“What’s going on?” he whispered. “Did you sign up for this? They just told me that this was a physical exam. I didn’t sign up for—”
“Shut up. You want to get us in trouble?” replied a voice from behind them. “Next time, read what you’re signing. They got a lot of recruits that way. The paper that you signed at the recruiting station was the only one that mattered. That commits you to a minimum of two years. If you don’t serve it out, you could face jail time.”
Lin Yu went white.
“What?” said the kid next to him. He began crying into his hands.
The bus door squeaked shut, and a sergeant yelled, “Alright, recruits, I hope none of you get motion sickness. We’ll be heading up into the mountains, and the road gets pretty bad. The last group puked all over the place. Okay, bus driver, let’s go.”
The bus left the parking lot, its silent passengers in shock, each contemplating their future.
13
Cheng Jinshan heard the keys rattling on the outside his prison door. A click. Then the door swung open. A young officer flanked by two guards walked into the large cell. Jinshan didn’t recognize the boy.
This must be it. The time had come. These weren’t the prison guards who had ensured his stay was comfortable. These were military police who were here to escort him to his trial.
“Please come with us, Mr. Jinshan.” The voice of a man who thought he was in charge.
“Of course.”
He saw handcuffs in one of their hands, so he stood and turned around, making it easy for them. They slapped on the cold metal cuffs and walked him out through the prison hallways. Admiral Song, also handcuffed, and another pair of guards fell in behind them. They were marched into the military jeeps and driven away.
He had been told to expect the trial and had made sure to wear his prison attire — a simple gray tunic and pants. He needed to look the part. The next twenty-four hours would be immensely important.
That imbecile Zhang was Jinshan’s last impediment. A strong showing today. A vote in front of the cameras. A speech to the people. They longed for a strong leader to get behind after a crisis. The Chinese people were like smoldering tinder. A gentle wind would ignite them.
Secretary Zhang looked out over the filled hall. A buzz hung thick in the air. The front row was still empty. The show hadn’t started yet. But the audience — hundreds of politicians and Politburo members — was seated, sharpening their knives, waiting for blood. Zhang could feel it. He had a strong political intuition. It was what had allowed him to rise all the way to his current position.
Zhang, already a Central Committee member, had been made acting secretary of the Central Committee for Discipline Inspection by President Wu shortly before Wu had been killed. Ironically, this was the exact position Cheng Jinshan had held until a few weeks ago. Now Zhang’s duty was to lead the corruption and treason investigation on Jinshan.
This was what President Wu had wanted, he told himself. Sure, there were calls to commute Jinshan’s sentence. To sweep the events of the past few months under the rug. It was embarrassing, some of the other Central Committee members had pointed out. And Jinshan was a powerful man. He had many friends in the military and intelligence world. Was it wise to anger him?
Zhang ignored this talk. This was the right thing to do. Rules were rules, and they must be followed. Especially by the men at the top.
Besides, Secretary Zhang was worried that Jinshan was still up to his old tricks. There was still the matter of the secret camp in Liaoning Province. It was supposedly filled with special operations personnel, training for something — what, he did not know.
The camp had been a part of Jinshan’s plans, Zhang knew. He knew it because Jinshan himself had told him when Zhang had gone to visit him in prison, trying to solve this mess. Jinshan had had the audacity to make a sloppy pitch to Zhang to join his cursed game.
Zhang had played coy, trying to fish for information. Feigning interest to see how deep the conspiracy went, hopeful that new information might uncover coconspirators who still needed purging. Zhang, like Jinshan, was a strategist, so he had asked Jinshan strategic questions about his plans to attack America. How would China overcome America’s military might, Zhang had asked Jinshan?
That was when Jinshan had told him about the camp. There were teams there, Jinshan had said. They were working on something very special. Zhang had asked for more details, and who else was involved. But Jinshan had seen through him. Jinshan had stopped wasting his breath, and Zhang had left the prison.
Jinshan’s last grip on power would end with this trial. Then Zhang would uncover the rest of the traitors and shut down any further unauthorized military operations. It enraged him that it had to come to this. That he — the most powerful politician in China now that Wu was dead — couldn’t fully control his country’s own military. Zhang would finish off Jinshan — publicly — and send a message to anyone else who dared go against the Communist Party of China.
On the stage with him were several other key members of China’s political and military leadership. The president’s memorial ceremony had been held three days ago. Zhang had spoken with many of them there. None of these men were keen on the idea of a public trial. That had been President Wu’s idea as well — at least, that was what Zhang presumed. It certainly hadn’t been his idea. But the wheels were already in motion. Let the people see what Jinshan had done.
Cheng Jinshan and Admiral Song would be punished. Swiftly and publicly. Everyone in China and on the world stage was watching this. China as a country must separate itself from the acts of war that Jinshan had orchestrated. The attacks in the Persian Gulf. The submarine attacks in the Eastern Pacific. Hundreds of men and women killed. Lies. Subterfuge. Treason.
An example must be made of Cheng Jinshan. Much of it would be shocking to the citizens of China. They had been fed watered-down versions of his transgressions. Not all of it would be made known here, if Zhang could help it. But enough that they knew what kind of creature they were dealing with.
Like many government-sponsored public events in China, great attention was paid to theatrics. The massive hall was more than three times the size of the American congress’s house chamber room. Members wore black suits with ties. A scarlet carpet adorned the floor. Giant Chinese flags surrounded a gold hammer and sickle behind the center of the stage.
The cameras were on. And although hundreds of people were present — most of them career politicians — the room had fallen eerily silent as the clock struck twelve. Everyone here knew Cheng Jinshan. He had been in charge of the Chinese president’s quest to eradicate the “tigers and flies”—the anticorruption campaign that Jinshan had actually been using to install his own loyalists.
But now the tables had turned. Zhang would admit it to no one, but he relished this moment. He would vanquish Jinshan. A thorn in his side for so many years. He had always tried to position himself close to President Wu, to the detriment of Zhang.
The large oak double doors at the entrance to the chamber opened. At least a dozen uniformed military police marched Cheng Jinshan and Admiral Song down the aisle. Small gasps from the audience. A few bitter looks. Hungry eyes. The two were marched to the front row and forced to sit in between armed military policemen. It looked humiliating. Zhang loved it.
“The Politburo Standing Committee will now hear the findings from the investigation into Cheng Jinshan and Admiral Song. Both have been accused of crimes against the state. They are here today facing charges of high treason and corruption.”