Two Peasants and a President

by Frederick Aldrich

  Molly was in the kitchen. When she saw him through the window, she about had a fright. He put his hands up to disarm her.

  “Don’t you know better than to go sneaking around?” she said when he was inside. “You ‘bout scared me to death.”

  “Sorry, I was just taking a look around. Everything OK?”

  “Yeah, phone rang a few times. I let the machine take it. Judging from the news, they think I’m your mistress.”

  “So I heard. I don’t think you can have a mistress if you’re not married, can you?” he asked.

  She just shrugged. She was barefoot. Her toenails were painted bright red, his favorite color. He had to admit that it felt pretty good coming home and finding Molly in the kitchen. It had been a long time since he’d come home to anything but an empty house.

  “What smells good?” he asked.

  “I made some spaghetti ‘cause I could simmer it as long as I needed until you came home. I’m glad you’re here,” she said, without looking up. “That cop’s outside ‘n’ all, but I still feel better now that you’re here with that cannon of yours. I never did get to thank you, you know.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For saving my life, silly,” she said. She put her arms on his shoulders and gave him a kiss – on the cheek.

  Better than nothing, he thought to himself. He’d been trying real hard to keep his hands to himself. He’d just managed to do it again. She’d obviously heard the interview, the one where he’d told the interviewer that he and the lady in the house had behaved themselves. He wondered how long that would last.

  He walked over to the mini desk in the kitchen and hit play on the machine. Several calls from the media, surprise, surprise, and two from his aide: “Senator, I checked the hospitals in Boston, like you asked. I found him in one on the north side. He’s out of the ICU, but they want to keep him for another day or so before they let him drive.” Baines dialed the number he left.

  “Cliff, how are you feeling?”

  “My head’s still sore, but it could be worse. Somebody snuck up behind me and hit me with a telephone pole. They relieved me of my wallet and a few other things I’d rather not talk about here. Aside from that, I think I’ll live. I keep asking them to turn me loose, but I guess I’m good company or something ‘cause they want me to stay a little longer. When I’m back in my car, I’ll phone and fill you in.”

  “Listen, why don’t you let me send someone to get you and drive you back?”

  “Nah, I’ll be OK,”

  “I want you to call me before you leave, Cliff, OK?”

  “Roger.”

  Molly was putting plates on the table.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Somebody either mugged him or Brewer’s boys rolled him. Sounds like they got what we sent him to get.”

  “You mean the tape?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So we’re empty handed?”

  “Well, not exactly. We’ve still got everything on Rawles.”

  “Yeah, but you said he’s just a low level thug and you needed him to make a connection with Brewer.”

  “Yeah, it’s a bit of a problem.”

  “Where is dear little Chuckie, anyway?” she asked.

  “He was with his family in Connecticut last time I heard. After he made the tape, he left town with them. He’s gonna meet with a federal district attorney in Hartford to sort out the witness protection thing.”

  “So he made the tape and then they stole it back?”

  “It appears so.”

  “So where does that leave us?” she asked.

  “For the moment at least, lookin’ for a paddle.”

  ******

  The first meeting of the morning had been startling to say the least. It had all started the day before with an urgent call to his office from an anxious parent claiming that her daughter had been abducted in Hong Kong. His aide had at first been skeptical, but the more he heard the more he realized that the woman was being truthful.

  What his aide told him convinced the senator to make time to see Mr. and Mrs. Petersen and, after spending more than an hour with them, he was stunned by the events they recounted. The photos, the recording, the balloon message and the arrests in Hong Kong; all were compelling. But how to help was the question. He needed help himself, and for that he turned to a trusted ally.

  44

  The man sitting alone at the table in the corner picked at his meal. He would never come to like American food, he was sure. Most of it was bland and tasteless. He would have eaten at a restaurant more to his liking but he needed to be back in the office for an important call. So he forced himself to eat just enough to allay his hunger.

  The real estate business had picked up recently. The president’s assertions that the economy was on the mend had convinced at least some that it might be a good time to buy. Property values were slowly climbing and the restaurants and galleries that lined the sidewalks here were more crowded than ever. The time that it had taken to get his food attested to that.

  But the information business had been even more lucrative. It amazed him that the Americans were so cavalier about their technological superiority and security that they had allowed others to steal, copy and improve on new breakthroughs almost as fast as they occurred. Intercepting conversations from across the street had been almost child’s play since they used a security service of which he was the shadow owner. On more than one occasion he’d listened to the man in the third floor office brag that his office was free of bugs because he used the best. At least he was correct in that.

  The intercepted conversations had provided invaluable information, information that should have led to the elimination of the problem of the senator, were it not for the bungling of the man Beijing had sent. It was supposed to look like a murder/suicide, the bodies of the senator and the call girl found dead in the senator’s home. The president’s men had kindly provided the call girl in their own attempt to disgrace the senator. Using intercepted information, Beijing had simply modified the event somewhat, since they needed more than a disgraced senator. They needed a dead one.

