Two Peasants And A President Part 23

"I understand, Sir. What is it?"

"A man resembling your son-in-law was seen being taking through the Hong Kong airport in manacles, with no attempt to conceal his ident.i.ty. Based on the gate number, it appears that he was being flown north to Beijing or perhaps Tianjin, but we cannot be certain. I must stress that even his ident.i.ty has not been confirmed."

"Is the president aware of this?" asked the captain.

"He was briefed this morning."

"What does he intend to do?"

"As yet, he has not shared that with me," replied Benedict.

"In other words, nothing," said the captain with obvious disgust.

"It's too early to know that, Richard, but I must ask that this be kept strictly between us and I repeat, that no action whatsoever be taken. Do I have your word?"

"Yes, of course. Frankly, I don't know what anyone could do but I'll give it some thought and let you know if I come up with any ideas."

"Director?"

"Yes?"

"I don't have to tell you that two young members of my family have been through something that I can scarcely comprehend. I don't know how I would tell them if anything happened to Brett, especially in Tianjin."

"I hope that you will never have to do that, Richard. Some of the best people I have will be working very hard to bring Brett home."

"Thank you, Sir, I'll be in touch."

Only days ago, Davis had thought they were close to getting Brett released, but that was before the sinking of the container ship, the crackdown - and rumors of a coup. There had obviously been a sea change in China. What it meant could only be guessed. The next call was going to be difficult, but he had to tell Jim. The three of them had together saved a great many Americans; most would never know to whom they owed their lives.

Jim and Sally arrived at half past seven. The news was followed by several minutes of pained silence; it was as if China had decided for some unfathomable reason to not turn loose of this family without inflicting further suffering. The worst part was that none of them knew how to tell Maggie that by saving Raymond and Holly, Brett may have sacrificed himself.

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 president. 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 muscles, 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 ident.i.ty. It was obvious to all that he was either American or possibly European, with the former being the most guessed choice among the other pa.s.sengers.

But while the manacles and gag clearly displayed his status as a prisoner, 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 pa.s.sengers 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 pa.s.senger with gla.s.ses 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 pa.s.sengers 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 officer 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 the 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 there 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 pa.s.senger 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 know, tomorrow morning before dawn a raid will be conducted by hundreds of police and soldiers. For months, the authorities have been quietly a.s.sembling a list of activists and strike leaders whom they hope to capture and transport to a concentration camp in the desert. 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 pa.s.sed around contains numbers. Find the number you drew on the map and make sure you remember it because 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 forwarding bits of news and messages from conspirators, the system works quite well in spite of the untold millions the government spends to control and defeat 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 a.n.a.lysts had been noticing conversations emanating from blogs often a.s.sociated with the dissident community. Like schools of tiny fish darting back and forth to avoid a roving predator, the dissidents were becoming increasingly agitated by rumors of a huge dragnet that they believed would occur before dawn. As with all such rumors, the a.n.a.lyst knew that they could be just that rumors. Or they could be the result of deliberate disinformation on the part of the government. 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 pa.s.sing. It felt like more than an hour had pa.s.sed 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 recently 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.

"OK, turn it around and head back," Reynolds told Jian. "You know, it's really hard to believe that after all that happened at that hospital and on the Yellow Sea, they'd pull the same stunt again."

On the trip from the airport in Beijing, Reynolds had told Jian everything he could remember from the news stories about the kidnapping and the rescue.

"Hard to believe for you, boss. Not hard for me. Li would put your president in there if he could; he doesn't care what anybody thinks. He thinks he can kick anybody's a.s.s, even America's."

"When we get back to Beijing, I want you to drop me off a couple of blocks from the emba.s.sy," Reynolds said. "An hour later, meet me at that coffee shop, you know the one."

"What do you think they'll do?" Jian asked.

"Probably nothing," Reynolds replied. "The current administration seems to just want to look the other way, but at least I will have done what I can."

"I have better idea, boss. Sounds like everyone but your emba.s.sy helped those two newlyweds escape. Without their Chinese friends, they'd be all chopped up. I told you once about someone I know. How 'bout I drop you off at the office and the I go see him?"

"How 'bout we do both," Reynolds replied. "Drop me off at the emba.s.sy and I'll take a cab back to the office. Go see your friend, but please be careful. I don't want either of us to ever see the inside of that hospital."

