The operator emerged from behind wafting curtains and stepped onto the apartment’s balcony. Wearing dark protective goggles, he emerged with a loaded rocket-propelled grenade launcher, and surveyed the enemy’s air defense site from on high. Several bulbous reloads of grenade-tipped rockets, he hastily tossed onto the balcony’s chaise lounge. He then rested the RPG on his shoulder and raised the weapon’s metal sighting rail.
The rail included four drill holes. The Chinese operator settled its central one on the air defense site’s radar set. Then he angled the weapon up and re-centered the radar on the next drill hole down, to compensate for distance. Happy, he squeezed the weapon’s trigger bringing forth a familiar, satisfying and friendly surge. Hot gas kicked out the launch tube and ignited the apartment’s willowy curtains. The first rocket-propelled grenade shot away.
Fins that sprang from the grenade’s control column stabilized the missile as it flew over the fences and outer berm of the Taiwanese PATRIOT missile site, before it hit the radar dead center, shattering it with explosives and fragments. With the living room engulfed in flame behind him, the Chinese operator clicked another rocket into the launcher. A neighbor peeked around the balcony partition, choked on smoke and covered his mouth and nose before retreating from the nightmarish scene. The Chinese operator braced himself against the balcony railing and fired another grenade at the site’s control center. It hit, exploded, and tore into the trailer. After a millisecond delay, the trailer burst, its metal skin peeling back in sheets to vent the overpressure within. With a dark giggle, the operator reloaded and sent another round.
This one went wild, slamming into the air defense site’s berm. Dirt and rock bounced. He cursed and clicked another rocket into the launcher. This one connected with the nearest PATRIOT missile station and consumed it in a massive fireball, swallowing it and the truck-mounted launcher and interceptors it contained. Elated by the spectacle of his work, the Chinese operator loaded again and fired.
The rocket-propelled grenade whooshed away, and impacted the concrete beneath another missile station. It cooked off an interceptor that broke free and, uncommanded, shrieked toward the hillside building before it pitched up and corkscrewed into the sky. Accepting it as a salute to his masterful destruction, the Chinese operator paused to watch the missile dive and slam into the ground some miles away. Despite the raging fire in his apartment, the screams of fleeing neighbors and the sirens in the distance, the operator — high on adrenalin and rocket fumes — laughed. He did not see the puff of concrete dust kicked-up behind him.
“Right and high one meter,” the Taiwanese sniper’s spotter told him.
The sniper lay across the roof of a Humvee inside the air defense site’s perimeter. He had seen the RPG’s smoke trail that led his attention straight to the apartment balcony. He then had used this trail to guide his magnified scope and settled it on the center of mass of the perpetrator. He settled the reticle of the high-powered rifle on the man’s chest. Then the sniper clicked the scope’s dials to compensate for the breeze, bullet drop, and range.
“Send it,” the spotter said.
The sniper rifle barked and bucked.
700 grains of lead punched the Chinese operator in the chest, tearing through his breastplate before fragmenting. The shards of lead from the broken bullet then spread out and bored through flesh — muscle, lung tissue, and the Chinese man’s superior vena cava. Thrown backward, he fell to the floor inside the roaring fire. To be alive just a few more moments, all he was able to summon was a twisted chuckle. He realized he had landed beside his favorite chair and a picture of his mother. A cracked, melting frame was his last blurred image. He died quickly, thereafter. His purpose was done. His duty, complete. It was time to sleep.
Along with this lone, wasted soul, other Chinese sleepers had awakened that day. He and his comrades had conducted an orchestra of mayhem at Taiwanese surface-to-air missiles sites, radar stations, and critical communications nodes.
North of the Mall’s Reflecting Pool, next to the stark Vietnam Memorial, Constitution Garden was a serene respite. It captured the city’s dirt and noise in a hedge of mature maples that swished in the early-evening breeze. Jade and Richard sat on a bench where they listened to birds twitter about their day. Richard had had the idea of sharing some dinner before her night class. He pulled two foil logs from a plastic bag and declared them ‘the best burritos in all of DC.’
“It’s huge,” Jade marveled at the ‘little donkey’s’ girth, and accepted it with hesitation, placing it on a napkin. Intimidated by the burrito’s heft, she grabbed for a greasy tortilla chip instead. “My parents want me home,” she said with a crunch. Richard took a big bite in hopes of escaping the need to answer. “Would you ever come back to China with me?”
“I would love to see the place someday,” Richard mumbled.
“You know what I mean,” she continued, and shoved an entire chip into her mouth. Richard wondered if that was her idea of a marriage proposal. He shifted uneasily.
“Jade, this is my home.” Richard looked to the garden’s small lake and the island that memorialized the 56 signers of the Declaration of Independence.
“You do not belong here. You are Chinese,” Jade persisted.
“No. I am Chinese-American. Don’t confuse the two.”
“You’re not white enough to be American,” Jade stabbed. Richard rolled his eyes.
“Look. Being American is a state of mind; a culture of liberty. It’s not about race. Don’t let a few ignorant people confuse you. You can only pity and try to educate them,” Richard lectured. Jade believed he was referring to the drunken college student they had encountered, but he actually spoke of her. There was a long silence. In that moment, Richard realized the crisis might break them. Already full, he took another bite of the burrito to occupy his mouth. Somebody nearby cursed their cell phone and a car horn blared.
They both squinted into the low sun. Richard saluted to block the blinding glare. A black sedan honked again and weaved across grass and sidewalk, drawing curses from the after-work crowd. The car raced at Jade and Richard and then halted before their bench. A man in black with slicked-back hair and sunglasses leapt out. He greeted Richard by name, flashed credentials, and apologized for the interruption.
“Please come with me, sir,” the US Secret Service special agent told Richard. Richard wondered if he had missed a call, and took out his cell phone. It had no reception. “Now, sir.” Richard stood and apologized to Jade, saying he would see her at home. He was then nudged through the car’s back door. Jade watched the car swerve on the grass and speed off again. She placed the unfinished remains of their picnic in a trash bin and started a lonely walk back to campus.
Instead of going up 23rd Street, the car turned onto Constitution Avenue. Richard realized they were not going back to the State Department. He asked the driver where they were headed. The agent spoke to the rearview mirror, stating they would arrive at their destination shortly.
“Destination?” Richard checked his phone again. There was still no signal. “Hey, who’s your cell carrier?” he asked the agent. This time there was no answer at all. They neared the White House. Richard cursed to himself and straightened his tie. The car passed protestors from both sides of the Taiwan issue who hurled insults at each other and the mansion. A thin blue line of police separated them.
The car turned up Executive Avenue and approached one of the White House’s gates. The agent directed Richard to prepare identification as they stopped at the Park Service guardhouse. The window came down and the air-conditioned car quickly filled with muggy air heavily scented by fresh cut grass and roses. Richard sneezed. Continuing up the semicircular drive toward the East Wing, Richard noticed several marines on the building’s rooftop. The car pulled into the shade of the porte-cochere and stopped at an ornate pillared doorway.