Two Peasants And A President Part 7

24.

It seemed like the hiss of rus.h.i.+ng air had been part of their lives for years. It hissed while they were eating, it hissed while they watched movies, it was hissing when they awoke from a nap. Hour after hour after hour, it never paused, never changed.

Sally imagined it must be like that wearing an oxygen mask, listening to the tank sitting next to you providing every breath of air, hour after hour. Sally had flown before, they all had, but she'd never really noticed it that much before. Maybe it had been the conversation around her or the sound of the flight attendants rolling the drink tray down the aisle, over and over again.

Seven hours into this flight and still only half way across the Pacific, the little things became magnified due to boredom and four hundred bodies crammed into a long, narrow tube. You got tired of watching movies, and you can only eat so much. And if you tried to sleep, a baby in the back, or a grumpy child somewhere up front always seemed to start to whine or scream b.l.o.o.d.y murder.

Maggie and Brett were three rows up. Once in awhile Maggie would turn around and roll her eyes, like when is this going to end? Sally thought about the businessmen and women who do this all the time, wondering what they do to keep from going crazy. Maybe their doctors give them knockout drops or something. Jim was reading his second paperback, something named Absolute Zero; it sounded like she felt. Her father, several rows back, had somehow managed to fall asleep. Sally pushed the attendant b.u.t.ton, thinking maybe another drink might help.

When they finally landed, they looked and felt like zombies. Most of the other pa.s.sengers looked like that too, like survivors of a plane crash, plucked out of the jungle somewhere and deposited at the end of a customs/immigration line, the final tribulation before they keeled over dead. But this was no vacation and they made an effort to be alert, focusing on looking like ordinary tourists.

The formalities weren't all that bad, really. A look at their pa.s.sports, the usual questions and on to customs, where someone looked them over and then pa.s.sed them through. They had decided that once they were on the ground in Hong Kong, they wouldn't look at or speak to each other two couples and a lone man traveling separately. It almost seemed silly with hundreds of other zombies moving through the airport at the same time, but better to be safe. China liked to project an image of peace, harmony and all that, but they were in the biggest police state on the planet. Best not to forget that.

They found the taxi queues to their respective hotels and waited. Since their flight arrived late at night, they'd decided just to get some sleep and begin their tasks in the morning. Clean sheets, decent beds and no more hissing made that easy. It seemed like only three or four hours later when their wake up calls announced that their first day in Hong Kong was about to begin. But they were rested and starting to feel the nervous energy of their reason for being here.

Jim and Sally's a.s.signment was to go to the place where the junk tours departed. It had been decided not to just go barging in and start asking questions. Instead they found a little restaurant, and had a leisurely lunch, all the while pretending to take snapshots of the harbor from the restaurant window. When they'd spent about as much time as they could at the restaurant without drawing attention, they moved to a spot that was out of sight from the restaurant. Sally sat on the bench taking a few pictures while Jim strolled around as a sightseer might.

About a half and hour later, Maggie and Brett appeared across the street and strolled out onto the pier where a junk was moored. Their a.s.signment was to pose as tourists thinking about a cruise and checking things out. They snapped a few shots of the junks and then spied what appeared to be a crewman. Brett walked up to him and asked if he worked there. He indicated he didn't speak much English and pointed toward what looked like it might be the office for the cruise outfit.

When they entered, an efficient looking Chinese woman in her forties looked up from a desk surrounded by travel posters and smiled: "May I help you," she asked, with only a slight accent. They proceeded to tell her that they were thinking about a cruise, preferably a dinner cruise with a good view of the harbor. The lady was quite disarming and proceeded to ask where they were staying, perhaps to ascertain what they could afford to pay. When they demurred about naming their hotel, the lady went ahead and gave them the full rundown, even trying to close the sale on the spot. They thanked her and accepted the proffered brochures and turned to leave.

From their perch on the bench, Sally snapped a shot of Brett and Maggie as they left the cruise office. From farther off, Richard was taking his own photos using a telephoto lens, his goal to ascertain if either couple seemed to have attracted any attention or was being followed.

They had discussed this surveillance in depth before they left. The girls seemed to think it a bit excessive, but Richard reasoned that unless Holly and Ray's disappearance was a random kidnapping, someone had done some planning. Richard said that anyone who planned such a crime would undoubtedly a.s.sume that the families might come looking for them.

They'd debated who might carry out such a crime. It was generally felt that a criminal organization was a distinct possibility, but no one wanted to rule out completely the possibility of government involvement at some level. It was not inconceivable that a sophisticated ring of some sort was at work. If that were the case, it was also not inconceivable that they might have an ally in local government with access to lists of the names and addresses of travelers' coming in from the US. Computers made the rest easy. What no one spoke about, at least not in front of Jim and Sally, was that this could be about white slavery. Many speculated that had been the fate of Natalie Holloway, the young American college girl who went missing in Aruba.

