Flags of Sin (14 page)

Acton
patted him on the shoulder. “Your English is just fine,” he said, smiling.

The
young man nodded with a grin, then pointed.

“Look!”

Acton’s
eyes followed where the soldier was pointing, and he could see an armored
vehicle racing down the street south of their position, between the square and
the tomb. Suddenly the hood blew off and steam billowed from the now exposed
engine. The vehicle careened to a halt as a platoon of soldiers jumped out,
racing toward the second shooter’s position, pouring fire on the roof. Acton
and the soldier jumped up and began firing on the van across the square. Their
shots were true, as dark gray pockmarks appeared in the white van’s paint job.

Suddenly
the door to the van slammed shut, and it sped away. Acton rushed toward the
rear SUV as the Chinese platoon continued to advance, and much to Acton’s
relief, were joined by several more vehicles filled with soldiers. He slammed
into the side of the SUV, along with his companion.

“Are you
okay?” asked Acton.

“Yeah.
Who the hell are you?”

“Just a
tourist.”

“Buddy,
you can travel with me any day.”

Acton
chuckled. “Let’s check on your limo.”

The
three of them rushed forward, their eyes fixed on the roof of the building they
hoped contained the only remaining shooter, and reached the side of the limo.
The rear passenger side window was down.

“Anybody
alive in there?” yelled the agent.

There
was silence.

“We’re
American!” yelled Acton. “Are you okay?”

“Yes!
Yes! Jesus Christ, yes!” yelled a voice, shaking but sounding relieved.

“Is that
you, Mr. Redford?”

“Yes.”

“This is
Special Agent Danson. Is the Ambassador okay?”

There
was a pause and Danson was about to repeat the question when the terrified
voice inside finally replied. “N-no, he’s—he’s gone!”

Danson’s
eyes narrowed. “Gone? As in dead?”

“No,
gone as in they took him!”

Danson
frowned. “Okay, sit tight. You’re safe where you are. Once the situation is
secure, we’ll get you out of there. What about the driver and agent—”

“Dead!”
The voice was almost a scream.

“Okay,
keep it together, Mr. Redford. It’s almost over. The gunfire you hear is
Chinese soldiers getting the last of the gunmen.” As he said the words the
gunfire stopped. Acton looked up from the side of the car toward the roof
across the street, and saw several Chinese soldiers waving to their comrades
below.

Their
companion yelled at a new batch of soldiers, who came running toward their
position, guns raised, and within seconds Acton and Special Agent Danson were
surrounded by at least a dozen men, their weapons dangerously close. The
soldier with Acton waved them down, rapid firing something in Chinese, and
Acton swore he would learn the language the first chance he got.

Weapons
lowered, Acton flashed as friendly a smile as he could as he placed his own
weapon to the ground, Danson doing the same.

“I tell
them you help me.” The words were slow, halting; the accent thick. Acton held
out his hand to his new friend.

“James
Acton. Call me ‘James’.”

The man
smiled. “Tau Jié.”

The
weapons at their feet were retrieved and the soldiers took up covering
positions as Acton began to breathe a bit easier.

“James!”

Acton
looked toward the unmistakable voice and his heart leapt into his throat as
several weapons were pointed at the approaching Laura.

“She’s
with me,” said Acton quickly, and his new friend Tau said something to his
fellow soldiers that calmed them.

Somebody
yelled from their former hiding place, and Acton looked over to find several
guns pointed at their medic. Tau immediately ran over, yelling, and the weapons
were lowered.

Laura
reached the limo and threw her arms around Acton. “Thank God you’re okay!” she
exclaimed, then, pushing him away, admonished, “What in blazes were you
thinking?”

Acton
pulled her back into his arms, holding her tight, his chin resting on the top
of her head.

“I have
no idea.”

