Empire Rising (10 page)

An officer wearing a dark blue uniform stepped from the passenger side while the driver remained inside, eyeing the group of young men suspiciously. The officer standing outside the vehicle asked a question. Several of the young men offered short answers while others shook their heads. The officer repeated the same question, met again with negative responses. The alley fell silent as he scanned the faces of the twelve teenagers, eventually directing his gaze up and down each side of the hutong. His eyes stopped moving as they focused on the darkness where Christine was hiding, his eyes probing, staring directly at her.

Christine's grip on her pistol tightened, wondering if the officer had spotted her. As his eyes probed the darkness where she stood, her pulse raced.

The officer's gaze shifted back to the young men and he shouted a command, waving down the hutong in the direction Christine had come. The young men offered curt responses, then turned and shuffled down the hutong toward Qianmen Street. As the teenagers trudged off into the distance, the officer slipped back into the sedan. A moment later, the flashing lights atop the police car went dark and the vehicle did a slow U-turn, then sped down the street in the direction it had come.

Christine let out a deep breath. A minute after the sedan disappeared from view, she stepped from the shadows, moving down the desolate street in the same direction the sedan had headed. The hutong continued curving to the right and pedestrians began to appear along the sidewalks, the establishments lining the street growing brighter and louder.

As Christine hurried down the street, she had no idea how to determine when she had reached her destination. As she scanned both sides of the road, she spotted a black BMW 7 series sedan with tinted windows moving slowly toward her, the angel-eye headlamps illuminating the sidewalks.

Christine scanned the storefronts nearby, searching for a place she could slip inside to avoid detection. Up ahead, she spotted a red and blue neon sign marking the Matrix Game Parlor, occupying the ground floor of a six-story building faced with white and orange tiles. But it was a hundred feet away and the sedan was closing fast. Increasing her pace as quickly as possible, she traversed the hundred feet, slipping into the Matrix as the sedan's headlights illuminated her profile.

Pausing near the entrance, she scanned her surroundings. The Matrix was a maze of arcade games and computer terminals, packed with teenagers clustered around game consoles, laughing and yelling over arcade game explosions and synthesized music. Smoking in public establishments in China was illegal, yet almost everyone was smoking. A multicolor haze drifted upward, illuminated by flickering arcade screens and strobe lights swiveling from the ceiling. Christine turned and peered out the entrance at the passing sedan, just in time to see it coast to a halt. A second later, the driver and passenger doors opened and two men in black suits stepped from the vehicle.

Christine pushed her way through the throng of teenagers, pausing at the end of the first aisle of arcade games, turning back toward the entrance just in time to spot the two men entering. Christine turned and ran deeper into the Matrix, searching for a back exit, bumping into boisterous teens as she weaved between the arcade aisles. Finally, Christine spotted what she was looking for: at the back of the parlor, above a metal door, was the Chinese symbol for
Exit
.

She hit the exit door's metal release bar at a full sprint. It flung open and Christine stumbled into a dark alley lined with overflowing garbage cans. The only light came from the pale moon reflecting off dank, brick walls rising high above her. The alley curved in both directions, each end disappearing into the darkness. She decided to head left, continuing in the direction she'd been headed before entering the parlor.

Christine took off at a brisk run, the exit door disappearing in the darkness. Behind her, the door opened again, the sound of the metal door slamming against the brick wall echoing down the alley. She pulled to a halt and removed her shoes—she could run only so fast in heels, plus the sound clattering down the alley would be a dead giveaway. With her shoes in one hand and the pistol in the other, she sprinted down the dimly lit alley. To her dismay, the alley began to narrow. A hundred feet later, it was barely four feet wide. It continued to shrink and her shoulders began to brush against both walls.

Christine pushed on, gulping the cool night air as footsteps raced down the alley after her. The alley narrowed to barely two feet wide, forcing her to angle sideways until she burst into a large courtyard. She paused for a second, assessing her new surroundings. In the center of the square courtyard, lit by a small yellow lantern, was a garden encircling a six-foot-tall stone statue of a Mah
ā
y
ā
na Buddha. Along the perimeter of the courtyard were four exits—one on each side of the square. As she tried to determine which exit to take, a hand clasped around her mouth and an arm wrapped around her waist.