Richard had not seen anyone following or watching any of his family. That seemed to bode well, at least for now. But it was not to say that the woman who booked the cruises didn't have the photos of family members in her desk in case of just such a visit. Richard had chillingly reminded them before they left: "We already know first hand that people go missing in Hong Kong. We don't yet know how, but we don't want to find out by joining them."

The problem that had taken the longest to resolve was how to meet and compare notes. They had been required to list their hotels as part of the formalities to enter Hong Kong. That alone precluded meeting in one of their hotels. Since China is notorious for grabbing data from traveler's electronic devices, I-Phones etc. were out. They'd finally settled on the Star Ferry, the ubiquitous green ferries that have crossed the harbor between Kowloon and Hong Kong island for decades. They reasoned that as long as each couple sat in rows toward the rear, but sat directly behind each other, they could appear to be talking to the person next to them, while the couple behind them could listen and comment while scanning the crowd seated forward. If someone insisted on sitting near them, they would simply wait, split up on the other side of the harbor, then reunite an hour later and try again on the return trip.

Richard would remain the outlier, always apart, always where he could watch for watchers. Toward the end of each day, Brett inconspicuously pa.s.sed a tiny ca.s.sette and a data card to him in a nearby crowded bar, which would vary from day to day. Later in his room, Richard would listen to the days notes and commentary and look over the data card photos in his camera window. Then, very early the next morning, he would take a brisk walk and, once he was sure he hadn't been followed, would visit Brett and Maggie's hotel and pa.s.s his own ca.s.sette and data card under their door. It wasn't exactly CIA tradecraft, but it was the best they could come up with on short notice.

The first day wasn't particularly productive. The data cards from the cameras didn't have anything on them that jumped out, and the ca.s.sette pretty much just verbalized that they hadn't seen anything that caught their attention. One thing did catch Richard's eye, however. When Brett and Maggie had left the cruise office, the sailor they'd spoken with on the junk seemed to follow them with his eyes for a long time. At first Richard didn't give it much thought; people stare at other people all the time, especially when they think no one's watching. Then something clicked.

Raymond is the spitting image of his dad, and vice versa.

Richard would share that via his morning ca.s.sette. He also saved the sailor's photo for future reference. Finally, he decided that Brett and Maggie should not go back to the pier. Later that night, as he lay in bed, another possibility occurred to him. What if Brett did go back to the pier alone, to take some pictures or ask some mundane questions about the junk? If the Chinese sailor's look had been more than casual, he might be spooked into revealing something by his actions. Richard resolved to give that more consideration.

The next morning the two couples went shopping like normal tourists in the world's foremost shopping paradise. It would provide some props for future use and give Richard time to explore another avenue. He was at the door of the American consulate when it opened. When he got to the front desk, he asked the duty person if he could speak with the naval attache. He wasn't even sure if there was one in Hong Kong, but he'd decided he needed an ally and for him, the navy was the best place to start.

The consular representative said: "What is the nature of your visit?"

I was the captain of a United States wars.h.i.+p, and I have a few questions I'd like to ask," replied Richard.

To his surprise, "Let me see if he's in this morning," came the answer. "Please have a seat over there."

"Some ten minutes later, a tall, erect man with dark hair walked over to the desk and was pointed toward Richard. He walked up smiling and introduced himself as Commander James Moore. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"Davis, Richard Davis, Retired," he replied. "I wonder if I might have a few moments of your time?"

Richard was now winging it, at alt.i.tude, in fact. He hadn't decided if he would decide to trust this man, regardless of how their conversation went. He thought it more likely that they would pa.s.s the time of day for awhile and he would end up deciding not to involve the Commander at all. Navy regs are Navy regs and disobeying them is the fastest track to a ruined career; he knew that firsthand. The young navy man in front of him was no doubt also well aware of that.

"I understand that you skippered a wars.h.i.+p, Captain," the commander inquired. Richard took a deep breath and put one foot in the water.

"Yes, that's true, but unfortunately, the wars.h.i.+p I commanded is sitting on the bottom off the coast of Louisiana."

The commander looked puzzled for an instant, and then it clicked.

"You're the one with the Cubans and the Iranians," he said.

"Actually, I was trying very hard to defeat the Cubans and the Iranians," Richard replied.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way," the commander sputtered. "I meant that you're the captain who saved us from the worst attack since Pearl Harbor."

"Had it succeeded, it would have been far worse than Pearl Harbor, Commander," Richard added solemnly. The commander eyed him for awhile, letting what he had just learned about the man before him sink in.

"Actually, I read a restricted report about the incident, Captain. Based on that, I, and others, for that matter, thought they should have given you the Medal of Honor."

