Two Peasants And A President Part 8

"Decision time, Chuck."

27.

Molly was pensive during the ride across town, not uttering a word. Finally she turned to Baines: "So what happens now, Virgil? I mean with me"

"For the time being you can stay in the spare bedroom, if you want, at least until I can look into some employment possibilities Or, if you prefer, you could stay in a hotel," Baines replied, trying to tell to himself that he wasn't hoping she would stay. 'Bad idea,' said a familiar voice in his head.

"Five grand wouldn't last long in a Was.h.i.+ngton hotel," she said, seeming to be thinking out loud.

It didn't sound like an affirmative, thought Baines. But it sort of resembled one.

"Does that Thai pepper stuff really cremate your heart?" she asked out of nowhere.

"Joe's diabetic," Virgil replied. "That was his insulin. I just made up the part about the Thai peppers."

She looked over at him and a smile unfurled on her beautiful lips.

"You are some rascal, Virgil Baines," she said. Then she laughed that deep, resonant laugh that was starting to grow on him. "I can't believe you did that," she continued.

Then she was quiet for several minutes.

"Do you think Rawles will follow through?" she finally said.

"He's gonna think it over and weigh his options. He's going back to his boss empty handed. We've got a video with his ugly mug on it and an illegal gun with his prints, neither of which would likely endear him to Brewer. My guess is when he thinks it over, he'll realize his chances of remaining among the living are better with us. I'm pretty sure that even if he decided to bolt, what we have would be more than enough to discourage Shumer from pulling any other stunts."

It was almost evening when the big Lincoln pulled up in front of the house. Virgil went around and opened Molly's door. When she got out, he knew it had been decided. Really bad idea, said the voice in his head.

28.

The captain had decided to try something bold. It would be pus.h.i.+ng their luck, but come to think of it, they really hadn't had any so far, unless the reaction of the sailor from the junk counted. That was precisely what he intended to explore. He needed to get aboard that junk to look around. He also planned to push any b.u.t.tons, so to speak, that made themselves available.

It didn't take long to decide that Brett was the man for the job. Normally brash anyway; you don't become a Navy Seal by being timid; he could be a hard man to say no to. And his Alabama drawl could be maddeningly obtuse, especially when he wanted it to be.

Early the next morning Richard followed Brett and Maggie at a distance. When they neared the dock where the junks were moored, he separated and took up his observation post. Maggie then parted with Brett and found a spot to sit and admire the harbor, while also keeping an eye on what Brett was doing. If he found himself in any trouble he couldn't handle, which was rare, Maggie had the option to scream b.l.o.o.d.y murder in order to attract as much attention as possible, a.s.suming that was appropriate. For backup, Jim had arrived separately and was nearby.

Brett walked past the cruise office, which was still closed at this hour. Then he strolled out onto the pier and toward the junk where he'd spoken to the sailor the day before yesterday. Everything was quiet. n.o.body home, he thought. A rope had been draped across the gangplank leading up to the junk. Brett unhooked it and started up, taking care to walk quietly.

When he was on the deck, he paused to look around. It was clear that this had been a working junk at one time; the renovations didn't completely conceal that, by design in all likelihood. It had a certain charm, like an old sailing s.h.i.+p from out of the pages of history, but with a distinct Far Eastern flavor. There was a large rectangular room on deck. The door was unlocked and he went inside. A large dining table took up much of the room. Aside from items common to a dining room, there wasn't much else to see. He stepped outside and moved slowly toward the bow. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of feet mounting wooded steps quickly from below deck.

A tall Chinese sailor appeared around the corner. Brett was surprised to see that the Chinaman was almost as tall as he.

"No tours now, please come back later," he said calmly.

Brett flashed him his big southern smile.

"Mornin'," he said. "Nice boat y'all have here. How many does she accommodate?"

The sailor seemed only temporarily disarmed by Brett's attempt at charm.

"Thank you, but we're closed now. You buy tickets at office over there. Open 9:30."

"Ya know, I always hankered to see one of these close up," Brett continued as if the man had said nothing. "When we wuz young uns, there was a book 'bout a boat like this'n. Y'all mind if I take a gander?" Without waiting for an answer, Brett strolled into the wheel house. His unwitting host was momentarily nonplussed, but he quickly recovered, following Brett into a s.p.a.ce where modern navigation instruments seemed starkly out of place.

