Flags of Sin (12 page)

“Sorry,
I’m all thumbs at thirty thousand feet.”

“Don’t
worry about it,” said the Professor, bending down and picking up the phone.
Dawson took it, and palmed a piece of paper into the man’s hand, shaking it.

“Thanks
for the help.”

He
turned around and walked past a flight attendant, returning to coach. He sat
down beside Spock, and fastened his lap belt.

“Problem?”

Dawson
shook his head.

“I hope
not.”

Shaoshan, Hunan Province, China

November 14, 1934

Li Mei sat on her porch as column after column of soldiers marched
by the family farm, soldiers of the Kuomintang, or Chinese Nationalist Party,
who she prayed would simply walk on by, without realizing whose farm they
actually crossed.

For they
were the enemy. Yes, they were the army of the official government in this
area, but not of her grandson, Mao Zedong. He, the founder of the local
communist chapter, who had quickly risen to prominence, and for a short time,
successfully established the Hunan Soviet after leading the Autumn Harvest
Uprising in 1927. He who dared to defy the official leadership of the Chinese
Communist effort, his peasant army frowned upon by the urban leadership, some
brought in from the Soviet Union itself.

She knew
from his letters that Zedong opposed this. Though he valued the assistance of
the Soviet Union, he never wanted their leadership. The entire point of the
revolution was to remove foreign control of China, not to hand it over to
another. Mei knew the time of the emperors was over, but Zedong’s newfound
determination after his father’s death, and after learning the truth of his
heritage, had been remarkable. Within two years of learning the truth, he was
the leader of the local communist party, and now led an army numbering in the
thousands.

But
things weren’t going well, and she knew the army that marched past her farm was
in pursuit of a desperately retreating Red Army, which would include her
grandson.

She
didn’t worry, however, as she knew his destiny was to lead his country, and
destiny would not allow him to perish this day. She knew from his writings to
her that he was determined to lead the land of his ancestors, to claim his
rightful place as leader, and to forever remove any opposition to his family’s dynasty
over China.

Whether
his title was Emperor made no difference, though she would have preferred if it
were. To see the proud flag of the Qing Dynasty fly over Beijing once again,
under a leader worthy of its history, was a dream too much to ask for. But if
her grandson were to become leader, and call himself Emperor, Dictator, or
Chairman, she would care not. For he would have fulfilled his destiny, and she
would be able to finally die in peace, with the knowledge she had fulfilled her
word to her Emperor.

The door
creaked behind her. She looked over her shoulder, and at the darkness within.

“Grandmother.”

She
smiled as she recognized the voice. Pushing herself from her chair, she took
one final glance at the soldiers, then went inside. Her eyes quickly adjusted
and she held out her arms, hugging the rugged warrior that now stood before
her.

“Zedong,
my little one, what are you doing here?”

He
returned her hug, hard, then pushed her back gently, looking into her eyes.

“I have
come to say goodbye.”

She
wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you dare lose faith.”

He
smiled at her and laughed. “Grandmother, I shall never lose faith. Never have I
been closer to my goal, despite what might appear as setbacks. The leaders the
Soviet Union sent us are failing, and once they have shown their inability to
lead our glorious Chinese men and women, I shall be there, waiting in the
wings, to lead once again.

“But
today, we must leave this area. It will be a long, arduous journey, but
if—when—we escape the imperialist hordes, we will be able to reunite, stronger
than ever before, and once and for all unite our country under the flag of
communism, and with that, a single leader at its helm.”

“You.”

He
nodded, still holding her by the shoulders.

“Yes,
me.”

Mei took
him by the hand and led him to the fire, where she took a seat, and he knelt at
her feet.

“This
long march of yours, where will it take you?”

He shook
his head. “That, I’m not sure. For now, we must break the encirclement the
Kuomintang are attempting. Once free of that, we will need to try and put as
much distance as we can between them and us, and return to the North where we
are strongest. It could take a year or more.”

“You
will send word when you can?”

“Every
chance I can, but it may take a long time. Do not worry should you not hear
from me. You will hear
of
me, of that I have no doubt.”

Mei
beamed with pride. “I hear of you every day, and must be careful that I do not
burst from my clothes when my chest swells with the pride I feel at your
deeds.” She looked over her shoulder and out the window as the soldiers
continued to march by. “But you must go now. We tempt fate with you being here,
and your enemy so close.” She struggled to her feet, and Zedong assisted her
with a steadying arm.

She led
him to the back door, then hugged him hard. Staring into his eyes, she smiled.

“Do not
worry about me on your long march. For at the end, you shall find victory, and
I shall be here, waiting for word of your destiny fulfilled.”

Zedong
smiled, kissed her forehead, then stepped out the back door, closing it behind
him. She watched through the small window as he ran along a hedgerow, away from
the house and away from his enemy.

Be
strong on your long march, my little one, for your country cries out for its
rightful leader.

Hilton Beijing Hotel, Beijing, China

Today

“What do you think it means?”

Professor
James Acton lay on the bed, hands behind his neck, eyes closed, relaxing in the
buff after a long, hot shower that had succeeded in only removing
some
of the kinks from twenty hours on a plane. He raised his head and looked at his
fiancée. She was staring at the napkin that Burt Dawson, their Delta Force
“friend”, had palmed him on the airplane.

“Tomorrow,
fourteen-hundred,” she read. She looked up at him, her auburn hair spilling
over her bare, porcelain shoulders. “Obviously he wants to meet us this
afternoon at two p.m., but where?”

Acton
eyed the towel wrapped around her, tucked under her armpits, and pictured the
wonderland it concealed. Something stirred and she stared at it, then him.

“Are you
kidding me? Haven’t you had enough?”

He
shrugged his shoulders.