Richard half-smiled: "It didn't work out that way, commander."

After a long pause, the tall officer said: "What brings you to Hong Kong, Captain?"

Captain Richard J. Davis, US Navy, Retired, knew that he had arrived at the moment of truth. The decision he was about to make could either result in their being thrown out of Hong Kong entirely, or, and this was a very distant second, could conceivably result in some manner or form of a.s.sistance. He looked at the officer sitting before him and asked: "Do you have any children, Commander?"

The officer seemed surprised at the question and hesitated.

"Yes, actually I do," he finally said. "Why do you ask?"

Richard paused, framing his words carefully: "I have a very beautiful granddaughter," he said slowly. "Besides my daughter, that's all I have, since my wife has pa.s.sed away. Commander," he continued, looking the officer in the eye, "My lovely granddaughter disappeared several days ago in this city. She was on her honeymoon."

The young officer sat stunned, not knowing what to say. The two men were silent for several moments. Finally, the officer said: "I'm not sure what I can do to help, Captain, but I am sure that I will do whatever I can."

25.

Senator Baines knew that another opportunity like this might not come for a long time. The public outcry over China's actions in the South China Sea was growing. Even some Democrats were beginning to realize that refusing to back tariffs could have a steep price because their const.i.tuents would feel that once again the United States had caved before the growing power of China. The very labor unions that had placed the president in power began to criticize him, reasoning that punis.h.i.+ng China might result in jobs coming home.

Regardless of the negative ramifications, hitting the Chinese with tariffs was being talked about in coffee shops and around dinner tables all across the country. The idea of sticking it to China made Americans feel good for a change. It made their country appear strong. That the administration seemed to be covering up China's unprovoked sinking of a foreign vessel more than 700 miles from their mainland insulted American's basic sense of fairness, and the fact that the s.h.i.+p had once been a US destroyer and was a virtual antique incensed people all the more.

One media outlet even showed wartime footage of the heroic USS Atherton helping to defeat the threat from the East. That it had ceased to be a US wars.h.i.+p decades ago didn't seem to matter; it was a simple case of a bully who needed to be bullied back. One syndicated cartoon depicted Senator Baines wearing a Super Man costume and standing with one foot on a caricature of a p.r.o.ne Chinese president. T-s.h.i.+rts soon followed.

Baines was gathering votes and the majority leader knew it. Several of his allies had already defected. That men and women who understood the negative consequences of erecting tariffs would move to the other side infuriated Rausch. It was pure politics, the same variety he had practiced for years, and he seethed at being on the receiving end of his own tactics.

Late in the afternoon, the House pa.s.sed a resolution giving China sixty days to amend their claim of sovereignty over the entire South China Sea and pay reparations to the Philippines. Otherwise, a list of tariffs would be applied. If, after 120 days, China had not mended its ways, additional tariffs would be added to the list.

Now the ball was in the Senate majority leader's court. He could use his favorite tactic and simply refuse to bring the measure to the floor; he did this frequently and in the same breath blamed Republicans for their intransigence. But this time he knew the tactic would certainly backfire. Americans were now riveted on events in the South China Sea with an intensity normally reserved for the Super Bowl. He and Senate Democrats, along with the president, were being seen as the ones who caved to China.

Those familiar with the way China operates know that China only does something when it is either in their interest or they are forced to. They can be counted on to never do anything simply because it's the right thing to do. Their decades of support for the world's worst dictators is proof enough.

Then there was the other problem. China had made it clear that there would be no more purchases of US Treasuries, at least for the time being They had even hinted that they were considering selling a chunk of what they already owned. Those knowledgeable about international finance opined that the Chinese would be cutting off their noses in spite of their faces. But their knowledge of economics was overshadowed by their unfortunate ignorance of history. China has for centuries epitomized arrogance. In fact, 'Junguo,' the Chinese word for China, has an alternate meaning: 'center of the universe.' They had always viewed themselves thus, even before they had any real ability to project power. China could also far better afford the financial hit than could America, and they knew it. It was a case of international brinksmans.h.i.+p, and China held all the aces.

26.

"What the h.e.l.l is keeping you?" he shouted into his cell phone. "I've been waiting at the restaurant for fifteen minutes."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," she replied. "I'm at a different restaurant. No more grease bombs for this lady."

"Listen, you b.i.t.c.h . . ."

"No, you listen, Chuckie! If you want the tape, you're gonna eat Thai food for a change."

Twenty minutes later, the front door of Siamese Delight flew open and Chuck stormed in.

Molly was seated at a table covered with a dark red table cloth, eating a spring roll. She scarcely looked up when his shadow darkened her table.

"Where is it, b.i.t.c.h?" he seethed, not bothering to sit.

