Two Peasants and a President

by Frederick Aldrich

  A book had been delivered with her food. Uncle Tom’s Cabin was printed on its binding. She threw it at the wall. The sons of bitches kidnap me, throw me in a stinking cell and then try to feed me propaganda! The rest of the day was boring and lonely. She thought about Ray and about home, wondering if their folks had realized they were missing yet.

  But at least she knew it was day because when they opened the door, she could see narrow, horizontal windows along the top of the other side of the hall. She marveled at how she had come to cherish such seemingly insignificant bits of information, but it was important to her because it provided a measure of time. Here one grasped at any tiny piece of reality, any shred of humanity.

  The next morning they brought her fruit, fruit she could recognize. She didn’t want to give them the pleasure of seeing her enjoy it, but the minute they closed the door, she devoured it hungrily. An hour later, the lock turned again. The same man came in and looked at her, this time his gaze lingering. His eyes made a quick scan of the room, and then he ushered in the cleaning lady and took his perch across the hall.

  The woman started her ritual. Holly saw that there was a certain dignity in this woman that she hadn’t noticed before. Her stooped and tired body sheltered a strong spirit, a spirit that would not be quenched by hardship or oppression. The woman sensed Holly staring at her and she paused and turned. She seemed to want to say something, something that neither language nor circumstance would allow her to voice. Then she smiled, regarding Holly for what seemed like a long time.

  Five minutes later, the woman had pushed her bucket and mop out the door and was gone.

  On the third day, the suitcase appeared. She had given up hope of ever seeing it again. Everything was there, the makeup kit, the clothes . . . she paused to examine them. The filthy clothes she had changed out of and balled up were there too, but someone had laundered them, she was sure of it. And there was another surprise – her make up mirror. She started to look at herself, but paused, afraid to see what she had become. Finally she couldn’t resist and held it up. A gaunt face stared back at her, struggling to hold back tears. No more tears, no more tears, she told herself for the hundredth time. She knew she needed to be strong for with the suitcase came thoughts she had tried to banish, thoughts of her uncertain future.

  Once again, after she had eaten her morning fruit, the man and the cleaning lady returned. The cleaning lady seemed nervous now. But once again, when the man seated outside could not see her, she turned to Holly and smiled. This time there were unspoken words in the smile, something she wanted Holly to understand. She seemed to be looking at the sink. Then the man outside grunted, which brought her upright, a sudden flash of fear in her eyes. In an instant she’d assumed again the tired, frail visage that wandered the halls with her mop and pail. But now Holly sensed that it was a persona that she projected and that there was far more inside that she was hiding.

  A little while later Holly went to the sink to wash. She had developed a routine. During the periods when no one usually came, she would soak a washcloth and then go into the corner where she couldn’t been seen and wash herself. She couldn’t always tell when someone was outside and she had no intention of allowing them to see her unclothed.

  She reached for the faucet handle and noticed something in the drain. It had almost dropped through the small holes. It was a narrow, tightly rolled piece of paper. She pulled it out gently and hid it under the washcloth. Then she moved to the corner like she was going to wash. Carefully unrolling it, she saw the words: “I am friend. You have family? I try talk to.” Holly’s heart leaped in her chest. The message was crude, but it was clear.

  Then she heard the lock in the door turn. Holly quickly folded the washcloth over the paper and set it on the stack of towels. Robo-doc walked in, as usual without knocking. He looked over at her standing there near the sink. She was sure he would hear her racing heart with his stethoscope. He was looking at her strangely, sensing her fear as she struggled not to panic.

  “I was about to bathe, you startled me,” she said defensively. To her enormous relief, he seemed to buy her story and again motioned her to turn around. When he was done, he asked her how she was feeling.

  “Oh, I feel just great,” she said. “I’m in a prison cell, I don’t know what happened to my husband and I never know when some pervert’s going to burst in on me and catch me naked! Does that answer your question?” she glared at him. So much for acting timid.

  It was like she had just said “fine, thank you.” No expression, no anger. Then he pointed one of those things with a light that a doctor uses into her eyes. It was as if he was examining the knots in a two-by-four. She wanted him to leave like she hadn’t ever wanted anything in her life, but he seemed to want to examine her more closely this time, like he enjoyed torturing her with his despised presence. Finally robo-doc stood back and started at her for several seconds before packing up and leaving.

  She listened for awhile for any sound outside the door. She knew they could easily sneak up on her in their knock-off Reeboks. But she had a reason to be in the corner now and she picked up the washcloth, throwing a towel over her shoulder.

  Carefully unwrapping the paper, she looked again in disbelief. The words were still there; she hadn’t been dreaming. Then she rolled it up and put it in her bra. There was a song in her heart, but the accompaniment was in a minor key, menacing. Her mind struggled to understand what was happening. She sensed that the cleaning lady was not a plant, something about the way her spirit shined through that smile. And her fear was obviously real, you can’t fake that. That meant that the little Chinese cleaning lady could be risking her life to help. But why?