"Excuse me, but we are closed now," he repeated.

"Y'all still use the sails?" Brett asked. "Or you have engines, too?"

"Both," the sailor answered. "You must leave now," he said, sounding more determined.

"Ya know," Brett drawled, slowly this time, looking the sailor in the eye. "I'm startin' tuh git the idea that ya'll don't want me tuh take one of yer cruises." Abuptly the friendly expression drained from the man's face as his eyes lit up in surprise. He reached for his cell phone, but Brett grabbed his arm, closing the wheelhouse door with his knee at the same time.

"Didn't anybody ever tell you it's rude to use the phone when someone's talking to you?" The slow drawl was now replaced by a deadly serious, clipped tone. The man jerked his arm away.

Suddenly a high kick whizzed less than an inch if front of Brett's nose. This guy is fast, Brett thought as he blocked a right cross. Before the sailor could launch another, Brett had his fingers laced behind the sailor's head and jerked it down viciously, where his face met a knee that laid him out. Blood gushed from his nose as Brett leaned down to look him in the eye again.

"Do I look familiar to you, mister?" Brett spat out. The sailor moved his head back and forth, blood streaming down his chin.

"Wrong answer!" said Brett through clenched teeth. A second later the sailor found himself locked in an arm bar, moaning in pain.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time. Do I look familiar?" he spat out each word slowly. "Wrong answer and I break your arm."

Brett hoped the man wouldn't pa.s.s out as he applied more pressure, enough to dangerously stress the elbow joint. The man groaned, but said nothing. Suddenly the arm bent unnaturally and the man cried out.

"Now I'm gonna break the other one, pal."

"OK, OK," the sailor said, to stop the pain.

"Talk to me," Brett said gravely. "What happened to them?"

"I don't know," said the man. "Wait, wait!" he added as he felt the pressure being applied to his other arm.

"We take them out. Other boat take them somewhere else. All I know, all I know," he pleaded.

"What kind of other boat?" Brett pressed, torquing the other arm. The man started to moan.

"Police boat," the sailor finally yelped in submission.

Brett was stunned. Everything had just changed. He grabbed the sailor's cell phone and stood up, scanning the bridge. Spotting the boat's radio, he jerked out the microphone cord. Looking down at the p.r.o.ne sailor, he said: "This is for Ray and Holly, a.s.shole," he said, launching a savage kick at the sailor's head, leaving him unconscious. Then he quickly tied his hands with the microphone cord and turned to leave.

Walking down the gangplank, he replaced the rope and turned to drop the sailor's cell phone into the water, noting that apparently no one had shown up for work yet. The closed sign still hung in the door of the cruise office.

He gave a pre-arranged signal with his hand that it was time to saddle up, but not at full tilt. Maggie, Jim and Richard each calmly put away their cameras and walked slowly away from their respective perches. In less than a minute they had all melted into the crowds on the street fronting the pier.

Because of the increased potential for the unexpected this morning, Richard had decided that they would all meet afterward at a large, crowded restaurant once each had ensured that he or she was not being followed.

"What happened down there, son?" Richard asked. Brett grimly retrieved the micro recorder from his pocket and, after looking at Maggie and then Sally, pressed play. Leaning forward to catch the words, their expressions mirrored Brett's transition from good ole boy to brutal interrogator. When the recording stopped, Sally breathed: "Oh, my G.o.d!"

Brett had provided precisely the bold action of which the captain had spoken. Without it they would not have learned what happened to Ray and Holly. But with his customary decisiveness, Brett had also unleashed chaos. Now they had to formulate new plans, and they had precious little time. Remind me to never send Brett with a gentle hint, Richard thought to himself. Then he began to process possibilities as quickly as they came. Finally he said: "It's hard to conceive that the Chinese government, or even the police force as a whole, is part of this. I've got to believe that these are rogue elements, but we're in no position to find out now. We must a.s.sume that if they're cops, they have access to travelers' names and itineraries. Once they start moving at computer speed, the name Walker and the name of your hotel will quickly fall into place. If you're still there fifteen minutes later . . ."

