by Greg Ripley
President Powers was not at all pleased by Rooney’s ridiculous behavior, but she was relieved to know that—by all appearances—Rohini and Jane were still alive. She’d spoken to Rohini’s father the day of the attack and assured him they would do everything they could to find her once it became known that she was not among the dead or injured at the Lincoln Memorial. Her white blazer, and that of the Chinese Ambassador, Guangming, had been found near the scene but there were no remains so they had every reason to believe they were still alive. Once Rooney had come to her with the CCTV footage, that had been confirmed. After reading the riot act to FBI Director Marshall, she’d taken a few minutes to let Rohini’s father know about this new information. She assured him that if Rohini was with Jane, she would be in good hands.
* * *
Near Lanzhou
Gansu Province, China
“Burt, what’s the good word?” Jane said into the Gulfstream’s satellite phone as they neared Lanzhou.
“‘Good word’ is an understatement, in this case. You guys are completely in the clear.”
“What? That’s great. Did they find the mole or something?”
“Not exactly, they still haven’t tied any insiders to the attack—but I’ll tell you about that in a minute. You’ll never believe what that jackass Rooney did.”
“I’m all ears.”
“So, Rooney spotted you on the CCTV feeds—like you thought would happen—and got a bee in his bonnet. He was so excited about it that he took it straight to the president, which—it turns out—was the best thing he possibly could have done to help you guys out. President Powers knew you two had nothing to do with the bombing and let him know—in no uncertain terms—that he was to stop pursuing you as suspects immediately.”
“Oh, that’s great, Burt.”
“Wait, you haven’t heard the best part yet. Rooney—being the overzealous fool that he is—then proceeds to argue with President Powers,” Burt said.
“Seriously?”
“I know, a real genius move, right? Anyway, after he leaves, she called Director Marshall and now Rooney is not only off the case, but is headed for Siberia.”
“Oh, no. Really? He sent Rooney to North Dakota? I guess that’s the last we’ll hear of that pompous horse’s ass. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
“So, when are you guys coming in? The president wants you to go directly to her.”
“Well, as great as that news is, we are way off the grid. It would be at least a couple days before we could get back anyways. Now that I know we can, I’ll give President Powers a call, but we’ve got something we need to do before we can come in. We’re actually on a bit of a pilgrimage of sorts. I think we need to see it through before we can come home.”
“That’s a bit cryptic. Mind filling me in? It sounds like you decided to walk the Camino de Santiago or something.”
“Burt, buddy, there’s actually quite a bit more going on here than you realize. Hell, there’s more going on than anyone on Earth realizes. I promise I’ll buy you a drink and fill you in when we get back, but for now just know we’re safe and we hope to see you soon. We shouldn’t be more than a week or two. Then again, the place we’re headed might be a good place to lay low until the Elders return. We’ll know more when we get there.”
“This story sounds like it might take several rounds. But, I don’t understand. Now that you’ve been cleared, shouldn’t you just come in?” Burt said.
“You’re probably right—but, like I said—it’s a long story. Anyway, I’ll feel more comfortable coming in after they’re able to find the security breach. Whoever was responsible for getting the SOC that kind of access is in deep. I still can’t believe they were able to pull this off.”
“Fair enough. Well, take care of yourselves out there and keep in touch when you’re able.”
“Will do. And don’t worry, we’re definitely not roughing it out here,” Jane said, smiling at her fellow Gulfstream passengers. “At least not yet.”
Lanzhou was the final leg of their seemingly endless flight. From here they’d originally planned to take a train straight to Jinchang and then travel on to Zhangye, where they would head into the Qilian Mountains. Now that they felt a little less harried, as they were no longer considered suspects in the bombing, Jimmie thought they should take things a little slower, why not enjoy themselves and take in a few sights on the way?
Guangming suggested they go see the Baiyunguan, the White Cloud Temple in Lanzhou. While not as famous as its namesake in Beijing, the Baiyunguan in Lanzhou was the headquarters for the Daoist Association of Gansu. Jane and Rohini were game, having never been to China before, and Jimmie was always game for anything. So, after landing, they arranged for a driver to take them to the temple.
Situated on the eastern bank of the Leitan River where it meets the Yellow River, the temple was constructed in honor of Lu Dongbin, the most famous of the legendary Eight Immortals of Daoism. Though Daoist history was full of a myriad of Immortals, the Eight Immortals and Patriarch Lu, as he was also known, were the most famous. They learned all this from Guangming, their tour guide extraordinaire, whose knowledge of Daoist lore and Chinese history even impressed Jimmie.
“Does he have to be called Patriarch Lu?” Rohini asked. “That just rubs me wrong,” she said grinning at Jane.
“Well, no actually. That was a more common translation of the term in the past. He can just as easily be called Ancestor Lu.” Guangming said, smiling. “I see your point.”
When their car pulled up to the curb to drop them off at the White Cloud Temple, they failed to notice the other car that had been trailing them from the airport. Jane was the only one who was giving much thought to security, or situational awareness, but she had failed to spot their tail. It was a harder skill to practice as a passenger. Had she been driving she might have noticed the car in her rearview mirrors.