  18

  “That cruise outfit in Hong Kong didn‘t sound like it was trying very hard to be helpful,” said Sally. “The guy sounded friendly at first, but when I mentioned Mr. & Mrs. Walker, he sounded evasive. I managed to pry out of him that they were on the cruise, were dropped off at the dock afterward and headed back to their hotel. When I tried to ask him if there were any suspicious people at the dock or anything unusual about the cruise, he clammed up.”

  “I called their hotel again,” Maggie chimed in. “Spoke to the manager this time. He said they never came back, suggested I call the Consulate; we don’t have an embassy there. They passed me off to American Citizens Services who say there are no reports of arrests, hospitalizations, deaths or anything else for Ray and Holly. Oh, and I called Brett; he’s on his way back from San Diego.”

  “The travel agency says they’ve used this cruise company for several years, but their name was changed a few months ago,” said Jim. “I asked them if the people they’ve been dealing with changed too. He said yes.”

  “As I suspected,” said Richard, “the State Department didn’t exactly go into emergency mode when I told them that we have family missing in Hong Kong. They pointed me to a site online where I can make a report, but they admitted it doesn’t really get revved up until someone’s been missing for two weeks. While I was on the site, I checked on visas for Hong Kong and China. You don’t need a visa for Hong Kong, but you do for mainland China. Their application process takes 4 days.”

  “Based on what we’ve uncovered so far, it’s obvious I need to go to Hong Kong and check out the cruise company,” said Richard.

  “Why you?” asked Maggie.

  “Because I’m retired and not needed at home; I’m the logical one to go.”

  “Richard,” interjected Jim, “I don’t think you should do this alone. If you go missing, then we’ll really be looking for a paddle. I can get time off and let’s face it, you’re gonna be in hostile territory and you’ll need backup. Besides, the love of my life is out there somewhere. I can‘t sit around back here doing nothing.”

  “Brett’s on his way back,” interjected Maggie. “He says to count him in on whatever we’re doing.”

  “Sounds like I’ve been outvoted,” said Richard. Let’s start working up a list for what we’ll
need in Hong Kong. I think we should start the application process for visas to China too, in case this thing leads us across the border. What concerns me is our military background. That could be a red flag. If I were the guy who approves these things, I might wonder what three guys like us find so interesting in China.”

  “Not if we’re traveling as three separate families,” said Sally. “Two separate couples and a retiree wouldn’t seem suspicious. Jim and Sally Petersen. Brett and Maggie Walker. Richard Davis. Different names, different towns, no obvious connection. Ray and Holly didn’t need visas for Hong Kong, so China probably doesn’t have much on them. If we’re careful about the way we fill out the apps, I don’t think anybody will be the wiser.”

  “Don’t even go there,” Richard and Jim looked at Sally as they waded in at the same time. “There’s no way we’re going to put you two in danger. We don’t know where this is going to lead; it could be dangerous and last time I checked, you two never made it through boot camp.”

  “Yeah, but I know how to put a boot up your ass,” Sally said to her husband. “Look, Maggie and I won’t be breaking down any doors, but we’ve got eyes, we’ve got cameras and we can call the consulate if you two get in over your heads.”

  “Sally,” said Richard solemnly, “I don’t think you understand. “The American Consulate isn’t there for tourists, much less self-appointed private eyes. It’s there to help big companies grease the wheels of commerce and give our ‘diplomats’ a place to hang their hats. If we get in too deep, the last thing we should expect is for them to come to the rescue.”

  “Daddy, damn it! You don‘t understand!” Sally said, holding back tears, my baby’s over there somewhere, and I’ll blow the damn consulate up if I that’s what it takes to bring her home!”

  There was silence for several minutes as the reality of what they were about to undertake sank in. Finally Richard broke the silence.

  “I suspect that whatever happened, the cruise company knows something. That’s where we’ll start. Jim, why don’t you start a list of what you think we should bring with us. We can edit it later. Focus on dual-use items that they’ll allow us in with. Sally, you can make sure we have enough clothes, underwear and such.”

  “Gee, thanks Dad,” replied Sally, wiping away the tears. “I just love all the exciting stuff. Boxers or briefs?”

  “Maggie, how about you start downloading the applications and see if we can get those going. I’m assuming everyone’s passport isn’t expired . . . Check on flights and hotels too, separate hotels that are near each other. I’ll start on a plan of action. When’s Brett gonna be here?”

  “Tomorrow noon,” Maggie answered.

  19

  The ambassador stood at the gate, wearing his usual plaster smile. His top aide and one other from the embassy stood stiffly nearby. The ‘personnel’ were in the first class cabin on the China Air flight and disembarked first. There were only two, as it turned out, and neither resembled a diplomat. One was quite tall for a Chinese man, probably from northern China where the males tend to be taller, thought the ambassador. His bearing and build spoke of military training.

  Following him out of the jet way, was a shorter man, one who might easily be passed on the street without a second look, which was precisely what he preferred. But beneath the unpretentious exterior, a calm resolve and confidence seemed to permeate the space around him, like a subtle, almost invisible force field. His name was Mr. Chen, but he was better known in certain circles as ‘the piano tuner.’ Unlike the taller man, the ambassador recognized him immediately.