A man whispered in her ear as he dragged her toward the perimeter of the courtyard, deeper into the darkness. “I am here to help you. Do not resist.”

Christine decided it was wise to do as she was told.

As she melted into the darkness, two men rushed into the courtyard—the same men who had entered the arcade. She was fairly certain they were Cadre Department bodyguards, who would either kill her on sight or return her to the Great Hall.

She'd take her chances with the man holding her.

Christine felt his grip tighten as the two men scoured the courtyard, their eyes sweeping past the darkness where they stood. There was a quick exchange between the two men and then they split up, one heading out the exit to Christine's left, the other departing via the opening on the opposite end of the courtyard.

As the two men disappeared from view, the man's grip loosened and he whispered in Christine's ear. “As I said, I am here to help you, Miss O'Connor. Do you understand?” Christine nodded slowly and she was released. She turned toward her abductor, his silhouette barely visible in the darkness. “Follow me,” he said, stepping back toward the alley she had emerged from.

Christine followed behind as he entered the narrow alley. He was maybe five-feet, eight-inches tall, with a wiry build; Chinese. She followed him only a few hundred feet before he disappeared. Christine slowed, approaching the spot where he had vanished, when a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into a small side alley four feet wide. The man retained a grip on her arm as they worked their way slowly up the dank alley, eventually slowing to a halt. A moment later, a vertical seam of light appeared as a door opened. The man stepped inside, dragging Christine into the light.

 

13

BAISHAWAN BEACH, TAIWAN

Under a cloudless night sky, Jiang Qui gripped his assault rifle with both hands as he stood shoulder to shoulder in the cramped amphibious landing craft. The ocean spray, whipped over the front of the vessel by blustery winds, rained down on him and the other men in his platoon, soaking their dark green uniforms. Jiang heard a dull roar overhead and looked up. Fighter jets streaked toward shore, their white-hot afterburners illuminating the darkness; bright red plumes leapt from the jets toward their targets. Over the edge of the landing craft ramp, the black sky pulsed with orange glows, and muffled explosions grew louder and clearer with each passing minute.

Time crept slowly as the landing craft sped toward shore. As Jiang waited for the vessel to grind to a halt on the sandy beach, he thought about the dilemma he faced a year ago and the decision that had changed his life. Before joining the People's Liberation Army, he had spent his entire eighteen years in a small village nestled below terraced rice paddies in the foothills of the Xuefeng Mountains, working his father's farm. He had never held a rifle, never been at sea.

After turning eighteen, he had asked for Xiulan's hand in marriage. Her father, wanting more for his daughter than a meager life toiling farmland, had refused. Only a man of sufficient station would be allowed to marry beautiful Xiulan, a stature Jiang could never hope to attain. Desperate, Jiang latched on to a brilliant plan. He would join the People's Liberation Army, and with enough commendations, gain entrance to the Party. With Party membership came an urban registration permit. He would bring Xiulan to the city with him, away from the hardship of life in rural China.

Xiulan's father agreed it was a good plan and gave Jiang three years. As Jiang prepared to enlist, he talked his best friend Feng into joining him on his adventure. Feng had accompanied him each step of the journey and was even now standing next to him in the landing craft. Up to this point, Jiang's decision to join the PLA had been a wise one. Even as a Lie Bing, the most junior private in the PLA, he made twice what his family made working their small farm. He sent his money home each month, less a modest allowance for personal items and one night out each month with Feng and the other men in his platoon.

The landing craft began to rock between the ocean swells, peaking as they approached the shore. The tension combined with the pitching seas was too much for Feng. Bending forward, he retched noisily, his vomit splattering against the steel ramp. Jiang steadied Feng with a firm grip on his arm as the landing craft crested another swell, tilting forward and picking up speed as it rode the wave toward shore.

The amphibious landing craft ground to a halt and the ramp fell away, plunging into the dark water. Jiang was supposed to charge ashore immediately—it had been drilled into every soldier on the landing craft. Each second wasted before reaching the cover of the shoreline was a second in the open, exposed to strafing gunfire. But Jiang stood there instead, taking it all in.

