by Andrew Watts
“Relax. Just one. I’m hungry. Hey, what are you reading? The stuff about the navy ships?”
Everyone was talking about the recent American attacks on their navy ships in the Pacific. It was a horrible accident. The PLA Navy ships had been on a training mission in the Pacific Ocean, but somehow an American ship had accidentally fired weapons at them. At least, that was the story he read on the state news.
“You know that news is all fake, right?”
Lin Yu frowned. His friend was always telling him that the news he read was bogus. He was one of the rule-breakers. He used a VPN to dig under China’s government-censored Internet—“the great firewall of China.” His friend would often check out foreign news websites. And just as often, dirty pictures of white women.
“What are you talking about?” said Lin Yu.
Feng brought up his phone and tapped a few times. “Here. See? The British news is saying that it wasn’t an accident. They say that some of the Chinese ships were there on purpose. And that one of our submarines fired first.”
“What? That’s crazy. Why would our submarine do that? Tell me you don’t believe that crap.”
His friend grabbed a noodle from Lin Yu’s bowl and held it up, slurping it down.
“Come on. Stop that. This is my lunch.”
“It’s a good lunch.”
“What are you talking about with the navy ships?” Lin Yu didn’t believe him, but it was still very interesting to hear about.
“Something’s going on, Lin Yu. Something big. I can feel it.” His friend tapped his heart. “You’ve seen all the signs about Junxun, right? When was the last time you ever heard about Junxun being held in winter? And the kids who volunteered—they still haven’t come back.” Junxun was the Chinese government-sponsored summer training program for all high school graduates. Each year, millions of Chinese teens were forced to attend a multi-week military basic training program that prepared them for military service, in case that were ever to be required.
“What are you talking about?”
“I have a cousin who volunteered for the Guangdong Junxun a few weeks ago. My aunt hasn’t heard from him this whole time. She wrote to the People’s Liberation Army office where they said parents can call, but they just gave her some line about hearing from him soon. But that was last week. Trust me, there’s something mysterious going on, and they aren’t telling us about it.”
“You’re a conspiracy theorist. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lin Yu’s friend rolled his eyes. “Okay.”
“Whoa. What is this?” Lin Yu held his phone so that his friend could see.
“Oh my. Is that the president?”
“What? Oh no.”
“Is this live?” His friend tapped the volume button on Lin Yu’s phone so that they could hear what was being said.
Lena walked out on the outdoor patio and waited until both cameras were set up inside. She savored the view, up here atop the city’s skyscrapers. They had another camera positioned on a rooftop across the street. That one would pick up great footage, with maximum psychological impact. It would get a view of the open-air garden outside the president’s suite, where she now stood, and of the ropes that were slung over the thick wooden beam atop the tall awning.
Her men had tested this part out for hours. They couldn’t make any mistakes here—not today. Jinshan had worked with his cyberoperators to ensure the bandwidth could handle such a massive audience for this footage. It would be live-streamed on all of China’s social networks and TV stations.
One of her men approached. “The cameras are rolling, ma’am. We’re on CCTV. The newscasters have been informed. It’s time, Miss Chou.”
Lena thought about her pseudonym briefly. She could use her birth name, now that she was back in China. But she had grown fond of the name Lena Chou. She took in a deep whiff of the garden flowers and said, “Very well. Let us begin.”
Her men began dragging President Wu and his wife out to the garden area. The two of them could see the nooses swinging now, and both were fighting mightily against their restraints. Lena walked back inside, out of view for the moment.
“Why would you do this? Why is Jinshan doing this? Whatever he has promised you, I can give you more.”
She stayed inside the covered area, behind the glass wall, until her white mask was on. Then she walked back outside, speaking through the small cutout for her mouth.
“No. You can’t, Mr. President. That’s really why we are here, isn’t it? Few are capable of leading us to the future that Mr. Jinshan has promised. They don’t have the stomach for it. The world is changed not by mere politicians and statesmen, but by those capable few who build great things—who seize power and force drastic action. China has been moving too slowly, Mr. President. But no longer. You should know that your deaths here today will serve a greater purpose.” She leaned in close. “I want to thank you for your sacrifice.”
She picked up the gas canister and poured the pungent clear liquid on top of his head. He coughed and then nearly vomited as it drizzled down his body. His wife tried to cry out in fits, muzzled by her gag. Then she too was doused with the flammable liquid. Lena was careful not to spill it on her own clothing.
The nooses were placed around their necks, and the men behind them pulled steadily on the ropes, which began raising the president and his wife in the air. Their hands tied behind their backs, there was nothing they could do as the ropes tightened and lifted them up. Their faces transformed into plums, veins nearly popping out.
One of her men handed her a small lighting torch. She clicked the metal starter, and it ignited. Their white masks and tunics, while designed to mimic the look of the American KKK, also served another purpose. They were made with flame-resistant material, to reduce the risk that they might accidentally burn themselves. Lena walked up to the president of the world’s largest country, who was now swaying on his noose, the life squeezing out of him.
