by Andrew Watts
“I was just reading about it.” She pointed to her phone.
“You were reading about it? Already?”
He looked over her shoulder. She was on her social network feed. There were hundreds of comments on it, streaming in real time. Images, videos.
“It says that the church priest was breaking the law. I’m not surprised. Those Christian churches are criminal organizations, most of them. They’re money-making schemes. Passing around baskets for all those poor gullible people to give away their money. I heard in school that a lot of other governments will send missionaries here to try and hurt our own government leaders. They don’t like how successful China has become, so they try to infect us with their religious groups.”
Lin Yu said, “I don’t know. I knew a man who was Christian. He worked in one of the shops here. He wasn’t so bad.”
“No way. They’re all crazy if you ask me. The Islamists and the Christians. Anyone who thinks that some magic god is real and tells people to kill everyone in the train station with knives should be thrown in prison. If you ask me, I’m thankful that our police got rid of that church. I don’t want people like that in our city.”
Lin Yu knew she was referring to the Kunming Railway Station attack in 2014. Six men and two women with connections to a Uyghur Muslim group had stormed into a train station and begun attacking people with knives and cleavers. They had killed thirty-one people and wounded 143.
“I need to go. Bye.”
Lin Yu waved and hopped onto his stool behind the counter. He thumbed through his social network feed and saw news articles on the priest who had been arrested. The article made no mention of the fact that the church had been shut down or the cross removed. It also made no mention of any tear gas or other arrests. It just said that the priest was a criminal and had been arrested.
Then Lin Yu saw that he had an email from the military recruiter. It was a confirmation of his appointment the next day. He looked up and down the hallway outside. It was empty. He would be lucky if he got any sales over the next six hours. He sighed. He decided that he would go to the military physical examination the next day. What could be the harm?
Lin Yu had never felt less human than he’d felt this morning at the military physical exam. The pretty woman recruiter had been nowhere to be seen. The military men who helped to corral the recruits like cattle were not smiling. They were stern and tough looking.
“What is your name, recruit?”
“Lin Yu.”
“That’s Lin Yu, Sergeant!”
“Lin Yu, Sergeant,” he muttered.
“Here are your papers. Memorize this number—this is your serial number—and go follow this line until you get to the room that says ‘Immunizations.’ Wait there and someone will tell you what to do.” The sergeant looked at him expectantly.
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“Go.”
He hurried off down the hall, following a series of arrows that were painted on the floor. He didn’t need this. He didn’t want to be yelled at. Boredom in his shop was better than being yelled at. He decided that he would complete the physical—asking to leave would probably not be received well—and then go home. He would never call them again. He wouldn’t return any emails. Screw that stupid aptitude test.
“Hey, you. You have your papers?”
A man wearing a white medical coat looked at him through a window.
“Yes. Here.” He handed the thin envelope through the window.
The man looked at them and placed a stamp on the papers. Then he said, “Come on back.”
Before Lin Yu knew it, he was rubbing his arm after getting four different shots. Four. They hadn’t even answered him when he’d asked what they were for. They’d just stuck him and told him to keep moving. He kept going through different rooms and seeing different nurses and doctors. Some of them examined his hearing, some examined his eyesight. Others asked him to jump up as high as he could, measuring the highest place on a wall that he could reach. Others asked him stupid questions about whether he was happy or ever had thoughts of hurting people.
In each room were more exams, and his folder got thicker and thicker throughout the day. Finally, he went through a pair of double doors to the side of the building that he hadn’t been to yet.
The sergeant was there. “Lin Yu, go stand on that yellow dot over in the corner.” He looked around and saw that there were about twenty dots painted on the concrete floor. He went over to his. More recruits came in behind him, and before he knew it, all twenty yellow dots had people standing on them.
They were cattle. Being checked out for any medical problems. The sergeant was yelling at one of them for not standing up straight. Lin Yu rolled his eyes and then caught himself. He kept a plain expression on his face. Better not to draw the attention of this dim-witted sergeant. He didn’t care what they were paying; he didn’t want anything to do with this mess.
“Alright, recruits, I’m going to send the first row out this door. You’ll get your haircuts next. After that you will get bags of clothing. Then you will be getting on a bus. Everyone understand?”
“Haircuts?” one of the boys in the front said. “I’m not getting a—”
Wham. The kid never saw it coming. The sergeant punched him right in the gut with tremendous force. Everyone stood up a little straighter, and the only sound was the wheezing of the poor guy who’d been hit. He was now on his knees, holding his stomach. Lin Yu’s eyes were now wide.
“Everyone understand?” the sergeant repeated.
“Yes, Sergeant,” the group replied in unison.
“Louder, recruits.”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
Lin Yu’s pulse was pounding now. Had there been a mistake? Did they think that he had volunteered for this? He had only signed a paper to get the physical examination. Not for anything else.
“First row, move.”
Lin Yu was in the first row. He turned and entered the next room. There were six empty barber chairs, each with a man holding clippers standing behind them. Lin Yu sat down and was immediately covered by a smock. A click and then the dull buzz of the hair clippers. The feel of it shearing his scalp. Cold and hard. Fast and merciless. Clumps of black hair falling away to the floor.
