Wildcase - [Rail Black 02]

by Neil Russell

  “Hey, Ensign. Get a move on, you’re holding up progress.” Big Jim Rackmann unbent his large frame from the tiny Toyota and strode across the sidewalk, grinning like a vacuum cleaner salesman. He clasped Fabian by the shoulders, causing him to juggle the crutches lying across his lap, then Big Jim turned and swept Astaire into his arms, kissing her on both cheeks. “How do you like your old stomping ground?”

  “My feet were a little small to have done much stomping, but I’m overwhelmed.” Astaire grinned. “It’s a long way from Victorville.”

  “Long goddamn way from anywhere,” grumbled Fabian.

  Astaire smiled. “Cheer up, Grumpy. This was your idea, remember? “

  A traffic policeman on a motor scooter pulled up behind the Toyota and beeped an unimpressive little horn. Rackmann turned, and the cop shouted something unintelligible, but a translation was unnecessary. Move it, jerk.

  “Our chariot awaits,” Big Jim said, and helped both into the car.

  Crossing to the mainland by ferry, they endured the usual incompetence and practiced delays of Communist border agents, exacerbated by their visas having been stamped with the wrong color ink in LA.

  “You want to tell me how we’re supposed to know that?” Big Jim thundered, and a nervous soldier went scampering off to fetch a more senior official.

  While they waited, a guard got interested in Fabian’s scars and pinched his face roughly as if he might be wearing a mask. Fabian slapped his arm away, and a tense moment ensued when the guard jammed his AK-47 into Fabian’s belly. Finally, the boss arrived and approved their paperwork. After having their picture taken twice, once individually, and a second time grouped beside the car, they were waved on. Fabian raised his arm to extend the international thank-you, but Astaire anticipated him and wrestled it down.

  A couple of hours later, standing on the beach where he had landed three decades earlier, Fabian remembered the dead sailors floating in the surf as if it were yesterday. He maneuvered his crutches through the soft sand until he was at the water’s edge. The Pearl was busy, as it always is, sampans and junks running their cargo up and down the river. Somewhere to the north, Pags and he had fired their flares, and in the other direction, they had ridden their horses into the hills. As the memories washed over him, he felt the tears starting to come, and he let them.

  The ride into the hills was more civilized this time—and more noisy. Though crude, a strip of blacktop had been laid through the jungle, and all manner of livestock and conveyances jockeyed for space along its length. Big Jim honked and yelled and swerved around the buses, bicycles, pigs and recalcitrant pedestrians until Astaire could no longer watch.

  The pavement ended in a small village, but they continued on. It was the dry season, so though the Toyota threw up a tremendous cloud of dust, Big Jim was able to hold it at a steady 30 mph. Fabian didn’t recognize the place where the dogs had met them. The area had been cleared of trees and replaced by a ramshackle army garrison. Big Jim handed a scraggly, underfed commander a hundred-dollar bill and a bottle of Haig & Haig he had under the seat that the first checkpoint had miraculously missed, and nobody said anything about ink color.

  The cut in the mountain had been widened, but the previous order and color of Hu-Wei had devolved into mush. The few people they passed were ragged and malnourished, their faces drawn and gray. The plaza was still circular, but that was all. The coral and jade inlays on the buildings’ façades had all been pried out, and even the carved roof beams were sawed off.

  When they got out of the car, Astaire seemed to be having trouble walking. “You might have a touch of altitude sickness,” Fabian said with concern.

  “It’s not the altitude. I can’t process what I’m seeing. I feel so ashamed for letting a few scars affect my life when people are living like this. My people.”

  Rackmann put his arm around her. “You can’t think like that. It’s paralyzing. You have to live your life to its fullest and help where you can.”

  “Is that in the Bible? “

  “It would have been if God had thought of it. Now let’s go meet your mother. I think you’ll like her.”

  Fabian felt like he’d entered a time capsule. Everything was precisely as he remembered it down to the stale air and matched pair of jade tigers flanking the carpeted aisle. Big Jim was pushing the wheelchair, and Fabian looked over his shoulder as he gestured at the candles. “Is it my memory, or is this just...”

  “Just like we left it? Yes, I couldn’t believe it either.”

  Ai was not in bed this time. She was seated in a wooden chair with red silk cushions on the seat and back, a silk shawl around her shoulders and blanket across her lap. She smiled kindly, but it was one of anticipation, not recognition. Her eyes were as opaque as glass on a frosty morning. She was blind.

  Astaire knelt at her feet and spoke softly. “Mama, I’m here.”

  The old woman leaned forward and put her hands out. She touched Astaire’s hair, then ran her fingers along her face, pausing over the scars on her cheek. She spoke softly, and Big Jim translated. “I told her about the burns earlier. She wants to know if you had much pain.”

  Astaire took her mother’s wrists and held her hands in place, framing her face. Then she shook her head no. With the reverend translating, the two women reached into each other’s hearts the way only a mother and lost child could. Years, cultures, languages and regrets disappeared, and they became two people inseverably connected.

  And then, it was Fabian‘s turn, and the old woman finally ept when she felt the steel chair then touched his face. You were such a beautiful young man. You gave so much to save my children.”