“Apparently
I’m insatiable in China.”

“My
recollection has you insatiable in pretty much every country we’ve been in.”

“Except
the Vatican!”

His
defense was weak.

“Not for
a lack of trying.”

He
pushed himself up on his elbows. “Hey, I seem to remember it was
you
who
was pushing that secret agenda, not me.”

She gave
him half a grin and a wink.

“Seems
your memory is better than I assumed.” She waved the napkin at him. “So, where?
It’s a plain Delta Airlines napkin, no address or anything, so
it
can’t
be a clue.”

“Here, I
guess. He asked where we were staying, so that’s the only thing that makes
sense.”

She
nodded and put the napkin on the nightstand, then pulled off her towel, turning
around to grab some clothes from her suitcase. Acton eyed her backside, then
reached over and pulled her into the bed. She yelped as she fell backward, then
moaned as he rolled on top of her and kissed her hard.

“Batter
up?” she asked as she tilted her head back, exposing her neck.

“I don’t
know, is baseball popular in China?”

He continued
to shower her with kisses as he worked toward her breasts.

“Chopstick
up?”

He
stopped and looked at her.

“I think
I was just insulted.”

She
shoved against his shoulder, spinning him on his back, then straddled him
before he realized what was happening. Sometimes he forgot that their special
forces training they were receiving had benefits off the battlefield as well.

He
groaned as she bit his neck.

“I’m
sorry, Dear, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she cooed, kissing his
chest. “Let me make it up to you.”

Acton
tossed his head back and sighed, looking over at the clock.

Burt
Dawson, you better not be early.

Shaoshan, Hunan Province, China

May 17, 1935

Li Mei eyed the peasant walking up her path. It wasn’t unusual for
beggars to ask for food or drink, or for work to earn their victuals. She
preferred those. There was constantly work to do in the fields, and those who
came, offering their services in exchange for food and shelter were always
welcome for as long as they desired to stay. But those who outright asked for
food or water, in exchange for nothing, were provided with provisions, then
sent on, with a firm suggestion they not return in the morn.

But this
one seemed odd. This one had pride. This one seemed to not be a peasant at all,
and when he stopped at the steps leading to the porch and bowed, she saw a
little bundle tied to his back, and gasped.

“What
have we here?” she exclaimed, leaning forward in her chair. The man rose, the
bundle on his back disappearing.

“Do I
have the honor of addressing Mao Mei, grandmother to the great Mao Zedong?”

Her eyes
widened slightly.

“You
do.”

The man
breathed a sigh of relief.

“Grandmother,
I bring you both sad and glad tidings. I regret to inform you that your grandson,
Zetan, was captured while defending the withdrawal of our forces, including
your grandson Zedong. He died honorably, executed by the Kuomintang forces,
revealing nothing to them.”

Mei’s
chest was tight. Another grandson dead. Her son Shun-sheng and his wife had had
seven children. Two of their sons, and both their daughters,
had died young, a pain that had still not gone away to this day. They had an
adopted daughter, Zejian, who had been executed by the Kuomintang
six years ago, the word reaching them two years later. And now Zetan was dead
at their hands as well. Three sons, two daughters, and an adopted daughter, all
gone before their time. It left only Zemin and Zedong. She closed her eyes and
said a silent prayer for her grandchildren, especially Zemin, for she felt deep
in her heart that her Emperor was watching over Zedong, and her prayers were
unnecessary.

She
motioned toward the man’s back.

“What
have you there?”

The man
smiled. “I said I brought you good news as well. Your grandson, Zedong, is safe,
and sends his respects. And he also sends you his son, Anhong, who has just
turned three, for safekeeping.”

She
motioned at him impatiently.

“Well,
release the poor child, let me see him!”

The man
bowed, and removed the straps from around his shoulders, gently lowering the
boy to the worn wood of the porch. He carefully unwrapped the bundle, then
handed him to his great-grandmother.

She
smiled and held the boy up in front of her, inspecting him in every way, as he
inspected her with wide, curious eyes. They looked at each other and she made a
face that elicited a giggle. She rested him on her knee then looked at the man
who had brought her great-grandson all this way.

“And who
are you?”

“I am an
officer in your grandson Zetan’s unit. When he was captured, I knew he would
want the boy brought to you. His father, Zedong, was too far away, and too
close to the front lines to risk keeping the boy.”

Mei
nodded.

“You did
the right thing by bringing him here.” She stood up, placing the boy on his
feet beside her. “Now, you must come inside and rest after your long journey,
and tell me of my grandsons.”

“It will
be my honor, grandmother, to tell you all I know.”

She led
the two newcomers inside, her aged but spry mind wondering if this was a sign
from her long passed emperor. A second chance, should something go wrong.

She
vowed to raise the boy, from that point on, in secret, until she could be
certain he would be safe from Zedong’s enemies. How long that would be, she had
no idea. But with the Japanese harassing her country, and all-out war
threatened, she feared it could be decades before they would all be safe.

Watch
over us, my Emperor, for your enemies still abound.

Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

Today

Professor James Acton smiled at the camera, staring not at the lens,
but at the woman he loved, Professor Laura Palmer. They had been engaged now
for less than a month, and after unwinding at his house for a few days
following the horrific events at the Vatican, Laura had announced they should
get away from it all.

And with
her nearly unlimited source of funds from her late brother’s hi-tech legacy,
first class tickets to China were purchased, and as soon as their class
schedules permitted it, they were here.

He had been
to China twice before, both times on archaeological visits, and those visits
had been fairly tightly controlled, so he had never had time to actually play
tourist in one of the oldest cultures in the world. Everywhere he looked were
thousand year old structures, traditionally clothed residents going about a
daily routine that could have fit into a completely different era without
question.