64.

The young man with a backpack over his shoulder looked around nervously as he left his apartment. There was no one in the hall and he headed for the elevator. Outside on the street, he could feel his heart pounding as he looked around again before heading to the place where his motorbike was parked. He had scarcely turned toward the bike when he heard the squeal of tires and the sound of two car doors opening. Without looking back, he took off running, hoping that his youth and physical conditioning would enable him to escape. But he could not outrun the two tiny steel barbs hurtling toward his back. His head exploded with white light and he pitched face-first into the pavement. Dazed and unable to control his arms or legs, he had the vague sensation of his muscles twitching uncontrollably.

An attractive theater student climbed into a taxi carrying a small overnight bag. Trying to appear calm as she gave instructions to the driver, she suddenly screamed reflexively when a car cut the taxi off and a plainclothes officer opened her door. She kicked wildly as he dragged her out of the back seat, but a fist broke her nose, nearly knocking her out. She drifted in and out of consciousness as one of the officers roughly fondled her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and crotch in the back seat of the police car.

A university professor was standing in front of his cla.s.s when two men burst into the room. When the professor raised his arm to protest, one of the men smashed a fist into his face. As he lay senseless on the floor, the terrified students could hear his ribs being broken as the men kicked him repeatedly. Suddenly, the men turned and left. The professor would lie unconscious and bleeding on the cla.s.sroom floor for more than an hour until uniformed police collected him.

Scenes like this were repeated across Beijing and other cities as police attempted to head off escape attempts before the dragnet fully unfolded. The authorities were well aware that there are traitors in the police and elsewhere and that they could not hope to keep the plan a complete secret. For this reason they were watching some of their most important targets during the daylight and evening hours, lest they escape before hundreds of soldiers fanned out across the city in the early morning hours.

Given the vast number of entry points and arteries that comprise the internet, it is surprising that the police are able to monitor tens of thousands of Chinese netizens at all. As fast as the police plug one gap, the computer savvy dissidents find another. It's like a planet sized ant hill where the ants scurry around at light speed. Even the authorities realize there will always be tens if not hundreds of thousands of people who to some degree sympathize with what the dissidents stand for. While most citizens deeply resent the corruption and lack of a voice in their country's affairs, they also feel that they need to balance the benefits that the new Chinese society provides. Never before in the country's long history could ordinary citizens even dream of living as well as many do in today's China.

But resentment is one thing; insurrection is another. To openly join the protesters is to risk sacrificing jobs, consumer goods, decent apartments, in short, what people everywhere strive for. The government counts on this; in fact it was an integral part of planning for the shift from a Communist to a more or less Capitalist economy. That the majority of citizens will gladly take what to them is the good life in return for looking the other way and keeping their mouths shut was no surprise to those who pull the levers of power in Beijing.

There is, however, a tipping point, a point at which anger threatens common sense. The government's actions in Tianjin and on the Yellow Sea were becoming more broadly known by the day, not just by dissidents, but by the common folk who, like people everywhere, love to gossip and are constant recipients of information leaked via the internet and elsewhere. Coupled with the regime's brutal response to the strikes and demonstrations, what seemed to most like unnecessary, even gratuitous violence had been fanning the fires of dissent among some of the most even-tempered citizens.

When anger grows so strong that the people feel more empowered by it than they feel cowed by their government, a critical inflection point threatens to force its way up through the landscape like a volcano, sp.a.w.ning events such as the French revolution, the Russian Revolution, the fall of the Iron Curtain and others, past, present and future.

Li Guo Peng would have done well to return to his history books to study those events, but that would not happen, because he was under the influence of a powerful narcotic. Unlike an evening's indiscretion, it could not be slept off. The drug of power is c.u.mulative and was now coursing forcefully through his veins, imbuing him with a feeling of omnipotence, diminishing his sensitivity to danger, and reinforcing his growing recklessness. Li had reached the point where megalomaniacs begin to allow their momentum to carry them forward without first looking where they are going.

In Hanoi, another group of old men had just adjourned one of the most critical meetings of their careers. The consensus, though hotly contested, was that China's belligerence threatened the very maritime trade that is their country's economic lifeblood. Even those who urged moderation had not been able to come up with a position, short of capitulation, that would calm China's aggression. All knew that the United States president would avoid confrontation with China at all costs. The challenge was to force America's hand.