“All done.”
It was the quickest haircut he had ever received. He stared in the mirror, looking shocked at the bald person who was staring back.
“Move, recruits,” said the sergeant from the door.
The next room had several other sergeants, each one louder and more ferocious than the last. They were handing out bags of clothing and supplies. Before Lin Yu knew it, he was lugging three heavy bags and one shoe box up the stairs of a bus.
The bus’s engine was running. The candidates were all filing in, sheared heads and heavy canvas bags being stuffed into the seats. A recruit sat down next to him. It was the boy who’d been punched in the stomach. A tear rolled down his cheek.
“What’s going on?” he whispered. “Did you sign up for this? They just told me that this was a physical exam. I didn’t sign up for—”
“Shut up. You want to get us in trouble?” replied a voice from behind them. “Next time, read what you’re signing. They got a lot of recruits that way. The paper that you signed at the recruiting station was the only one that mattered. That commits you to a minimum of two years. If you don’t serve it out, you could face jail time.”
Lin Yu went white.
“What?” said the kid next to him. He began crying into his hands.
The bus door squeaked shut, and a sergeant yelled, “Alright, recruits, I hope none of you get motion sickness. We’ll be heading up into the mountains, and the road gets pretty bad. The last group puked all over the place. Okay, bus driver, let’s go.”
The bus left the parking lot, its silent passengers in shock, each contemplating their future.
13
Cheng Jinshan heard the keys rattling on the outside his prison door. A click. Then t
he door swung open. A young officer flanked by two guards walked into the large cell. Jinshan didn’t recognize the boy.
This must be it. The time had come. These weren’t the prison guards who had ensured his stay was comfortable. These were military police who were here to escort him to his trial.
“Please come with us, Mr. Jinshan.” The voice of a man who thought he was in charge.
“Of course.”
He saw handcuffs in one of their hands, so he stood and turned around, making it easy for them. They slapped on the cold metal cuffs and walked him out through the prison hallways. Admiral Song, also handcuffed, and another pair of guards fell in behind them. They were marched into the military jeeps and driven away.
He had been told to expect the trial and had made sure to wear his prison attire—a simple gray tunic and pants. He needed to look the part. The next twenty-four hours would be immensely important.
That imbecile Zhang was Jinshan’s last impediment. A strong showing today. A vote in front of the cameras. A speech to the people. They longed for a strong leader to get behind after a crisis. The Chinese people were like smoldering tinder. A gentle wind would ignite them.
Secretary Zhang looked out over the filled hall. A buzz hung thick in the air. The front row was still empty. The show hadn’t started yet. But the audience—hundreds of politicians and Politburo members—was seated, sharpening their knives, waiting for blood. Zhang could feel it. He had a strong political intuition. It was what had allowed him to rise all the way to his current position.
Zhang, already a Central Committee member, had been made acting secretary of the Central Committee for Discipline Inspection by President Wu shortly before Wu had been killed. Ironically, this was the exact position Cheng Jinshan had held until a few weeks ago. Now Zhang’s duty was to lead the corruption and treason investigation on Jinshan.
This was what President Wu had wanted, he told himself. Sure, there were calls to commute Jinshan’s sentence. To sweep the events of the past few months under the rug. It was embarrassing, some of the other Central Committee members had pointed out. And Jinshan was a powerful man. He had many friends in the military and intelligence world. Was it wise to anger him?
Zhang ignored this talk. This was the right thing to do. Rules were rules, and they must be followed. Especially by the men at the top.
Besides, Secretary Zhang was worried that Jinshan was still up to his old tricks. There was still the matter of the secret camp in Liaoning Province. It was supposedly filled with special operations personnel, training for something—what, he did not know.
The camp had been a part of Jinshan’s plans, Zhang knew. He knew it because Jinshan himself had told him when Zhang had gone to visit him in prison, trying to solve this mess. Jinshan had had the audacity to make a sloppy pitch to Zhang to join his cursed game.
Zhang had played coy, trying to fish for information. Feigning interest to see how deep the conspiracy went, hopeful that new information might uncover coconspirators who still needed purging. Zhang, like Jinshan, was a strategist, so he had asked Jinshan strategic questions about his plans to attack America. How would China overcome America’s military might, Zhang had asked Jinshan?
That was when Jinshan had told him about the camp. There were teams there, Jinshan had said. They were working on something very special. Zhang had asked for more details, and who else was involved. But Jinshan had seen through him. Jinshan had stopped wasting his breath, and Zhang had left the prison.
Jinshan’s last grip on power would end with this trial. Then Zhang would uncover the rest of the traitors and shut down any further unauthorized military operations. It enraged him that it had to come to this. That he—the most powerful politician in China now that Wu was dead—couldn’t fully control his country’s own military. Zhang would finish off Jinshan—publicly—and send a message to anyone else who dared go against the Communist Party of China.
On the stage with him were several other key members of China’s political and military leadership. The president’s memorial ceremony had been held three days ago. Zhang had spoken with many of them there. None of these men were keen on the idea of a public trial. That had been President Wu’s idea as well—at least, that was what Zhang presumed. It certainly hadn’t been his idea. But the wheels were already in motion. Let the people see what Jinshan had done.