"Brett and Maggie, I suggest that you stop for the briefest moment at your hotel to pick up just enough luggage to look kosher. Tell the front desk that there's been a death in the family and you're checking out early. Head for the airport and tell them the same story there. Find the first flight out and get on it, even if you have to pay first cla.s.s. Let's just pray that you're in the air before the electrons catch up with you."

"Jim and Sally, do the same. I'm concerned that Holly may have had to give her maiden name in the entry doc.u.ments. It may take a little longer, but eventually they'll be looking for you too."

"What about you, Dad?" Sally asked.

"I'm going to stay here. Someone needs to work on things from this side. I've made a friend at the consulate and I'm going to have to hope that he's good for his word. Now hurry."

Sally was about to object when her father raised his arm, signaling that the conversation was over. She threw her arms around him. "I love you, Dad. Jim and Brett each looked him in the eye and said "Later," not knowing if there would be one.

Richard took a cab to the consulate, hoping his friend would be there. He was in luck once again. After a few minutes wait, commander Moore appeared in the waiting area and motioned him to come in.

"From the look on your face, Captain, it hasn't been a good morning," he said with a sincerely concerned look.

"That would be an understatement, Commander," replied Richard.

When they were in the commander's office with the door closed, Richard recounted the morning's events. When the commander balked at the a.s.sertion that the captain's granddaughter had been kidnapped by someone from the Hong Kong Police Department, Richard pulled the micro recorder from his pocket and pressed play. Minutes later the commander sat stunned.

"Captain, I'll level with you," he said. "From time to time we hear rumors of missing persons, probably not much different from any large city. But no one I know has ever spoken of anything like this."

"Commander, there are two reasons I came here this morning. First, I wanted to make sure that if my family is picked up before they can get on a plane, that you know that this is real. Second, I'm here to ask for your help."

The commander leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his neck. The deep furrows in his brow mirrored the dilemma that he faced.

"Commander, I know what you're thinking. A wrong move and your career could be scuttled. Please believe me when I say that I understand and care deeply about what you've invested in getting this far. But we're talking about the lives of two young people. Some sons of b.i.t.c.hes out there are so cynical and evil that they would snuff those young lives in an instant if they thought it was in their interest. We've got to get to them first." He leaned forward and looked the commander in the eye.

"Yesterday you told me you have children. What if they were out there somewhere?"

29.

As he finished his toast, Baines penned a note to Molly telling her to help herself to whatever she could find in the fridge. Then he remembered to jot down that Doris, the cleaning lady, would be here later and that she had a key. Though he had not touched Molly once since she had arrived at his home, knowing that she now slept only yards away felt in some strange way very romantic. As the big Lincoln pulled out of the drive almost an hour earlier than usual, Baines turned his thoughts from Molly to the coming battle on the hill.

Molly awakened just as the Lincoln pulled out. She had hoped to have breakfast with Virgil, but he had risen very early. She tiptoed down to the kitchen wrapped in a bath towel and found the note. Preferring not to meet the maid in a towel, she decided to take a bath before breakfast.

A little while later, Doris let herself in, announcing as was her custom: "It's Doris." She had always done this, first because the Senator was a man and second because he occasionally had a lady friend with him. She turned to close the front door and suddenly found herself being propelled backwards into the banister at the base of the stairs leading up to the second floor. She put her hands out in a futile effort to protect herself from the heavily built man who was already on top of her, but before she could even cry out, a searing pain in her throat cut short her voice and soon after, her life. Her hands slowly sank to the floor beside her in a growing pool of her own blood.

Baines was scarcely two miles away when his cell phone rang. He was not surprised; even on a typical morning the hill often came to him rather than wait for his arrival.

"h.e.l.lo." It was one of his aides. The bottom-feeding cable news network was requesting an interview that evening.

"Who's doing the interview? Hmm," he said, mulling it over. The host was a particularly strident and venomous individual, who seemed to delight in unpleasant and often bizarre questions, the kind that only grave robbers and gang bangers could enjoy. Better to defend oneself in person than allow unopposed target practice, he thought. Besides, the last time this swamp creature had taken him on in person, he'd been seriously bested and Baines had rather enjoyed it.

"Tell them to at least let me get to the office and look over what I've already got scheduled."

He had barely stabbed the red b.u.t.ton when the phone rang again.

