‘Is everything ready?’ Liu asked as he stepped from the car, ignoring the soldier’s salute.
‘Per your orders, sir.’
Liu nodded approval. ‘Have the prisoner brought inside.’
‘Bring the prisoner out,’ the officer ordered.
The small pass-through window between the transport’s cab and the rear compartment slid open, and the soldiers guarding Yin looked up expectantly. The Bishop took no notice and continued his silent prayers.
‘Out!’ the driver barked through the opening.
The soldiers unlocked the section of chain connected to the floor bolt and lifted Yin to his feet. Two of them stepped out of the truck and assisted in lowering the manacled Bishop to the ground. Yin glanced heavenward and saw only a handful of stars through the hazy glow of Beijing’s night sky.
After the remaining soldiers exited the transport, they escorted Yin into the backstage area of the theater. The air inside the building was stuffy and spiked with the stink of mold. Yin detected something else in the air — the pungent scent of sweat and fear.
Liu approached Yin. He towered over the Bishop.
‘Look at me,’ Liu demanded.
Yin raised his head to look into Liu’s empty eyes.
‘Is it true that this man you worship as a god likened himself to a shepherd and his followers to sheep who must be led?’
‘Yes.’
‘So in this, he was much like Mao Zedong, no?’
‘Jesus Christ was a good shepherd, the kind who would lay down his life for his flock. The same cannot be said of Mao.’
‘Perhaps, but China has evolved during your time of confinement. Tonight, you have the opportunity to walk out of this building a free man and Bishop of Shanghai.’
‘And what price must I pay for the freedom you offer?’ Yin asked flatly.
‘Spoken like a Jesuit. The price is your cooperation. The government has no quarrel with your religion, only the foreign leadership of your church. Publicly renounce your allegiance to the Vatican and proclaim yourself a Chinese Catholic, and you will be free.’
‘I am a Roman Catholic Bishop. If I denounce the Holy Father, I would no longer be a Bishop or a Catholic. You can cut off my head, but you can never take away my duties.’
‘But what is a Bishop without a flock?’
‘I am the good shepherd,’ Yin quoted, ‘I know my sheep and my sheep know me.’
‘I see. Are you not curious as to why I have brought you here?’
‘You have already revealed your purpose. I can only assume that you have assembled an audience for my public declarations.’
‘Indeed I have,’ Liu said with trace of a smile. ‘Over five hundred of your sheep are in this theater, awaiting their shepherd. Their lives are in your hands.’
Yin turned his palms up. ‘My hands are empty. All life comes from God.’
Liu had to acknowledge a grudging respect for the strength of Yin’s resolve, but recalled the credo that understanding an adversary is one key to defeating him. He turned from Yin and motioned to the officer in charge. A moment later, a small group of soldiers brought a family of five backstage.
The patriarch of the family recognized Yin and immediately dropped to his knees.
‘Your Grace,’ the man said reverently before kissing Yin’s hand.
A soldier pistol-whipped the man before he could receive Yin’s blessing, sending him sprawling to the floor.
The granddaughter, a girl no older than ten, pulled away from her parents’ arms and rushed to her grandfather’s aid. She, too, was brutally struck.
‘Enough,’ Liu commanded.
The soldier who had beaten the pair stepped back and holstered his pistol. The patriarch cradled his weeping granddaughter as oozing blood matted the girl’s long black hair.
‘Kneel before your Bishop, sheep,’ Liu commanded.
The three adults still standing — a man with his wife and mother — knelt before Yin. As Liu walked behind the family, a soldier handed him a pistol, the barrel lengthened by a silencer. Without hesitation, Liu quickly executed three generations of a family of underground Catholics. Yin forced himself to keep his eyes open — to take in the horror and weep as he silently offered a prayer for the five martyrs.
Liu holstered his weapon and turned to Yin. ‘And I say your hands are full.’
‘What is your name?’ Yin asked softly, his eyes locked on the gory scene.
Liu studied the horrified Bishop and sensed his point had been made. ‘Liu Shing-Li.’
‘I will pray for you, Liu Shing-Li.’
‘Better pray that you choose your words wisely tonight.’
Liu left Yin with the bodies of the slain family. From the stage, an amplified voice exhorted the audience to renounce the foreign Church of Rome and to practice their Christian faith with full government sanction as members of the Chinese Catholic Patriotic Association (CCPA). Yin ignored the droning propaganda and meditated on the teachings of Christ, wondering what Jesus would do in this situation.
Yin had no idea how much time had passed when Liu returned for him. The soldiers removed the Bishop’s restraints, and his extremities tingled with the sudden flow of blood. Unconsciously, Yin rubbed his wrists.
‘It is time,’ Liu said coldly.
As the soldiers led Yin to the edge of stage right, he heard his name announced to the audience. In the harsh white glow on stage, a smiling priest motioned for Yin to come out.
Yin took a single, tentative step and waited, but the soldiers beside him did not move. He quickly realized he was to enter the stage alone, since a quartet of armed guards would ruin the moment. Yin’s first steps out into the light were met with murmuring from the crowd.
The priest moved quickly to the side of the stage, bowed deeply, and kissed the Bishop’s hand. All eyes were on Yin, and he felt the burden of the moment. Hundreds of souls were packed into the dilapidated theater — husbands and wives, children and elders — ordinary people who shared with Yin a bond of faith.
Lord, you know I am willing to die for my faith, Yin prayed, but can I ask the same of these innocent people? Is it a sin for me to act in a way that might result in their deaths?
The priest led Yin to a microphone at center stage. The murmuring gave way to a silence broken only by the brief wail of an infant. Yin looked out on the frightened, yearning faces. Some people crossed themselves, while others stood with hands folded in prayer, eyes fixed on a man who had disappeared into the laogai decades earlier. They were looking to him for something they could not name, for their spirits to be moved in a way they could not anticipate. Yin inhaled deeply and felt the Holy Spirit give him strength.
‘Long live Christ the King!’ Yin shouted, his voice erupting from the loudspeakers like thunder. ‘Long live the Pope!’
As one, the audience was on its feet.
‘Long live Christ the King! Long live Bishop Yin!’
Over and over, the crowd repeated the chant, each cycle growing in strength and confidence. In Yin’s desperate moment, his faith and the faith of these people had brought forth the Holy Spirit. The government-sanctioned priests stood uncomfortably, for with two simple sentences, Yin had galvanized the audience in a way they could not hope to understand.
‘Cut the power,’ Liu ordered, recognizing the danger. ‘And get him out of here.’
The theater went dark as soldiers rushed Yin off the stage and out the back door, chaining the exit behind them.
‘Seal the theater,’ Liu ordered as the last of his soldiers exited.