And the deep rumbling of nuclear war would’ve penetrated the depths of Han’s cell.
The single gunshot from down the basement corridor had riveted Han. It had left him tense; every nerve ending alert. From that moment forward, Han had heard every sound. The squeaking of metal. The clang of a closing door. The clicks — metal taps — common on staff officers’ boots. The tapping sounds came ever closer to Han’s cell.
Keys jangled in the door. Han was instantly petrified. His hands were freezing, but cold rivulets of sweat ran down his sides. Breathing became a difficult, voluntary act. He would now learn whether he was going to live or die.
General Sheng and his aide entered. Both wore sidearms. No television cameras followed them.
“I apologize,” General Sheng said in a beaten tone. His eyes never rose from the concrete floor. “The charges against you have been dropped.”
Han smiled. The terror and the agonizing, paralyzing fear were both gone in a flash. He rose, stretched as if after a night in uncomfortable accommodations, and put his jacket on. “So, how goes the war, General Sheng?” Sheng’s face hardened into a sneer when he saw Han’s amusement. “Not so well, I gather,” Han commented, smiling. The pieces all fell into place. The army must have lost the Battle of Washington. The plans would now all have to be reworked.
“I thought,” Sheng said, “that you might like to know that Lieutenant Wu fought with distinction, and that he survived the battle with only a minor wound. You should be very proud.”
Han ground his teeth. Wu had disobeyed Han’s direct orders. It was too much! Han had done all that he could for the boy, but this last act of defiance by Wu had truly gone too far. He would call the prime minister and decide upon Wu’s punishment. To Sheng and Colonel Li, however, he said, “But you’re wrong, General Sheng. Lieutenant Wu’s service record in this war is of no consequence to me whatsoever.”
As Han spoke the words, Wu silently entered the room on rubber soles not adorned with taps.
“Oh,” Sheng said, smiling at Wu, who in turn glared at his father. “Administrator Han,” Sheng continued, “I trust that you enjoyed your trip to Camp David.” The remark registered on Wu’s face as a deeper furrowing of his brow, but Colonel Li broke into a grin. Sheng clearly believed that his proof of the treasonous trip would grant him perpetual sway over Han.
But Han, as always, was steps ahead of the plodding soldiers. Han straightened his lapels, buttoned the collar of his dress shirt, and tightened the knot of his tie. Han smiled at Wu, but the boy wore a grim mask. “Unfortunately, General Sheng,” Han said in a breezy tone, “it appears that my deception plan, undertaken at great personal risk, wasn’t enough to ensure your army’s victory in the Battle of Washington. I passed along your false plans for an invasion of Philadelphia to President Baker just as you had intended, General Sheng.”
“The Americans obviously didn’t believe your disinformation,” Sheng noted, “if that’s, in fact, what you passed.” His accusation — that Han might have aided Baker by communicating the truth about their plans to attack Washington — told Han that Sheng’s intelligence in Washington was incomplete. “Their entire army was waiting for us in prepared defenses along the Potomac,” Sheng commented.
Wu waited for Han’s reply.
“General Sheng,” Han said smugly, smiling at his son, “I would’ve thought that your plan might have anticipated that possibility.”
Sheng immediately turned and left. Li followed close behind. The cell door remained wide open.
“Let’s go,” Han said to Wu.
Wu followed his father.
Soldiers escorted them up stairs and into an ordinary office corridor. A uniformed, female clerical worker emerged from an office and her eyes shot wide. She immediately rushed back inside chattering, “It’s him! It’s him!” She caused quite a stir. Han pressed the “Up” button on the elevator panel.
Camera lights began to bathe their backs. Han resisted the temptation to turn and face the network television camera crews, who had appeared out of nowhere. He wanted to seem nonchalant. His victorious exit from military prison was about to become part of his legend. Han snuck a peak. The glare came not from network camera crews, but from an ordinary soldier’s handheld videocamera. A pimple-faced boy was recording the scene on his private camcorder. A secretary arrived with her eyes on her own camera’s screen, adding another glowing light to the glare at the elevator. Others followed to record the moment. The hallway filled with lights.
They all want to record history! Han realized. He smiled, straightened his back and squared his jaw. He held the pose until the old-fashioned elevator sounded a bing.
Han waved before entering the elevator. Wu followed him in. The closing of the doors ended the artificial blaze. Han smiled at Wu, who slumped — uncharacteristically — in the corner of the compartment.
Those were ordinary rank-and-file soldiers, Han thought in amazement. Even they could sense my power. Han had been like a hero to them! Han had always thought that the subtleties of power were understood only in the rarified air of Beijing. But perhaps — after a decade of civilian domination of the news media — politics had finally reached the masses. Han was flattered, ecstatic, and dutifully impressed. It’s a sign of the common man’s development, he concluded, to recognize my destiny of greatness.
The elevator announced their arrival at the ground floor. The door opened onto a warm bath of lights from dozens of camcorders. It was an other unbelievable outpouring of populism! Han strode out of the elevator to present his fans with the picture that they coveted.
But he suddenly found himself totally in the dark. The glare of the lights that had temporarily blinded him had passed. No one jostled Han, but their behavior dealt him body blows. Their cameras were held above him, to the sides of him, peering around him.
Everyone struggled to get their shot of Wu.
Wu stared at Han from the brilliant glow of the young soldiers’ adoration. They avidly wished Wu their best with eager, vibrant smiles. Han grew furious, turned, and began dodging Wu’s onrushing fans, who surged in as Han stormed out.
“There he is!” a woman shouted, and Han looked on instinct. But she was pointing over a sea of heads at his son.
Han pushed outside through a revolving door and stood on the front steps alone, ignored, irrelevant. The chill washed over him. He filled his lungs with the cold air. It was quiet on the street, so unlike the commotion inside. Han searched the street at the bottom of the steps. There was no press. No waiting car. No motorcade. No entourage. The only vehicle other than four guard tanks was a camouflaged ATV around which lounged a few, smoking soldiers.
“Let me give you a ride,” Wu said from behind. The revolving door continued to turn as the sea of people surged out of the building, bringing with them noise and brightly glowing camera lights. They spilled down the steps and formed a tunnel of well wishers all the way to the camouflaged military vehicle. When Wu headed down, applause broke out. The throng turned toward Wu with clapping hands like sunflowers to a passing star.
Han followed his son.