“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 altitude, 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 pass 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 warship, Captain,” the commander inquired. Richard took a deep breath and put one foot in the water.
“Yes, that’s true, but unfortunately, the warship 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 assistance. 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 passed 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 constituents 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 punishing 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 ship 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 warship 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 prone Chinese president. T-shirts 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 passed 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 brinksmanship, and China held all the aces.
26
“What the hell 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 bitch . . .”
“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, bitch?” 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, bitch!” he replied, clenching his fists.
“Stop calling me bitch, Chuckie!” she retorted. “I made a DVD and when we’ve eaten something that isn’t drip
ping 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 fucking 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.”
“Fuck 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 assume 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. Assuming 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 fucking 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.
“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 Washington 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 pushing 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 buttons, 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 bloody murder in order to attract as much attention as possible, assuming that was appropriate. For backup, Jim had arrived separately and was nearby.
Brett walked past the cruise office, which was st
ill 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. Nobody 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 ship 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 space where modern navigation instruments seemed starkly out of place.
Two Peasants and a President Page 10