  But the man they’d sent to do the job had inexplicably bungled it, and now the damage the senator caused seemed to increase by the week. With each speech or interview, he further inflamed Americans who were out of work and looking for someone to blame. The incident with the Filipino sinking should have faded from the public’s consciousness by now, but it had not; the senator had seen to that.

  The senator’s private investigator had nearly succeeded in acquiring damning evidence that could have further damaged the president who by now had no choice but to do China’s bidding. If it had not been for the fact that the signal of the private investigator’s device had caused slight interference with the equipment across the street, he might have succeeded. Fortunately they had gotten to him before he could get away and had deprived him of his recording.

  Still Baines’ popularity increased by the day. He had become a star among disenchanted Americans and the working poor. If there were a presidential election today, he would win by a landslide. The president was looking weaker and weaker. To a degree this was good because China needed a president whom they could manipulate. For their goals to succeed, there must be a man in the White House for whom spending was the only path, a path that ran through China. The president had to appease China; he had no choice.

  But Baines was weakening the president too much, always pointing out the risk of incurring more and more debt. If enough people started to believe Baines and not the president, China’s unimpeded march across the South China Sea could be thwarted. They needed a little more time to build sufficient strength to be able to defeat even the United States Navy. Baines was putting everything at risk. He had to go.

  The assassination of a sitting senator was not taken lightly. The bungled attempt had deeply disturbed Beijing since it had come very close to a disaster that could have destroyed everything. The pia
no tuner did have an impeccable reputation; it was said that he had never failed before. Beijing would have never entrusted anyone else with such a dangerous assignment. If he failed again, he would not get another chance. Neither would China.

  45

  From his perspective, the hotel was ideal, filled with American tourists and businessmen. No one seemed to even notice him as they prepared for tours, meetings and presentations. His I-Pad had informed him that there are two hundred and eighty-five Global Fortune 500 companies represented in Tianjin. The flow of people in and out of the hotel lobby was testament to that.

  He grabbed something to eat and went up to his room, where his I-Pad continued to acquaint him with the city, its land marks and thoroughfares. In his mind, he traced various routes to the sea. The sea; its welcoming arms beckoned him like an old friend, but the familiar refuge it afforded lay miles away and inaccessible even if he were there.

  It was around 5:00 in the afternoon when his phone rang. The voice simply said “Your cab is here, Mr. Davis.” He threw his back pack over his shoulder and headed to the elevator. When he stepped outside a cab driver hailed him. He climbed into the back and as soon as the cab was away from the hotel, the driver turned and introduced himself.

  “My name is Jun, Captain.” His greeting sounded light-hearted, as if he were about to take the captain to see the sights. Richard was caught off guard, having anticipated wariness or perhaps even distrust. He simply looked at the slender young Chinese man with the cherubic face and said:

  “Hello, Jun.”

  “We will go to meet some of the others,” Jun announced matter-of-factly. He took many turns, frequently looking up at the rearview mirror.

  “We have to be careful where we take you. In many places, a tall American like you will stand out. Then people will talk.”

  “How is my granddaughter?” the captain asked.

  “We believe they are treating her well, captain. For reasons that are obvious, they don’t want anything to happen to her.”

  “Is her husband with her?”

  “No, they were separated in the beginning. I don’t think she even knows he is still alive,” Jun answered. “The police always separate families in order to weaken them.”

  “How is it that you know these things, Jun?”

  “Some of our comrades work in the hospital. One actually sees them almost every day. She says they sprang from strong roots.” Looking up at his rearview mirror, he detected a hint of a smile on the captain’s face.

  “How did you come to risk your life to help my family?” Davis asked.

  Several moments passed before Jun answered.

  “In June of 1989, thousands of Chinese citizens occupied Tiananmen Square seeking one thing: freedom, freedom to speak without fear and freedom to choose their representatives, the same liberties for which you fought your revolution. As you may recall, there was even a small version of your Statue of Liberty in the square. Lit from inside, its glow on that dark night inspired all around it.”

  “For awhile it appeared as though the government might for the first time in thousands of years of Chinese history grant freedom to its citizens. Then, just when our hearts were filled with hope, the government sent tanks into the square to crush our dream. The tanks rolled over the very bodies of our people, turning them to bloody pulp. Those who were not killed by the tanks were thrown into prison; many were never heard from again. My uncle was one of those.”

  “But the government did not stop with those in the square. Through torture, they learned the names of many sympathizers and arrested them too. Thousands ended up in prisons, their families never learning what happened to them. Their families were punished in other ways too. Little happens in China without the acquiescence of the government. Jobs, apartments, business licenses and on and on, can be withheld from those who are deemed unfriendly to the government.”