  The ambassador escorted the pair through abbreviated formalities, while his aide assured that their luggage went directly from the plane into the embassy cars. As the ambassador and his charges made their way out of the concourse, a janitor pushing his barrel and broom across the floor snapped pictures with a concealed camera, part of his custodial equipment. Within the hour, the photos were being examined for any hint of what might be afoot.

  20

  Uncle Tom’s Cabin arose from the dead. It was a bit worse for the wear, but its spine wasn’t broken, and it would do. Sitting with her knees up, as if to provide a place to rest the book and read it, but in reality hiding her lap from the little window in the door, Holly retrieved the paper from her bra and carefully unrolled it. The paper, though it didn’t seem old, was nonetheless brittle. Obviously not one of China’s better knock-off’s, she thought. She flattened it as best she could and then inserted it among the back pages of the book.

  There was still the problem of something with which to write. Her make up kit provided the answer. The eye liner pencil was far from ideal but it could be made to work. The next part would be more dangerous. Although her visitors sometimes inadvertently alerted her when they opened the door at the end of the hall, she did not trust that they would necessarily always do so. She thought it likely that they also were spying on her.

  With the eye liner in her lap, she opened the book again and pretended to read, her knees shielding her lap from the door. Carefully, she ‘penned’ her parent’s name, address, phone number and email address. This took some time as the eye liner’s point was not fine and the piece of paper was small. Finally she had squeezed it all onto the side opposite the message. She waited several minutes for the eye liner to dry and then closed the book, hoping the pages would absorb any excess without smearing it.

  Holly sat thinking for some time about how she would get the piece of paper back to her angel, as she now thought of the cleaning lady. She was quite simply the closest thing Holly had ever had to an angel watching over her. Sometimes when she thought of her, she was reminded of her grandmother, who had passed away several years ago. Since then there had been an enormous empty place in her heart. She knew her passing had left huge hole in her grandfather’s heart too, but the captain wasn’t one to share such things.

  The deep sense of sadness had returned. She missed Ray more than she could put into words; not knowing what had become of him tortured her constantly. She wondered what their families were doing now, there in their homes on the other side of the world. Had they realized something was wrong? Were they looking for her?

  Suddenly there was a shot outside. It so startled her that the book fell off her lap onto the floor. The shot had been close, no more than two hundred feet from her cell it seemed. Her father and grandfather had taught her to shoot and she knew the difference between that and any other sound. She looked down and saw that her hands were trembling. Fear replaced sadness as she questioned why someone would be shooting nearby. Was that to be her fate? Surely not; they wouldn’t have brought her all this way just to shoot her.

  But why was she here? Dark imaginings paraded through her mind again as she struggled not to think about them. She forced herself to listen intently, focusing on any noise coming from outside her prison, as if some sound might provide a clue to her future.

  It was some time later when she decided to turn her attention back to the message. She needed to get the piece of paper back to the cleaning lady somehow. Finally she settled on the same way she had received it, the sink. She would wait until they turned the light out tonight and then insert the rolled piece of paper in a hole in the sink drain, just as she had found it. She was certain that her angel would notice and retrieve it.

  21

  It was an inviting little place. The music didn’t sound like it had been hijacked from an elevator and it was spotlessly clean. The best part was that the patrons scarcely looked up when he walked in. He found an empty table in the corner and ordered a vodka gimlet. He normally enjoyed a drink or two at a watering hole on Pennsylvania Avenue, but tonight he was just hoping for a place where he wouldn’t run into any friends . . . or enemies.

  A little while later a couple in their thirties walked in and sat at the bar. The male’s gestures and expression said that he was not happy with his girlfriend. Their drinks had scarcely been served when they began to argue openly. The argument had gone b
ack and forth for about ten minutes when the male apparently decided they were leaving and grabbed her arm. She jerked it away and told him she was staying. When he attempted to take her arm again, the bartender stepped in.

  “Sounds like the lady doesn’t want to go, mister.”

  “Stay out of this,” the man retorted.

  “Here’s the way it’s gonna be, mister,” replied the bartender, placing his six foot four inch frame squarely across the bar from the man. “You’ve been annoying my customers long enough, and now it’s time to go.” The man thought for a moment and turned to his companion.

  “This ain’t over, baby.” He glared at the bartender, then headed for the door.

  “Sorry,” the woman said to the bartender.

  “Nothin’ to be sorry about,” he replied. “Need another drink?”

  The man in the corner found himself thinking it wasn’t hard to understand why the guy hadn’t wanted his girlfriend to stay. This lady turned heads. About five foot six and a tad over a hundred pounds, with natural red hair, she would have looked right at home on a movie set. He resolved not to stare, reminding himself that his recent history with women was part of the reason he came here to be alone tonight. Besides, he thought to himself, your looks aren’t exactly in her neighborhood. But the look he had given her, however brief, hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  She cocked her head just slightly as if wondering if his look had been as friendly as it seemed. Then she picked up her glass and coat and walked over to his table. He couldn’t help but notice her legs.