Gate of Eternal Peace, The Forbidden City, Beijing, China

October 1, 1949

Li Mei sat, hands clasped in her lap, smiling, her chest swelling
with pride. The voice booming from the tiny radio at her side, the distinct,
thick, Hunan accent of her grandson boldly proclaiming to a crowd of nearly one
million, to a nation of seven hundred million, and to a world that would
eventually tremble at the feet of her glorious nation, that China was back. No
longer subjugated by the imperial powers of Europe, Japan, Russia or America.

The
Chinese people have stood up.

“The
Chinese people have rich experience in overcoming difficulties. If our
forefathers, and we also, could weather long years of extreme difficulty and
defeat powerful domestic and foreign reactionaries, why can't we now, after
victory, build a prosperous and flourishing country? As long as we keep to our
style of plain living and hard struggle, as long as we stand united and as long
as we persist in the people's democratic dictatorship and unite with our
foreign friends, we shall be able to win speedy victory on the economic front.”

She
smiled. Though uneducated, even she understood the irony of a democratic
dictatorship. But only she knew the truth of what had really happened. Though
China now had a new flag, five stars on a sea of red, its true flag, its secret
flag, remained gold, with a blue dragon.

For
today, the Emperor’s grandson had taken his rightful place on the throne.

“An
upsurge in economic construction is bound to be followed by an upsurge of
construction in the cultural sphere. The era in which the Chinese people were
regarded as uncivilized is now ended. We shall emerge in the world as a nation
with an advanced culture.”

She
could feel herself grow tired. It had been a heady day. She had been whisked
from her farm several days ago by government troops, and brought to this room
near the Forbidden City, and left to wait, with no word as to why she had been
brought here, or by whom.

But the
view from her small room filled her with conflicting emotions. The memories of
her childhood in the Forbidden City, that fateful day when they had been
betrayed, the promise made, the promise finally kept. A lifelong mission was
over, a mission she had thought impossible to fulfill at one time, but for the
single-mindedness of a grandson she never thought had it in him.

She
closed her eyes as she listened to his voice, hollowed out by the poor quality
of the speaker in her radio, but nevertheless, distinctly his. And with each
pause, the shouts of a million voices, their fists raised in joy, their hands
pumping the air with the knowledge that once again they were led by one man,
one dictator, one Emperor, who would ensure they remained on the right path, a
path to greatness.

“Our
national defense will be consolidated and no imperialists will ever again be
allowed to invade our land. Our people's armed forces must be maintained and
developed with the heroic and steeled People's Liberation Army as the
foundation. We will have not only a powerful army but also a powerful air force
and a powerful navy.”

China
had been invaded far too often for a country with history that extended beyond
what most of their conquerors could claim. It had lost its way, but once it had
rebuilt, even if it took a century, the world would tremble in fear, for the
dragon had reawakened, freed from the boot of imperialist oppression, and eager
to reclaim its rightful place of dominance in the world.

One
quarter of the world’s population was no longer willing to be ignored.

“Let
the domestic and foreign reactionaries tremble before us! Let them say we are
no good at this and no good at that. By our own indomitable efforts we the
Chinese people will unswervingly reach our goal. The heroes of the people who
laid down their lives in the People's War of Liberation and the people's
revolution shall live forever in our memory!”

She
thought of her grandsons, Zetan, tortured and murdered by the Kuomintang, then
his brother, Zemin, killed five years ago by a warlord for supporting the
Communist cause. And her adopted granddaughter, Zejian, the first to be
murdered for the cause by the Kuomintang.

And she
thought of her Emperor. Murdered almost seventy-five years ago.

“Hail
the victory of the People's War of Liberation and the people's revolution! Hail
the founding of the People's Republic of China! Hail the triumph of the Chinese
People's Political Consultative Conference!”

 The
roar of the crowd turned the radio transmission into static, and she turned it
off, the crowd’s jubilation rolling in through the open window. It lasted it
seemed an eternity, and she soon dozed off, only to be awoken by the sound of a
door opening. She raised her head off her shoulder, and straightened her dress
before looking to see who had entered.

