Liu genuinely feared what would happen if Wu was allowed to remain in charge of the People’s Republic. He had no idea what the man’s ultimate plans were, but didn’t think for one moment that things would stop with the occupation of Taiwan. He was already hearing rumors about Japan, and there was no telling where it would end.
Liu was also sure that Wu had the capacity to use nuclear weapons against his perceived enemies, with no thought of the consequences; because the man was a sociopathic maniac, he wouldn’t think to be concerned with an American counter-strike. If he was opposed, his pride would force him to lash out, and it was Liu’s greatest fear that such an action would wreak absolute devastation on China and her people.
It was purely for the love of his country that he had sought to get in touch with his colleagues in the American military, to place himself at their service. He had gone through his contacts within the Joint Special Operations Command in the first instance, who had then assigned him to a CIA handler who was now ‘running’ him from the embassy in Beijing.
They had initially wanted him to try and find out what Wu’s plans were, but it was harder than it looked; Wu was surrounded by people that were one hundred percent loyal, and anyone about whom he was unsure was destined to remain outside Wu’s immediate area. But Liu was a resourceful individual, and had himself recruited people within the inner circle itself; a secretary here, an executive assistant there, none of Liu’s contacts were particularly high level, but between them he was starting to build up a picture of the new Wu government.
Eventually, the CIA had put him in touch with an American commando unit that apparently wanted to gain entry to the city. Liu quickly agreed to assist the CIA in getting the unit where they wanted to be, and also to gain the information needed for the operation they were launching. They needed to know General Wu’s schedule and security details, as well as the exact location of the members of the Politburo and information about the forces which guarded them.
Liu already knew a significant amount about the general’s security — he had watched and catalogued what movements he could from his own restricted position, but had gained most of his information from his special contacts, which he had passed on to the CIA and the covert action team that was already en route to Beijing.
Security for General Wu was fierce, handpicked men he had brought in from outside the Chinese mainland, commandos of Hong Kong’s ‘Five Minute Response Unit’ Special Operations Company. They were well-trained and experienced, a formidable combination, and were backed up by Macao’s ‘Kimchee Commandos’ Guard Unit.
These elite units also monitored the various military groups who were responsible for the Zhongnonhai compound and the Forbidden City, ensuring that high standards were adhered to at all times by every element of the government security forces.
But it wasn’t the inner security group itself which Liu worried about the most; perversely, it was the solitary figure who controlled them with the proverbial rod of iron — Zhou Shihuang.
If Liu had misgivings about Wu’s sanity, then he was convinced of the absolute lack of it in Zhou. The man was a half-blind monster, a renegade Shaolin monk who lived only to hurt — and preferably kill — others. Indeed, the threat of this huge man and what he would do to informers was one of the reasons that Liu had faced such difficulty in getting information out of the Zhongnonhai — it was a rare person who was willing to cross Zhou Shihuang.
From Liu’s limited research on the man, it appeared that Zhou had been taken in at the Shaolin Temple — a renowned center of Buddhist teaching and austere martial arts combat training — when he was just a boy. The reasons given for this varied in the telling — some said that he had been forced to flee after killing his abusive father, others claimed that it was due to the repercussions of gang violence — but whatever the reason, Zhou had proved to be a most capable pupil.
Reports from the temple indicated that he was less than enthusiastic about the Cha’an Buddhist teachings, but had soaked up the physically demanding Kung Fu lessons like a hungry sponge. Such was his prodigious combative talent that — despite his less than impressive spiritual fortitude — he was eventually appointed as a senior monk, and a martial arts instructor to the temple.
Recognizing his discordant spirit, the Shaolin abbot had given him the Buddhist name Kung, which meant ‘empty’.
Liu could see how appropriate the name had been, for Zhou turned out to be a dangerous sociopath, truly ‘empty’ of all emotion.
Zhou had been an instructor at the temple for years before his debased, inhuman proclivities were revealed, one lone incident with a young boy leading to an investigation which finally showed everyone his true nature; he had been bullying and abusing the students ever since he had become an instructor, his victims numbered by the dozen. Two had even died in ‘training accidents’ which later came under close scrutiny, his every action subsequently looked at in great detail.
His gross negation of responsibility and his heinous crimes were covered up by the senior monks of the temple — the abbot deciding that police involvement and a public inquiry would only besmirch and demean the good name of Shaolin — but Zhou Shihuang was banished from the temple forever.
He subsequently became a hand-to-hand combat instructor for a large number of private bodyguarding firms, his incredible talent and skill quickly bringing him to the attention of government forces, whose recruits he also started to train.
But eventually the inevitable happened and he killed a student during training. The incident would have again been covered up had the student not been the son of the provincial governor, who demanded that an arrest be made.
It was at this stage, rumor had it, that Wu De had intervened, sweeping aside all accusations and taking Zhou on as his own private, personal bodyguard.
The man’s life had been one long episode of murder, abuse and sexual depravity, and Liu was sickened merely by the thought of him; but Zhou’s skills in unarmed combat were legendary, and Liu had no doubt that he would be a ruthless opponent. Certainly, he would ensure that Wu’s protective detail was on the ball at all times, as he was known to kill men who showed any sign of inattention.
So Wu’s security detail was tough, but not insurmountable; Liu knew that American special operations forces were probably the best in the world. But it sure as hell wouldn’t be easy. The unit hadn’t explained their plan in detail — they had no reason to trust him, after all — but to Liu it was obvious. They were coming to Beijing to kill the general and rescue the communist government. Despite their skill, Liu knew they needed all the information they could get.
One of his contacts was able to update him regularly on the position of the captured Politburo members, and he passed this on to his CIA handler. He had already informed them of the death of Vice President Fang Zemin at the hands of Zhou Shihuang, an act which had brought the number of politicians to be rescued down to twenty-one. He had also managed to get a detailed schedule of General Wu’s movements from an assistant of an executive secretary, and had also provided this information to the Americans.
Although he didn’t know the details, Liu believed the CIA had managed to organize a meeting between Wu and the American agent, which would take place at that afternoon’s Dragon Boat festival. Wu had sponsored the teams which would be racing in Beihai Park just north of the Zhongnonhai, and would be leaving the immediate security of the government compound to watch. He would even be presenting flowers to the winning team.