Dark cliffs rising from the shore were illuminated in fiery red explosions. Missiles overhead streaked inland toward their targets while hundreds of red tracer trails streamed out from the shoreline, sweeping across the ocean. One of the red trails cut across his landing craft, and Jiang heard high-pitched zings accompanied by soft thuds. The side of his face was splattered with warm liquid. Feng lurched against him, crumpling to the deck a second later. A quick glance down told Jiang his best friend was dead.

The explosions along the shore provided enough light to see the fear illuminated in the faces of the men alongside him; to observe the Second Lieutenant in charge of Jiang's platoon screaming at them. Jiang couldn't hear his Lieutenant over the deafening explosions rocking the coast, the waves breaking upon the beach, and the bullets churning the water around them, but the sight of the officer pointing toward shore spurred him into action.

Jiang lifted his rifle above his head to protect it from the water, and after taking a deep, shaky breath, he leapt into the madness.

 

14

WASHINGTON, D.C.

In the basement of the West Wing, the air was cold and the tension thick as Captain Steve Brackman preceded the president into the Situation Room. Seated on one side of the polished mahogany conference table was Secretary of Defense Nelson Jennings, followed by three members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff—the chairman and two of the four service chiefs. On the opposite side of the table were Vice President Bob Tompkins, chief of staff Kevin Hardison, and Secretary of State Lindsay Ross. As the president took his seat at the head of the conference table, Brackman slid into the last seat.

The situation couldn't have been worse. Four hours ago, Chinese missiles had swarmed Taiwan, destroying defense batteries along the coast and military command centers inland. An hour later, the first Chinese troops began landing on the shore of Taiwan. The United States had well-formulated war plans to defend Taiwan, but it would take time to generate the forces required to repel the Chinese invasion. Time they might not have. The speed and ferocity of the Chinese assault were startling.

“What's the status?” the president asked, looking toward his secretary of defense.

Jennings answered, “China has landed two army groups along the western shore of Taiwan, pushing inland from six beachheads. Taiwan's navy and air force have been destroyed, along with the bulk of their anti-air batteries, so China has uncontested control of the sky. With the PLA Air Force providing ground support, the outcome is inevitable unless we intervene.”

“How long do we have?”

“Our best estimate is the last Republic of China pocket will collapse in ten days. We'll have to land Marines or cut off the Chinese supply lines from the mainland before then.”

“What's our obligation to intervene? Are we committed or do we have a choice?”

“Technically, we have a choice, Mr. President. Under the former Sino-U.S. Mutual Defense Treaty, we were obligated to defend Taiwan from Chinese aggression. But when we recognized the People's Republic of China in 1979 and terminated formal relations with Taiwan, the Mutual Defense Treaty was replaced with the Taiwan Relations Act. The wording is purposefully ambiguous as to what our obligations are, but Congress's intent, as well as the position of every administration up to ours, has been clear. The United States will defend Taiwan.

“However, not only has China invaded Taiwan, it appears they have also attacked the United States. We had three fast attack submarines stationed off the Chinese coast, monitoring each of the PLA Navy's three fleets, and all three of our submarines have likely been sunk. Our SOSUS arrays detected three underwater explosions off the coast where our submarines were stationed, and all three fast attacks have failed to report in.”

The president's eyes clouded in anger. “How do we respond?”

Jennings answered, “I'd like to refer your question to the chairman, who will outline the current status of the Chinese offensive, then to General Williams and Admiral Healey, who will detail our response.”

After a nod from the president, four-star Army General Mark Hodson, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, seated next to SecDef Jennings, picked up a remote control on the conference table, energizing an eight-by-ten-foot monitor on the far wall, displaying a map of Taiwan overlaid with red and blue icons. “China has committed two army groups, represented by the red squares with Xs through them, to the invasion of Taiwan, landing over one hundred thousand men so far. Opposing them, represented by blue icons, are seventy thousand ROC combat troops. Chinese forces have made substantial progress, completely encircling Taipei City, with China controlling fifteen percent of Taiwan as of 10
A.M.
this morning.” Red borders appeared on the screen, outlining the progress of China's invasion.