Two Peasants and a President (50 page)

They talked until well past ten but in the end came up with not a single option that sounded workable.  They didn’t even know where Brett was, but if he was where they dreaded most, it was possible that he might have only days or perhaps even hours to live.  It was with great regret and sadness that they decided to break for the evening.

“Richard, Navy Seals don’t leave other Navy Seals behind!  Period!  Ever!” were Jim’s parting words as he walked out to the car. 

Davis sat at his desk for several more hours turning over everything they had discussed, hoping to see something, anything they had not noticed before.  A faithful friend who had once put his life on the line for the captain was in danger again, this time for helping save the captain’s granddaughter.  He could not be allowed to be sacrificed for the price of his body parts or the pleasure of a megalomaniac.

The heads of Defense and CIA had already put their careers on the block to save the captain and his family and in so doing, had defied a pres
i
dent.  The nation would never go to war over one man, no matter who it was.  Nevertheless, Jim’s words haunted him.

Navy Seals don’t leave other Navy Seals behind!  Period!  Ever!

******

It was a rubber-neckers paradise.  Ten minutes into the flight, everyone on board had already taken the opportunity to exercise his or her neck mu
s
cles, courtesy of the bandaged man in the rearmost seat on the plane.  He sat fully manacled and sandwiched between two large police officers, but aside from the duct tape over his mouth, there had been no attempt to conceal his identity.  It was obvious to all that he was either American or possibly European, with the former being the most guessed choice among the other passengers. 

But while the manacles and gag clearly displayed his status as a pri
s
oner, his eyes said something else entirely.  They did not have the look of one resigned to his fate.  The tall, well-built man surveyed his surroundings as would a cunning animal, ready to act with speed and decisiveness should the opportunity arise.  Some also thought they detected a slight air of unease or even nervousness in the police officers.  While the passengers knew nothing of the man’s background, the officers on either side of him were well aware that it had taken him only seconds to hospitalize a seaman in Hong Kong.

The brazen manner in which Brett was being transported in full view of hundreds of people in the airport and on the plane was no oversight.  Li
Guo
Peng
intended not only to exact revenge but to make an example for all to see.  With all dictators, there comes a point at which they believe their power is sufficient to crush anyone who stands in their way.  Li was now well past that point, but like other dictators throughout history, he failed to grasp that his most dangerous enemies were not necessarily those in front of him. 

As the China Air 737 continued on its way to Beijing, where Brett would be transferred to a police van for the remainder of the trip to Tianjin, a reddish haired passenger with glasses glanced back at the prisoner.  William Reynolds, executive of an American fast food chain with many restaurants in China, had been stateside for several weeks and had been following the story of the newlyweds.  The prisoner in the back closely resembled one of the photos he’d seen; the hair, face, the manacles, the flight’s origination in Hong Kong; it all added up.  

For a moment, the executive thought to himself that it would be the better part of discretion to just forget what he had seen.  China was not only flexing its military muscles; Beijing had made it quite clear of late that it expected its business ‘partners’ to remember where they were and whose laws they were expected to obey.  Clearly he had a duty to protect his company and shareholders, but the ‘Tianjin Affair’, as it was being referred to, was so far beyond any standard of civilized behavior that one might have expected it of
a
North Korea or Iran.  But America’s biggest trading partner? 

Reynolds didn’t look back at the prisoner again; he didn’t need to.  He’d made up his mind.  When the plane had touched down, the passengers were allowed to disembark first while the prisoner and his guards remained seated in the back.  This was good since it provided time for him to grab his bag and get to the car that was picking him up. 

As usual, a well-fed man in his late thirties was waiting by the curb.  With thick, black hair combed straight up, as if needing sunlight to grow and wearing heels almost two inches thick, he, like many other males in China struggled with his stature. 
Jian
had worked for Reynolds since the company
opened its first restaurant in Beijing, and the two had developed a close friendship, so close that they trusted each other with dangerous secrets. 

“
Stay here as long as you can,
Jian
, and look for a police car or van of some sort.
”
 
Jian
did not question the request
,
though looking out for police cars rather than looking for them would have seemed more logical.  An o
f
ficer was about to shoo them out of the temporary parking area when a large, windowless van pulled into an area reserved for official use.  No sooner had the rear doors been opened than the two police officers from the plane emerged from the terminal with their prisoner.  In seconds the van had pulled out into traffic with Reynolds and
Jian
following at a discreet distance. 

“You know that guy?” asked
Jian
.

“No, but I think I know who he is.  I hope your gas tank is full.”

******

More than thirty army buses were lined up three abreast, their gas tanks full for the long trip north.  A fuel tanker would accompany them along with a water truck to quench the thirst of t
he more than fifty soldiers riding in trucks
who would be guarding the buses.

It was expected to take much of the day for the caravan to reach the point in the Gobi desert where the compound had been erected.  Parallel rows of chain link topped with razor wire surrounded three acres of hot, dry sand.  Outside the compound, Quonset huts with portable air conditioning and showers had been set up for the guards.  For the prisoners th
ere would only be crude tents,
and the brutal sun. 