  “Until two years ago, I was studying law. I had hoped to somehow make a difference. But my uncle’s family had no males, save for him. Once he was gone, his wife and daughter were alone. The government saw to it that life was especially hard for them. For thousands of years, Captain, Chinese elders have been revered and have always known that when they could no longer care for themselves, their families would take them in and lovingly care for them for the rest of their days. My aunt is now old and in poor health. My cousin has tried to care for both of them, but it was hard for her to do that by herself, even before her mother grew old. So I became a taxi driver in order to help. Along the way, I found another way to help not just my family but my country. I joined the dissident movement and that, Captain, is how you and I came to meet.”

  Thirty minutes later, they pulled into a small courtyard where the cab could not be seen from the road. It was a fairly modern house, but in the old style, stucco walls, door and window openings lined with bricks, and a red tile roof. The door was opened before they had even reached it. As Jun motioned him inside, Richard saw several people sitting around a table turn and look up at him. Jun said something in Chinese and then introduced him in English.

  “This is Captain Davis.” Heads nodded, though not in unison and with uneven warmth, reflecting the reticence that some felt at this stranger in their midst.

  “Captain, this is Hong,” he said. “Hong comes from a very large family, all of them farmers. They raise vegetables and have for generations.” Hong stood and leaned across the table, extending a callused hand. He was tall for a Chinese man and powerfully built. His eyes measured the captain carefully. He for one had not been happy with the decision to help the Americans, knowing that America often leaves its friends as soon as they have what they want or when a new administration comes into power.

  “This is Da,” he continued, pointing to the man nearest the captain. Da, a short, wiry man with intelligent, spectacled eyes that seemed to probe the American, smiled. “Da is what you Americans call an intellectual. He has many degrees and treats his books like family. He is our planner and strategist.” Da stood and nodded his head in the Oriental way, as he took the American’s hand warmly in both his. Da had voted emphatically in favor of helping the American because he had immediately perceived the advantages such a rescue could have for the cause.

  “And this is Wen. Wen is a student, majoring in law enforcement.” The others laughed quietly at the statement. “He is very good at convincing the police that he is on their side, so much so that we sometimes wonder about him.” There was more laughter as Wen frowned, feigning insult at the statement his comrade had just made. Then he smiled broadly as he came around the table to shake the captain’s hand. A man of medium build with large, round glasses, his tousled hair looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb in a very long time.

  “This is Zhou, a man with whom you have something in common. Zhou comes from a family of seafarers going back many generations. They have a fishing boat on the coast which at times comes in very handy.”

  A tall, wary man stood, proffering his heavily callused hand reluctantly, measuring the captain, unsure of the decision the group had made.

  “And Nuan” a slender, attractive female emerged from the kitchen with a tray holding a tea pot and cups. She nodded and smiled at the captain.

  The four seated at the round table moved closer together as Jun set a chair for the captain among them. Nuan took a chair nearby. As the captain moved to sit, he noticed an elderly man and woman sitting in an adjacent room. Anticipating his question, Jun said:

  “They are Nuan’s parents, survivors of the Red Guard and the ‘Great Leap Forward’ in the 60’s and 70’s. They endured tremendous hardship and unspeakable treatment during those dark days. They support our movement to their cores.” The old couple nodded their heads in greeting and smiled warmly.

  “Captain, our comrade in Hong Kong has told us that you commanded a great warship that was sunk by terrorists who wanted to use a weapon that could have killed millions and that you prevented this disaster.”

  “There w
ere others without whom I would not have succeeded,” the captain answered. “Two of them were United States Navy Seals, one who is now sitting in a Hong Kong jail. He is the father of my granddaughter’s husband. The other was able to escape back to America after we discovered the group in Hong Kong that is responsible for the abductions. He is my son-in-law.”

  “How is it that you were not arrested, Captain?” asked Wen, the man with the large round glasses and tousled hair.

  “When we came to Hong Kong looking for Ray and Holly, we traveled separately, stayed in separate hotels, and seldom gathered together, save on the Star Ferry. Since our last names are different and we live in different towns, I suspect that the police computers never tied us together,” the captain answered.

  Zhou, the tall fisherman, said something in Chinese as Wen translated.

  “How do you know that you weren’t connected to the others and then deliberately allowed to lead the police here?”

  “I don’t know that,” the captain answered simply.

  Again, the tall man said something in Chinese to the others. Wen translated.

  “The ones in jail in Hong Kong, how did that happen?”

  “We suspected they were using the junk cruises to stage the abductions. Brett, my son-in-law’s father, who was one of the Navy Seals who assisted me in the incident you mentioned earlier, persuaded one of the crew from the junk to share with him what had happened.”

  “Persuaded?” asked Wen incredulously.

  “The seaman must have fallen or something because he had some broken bones. After that, he was willing to speak to Brett.”

  Wen translated, which was followed by laughter from those around the table.

  There was silence for several moments. Finally Jun spoke:

  “Captain, allow us to share our plan with you. Then we would appreciate your opinion.”