It was Wang Wei, of course. One of the other two conservative members of the Standing Committee, before they’d purged the radical technophiles and added three more of their own. Wang Wei was nominally an ally. But the man was older than Bo Jintao. He was in his seventies, to Bo’s sixties. Wang Wei had been more senior in the party, the head of the CCDI – the Central Committee for Discipline Inspection. He was, in effect, the Grand Inquisitor of the Party. He was the more logical choice to become Premier, if one of them would.

But Bo had shot past him. Had taken leadership of their faction, and the nation.

Bo Jintao looked the older man in the eye. “I made the decision in the early stages of these protests to ignore them. I believed they would lose steam.”

He scanned his gaze around the room, meeting the eyes of the other Standing Committee members. “I was wrong.”

A man admits his mistakes, his father had taught him. Always. And then he fixes them.

The men around him lowered their eyes. Except Wang Wei, who stared back without flinching, and Bao Zhuang, who raised one eyebrow, and nodded thoughtfully.

“Now it’s time to end these protests,” Bo Jintao went on. “Before they grow larger. Deputy Minister Ho has prepared our police forces to strike, with firm strength, but minimum injuries. The plan is on your slates before you. Please take a moment to review.” He paused, letting the assembled leaders look at what Ho had prepared. As he saw men nod, raise their heads, and meet his gaze, he nodded himself.

“Because of the… historical issues,” Bo Jintao said, “Your agreement to this is required…”

Hands began to rise before he even finished. Wang Wei’s was first, high and rigid. The man stared hard at Bo Jintao, as if his posture and gaze could demonstrate that he would have been harder on these protesters. Bo ignored it, kept looking around the table. Five hands up. Everyone around the table. Except his own hand, of course. And nominal President Bao Zhuang’s.

Bo Jintao slowly lifted his own hand, looking expectantly at Bao Zhuang.

Bao Zhuang folded his fingers together in front of himself and looked back calmly at Bo Jintao. “Historical issues,” he said aloud.

Bo Jintao looked around the room. People were frowning.

So be it.

“The vote is unanimous,” Bo Jintao said aloud.

“If you act in a manner that shows disrespect,” Bo Jintao explained patiently in Bao Zhuang’s magnificent presidential office, later, when they were alone. “You will force me to respond.”

Bao Zhuang leaned back in the chair behind the imposing, ornately carved desk, the picture of composure. Behind him, Chinese flags framed a three meter wide photo of the Great Wall.

“This has nothing to do with you, Bo Jintao,” he said.