"Sit down, Chuckie," she told him. "When we're through eating, I'll show you the video and then you'll pay me the remaining five grand."

"What do you mean show me the video? You were supposed to turn on the camera, not play Spielberg."

"Did you think I'm that technology-challenged, Chuckie?" she asked.

"Stop calling me that, b.i.t.c.h!" he replied, clenching his fists.

"Stop calling me b.i.t.c.h, Chuckie!" she retorted. "I made a DVD and when we've eaten something that isn't dripping grease, I'm going to show it to you."

The waiter approached and asked if they needed another menu. The man from Boston snapped "no" without even looking up.

"Suit, yourself. If you'd rather just watch me eat, it's up to you," she said.

"What makes you think I won't just slap you silly and take the f.u.c.king tape?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Cause I have a copy of the DVD, for insurance," she replied between bites of Phad Thai.

His hand moved menacingly toward the inside of his jacket.

"What are you gonna do, shoot me in downtown DC?" she asked, delicately dabbing her mouth with a cloth napkin. Her knees felt wobbly, but she wasn't about to let it show.

He glared at her, thinking about what he would do to her when he had the opportunity. When she had finished eating, she reached into her purse on the floor next to her and produced a compact DVD player.

"You're gonna love this," she said as she opened the small screen. "Ready?" He glared at her.

A picture appeared on the screen. In it, Molly and Chuck could clearly be seen talking through the window of the greasy spoon restaurant where they had met yesterday. Not only that, but their voices were quite distinct, thanks to the tiny transmitter Molly had been wearing.

Chuck's hand went to his gun, but suddenly he felt a needle pressed against his neck. The waiter was standing behind him. Then he heard the front door locked and the curtains closed.

"I wouldn't do that, Mr. Rawles, if I were you," said Virgil Baines, stepping from behind the curtain. "The syringe is filled with extract of Thai peppers, the hottest organic on the planet. Mobsters in Bangkok have used it for decades to kill people they dislike. They say that within two seconds it feels like a red hot poker moving through the veins. This lasts anywhere from one to three minutes, until it reaches the heart, where it cremates the still-beating organ like a flaming blowtorch." Baines was ad-libbing a little, but it felt good. And it was having the desired effect on the same nasty piece of work that had come into the bar with Molly that first night.

Using a napkin, the restaurant owner carefully retrieved the 9mm automatic that had been resting under the thug's left arm. Next he applied handcuffs, first the left and then, behind his back, the right.

"Thanks, Joe," Baines said to his old friend. Baines had helped Joe when he was being prosecuted for something he didn't do. A crooked vice-cop thought it would be an easy frame, and it had been until Baines learned about it from one of his aides. Joe had never forgotten.

"You're probably wondering where we're going from here, Mr. Rawles," Baines said as he sat down next to Molly, across from the thug. More spring rolls and other Thai delicacies appeared on the table. Between bites, Baines began to spell it out.

"First, you're going to tell me who you're working for. I'm pretty sure I already know, but I'd like to hear you say it."

"f.u.c.k you," said Rawles.

"Let's see, blackmailing a United States Senator. . . oh, and I almost forgot, illegal possession of a concealed firearm in DC. I a.s.sume you don't have a permit for that, Mr. Rawles. No, I didn't think so; they're rather hard to get. How old are you? Oh, never mind. Suffice it to say, if you ever get out of prison you'll probably need a walker."

"Now, where were we?" Baines said, lifting a spring roll to his lips. "Oh yes, you were going to tell me who you're working for."

The thug was silent.

"Dial 911 for me please, Joe," Baines said.

"Brewer, Lanny Brewer," Rawles said sullenly.

"Lanny Brewer . . . hmm, that seems to ring a bell. Isn't he Stuart Shumer's aide?" asked Baines. "Never mind, I'll verify it."

"Now, there are two ways this thing can go from here, Chuck, May I call you Chuck?" said Baines.

"One - Instead of Mr. Brewer receiving the video he was hoping for, he gets a copy of the one you just saw. Somehow I think he'll be most unhappy. I suspect he'll want to make sure that you're not available for his trial. I'm sure there's plenty of cement available in Boston and the harbor is quite deep. Are you with me so far, Chuck?" The thug said nothing.

"Option Two - You meet with Mr. Brewer as before, but with a wire this time. a.s.suming that you do exactly as you're told, I believe that I can arrange to make your outcome considerably more to your liking."

"What kind of a f.u.c.king deal is that?" said the thug. "I won't make it to court either way. Brewer's friends will introduce me to Jimmy Hoffa."

"The difference is that I, or rather the federal government, can provide witness protection, Chuck, for you and for your family. It's a chance at a new life, one that I seriously doubt you deserve."

He paused for several moments.