Apocalypse Drift (55 page)

Reed nodded his agreement.

After shaking hands with both men and seeing them to the door, Reed replayed the meeting in his head. He decided to accept the two men’s position. He had to let the conspiracy theory go. He took solace in the fact that Mr. Agile was right; his father’s death was not a simple robbery. But more importantly, his father had died
for a purpose beyond simple robbery – protecting the US from some ne’er-do-well.

Reed sat at his desk for a few moments, letting it all sink in. As his mind reconciled everything that had happened, he finally came to the conclusion it was all for a purpose. This year, his family would have the most meaningful Thanksgiving holiday ever.

That resolution cheered him up, and he called out to Brenda. “Hey, I hear that Red’s Café is open for business again. Want to get some lunch? I’m buying.”

Beijing, China

January 13, 2018

Minister Hong’s chauffeur was using the car’s horn li
ke a panic button. “Stop,” the minister commanded from the back seat. “See what they want.”

“Yes, sir.”

The driver opened the door and briskly approached the cluster of soldiers blocking their path. After examining the driver’s identification papers, a choppy conversation began. From the back seat, Hong watched closely, fascinated with the lack of reaction displayed by the soldiers after they realized who was in the car. Something was seriously wrong if his chauffer’s credentials didn’t invoke more of a response.

A few moments later, the driver returned to his seat behind the wheel. Without looking back, he reported. “Sir, the soldiers are stubborn. They claim to have direct orders from their commanding officer threatening their execution if anyone is allowed to pass this checkpoint. They did, however, inform me of an alternative route that is clear.”

Hong nodded. “That is acceptable, driver. Proceed along the alternative. This is why we always leave early when important appointments are involved.” After a brief pause, he added, “There is no doubt a serious traffic accident ahead.”

The m
inister was lying about the accident. He knew exactly what the problem was but saw no reason to fuel his chauffeur’s already considerable level of nervousness. After a few maneuvers, they were on their way again.

Hong watched the streets of Beijing through the heavily tinted windows of the large sedan. As they passed hundreds of people riding bicycles and walking along the road, he detected a difference in the citizens’ demeanor. Heads were slightly bowed, and eyes avoided contact. People walked at a slower pace, and fewer citizens carried parcels or bags.

Dismissing the observation almost as soon as it registered, MOSS’ minister refocused his attention out the front windshield.
Yes
, he thought, the
economy is a little more difficult as of late. This is nothing the Chinese people haven’t survived before.

As the
y approached Tiananmen Square, Hong experienced a mental flashback to 1989. Today, just like so long ago, Red Army tanks blocked the intersection and smoke filled the air. Hundreds of policemen with riot shields and helmets lined the streets. But today, the broad expanse of Tiananmen was devoid of even a single soul. The minister craned his neck and could see a sizable crowd only a few blocks distant. Rows of soldiers blocked the throng’s access to the square – desperately trying to deny the protesters the street. Hong knew why the military had drawn the line far from the square. The crowds would no doubt be emboldened if they reached the now legendary location.

The driver had to turn several times before reaching their destination. Hong decided he would make a positive remark on the man’s service record for negotiating the treacherous route without comment or panic.

Arriving at the Zhongnanhai complex late, Hong had to step at an impolite, hurried pace in order to make the scheduled start of the council meeting. After the security guard outside the conference room opened the door, Hong entered the room and momentarily froze. Instead of the anticipated six members of the council, only the president and the Minister of Finance were present at the table. Along the opposite wall, two men he didn’t know stood with their hands behind their backs.

“Greetings, Minister Hong,” stated the president, his tone unusually cool. “I’m delighted to see you have arrived promptly as usual.”

Hong ignored the criticism and moved to take his normal seat. The president held up his hand to stop his progress. “That won’t be necessary, Minister.”

“Sir?”

Reaching for the single sheet of paper resting on the table in front of him, the president looked up at Hong with eyes that reminded him of a snake ready to strike and consume a rodent. The cold, hard, emotionless state of the president’s gaze sent a chill down Hong’s spine. Something was wrong – badly wrong.

“Minister Hong,” the president began, “As I’m sure you are well aware, our people are suffering badly. The momentum is gone from our economic growth. Millions find themselves unemployed. Our collected tax revenues are at a ten-year low. Relationships we have nurtured, both political and economic, have disappeared.”

The president paused, but only for a moment.

“Social unrest, labor strikes, and general bedlam have broken out all over the country. You, no doubt, witnessed evidence of these facts on your way here.”

Hong, unsure of where this was all going, simply nodded his agreement.

China’s leader continued, “A polarization of the international community has occurred, resulting in an alignment against China. The Golden Mountain project, initiated by
your
ministry and managed by
you
personally, has resulted in economic hostilities against our country on an unprecedented scale. To make matters worse, the people are widely aware of why their jobs have disappeared. The general population knows why such hard times have befallen the Middle Kingdom. They demand justice.”

The president pushed the single piece of paper across the table at Hong. With hesitation, he picked it up and began reading. Before he had finished, he looked up and hissed, “This is a confession! You expect me to take all of the blame for what has transpired?”

The president pretended to be busy with other papers. Without looking up, he simply stated, “Sign the confession, Minister.”