  “I received much more.”

  Later, when Ai’s attendants insisted that she rest, the three Americans gathered outside. Fabian smoked, and Astaire held his hand, her other clasped in Big Jim’s. “I’ve thanked you both before,” she said, “but it wasn’t enough.”

  Rackmann put his finger against her lips to quiet her. “Enough. We’ll stay until she wakes up, then we’ll try to see your brother.”

  “Do you really know where he is?”

  “Yes, but it is not easy to get in.”

  “But you saw him and told him who he was? “

  “I did, but I don’t think he believed me. He has now had time to confirm the story. The question is, does he want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “Who wouldn’t want to know his family?“

  “Only someone with very much to lose.”

  * * * *

  At first glance, the sprawling military installation looked like any other. It was only when they reached the guardhouse that it became clear it was not. These gatekeepers were not the civilian bumblers of the ferry crossing or the scruffy conscripts at Hu-Wei but a whip-hard, jackbooted Praetorian Guard with stony expressions and staccato efficiency. As two approached the Toyota, two others goose-stepped back and forth behind the iron gate that blocked the road.

  Big Jim conversed with the man on his side, while the other stood at a safe distance, his AK-47 pointed a few degrees lower than the passenger-side windows. It was clear they were expected, but instead of opening the gate and giving them directions, the soldier ordered the reverend to park next to the guardhouse, Where they were transferred to the backseat of a military sedan. Fabian’s wheelchair went into one of the identical cars that bookended them.

  As the procession got deeper into the camp, the Americans could see rows of long, wooden buildings set among the tall trees on either side. From a distance, they might have been mistaken for barracks, but their heavily barred windows and doors quickly corrected the impression. And if that weren’t enough, the commandos with dogs patrolling them did. One could feel the horror that lay within.

  “Welcome to Disneyland,” said Fabian gravely.

  A soldier in the front seat turned. “No talking,” he said harshly.

  The administration building was a two-story brick affair and military plain. Here, the guards were
less theatrical but equally on alert. Big Jim, Fabian and Astaire followed their escorts up the walk, Big Jim pushing the wheelchair.

  Though only a fraternal twin, the gray-uniformed man who rose from his desk to greet them was identical to Astaire in almost every respect. He was thicker, like his father, but there was no question they were brother and sister—or that they were the son and daughter of Zhang. However, unlike the warm greeting one might have expected, he shook his sibling’s hand perfunctorily, bowed slightly then did the same to the men. “I am Colonel Ran,” he said. “There is no need to introduce yourselves.”

  He gestured to chairs across from his desk, and Fabian rolled himself between his companions. Colonel Ran lit a cigarette and offered the pack to his guests. The red label read KRONG THIP.

  “Thai,” he said. “Very strong.”

  Fabian took one and used his Zippo. The colonel stared at the burned former sailor, but not with curiosity. “I am indebted to you for saving my life, Ensign Cañada. I assure you, I have made use of it.”

  “Just Fabian, please. Seeing this place, I probably wouldn’t do it again.”

  Colonel Ran nodded without expression. “Accepted. But the prisoners here are not ordinary criminals. Each has committed himself to destroying the revolutionary goals of the Chairman. It is important that we debrief them completely to prevent future occurrences. But you have not come so far and gone to so much expense to debate the internal politics of China. I assume it was on behalf of my sister.”

  Astaire vibrated with anger. “Then you would assume wrong, my callous brother. I was interested in meeting you, of course. Out of curiosity, if nothing else. But having lived with scars my entire life, and now seeing that you are part of a machine that inflicts them, I wish I had skipped the jet lag.”

  The colonel was unmoved. “We were discussing why you have come.”

  Astaire put her hand over Fabian’s, and he could feel it trembling. “Very well, my beloved husband believes that every man should know his history. And since he and the Reverend Rackmann were the only ones who could put you on the track to yours, they spent years trying to find you.”

  The room was silent for a moment, and Ran lit another cigarette. As Fabian watched him, he thought, This is not a man I would want to face for interrogation. Cold, emotionless, deliberate. Unquestionably, highly skilled. The barred buildings on the road might be filled with misery, but they would be a welcome refuge after a session here.

  When the colonel spoke, it was still measured, but he had allowed a faint human quality to enter. “I’m sorry. I am not given to displays. I am quite pleased to see you. The reverend has urged that I visit your mother, and I have taken his suggestion under advisement.”

  Astaire wasn’t having any of it. “You’re kidding, right? Under advisement? She’s not your mother too?”

  “The Hu-Meng are nonpersons. The tribe has been disunified from the rest of Chinese society. Many of the recalcitrant reside here.”

  “What an interesting word. Disunified. Will you now disunify yourself?“

  Fabian saw a flicker in the colonel’s eyes, but it didn’t stay long. “Modern men are what we believe, not what runs through our veins. Nevertheless, perhaps a trip up the mountain would be a worthwhile journey.”

  He was struggling with this, and Astaire read it. She took her wallet out of her shoulder bag and handed a picture to him, her voice softer. “This is our daughter, Lucille. Your niece. She’ll be four in November.”