She
smiled and tried to get up, her old legs failing her from having sat so long.

But she
needn’t bother. Zedong, a smile spread across his face, closed the door and
quickly strode to her chair, then dropped to his knees, taking her hands in
his.

“Grandmother!”

She
squeezed his hands, her smile beaming as tears filled her eyes.

“Did you
hear my speech?”

She
nodded.

“You made
this old woman very proud.”

He
flushed slightly, and looked at the floor separating them, then back at her.

“Victory
has come at a heavy price.”

She
nodded. “Indeed it has, but victory can be fleeting. Do not rest now, thinking
your victory is permanent, founded in a base of solid concrete. You have merely
poured the mixture of stone and water, and it has yet to set. Now more than
ever you must do whatever it takes to protect your foundation while it
solidifies, otherwise you may quickly find your enemies attacking that
foundation while it remains weak in its infancy. Consolidate your power now,
eliminate your enemies, and your foundation will have time to strengthen, and
eventually, be built upon.”

Zedong
shook his head slightly from side to side. “Grandmother, you are the wisest
person I know. You understand me so well, and you understand what is necessary
so well. I will not rest until my enemies are eliminated, and my family’s
legacy is restored.” He raised his hands, still holding hers, to his lips. “I
swear to you, to father, and to my grandfather, that China will be great again,
and our family will be great again.”

Mei
smiled, freeing a hand and patting his cheek.

“I saw
the gold in the flag, and I was pleased.”

He
smiled. “It is subtle, and its significance certainly missed to all but you and
I.”

She took
a deep breath, and shivered, the cold October air making its presence known.
Zedong immediately rose and closed the windows, returning with a blanket.

“You may
stay here as long as you wish, Grandmother. I will visit you every day, if I
can.”

“No,”
she replied, shaking her head. “Return me to my farm. My work is done, and it
is time for this old woman to find peace at last.”

Zedong
frowned. “It saddens my heart to hear you talk like that, Grandmother. You have
many good years left in you.”

Mei
laughed.

“Oh, my
little one, you have no idea how old these bones are, and even less idea how
old they feel. I am ready to move on, and rejoin my Emperor, your grandfather, and
your father, in the afterlife, and watch our creation blossom under your
guidance, with my fallen children and grandchildren at my side.”

A single
tear rolled down Zedong’s cheek, and she wiped it away tenderly. He buried his
face in her chest, and sobbed as she hadn’t seen him do since he was a little
boy.

And she
hugged him, as hard as she had hugged his father the day she had saved him from
his enemies.

“It will
be okay, little one.”

Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

Today

“What is your business in China?”

“Pleasure,”
repeated James Acton for at least the fifth time. He realized he was being
interrogated, and repetition was merely a technique, but this was getting
ridiculous. He was tired, he was sore, and he was fed up. He had tried to save
lives, and in fact was pretty sure he had saved some, and now he was being
treated like a criminal.

“So you
claim to be a tourist.”

“I don’t
claim
to be anything, officer, I
am
a tourist.”

The man
frowned. “You may address me as Inspector Li.” He shook his notepad at him. “I
suggest you cooperate. This is not America. We do not tolerate ignorance or
belligerence here.”

Acton’s
heart pounded a little harder. In his encounters with authorities lately, he
had usually been in countries where he could at least count on the system
generally being on his side.

Except
for that bit in Iran. And half the Middle East.

And
that’s what he had to keep in mind. This was
Communist
China. This was
not a friendly country. By all outward appearances they tried to look friendly
and welcoming, but behind the scenes, it was graft and corruption, ruthlessness
in the face of crime, and right now, he had been involved in a horrific crime.

As far
as he could tell, it was the United States Ambassador to China’s motorcade that
had been ambushed. Four in the lead vehicle were dead, two in the limousine,
and three in the rear. As well, a large number of Chinese police were dead,
along with a handful of bystanders.