"Senator, this is Gladys, from across the street." Gladys scarcely needed to announce where she lived; she's the neighborhood busybody, someone who can be counted on to know everything from who is cheating on her husband to whose dog has p.o.o.ped in whose yard. She is also something of a vigilante, who can sometimes be seen looking out her window with binoculars. Gladys had on a number of occasions been a royal pain in the a.s.s for almost everyone on the block, but she was one of those persons whom it is wiser to humor than confront.

"Good morning, Gladys," he said brightly, wondering what tidbit of someone else's life was about to be shared with him.

"I know it's probably none of my business," she began with her favorite prelude to what most likely would turn out to not be any of her business, "but I noticed there was a man who arrived just after your cleaning lady today, rather foreign looking, short and stocky, but he did seem clean cut, nice suit and tie 'n' all. I always like to be on the safe side; you know how things are these days," she continued in another of her favorite refrains.

"Thank you, Gladys, I'll look into it," he answered.

Doris had never come with anyone before. She isn't even married, he thought, and I've known her long enough to know she would never bring someone to the house without first asking. Something didn't feel right.

Spotting a break in the oncoming traffic, he swung the Lincoln around, almost clipping a parked car in the process and shoved the accelerator down. As he processed what his neighbor had just told him, his foot moved lower. In an unusual move, he decided go around the block to the driveway of the neighbor behind him. Walking through the yard at a good clip, he scanned the windows on the back side of his house. No one could be seen peering out.

His study is at the back of the house and opens out into the back yard. He entered quietly, feeling a bit silly at first, when he noticed that Doris had apparently forgotten to rearm the alarm system. It was very unlike her; she was nothing if not fastidious, which was precisely why she was an excellent maid.

Suddenly there was a m.u.f.fled cry from upstairs, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor. s.n.a.t.c.hing the Sig-Sauer .45 out of his desk drawer, Baines flew down the hall and, hurtling in shock over Doris's limp body, took the stairs by two's and three's. Rounding the corner at the top, he heard a chair hit the wall.

Molly's bedroom door was open and the man his neighbor had described was standing there with a garrote stretched between his hands. After throwing a chair at him, Molly had flipped her mattress on its side and was attempting to hold him at bay while she swung at him with a bra.s.s end table lamp. The man turned and saw Baines and the gun. Making a split second decision, he rushed the window using his arms as a battering ram.

Baines fired once, decapitating one post of the four poster bed. His next shot blew a chunk of mullion out of the window frame. Then the gla.s.s exploded outward as the man's bulky frame catapulted onto the porch roof. Baines raced to the window, momentarily losing sight of him as he disappeared below roof level.

A car with smoking tires was roaring down the street. As its driver stomped the brake, the man made his break across the front lawn. Baines fired twice, narrowly missing him. The man was jinking from side to side, wisely making himself a difficult target. The driver had reached around and shoved the door to the back seat open and, as the man dove in, Baines fired again. A cry of pain told him that this time he had not missed.

Tires smoked again as the car surged forward. Baines, now aiming for the driver, fired his remaining three rounds. The first shattered the driver's window, the second found flesh as the driver grabbed his neck. The third shattered the rear window as the car rapidly gained speed.

The sound of sobbing turned Baines head. Molly, now completely obscured by the mattress, was curled up in a ball. Shoving the mattress aside, he looked at her anxiously, praying not to see blood. Then he bent down and took her into his arms, saying nothing as she cried. She grabbed his arms desperately, laying her head on his chest as tears streamed onto his s.h.i.+rt.

Molly was still shaking when the first sirens sounded in the distance. They quickly grew in number and intensity until the street outside was bathed in flas.h.i.+ng lights, rather resembling a Bruce Willis movie set.

"Listen, I want you to go to my bedroom. There's a terrycloth robe behind the bathroom door. Just wait there until I come and get you. The police are going to want to go over this room and will want everything left exactly as it is. Can you do that?" She nodded weakly.

Presenting himself first at what remained of the window with his hands up, lest a cop mistake him for the intruder, he identified himself and said he would meet them at the front door. Already, Gladys could be seen planted squarely on her front lawn, basking in glory and chatting up a young cop who still had his gun pointed nervously at the house.