Exiting the car and crossing the sidewalk, they walked past the pagoda-shaped incense burner in front of the temple and up the front steps. What an imposing structure, Rohini thought, the entry was perhaps fifty feet tall and made of gray stone, punctuated by three tall archways that led inside. Above the central arch a large plaque of golden Chinese characters on a blue background read Bai yun guan, right to left, in the ancient style. The archways held red lacquered wooden doorframes, the bottom of which were quite high off the ground—about a foot—requiring Rohini and her companions to step over them to enter the temple courtyard.
Much of the bright red paint was worn off the wood where countless shoes had scuffed them stepping into the temple. “It is a folk tradition meant to stop ghosts,” Guangming explained. “It’s a traditional belief that ghosts have no knees and are unable to step over things like this, so it keeps them out of the building.” As they entered the temple and began to stroll around the grounds, Guangming continued his tale.
“One story goes that the Eight Immortals were once on their way to attend the birthday celebrations of Xi Wangmu, the Queen Mother of the West at Mt. Kunlun. During the festivities, there was a great banquet where they would get to partake of the magical peaches which bestow Immortality. On their way they encountered an ocean which they had to cross. Patriarch Lu suggested that they should each use their own unique magical powers to get across, which they did. A Chinese proverb evolved from this story, ‘Ba xian guo hai, ge xian shen tong,’ ‘The Eight Immortals cross the sea, each revealing their divine power.’ This has come to mean that we all have our own unique contributions to make.”
“There are only four of us, but I can see that saying applying to us,” Rohini said. “We’ve all got unique backgrounds.”
“It actually is more appropriate than you realize,” Guangming said. “Shentong, or divine power, refers to the abilities Immortals develop through meditation, such as telepathy or the opening of the divine eye, the same sorts of powers that the Elders appear to possess
.”
“The Eight Immortals each had their own special skills and powers they were associated with and they each came from very different backgrounds; male and female, rich and poor, young and old. This, I think, is meant to demonstrate that the possibility of enlightenment or immortality is open to all.”
“In the stories of the Eight Immortals, they all exhibit quite different personalities and have different symbols they are associated with. They each had a different magical tool or object which they could infuse with their spiritual power.”
“Like a magic wand?” Rohini said.
“Yes. Something like that. They each have something they use to aid them in helping others or accomplishing tasks. For example, He Xiangu carries a lotus flower said to have the power to heal, both mentally and physically.”
As they walked through the courtyard of the temple, passing the various halls, they eventually circled back to the hall in the front of the temple. Rohini was struck by how colorful it all was. It reminded her of the temples she’d visited with her aunt in Nepal, the architecture as well as all the brightly painted accents. There were even colorful flags strung overhead like the ubiquitous prayer flags of the Himalayas.
Unlike the Tibetan prayer flags she was familiar with, these were small triangular flags. But they shared the same colors, representing the five elements, and were emblazoned with the ubiquitous black and white Taiji diagram.
As Rohini recalled her time in Nepal with her aunt, Mt. Kailash came to mind, which sparked a thought. “Guangming, what was the name of the mountain Xi Wangmu lived on?”
“Mt. Kunlun. The Kunlun Mountains are thought by many to be the ancient source of many of the Daoist lineages. It is the mythological source of the Yellow River which has always been tied to the history and identity of the Chinese people, as well as home to Gods and Immortals.”
“Who is Xi Wangmu?” Jane asked.
“It’s fitting you should want to know more about her. She is the special patron of all women, and female Daoists in particular. It is said, ‘In the three worlds and the ten directions, all women who aspire to immortality and attain the Dao are her dependents.’ She was especially popular in the Tang Dynasty among women with a disregard for the strict societal norms of Confucian society; women who chose their own path in the world. They were expected to be submissive to the whims of their families—especially their male relatives—not to chart their own course in life. Of course, this is what leads many women to the Dao as well.”
“I like her already,” Jane said. “I had no idea there was an ancient Chinese patron saint of feminists.”
“Well, Xi Wangmu was more famous in the past, in more recent times that would probably be Sun Buer. She was a Daoist cultivator who was quite beautiful. Thinking that her beauty would never allow her to avoid unwanted sexual attention from men, she purposely burned her face with hot oil so she could be left alone to meditate,” Guangming said.
“Ouch!” Rohini said. “I appreciate the cojones that must have taken, but isn’t it the men who need to learn some self-control, not the women? She shouldn’t have needed to do that.”
“That’s true, though with these sorts of legends you never know which aspects of the stories truly happened,” countered Guangming.
“Yes, but—true or not—the lesson being conveyed is that she needed to mutilate herself to avoid unwanted attention from men,” Rohini said.
“I think that story actually comes from a popular folk novel,” Guangming continued. “So, it may not be historically accurate. What is known for certain is that Sun Buer practiced her self-cultivation in a cave near Luoyang with another woman known as the Immortal Maiden Feng. It is said they kept men away by throwing rocks at them.”