Cheng Jinshan and Admiral Song would be punished. Swiftly and publicly. Everyone in China and on the world stage was watching this. China as a country must separate itself from the acts of war that Jinshan had orchestrated. The attacks in the Persian Gulf. The submarine attacks in the Eastern Pacific. Hundreds of men and women killed. Lies. Subterfuge. Treason.
An example must be made of Cheng Jinshan. Much of it would be shocking to the citizens of China. They had been fed watered-down versions of his transgressions. Not all of it would be made known here, if Zhang could help it. But enough that they knew what kind of creature they were dealing with.
Like many government-sponsored public events in China, great attention was paid to theatrics. The massive hall was more than three times the size of the American congress’s house chamber room. Members wore black suits with ties. A scarlet carpet adorned the floor. Giant Chinese flags surrounded a gold hammer and sickle behind the center of the stage.
The cameras were on. And although hundreds of people were present—most of them career politicians—the room had fallen eerily silent as the clock struck twelve. Everyone here knew Cheng Jinshan. He had been in charge of the Chinese president’s quest to eradicate the “tigers and flies”—the anticorruption campaign that Jinshan had actually been using to install his own loyalists.
But now the tables had turned. Zhang would admit it to no one, but he relished this moment. He would vanquish Jinshan. A thorn in his side for so many years. He had always tried to position himself close to President Wu, to the detriment of Zhang.
The large oak double doors at the entrance to the chamber opened. At least a dozen uniformed military police marched Cheng Jinshan and Admiral Song down the aisle. Small gasps from the audience. A few bitter looks. Hungry eyes. The two were marched to the front row and forced to sit in between armed military policemen. It looked humiliating. Zhang loved it.
“The Politburo Standing Committee will now hear the findings from the investigation into Cheng Jinshan and Admiral Song. Both have been accused of crimes against the state. They are here today facing charges of high treason and corruption.”
Zhang listened as one of the justice officials sitting on stage with him recited the crimes and dictated how the hearing would go. Several experts were called on to present findings. Normally this could take hours, but since they were on live TV, Zhang made sure that things moved along at a good pace. The audience gave their rapt attention to every word.
Finally came the part that everyone was waiting for. While a criminal trial could go on for weeks, Secretary Zhang felt that it would be in the country’s best interests if this matter was resolved with extreme haste. The other members of the Central Committee had agreed that Secretary Zhang would have full authority to hear the summary of evidence and provide his recommendation to the others on the judicial panel.
The judicial panel was the jury. But their vote was more lip service, as designed. Zhang would make the recommendation of guilt or innocence first, and then the jury would vote unanimously as he did. There would be no dissent. After the judicial panel voted the way Zhang recommended, he would then ratify the vote and announce a sentence. Jinshan and Admiral Song would spend the remainder of their lives behind prison walls.
But first, there were appearances to keep up.
Zhang looked down from his perch high up on the stage. “Mr. Jinshan, do you have anything to say in response to the evidence presented here today?”
“I do indeed, Secretary Zhang.”
Zhang frowned at the display of stubborn pride. But they were on live camera. Let the man get out what he had to say, and then g
et on with the rest of it.
“Proceed, Mr. Jinshan.”
“Today we have all heard evidence that I have conspired to increase our military readiness, to incite war, and to defend China from our enemies…”
“The United States is not our enemy, Mr. Jinshan,” said Secretary Zhang, annoyed.
“I disagree, Mr. Secretary. You ask if I have anything to say in response to my charges? I will tell you. I wholeheartedly embrace these accusations. I accept responsibility for my actions. And I suggest that the others here wake up to the threat that approaches.”
Zhang was about to say something else into his microphone when one of the other panelists interrupted him. “Please let Mr. Jinshan speak, Secretary Zhang.”
Surprised, Zhang frowned at the other panel member, but relented.
“China was once the mightiest empire on earth—and she will be again. But not under our current leadership.”
Zhang rolled his eyes and spoke into his microphone. “That’s enough. Shut off—”
There was something wrong.
He couldn’t hear his voice being amplified over the speakers.
Zhang tapped on his microphone but heard nothing. His microphone wasn’t working.
He jerked his head back to the side of the stage, where he knew the auditorium director was seated in case there were any technical problems. The auditorium director was there, sitting in front of his tablet computer, which controlled everything—the lighting, the stage curtains, and the microphones. But there was a woman standing over him. Zhang narrowed his eyes. He didn’t recognize her. She was very tall and would have been quite beautiful, if not for the scars. She was watching him closely. Zhang tapped on his microphone and gestured for them to fix it. But the auditorium director wasn’t making eye contact. And the woman just stared back at him, ignoring his plea for help, a defiant look on her face.
Jinshan continued to speak. “I suspect that I am here for a reason other than the well-being of our great country. I was in Secretary Zhang’s role not long ago—head of the Central Committee for Discipline Inspection. It was my job to root out corruption, and I did that well. Indeed, many of you are here today because of my efforts.”