Fire would accelerate the process.
Lena held the torch to his feet and felt the familiar tingle that only violence could bring her. She tried to conceal her bloodlust as she raised the flame up and the gasoline ignited. She then walked over to the woman and repeated the process.
They didn’t scream. They couldn’t. Through her white mask, two flames reflected in her brown eyes. The burning bodies shook and then went still, flesh melting and turning black. A violent, horrific end.
The black smoke rose up into the air. One of the burning ropes snapped, and the president’s flaming corpse fell to the ground.
She called out, “Time to leave.”
But two of her men were coming in through the penthouse entrance, shoving the daughter along by her arms.
“What is this? I told you to place her in my vehicle.”
One of them handed her a phone.
Jinshan’s voice on the other end. “Everyone, Lena. The daughter is the most important piece.” She began to reply, but the line was dead. Jinshan hadn’t spoken to her in that tone in years. She wondered which of the men had reported her amendment to the plan to Jinshan.
Her demons twisted around inside her mind, one lusting for more blood, the other filled with sorrow and sympathy as she looked at the poor girl’s tears. Unfamiliar emotions to Lena, but powerful ones. The daughter was on her knees now, reacting to the sight of her burning parents, the men trying to control her as she sobbed and fought and cried.
Everyone, Lena.
She found herself thinking about what she had said to Natesh, only a few days ago. We all have to do things that we don’t want to do sometimes. Amen. So be it.
Lena walked over to the girl. Sixteen, Lena decided, not fifteen. A pink hair tie in her hair. A silver locket around her neck.
The fire was too large for them to hang the girl like they had her parents. Lena brought the daughter to the center of the outdoor garden, a spot she was sure was covered well by all the cameras.
“Stay,” she s
aid to the girl, who was looking into her own eyes. She no longer had tears. Just a numb look of curiosity, perhaps at hearing her voice and seeing that Lena was a woman, hiding under that white mask. Maybe the girl was wondering what sort of monster would take part in this. What sort of gruesome creature?
Lena pulled out a black handgun that had been holstered under her robe and stared back into the girl’s face, feeling the cold metal weapon in her hand and reflecting. The fires of her dead parents burned in the background, warming them both.
You are wondering how I became this way? Scarred skin and full of bloodlust? I was like you once. Beautiful and innocent, filled with the hopeful dreams of the young. But then I was torn from my home and molded into this creature that you see before you. A spy. An assassin. A warrior, fighting for the cause. But the lies and violence have made me numb. What is good and evil, when I have to do this?
Lena raised up the pistol and fired a single shot into the girl’s forehead.
11
David looked at the TV screen in the CIA conference room.
BREAKING NEWS: CHINESE PRESIDENT AND WIFE KILLED.
“This footage is coming to you live from Beijing. We need to put out a warning to all of our viewers that this may be disturbing video. There have already been two reported deaths. We’re still trying to get audio worked out with our news bureau there, but it looks like this is some sort of penthouse—you can see the outdoor patio. It’s a…okay, hold on. We now have our chief Chinese bureau correspondent with us. Tim, can you hear us?”
A British-accented voice came over the TV.
“Yes, we’re watching this video with you for the first time. We do have confirmation that the president and his wife have been killed. We are about to see that footage. This area of Beijing is a very upscale section. And we are being told that the penthouse suite in this building was being occupied by the Chinese president and his family. It began as some sort of hostage situation. The streets are being cleared and the police are on scene. As you can see, it looks like there are several masked persons walking out on the patio with automatic rifles. All of them are wearing white shirts with red crosses on the front and back. And it appears that they’ve strung up some type of rope—a noose, it looks like—over one of the high wooden beams on the penthouse patio. Oh. Oh my.”
“Holy shit. What are they doing? Are they going to hang her?”
Susan said, “I think so. My God. That’s the Chinese president’s wife. And that’s the president.”
They watched in horror as the two were strung up, hung, and burned.
“How could this happen?”
“Doesn’t the Chinese president have security like ours?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then how is this possible?”
“I don’t know.”
David and his coworkers watched in shock as the violence unfolded on TV. The newscasters provided more dialogue, trying to make sense of what they were witnessing.
“I’m getting word from our producers that we need to cut to—okay, this video that we’re about to show you is from a group that claims to be responsible for what is going on. They are calling themselves the American Christians Against China Coalition.”
The screen cut to a white man of about sixty years of age. He was sitting in front of a bare beige background. His face was red as he spoke. The video was clearly heavily edited, but the quotes were from his mouth.
“Someone should stop those guys! I mean they’re killing babies…I would kill ’em. I think those Chinese communist bastards who do that deserve to die… I am a Christian…I think all atheists are going to burn in the eternal fires of hell. Especially those in China cuz they’re killing all them Christian babies…That Chinese president deserves to die, just like the rest of ’em. He’s part of the problem then. Spreading atheism and killing babies. And now they’re trying to sink our Navy ships and shootin’ down our helicopters. Damn those bastards to hell.”