“In the morning, we will cut off the head of the snake.  Then we will watch the body squirm and die.  By tomorrow night, the protests, like the snake will be finished,”  Li said, as much to himself as to the aide standing next to him watching the preparations. 

******

“He’s here!  Come quickly,” 
Nuan
said. 

They had distilled the possessions of three lifetimes into two small suitcases which Jun placed in the trunk of his taxi as
Nuan’s
elderly parents climbed with her help into the back seat. 
Nuan
closed the passenger door and turned to Jun. 

“What’s happening?”

“The pig is sending soldiers before dawn to the homes of everyone they know about.  They have erected a concentration camp in the northern desert
where they plan to hold us until we die of thirst or sunstroke.  It will be a huge raid, unlike anything they have ever done.”

“Are we ready?” asked
Nuan
.

“If they take the route that our mole tells they will use, then yes.”

“And if it is a trap?”

“Then we will need a lot of sunscreen.”

 
******

By sunset, there were over forty farm trucks parked in and around Hong’s family produce warehouse.  Though more than usual, they did not look out of place since farm trucks come and go from this place every day as they carry fruits and vegetables to market.  But tonight their cargo would not be produce.

Hong’s mother and sisters had prepared noodles with vegetables for the drivers’ dinner, and they sat on crates inside the warehouse eating what for some might be their last meal.  When they had finished, Hong and his brother carried an ancient portable blackboard from a side room and placed it in front of the group.

“As most of you already kno
w, tomorrow morning before dawn
a raid will be conducted by hundreds of police and soldiers.  For months
,
the a
u
thorities have been quietly assembling a list of activists and strike leaders whom they hope to capture and transport to a concentration camp in the d
e
sert.  The government does not intend for them to
ever
return.”

“On the blackboard, I have drawn a map of their route and the spot at which we will be waiting.  Beginning at 2 am, we will start leaving in groups of two or three trucks so as not to draw attention.  Our ambush point is the only place along the route where their caravan can be blocked at both front and rear without any side streets on which to escape.  Below the route map is a plan view of the area.  As you can see, there are numbers scattered about, seemingly at random.  We have scouted the area and these are the best places to put our men.  The hat you see being passed around contains numbers.  Find the number you drew on the map and make sure you remember it b
e
cause that is where you are expected to be.  You have your weapons with you and you all have practiced until you are confident you can hit your targets.” 

******

One of the most important ways ordinary people communicate in China is through blogs.  It is a time-consuming pursuit, to say the least, with many
spending several hours a day searching for items of interest before they are taken down by the authorities.  Once something of importance is discovered, it must be propagated as widely and as quickly as possible before the censors spot it.  Because at any hour of the day or night, there are hundreds of thousands of Chinese young people scouring the internet, finding and fo
r
warding bits of news and messages from conspirators, the system works quite well in spite of the untold millions the government spends to control and d
e
feat it. 

In fact, the system works so well that foreign intelligence agencies regularly use it in an attempt to ferret out what’s going on in China.  For more than two hours, Sarah Ferguson, one of the CIA’s Far East analysts had been noticing conversations emanating from blogs often associated with the di
s
sident community.  Like schools of tiny fish darting back and forth to avoid a roving predator, the dissidents were becoming increasingly agitated by r
u
mors of a huge dragnet that they believed would occur before dawn.  As with all such rumors, the analyst kne
w that they could be just that –
rumors.  Or they could be the result of deliberate disinformation on the part of the go
v
ernment.  But something felt different about this one.  Accordingly, she bucked it up to Benedict’s desk. 

The DCI was well aware that out of one hundred rumors might come one event of any interest, but he also knew that Ferguson had demonstrated a good ear for what was going on and as he scanned recent emails, he stopped at hers and opened it. 

Dramatic uptick in activity concerning possible major dawn raid on dissidents.  Also discussion of new desert prison compound allegedly for purpose of isolating dissidents. 

Benedict paused for a minute before ordering overheads to see if there were any satellite images that might corroborate what was going on.  Forty-five minutes later he had his answer; an area of the Gobi desert northwest of Beijing normally not surveyed by reconnaissance satellites showed a high-security compound that had recently
been
built.  And at a military base near Beijing, there was unusual activity in the form of dozens of vehicles forming up, including thirty military buses.  He fired off congrats to Ferguson and picked up the phone. 

*******

Aside from two small windows placed high in the rear doors, Brett could see nothing of the area through which the van was passing.  It felt like more than an hour had passed when the van turned sharply into a parking lot. 
Like his son and daughter-in-law before him, he caught a glimpse of a large overhead door that clattered upward, allowing the van into a loading dock of some sort.  No longer parading him defiantly in public, his guards threw a hood over his head; he suspected to prevent him from memorizing the way out.  Once inside, two distinct smells greeted his nostrils: grease from the elevator mechanism and the one he dreaded most: a disinfectant aroma like a hospital.  Though he could not know it, the room in which he found himself had been r
ecently occupied
by his daughter-in-law
.
  Li had ordered that he be placed in his son’s cell, but the lock had not been repaired.