Hong slammed the paper down on the table. “I will not sign such a lie! What treachery is this? Both of you approved this operation, and it succeeded. My plan disabled the single biggest threat to our future. The actions of my ministry brought America to its knees. It isn’t my problem that the rest of our government couldn’t take advantage of the situation. Why am I to be dishonored when I’ve done nothing but succeed?”

The president continued to work on the stack of papers in front of him. He didn’t acknowledge Hong’s words in any way. “Sign the confession, Minister.”

Hong’s head snapped from the president to the Minister of Finance and back. Now, understanding how the game was going to be played, he made an instant decision not to participate. He turned toward the door, reaching for the handle.

One of the men standing along the wall calmly brought his hand from behind his back. In his grasp was a brightly colored handgun that appeared to be made of plastic. Before Hong’s hand could turn the door knob, the stranger pulled the trigger.

A two-pronged projectile exited the pistol-device trailing two wires. The man was an excellent marksman, and his aim was square in Minister Hong’s back. The sharp, pointed edge of the projectile penetrated Hong’s clothing and embedded itself in his skin. Almost instantly, 15,000 volts of electrical energy flowed through the wire and into the minister’s body.

Unlike the US version of the Taser, which is designed to disable the target’s nervous system, the Chinese weapon was built to disable with pain. Using a lower voltage and higher amperage achieved the desired effect.

Hong felt as though his entire body was on fire. Every nerve ending seemed to be burning, even his bones. The shock of the pain caused his field of vision to momentarily flash white and then completely black. Within a second, the muscle control of his legs gave out, and he fell to the floor with an audible thump.

The president waited a few seconds before glancing down at Hong. China’s leader turned to the two strangers and nodded, prompting them to quickly set the barely conscious minister in his chair.

Hong’s upper body swirled, barely staying upright in the high-backed seat. The president said, “Sign the confession, Minister.”

Despite the pain and lack of muscle control, Hong managed a single motion from his head - no. His eyes focused on the president, and his mouth moved to say the word, but no sound came out.

The president looked up at the strangers and nodded.

The second man produced his own version of the plastic pistol, this one a different color and of a slightly different shape. Without hesitation, he smoothly pointed the weapon at Hong and pulled the trigger.

Anoth
er metal pitchfork flew at the minister, this time striking him in the arm. Before his brain could acknowledge the sting, 8,000 volts raced down the leads and entered his already weakened body.

This time the current lasted longer than before. Hong’s mouth opened wide, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head while his entire body bounced up and down in the chair. After two seconds, the electricity ceased its attack, and Hong fell forward, his forehead banging into the table. A small whiff of smoke rose from the cloth of his shirt, and the smell of urine filled the room.

It took almost a minute before Hong showed any sign of life. The four other men in the room detected an unusual, high pitched sound that they soon recognized as Hong’s weeping. For the fourth time, the president said, “Sign the confession, Minister.”

Hong managed to lean back in the chair, his complexion ash white and skin covered in sweat. The head of MOSS seemed to be having trouble focusing his eyes, but the intent of his head’s motion was clear. “No.”

The president sat back in his chair and sighed. “Hong, I’ve known you for a long time. You should place your trust in my words. These two men have dozens of reloads for their little electric toys. They’ve not progressed to the stage where permanent brain and heart damage occur - yet. You and I, we both know you are going to sign that paper. Why not do so now and avoid all of this unpleasantness?”

Hong managed to turn his head toward the strangers. Without any facial expression, one of the men took a single step toward the conference table and sat a handful of orange and red tubes on the mahogany surface. He then broke open the pistol-device and reloaded the weapon. His ice cold, emotionless gaze settled back on Hong.

The president calmly said, “Hong?”

The Minister of MOSS nodded at the paper. The president placed a pen in Hong’s shaky hand.

AP Press Release –Tokyo, Japan 08:00 GMT January, 18, 2017

The Chinese Central News Agency today reported that the minister of China’s super-secretive Ministry of State Security had been arrested on charges of treason, embezzlement and sedition.

According to Chinese news reports, the powerful member of the ruling council is directly to blame for recent cyber
-attacks on the United States.

A spokesman for the president is quoted as saying, “Minister Hong has been arrested and is awaiting trial. The Chinese government is conducting a full investigation into the matter. The evidence uncovered so far indicates unauthorized, covert actions were taken against the
US, but to date all indications are that the results were negligible and have been greatly exaggerated by Washington.”

Another source within the Chinese Ministry of Information added, “The United States is using China through the unlawful actions of this one man as a scapegoat. China is and will always be a nation of law. The president condemns these acts and promises to take measures to ensure no such event occurs in the future
.”

Anonymous sources inside of the State Department expressed sk
epticism that the Chinese cyber-attack was the result of a single man’s actions.

Shanghai, China

March 9, 2018

Huang Fu rose from behind his desk and verified his office door was locked.
Now would be an unfortunate time for an interruption
, he thought. Moving to a wooden bookshelf in the corner of the spacious office, he removed a specific volume and carried it back to his desk. He glanced again at the door, fighting an urge to check the locks again. He chided himself for the thought and whispered under his breath, “You are a small fish and unworthy of attention. Quit acting like a man cheating on his lover and get on with it.”