David looked at Susan. “That’s Charles Beulah.”
General Schwartz said, “The religious fanatic?”
“Yes.”
David shook his head. “This has to be set up.”
Susan nodded. She walked over and picked up her phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“I want to have some of the NSA folks put some numbers behind this. I want to know what the Chinese media and social media are saying about all this.”
David looked back at the screen. He covered his mouth, disturbed by the image of two bodies swinging from a noose, burning.
“I’m not sure that you need the NSA to tell you. They’re going to be going crazy.”
One of the people wearing a white robe walked out onto the garden area, dragging a younger-looking Chinese woman with them.
“Who is that? She looks young.”
The person in the white robe lifted up a pistol from beneath the garment, aimed it at the head of the young woman, and fired.
“Oh my God.” David winced and turned away for a moment.
Susan shook her head. “I think that might have been the daughter. We’re going to need to put together a preliminary assessment of how this is playing over there.”
Director Buckingham was in his office with one of his deputies when Susan and David arrived.
“What are your thoughts?”
Susan said, “It’s too early to say who’s responsible.”
“Gut?”
David crossed his arms. “This sounds like Jinshan. Everything we’ve seen from him has been carefully orchestrated. He has a talent for manipulating public opinion.”
Susan filled the director in on the information David and the team had uncovered regarding Lena and the religious fanatic, Charles Beulah.
“So this is the work of Lena Chou?”
“And by association, Jinshan. That’s a guess. The evidence is sketchy right now, but we’ll obviously dig further.”
The deputy director of the CIA said, “You think Jinshan would have the balls to off his own president? He’s in prison right now, isn’t he? How the hell is he supposed to orchestrate anything?”
Susan said, “Sir, we have reports that he’s still been active, even while awaiting his trial. Putting him in prison in China is like putting Pablo Escobar in prison in Colombia. He still has access to and communication with many of his loyalists.”
The dark blue phone rang and the director picked up, glancing at his audience. “Director Buckingham. Yes, sir, Mr. President. I’m just speaking with my team now.” He looked at his watch. “Very well, sir, I’ll work out timing with the chief of staff.” He hung up the phone.
“We need something fast. The president wants an estimate on what we think the Chinese reaction will be. I assume that Secretary Zhang is now in charge over there. Please confirm that and coordinate with State to make sure they’re feeding you everything they know. Susan, you have one hour to prepare a brief. I want you two with me when we head to the White House.”
“Me?” David said.
“You know Lena Chou better than anyone. You two better get moving.”
David found the Situation Room utterly intimidating. He wanted nothing more than to leave, but the importance of the conversation kept him from letting his mind wander too much.
The president had just finished listening to Susan’s geopolitical estimate—how China would react to the death of their president, ostensibly at the hands of an American religious fanatic.
“So, you think that this Cheng Jinshan might be responsible for this? And what—they decided to blame it on religious extremists?”
“Not just any religious extremists, sir. Christian extremists. Americans, specifically. We think that was very purposeful. This particular man who the Chinese are holding responsible has been vilified on Chinese news media sites for several weeks now. Just before this meeting began, I saw that the Chinese state-sponsored news is now showing an image of Beulah’s corpse at the crime scene in China, supposedly s
hot by police. But based on our own initial investigation, we suspect that this may be a ploy. We think that Chinese agents may have taken that religious fanatic from his home and brought him to China. It’s possible that this is another deception created by Jinshan.”
The president raised an eyebrow. “Why? I mean, why a religious fanatic?”
Susan said, “Sir, it’s possible that Jinshan’s war plans are still being executed. In their Red Cell operation, when they created their set of psychological warfare plans, one of the objectives was to sufficiently motivate the Chinese people.”
“Motivate them to do what?”
David said, “To want to go to war with America, sir. The Red Cell was looking for social or cultural issues that would help drive a wedge between the two countries. Religion was it. We looked at polling. In 2016, over seventy-three percent of the United States identified as Christian. Eighty-two percent identified as religious. In China, while religion statistics are hard to accurately measure, the polls we looked at were flipped. Between fifty and ninety percent of Chinese citizens were not religious. And only two percent were Christian. Those who do practice religion in China do so with the government carefully watching the churches.”
“So what’s the idea? Make the Chinese people hate Christians? Make America into a Christian boogeyman?”
“Pretty much, Mr. President.”
He looked at the director of the CIA. “What’s your take? Would that strategy work?”
“Mr. President, at this time, we’re just trying to confirm whether or not Cheng Jinshan had a part in this. But it fits with his profile. He has enormous influence over the Chinese government’s communications tools—its media messaging. This Christian extremism angle could be a very effective cornerstone for a propaganda campaign—one designed to rally a country to war.”
The acting National Security Advisor said, “But Jinshan is supposed to be on trial, right? Is that still happening?”