In antic.i.p.ation that China's aggression would grow to whatever extent it was allowed to grow by other nations, Vietnam had been purchasing submarines from Russia for some time. While they were under no illusion that they could defeat the Chinese navy by sheer force of arms, they felt that they had no choice but to call China's bluff. If a Chinese submarine could sink Vietnamese commercial shipping, then a Vietnamese submarine could sink Chinese commercial shipping. Even for a navy as large as China's, protecting the hundreds of ships leaving its ports each week would be impossible.

Since much of China's shipping, as well as Vietnam's, is destined for the United States, their president could not stand by while his economy is slowly strangled, especially not at a time when it was already teetering. While the American carrier battle groups would not survive close to China's sh.o.r.es in open conflict, they could protect shipping farther out, negating China's advantage in numbers. If China were to threaten the carriers at sea, they might have some successes but they would in the end lose an unsustainable number of warships, all of which would help Vietnam. If China were forced to back down, as was Vietnam's goal, then the problem would be solved. No one wished to even think of the alternative, which was total war.

Therefore, Vietnam's leaders called the Chinese amba.s.sador before them to advise him that henceforth, any shipping originating in Vietnam that is attacked by any Chinese submarine, surface warship or aircraft will result in the sinking of a Chinese ship. Furthermore, at the point when the next Vietnamese ship is sunk, all Chinese imports will be rejected. In a final point, it was announced that a convoy would be leaving forthwith for the United States.

Li was fully immersed in the implementation of the dissident dragnet and at first did not wish to be disturbed. It was only after an angry outburst that his aide finally persuaded him to read what his amba.s.sador had sent. Never a man who could juggle complex trains of thought simultaneously, Li erupted in a rage. In his current state, he saw the amba.s.sador's message not for what it was, a profound change in the relationship between the two countries, but as a distraction from what he felt he needed to personally oversee at this moment.

What followed was a stunningly childish response. Like a brat being summoned from in front of the television set to dinner, Li threw a fit and without pausing to consider the ramifications, rashly ordered that the first merchant ship from Vietnam to attempt to pa.s.s into the open ocean be sunk. His aide wisely attempted to persuade him to take a step back and reconsider, but was shouted down. Another critical error had been made. Another crucial decision taken in anger and without consulting the Standing Committee. Li was now well down the path of so many dictators before him, the path that ignores sound advice.

At a little past one in the morning, Li ordered the dissident dragnet into full implementation. Police, reinforced by soldiers, began breaking down doors. Residents awoke to the sound of boots tramping down apartment hallways. They sat up in their beds, pulling covers tightly around them as they waited, wondering if the boots would stop in front of their door. Pajama-clad citizens were dragged into the chilly night and thrown into waiting vans and trucks to the sounds of wailing and sobbing families despairing of ever seeing their loved ones again.

By 4:30 am, most of the vans and trucks had disgorged their prisoners at the army base where they were herded onto the waiting buses. The few who had escaped on motorbikes and in cars quickly ran into numerous roadblocks that had been set up around the city. Some in their panic led police right to the hiding places of other dissidents. All in all, it was a successful night for the authorities, with more than 900 dissidents and strike leaders captured. When Li finally retired for the night, he did so with a sense that the nation had been sufficiently cowed and would think carefully before challenging his rule in the future. It was only when he had turned out the light that he remembered the decision he had made earlier, but weariness and sleep soon pushed it aside.

Shortly after five, the caravan of buses began its trip northward. City traffic had not yet reached its rush hour frenzy and by six the buses and trucks were well clear of the city. Inside the buses, attempts at conversation were quickly thwarted by guards holding electric shock wands. A few prisoners managed to whisper questions among themselves without being noticed but there were few if any answers.

To the farmers and early morning travelers along the highway, the sight and sound of thirty army buses as well as several trucks trailing a cloud of diesel smoke made for an eerie sunrise spectacle. Some briefly wondered if there had been an incident in the northern provinces, but the absence of armored vehicles made that seem unlikely. A few snapped cell phone pictures of the procession which they sent to friends with question marks, knowing that they might never learn where or why the strange caravan was heading.