“I like that story better,” Jane said.
“Me too,” agreed Rohini.
By this time, they had circled around the courtyard to the hall dedicated to Ancestor Lu Dongbin. In front of the hall was a large incense burner as well as a long red kneeling bench for the faithful to use while saying prayers or making offerings to the Immortal. Following Guangming’s lead they each took some incense and planted it in the censer, while Guangming and Jimmie both knelt and said a few quick prayers.
When Rohini and the others left the temple, Jimmie suggested they get some lunch. Guangming knew a good noodle shop that was in walking distance, so they let their driver know where they were headed and told him to meet them there. Walking to the shop along the waterfront, they had a nice view of the Yellow River and the green hills rising on the other side.
“Hey, everyone come here for a minute,” Jane said. “Don’t look now, but I think we’ve got company. There are a couple guys about a half block back I think followed us from the temple.”
“What should we do?” Rohini said.
“Everyone stay close in case we have to run,” Jane said. “Act natural and just keep heading towards the restaurant. We’re going to have to find a way to lose them along the way. Guangming, you know this town best. Any ideas?”
“We could attempt to lose them over the footbridge. What if we send our driver around to meet us at the other end,” Guangming replied.
“I like it. Give him a call.”
31
The Simms Estate
Westchester County, New York
“Gruber, what have you learned about our friends?”
“We tracked them to a small airfield south of DC where they flew out under assumed names two days ago.”
“Both of them? Haakonsen and this Agent Smith?”
“Yes. They were traveling together, along with the other missing ambassador.”
“That figures. Have you been able to find out where they went?”
“They flew out in a Gulfstream. Their flight plan had them initially headed for Vancouver, but it looks like the plane continued on to Hong Kong. I’ve contacted some assets there who have informed us they flew on to Gansu Province, to a city called Lanzhou. They are being monitored there.”
“That’s excellent, Gruber. Keep me informed. I don’t want to let them slip away again.”
“There’s more, sir. They’ve been cleared of any involvement with the bombing, so we may expect them to return to the US sooner rather than later.”
“Well, that’s quicker than I would have expected. It was bound to happen eventually, I suppose. How are things proceeding on phase two?”
“The arrangements for the first action are being finalized as we speak. The second will follow a week later. We’re right on schedule.”
“Excellent. Proceed as planned and keep me apprised of any further developments.”
Bartholomew Simms ended the call and sat back in his leather desk chair, his hands steepled at his chin as he contemplated the events of the coming days and weeks. The arrangements for the series of attacks on renewable energy infrastructure were coming along smoothly. Gruber’s team had infiltrated all the targets and were proceeding with their plans.
The attacks would be carried out by members of SOC which Gruber’s team had spirited into the country—jihadis who were ready to carry out suicide attacks at the solar installations, geothermal plants, and wind farms they planned to strike. Unlike the attack in DC which was carried out entirely by Gruber’s team, it was time for the SOC to have some skin in the game. Gruber’s team was also planning remote demolitions triggered to coincide with the suicide bombings, multiplying their impact.
Simms was surprised to find out that the SOC was practically defunct, down to a handful of members—who had for all intents and purposes degenerated into a social club—a bunch of washed up jihadis drinking mint tea and reminiscing about their glory days. But when they were approached with an opportunity to strike at the West, they jumped at the chance, especially when they realized that Gruber’s team would be responsible for most of the work and most of the risk, while they got to claim resp
onsibility—and more importantly the glory—for themselves. They wasted no time recruiting a new generation of bored, disaffected youth into their ranks, convincing them to martyr themselves for the cause.
That was one of the things Simms loved about the plan. Gruber’s team could set up a trail leading straight back to the SOC while the terrorists also claimed responsibility for the attacks. It was like having willing patsies. And if the SOC leadership was taken out—brought to a sudden, unexpected martyrdom—all the better. Gruber’s team could suspend their attacks and no one would ever suspect their involvement.
32
Lanzhou
Gansu Province, China
“The driver is on his way. He thinks it will take him about ten minutes,” Guangming said.
“Great. Let’s head out onto the bridge. When we get most of the way across, we’ll look for the driver and try to give them the slip,” Jane said.
“What if they’ve got someone else in a car too?” Rohini said.
“Yeah, I thought about that, but it’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Jane replied. “If they do have a car they should be easy to spot leaving the bridge.”
The group made their way onto the bridge, trying to pace themselves to get across in time to meet their driver, but also making a point to look nonchalant, stopping and looking over the railing occasionally at the roiling waters of the Yellow River below and the green slopes across the river, even stopping for photos which gave them a perfect opportunity to sneak glances behind them. Once they were sure their tails had followed them onto the bridge, Rohini’s confidence in the plan started to grow.
When they were about three quarters of the way across Jane said, “Keep an eye out for our driver, he should be pulling up anytime now.”
It was another couple of minutes before they spotted him. “There he is,” Guangming said.
“When I say ‘go,’ run for the car, but try to stay together, we don’t want to leave anyone behind,” Jane said. “OK, go!”