  Colonel Ran accepted the picture and stared at it for some time. “I have a son. Bolin. He is one. Unfortunately, my wife died delivering him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I am too. She was quite beautiful and quite anxious to be a mother. May I keep this?”

  “You may. Do you have one of Bolin?”

  Fabian knew at that moment that the colonel would not only go to Hu-Wei. He would go soon.

  * * * *

  36

  Ifs and Handkerchiefs

  Everybody plays the “IF” game. Next to feeling sorry for ourselves, it’s mankind’s most popular pursuit. If JFK had let the Secret Service put the roof on the limo in Dallas, your father wouldn’t have disappeared into the gulags of Vietnam. Or if you hadn’t had the Dodgers game on in your hotel and looked up from your PowerPoint at just the right moment, you wouldn’t have seen your wife sitting in the stands with your neighbor, and your son wouldn’t now be living in Colorado.

  I have my own version, and I play it every day of my life. Only my son isn’t in Colorado. He’s at the bottom of the Caribbean, still inside my wife. Astaire didn’t say anything, but I knew what she thought each morning when she awakened and each night before she fell asleep—and a thousand times in between: If we hadn’t gone looking for my brother, our daughter would still be alive.

  “What happened after you met Colonel Ran?” I asked.

  “At first, nothing but good things,” said Astaire. “He used his position to end the government-mandated starvation of the Hu, and he gained releases for many in the prison system. He declined to become the new Zhang, but he encouraged the younger men to reestablish the old trading routes and pursue the exchange of goods with other provinces. Many of the children we brought out during that time were Hu-Meng whose parents had died during the long years of deprivation.

  “Then the Changs were murdered, Tiananmen Square exploded onto the front pages and the pipeline ruptured. When Suzanne Chang refused to continue her father and brothers’ work, Big Jim introduced us to Markus Kingdom. We had no idea of his prison record then, but I should have realized after our first meeting that he was too eager. I should have also reminded myself that Big Jim was a great man but gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. What none of us knew until it was too late was that, almost from the start, Markus began whispering into young Bolin’s ear that his family were the rightful leaders of the Hu-Meng, and if his father wasn’t going to accept that responsibility, it was both his birthright and his obligation to do so.”

  “Let me guess. Bolin listened, and pretty soon things went bad for the colonel.”

  She nodded. “He was arrested, tried and executed. We never determined the charges. And Bolin was no longer Bolin. He was Zhang. And Markus Kingdom was a trading power in China.”

  I was worried Fabian might be fading, but he opened a new pack of Chesterfields and took a deep drag. “So after you found Chuck, you went out to the Pullman.”

  He shook his head violently. “No, I was hoping Lucille was away. Or maybe just late getting home. I knew better. Her car was parked next to the corral, but it was so tough. We called Maywood and waited.”

  So much for some concerned cop just checking up on the Brandos. I tried to imagine Yale’s conversation with himself on his way out to my boat.

  It was past dark, and Astaire suddenly stood up. “I don’t ever want to have to do this again, so let’s get some food in us.” With nothing but several cups of coffee in my system, I was with her.

  Fabian reached behind the sofa and pulled a previously unseen wheelchair around. He threw the cover off his stumps and, with remarkable dexterity, leveraged himself up and in. The doc started to help, but I’d grabbed his arm. Fabian noticed and nodded. If I had learned anything from Bert, it’s that the disabled despise being treated like invalids. If they want something, they’ll ask.

  There was a raised, fenced-in, cement deck out back that ran the length of the house and was fitted out with a gas grill, a round, teak table and some very comfortable chairs. Astaire tossed a salad, and I grilled steaks and portobellos while Dr. Dan stood behind me pulling on a Ruby Mountain Amber Ale and making suggestions, most of which were what you’d expect from a guy who ate most of his meals out.

  While I cooked, Fabian cut up two more steaks—raw— and fed the ridgebacks. They noisily wolfed them down, then curled up next to his chair and went to sleep. “Keep one eye open for Gilas,” he warned. “There’s thirty feet of liquid fence around the house, and snakes
won’t cross it. Lizards, though, don’t give a shit and like to screw with the dogs’ heads.”

  When we were all stuffed, we sat back with fresh beers, and I joined Fabian in a cigarette. I don’t smoke often, but when I do, I like to taste them. My preference is an English Oval, so American strong doesn’t bother me.

  Dr. Dan brought us back. “Neither of you should be alive,” he said. “It’s a real testament to your strength.”

  “Bullshit,” Fabian answered. “I was ready to go. That sub shows up ten minutes later, I’m spared a lot of aggravation. I was in Bethesda three months before I had any concept of having been rescued, and two more before they brought me a mirror. At first, I laughed. Then I decided to throw myself out a window, but they’d been through the drill, and there were bars on everything.

  “There was this nurse, Linda Lucille Lane. Not very attractive. No, that’s a lie. She was as homely a woman as I ever saw. Beautiful voice, gentle hands, but just nothing to work with in the looks department. Another thing me and God haven’t gotten right with—why that mattered.