The buses had been pa.s.sing through smaller towns and less settled areas when the driver of the lead truck noticed a large farm truck pulling across the highway ahead. It was closely followed by another and then another. Thinking that some farmers were simply trying to beat the traffic, he laid his hand on the horn for several long blasts. He could see the drivers of the trucks looking his way but instead of quickening their pace, they slowed and stopped.

In the middle of the highway.

As the driver of the lead army truck watched in puzzlement, another row of trucks pulled in alongside the first row, then another until the highway was completely blocked with farm trucks, three rows deep. Suddenly, as if on queue, the farmers piled out of their trucks carrying long narrow packages wrapped in paper and scurried into and between the buildings that lined the highway.

The lead driver simultaneously hit his brakes and the send b.u.t.ton on his radio to shout a warning to those behind. Even so, there were several collisions as drivers not expecting a sudden stop on the highway ploughed into the vehicles in front of them. Bus occupants screamed as they were thrown forward into the seat backs in front of them, unable to brace themselves due to the plastic cuffs that held their hands behind their backs. Foreheads were bruised, a few teeth were broken, and fear quickly spread through the buses.

The drivers of the two army trucks bringing up the rear had only just heard the strange message coming over their radios, when in their rearview mirrors they noticed several rows of farm trucks sealing off the highway behind them. What had been a question quickly became a concern as the word ambush came to minds of some. Like the farmers ahead of the convoy, those in the rear quickly ran into or around the surrounding buildings where they disappeared except for an occasional head peering around a corner.

An officer had just jumped out of one of the lead trucks to ascertain what was going on when something he had never seen nor ever expected to see whizzed through the air. The arrow pierced the front tire of the truck he had just dismounted, a hissing sound now audible as the tire slowly flattened. As he drew his sidearm, several more arrows pierced the remaining tires of his truck. He quickly ordered the soldiers in the back to dismount, which they did with their Kalashnikovs at ready.

The farmers c.u.m archers had dispersed to roof tops, alleys, repair shops and petrol stations on both sides of the caravan and began to loose a blizzard of arrows that soon punctured most of the tires on the convoy. While nary a single arrow had hit anyone, the frightened officer ordered his troops to open fire, which they did in full auto mode, spraying buildings on both sides with bullets that pierced all manner of objects, but struck nary a single farmer who all had ducked into nooks and crannies and would only occasionally peer out to see what the troops were doing. Residents, shop keepers, repairmen and others in the buildings that lined the highway had heard the shouted warnings of the farmers and had headed out back doors and alleyways to the safety of buildings farther from the road.

Most of the soldiers had already exhausted two or more magazines of ammo before they paused to see what they were shooting at. Not hearing another order to commence firing, they found what cover they could under the trucks and buses, whose frames were now very close to the ground. It was then that an amplified voice, as though from a megaphone, rang out: "Soldiers of the People's Republic. Do not be afraid! We have not come to harm you but to release the citizens in your custody whose only crime was to disagree with the policies of their government. We pledge not to harm anyone as long as you allow your prisoners to go free. However, if you harm the prisoners or attempt to kill us, we will have no choice but to fire upon you. Do not dismiss our bows and arrows as ancient, useless weapons; they can kill as easily as your bullets."

There were several more volleys of gunfire before the megaphone sounded again: "To the individual soldiers and police officers from the convoy we ask: Will you choose to murder your countrymen who wish you no harm, or will you lay down your weapons and walk away from the vehicles peacefully? No one needs to die. Not you. Not us."

The officer defiantly ordered his troops to open fire again and many did, emptying more magazines uselessly into empty buildings. A few lay beneath the vehicles silently, in thought. When there was another lull, the amplified voice began again: "Your weapons are almost empty. We have many arrows. Please save yourselves and us from unnecessary bloodshed. We are your countrymen. We are farmers whose labors feed your families. We love our country and are not your enemies. Please, please lay down your guns and allow us to free the prisoners."

Again the officer ordered his troops to open fire but this time only a few did, some professing that they were out of ammo, others only pretending so. The fire quickly ceased and the officer now turned his sidearm toward his own men, threatening to shoot them. One of the soldiers called from under a truck: "Will you really shoot your own men?"