic goodness of people, while he tried to save his country.
The memories would be there, and Acton swore that history wouldn’t forget the Qing Rebellion.
Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts
One week later
“Of course I was saddened to hear of my father’s death. It’s my feeling he was framed by those who perpetrated these events. I know my father, or rather, I knew my father. I knew him well. He loved China, he loved his Party. There is no way he would have been involved in this willingly.”
“But what of the broadcast?”
“Coerced of course.”
“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?”
Bo Shan smiled at the interviewer from CNN. His impudence was intolerable, but tolerate it he must, for he had to get through these coming days alive, and in the public eye of the world. He was fortunate he was attending school in America, otherwise he would be dead already. He had received word that his mother had killed herself in prison, something he wasn’t sure was true or not. He didn’t doubt she was dead, he just didn’t believe it was by her own hand.
And his darling half-sister, killed in a car accident when she ran a red light.
Yet she didn’t drive.
The regime was cleaning up the mess his father had left, but if he played his cards right, he might just survive long enough for them to decide he was too public a target to eliminate.
“Of course I do.” Bo Shan stood, and removed the microphone from his collar. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have classes to attend.”
He shook hands with the interviewer, then the producer, and left the room given to them by the Harvard administration to try and minimize the impact on student life by the suddenly very public international student they found themselves hosting.
Shan returned to his dorm room and closed the door, dropping on his bed, exhausted. Six interviews, non-stop. He folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, his chest tight with the thought of his father, mother, and sister, dead.
He peered through the gold and blue of the flag pinned to his ceiling over his bed, and into the Heavens, solemnly promising to one day fulfill the legacy handed down over generations, and once again claim the throne of China in the name of the
Qing Dynasty.
It isn’t over, my Emperor.
THE END
Afterword
The spark for this book came from a scene I had written for the end of Broken Dove. It was this great action sequence with the Order of Mary being taken out by snipers as James Acton stood by, helpless. I ended up cutting the scene for reasons that made sense at the time, and still do, but this incredible vision of bodies skidding along the pavement wouldn’t leave me, and I knew I had to use it at some point.
Flags of Sin was that opportunity.
I’d like to give a special thanks to two people who helped me with this book. Li Ching and Phoebe Jiang. They provided many of the fictional names in this book saving me having to research a set of names for a culture I knew little about. Any mistakes are mine alone.
And speaking of names, this book contains many elements taken straight from the history books. Many of the names are real, the places are real, the events are real. The history is fascinating, and if you research it a little yourself, you may be surprised at how much of this novel is based upon reality.
As usual I’d like to thank my wife, daughter and parents for their help and support, as well as my friends, and you the reader. I look forward to sharing the next James Acton adventure with you soon.
Thank You!
Thank you for choosing and reading my book. If you enjoyed it, I would be grateful if you could write a review and post it on Amazon or your favorite book site.
James Acton returns in The Arab Fall, now available everywhere!
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