“But here and elsewhere, resistance is mounting. China’s unfair trade practices are being challenged. Products once purchased solely from China are being made here and in other countries. Small enterprises are springing up everywhere and, in spite of scarce financial resources, are beginning to replace Chinese products with American made products. Jobs are being created.”
“But once again China is not content to play fair. Instead they sink a container ship bringing legally made goods to the United States and once again they do so with a sneak attack by submarine. We see that under his mask, Li Guo Peng is just another murderer and has now taken his place in the pantheon of history’s thugs. We see you, Mr. Li, you and the doddering old men and generals attempting to pull the strings of a puppet nation. We see the fear in your eyes as your people rise up to take what is rightfully theirs. We see your panic as the stones in your wall of shame crumble to dust. You can sink ships but you cannot sink spirits, Mr. Li. Soon the spirit of your citizens will sink you because freedom can never be extinguished.”
“My fellow Americans, in 1942 we pulled together and we pulled through. We triumphed over the two mightiest war machines ever to cast their dark shadow over the Earth. Even in our grimmest hour, we refused to admit defeat. We must pull together once again. We must refuse to allow a group of cynical, arrogant old men the unmitigated hubris of assuming that we will bow to their evil will. We can and will again assume the mantle of the greatest nation on Earth.”
Millions of Americans watched the courageous young American speak and, though weary of pleas to persevere, sensed that she was right; they had little choice. Holly had become a folk hero and bumper stickers and political pins began to appear bearing her likeness and exhorting citizens to work as one to bring China to her knees.
The broadcast was watched carefully in Beijing, and a wrathful Li ordered retaliation against Holly’s father-in-law. Throughout the nightmare, Brett languished in a Hong Kong jail where his Navy Seal training kept him in reasonably good spirits. But Li now had two thugs, highly trained in martial arts, sent to the prison deliver a message.
Many of the inmates of the Pak Sha Wan Correctional Institution on Hong Kong Island were in the yard, some exercising, some just taking the opportunity to talk to others whom they only saw for a half hour each day. Brett was doing chin-ups when the two thugs approached. Sensing they had not come to offer him a cigarette, he stood silently facing them as a crowd began to form. The taller one attempted to move behind him so that he couldn’t see both of them, but Brett moved closer to the chain link fence to avoid being flanked.
Suddenly the taller man launched a flying knee that barely missed Brett’s face as he dodged. Brett’s left hook counter punch did not miss. The blow staggered the man, wobbling his legs. The other man launched a vicious kick that landed on Brett’s side as he continued circling left. Brett countered with a right cross that connected and followed with a head kick that did not. The taller man had recovered and threw two left jabs that pushed Brett backward into the fence, but when the man attempted to close and use a Muay Thai clinch, he was met with an elbow that slashed across his forehead, opening a bloody cut.
Dozens of inmates had formed a circle around the fighters, preventing the guards, who had been ordered not to interfere, from seeing the action. The crowd was clearly angry though he could not understand what they were screaming. Both men now coordinated their assault with strikes to the head and simultaneous body kicks. With his arms and fists raised to protect his head, Brett never saw the kick that smashed into his crotch, sending him to the ground. With two strong men launching kicks to his ribs over and over, he struggled to rise and fight, but a blow to the head knocked left him nearly senseless.
His world now narrowed to pain and sound and the unintelligible screams of inmates. On the ground and trying to fend off brutal head kicks, he knew that unconsciousness and death could not be far off. Sensing that the crowd had moved in tightly around him, he waited for each to take his turn kicking the downed American. But abruptly the kicks stopped. Looking out from under the arm that covered his bloodied head, Brett saw one of the his two attackers go down. An inmate had kicked him behind the knee, causing his leg to buckle. The other man lashed out with his own kick, but a fist smashed into his ear, staggering him. A stocky, mean looking inmate grabbed him around the back of the neck and pulled his head down where a vicious Muay Thai knee crushed his nose.
What Brett could not have known was that some of the inmates had ended up here as a result of the crackdown. Others had heard what happened to Brett’s son and daughter-in-law and felt that the ex-Navy Seal had every right to try to rescue his family. Being prisoners themselves, they had little love for a regime that butchered prisoners for profit, and furthermore, the two men that Li had sent were outsiders, men from the north who did not belong here and who obviously were working for the same men who had put them in prison in the first place.
Brett felt himself being helped to his feet as the mob continued to beat the two thugs. Only when he and the two inmates supporting him appeared through the crowd did the guards realize what had happened. The intervention of more than a dozen guards barely prevented the two men from being beaten to death. It would be days before they were well enough to return to Beijing.
63
Li had awakened in a very foul mood. His aides would have gladly donned ballet slippers if it would have helped them tread more lightly. Everywhere he looked, it seemed that events conspired to thwart his plans. He had acted precipitously when he had the strikers detained, not bothering to inform himself as to whether or not they were key employees and could be easily replaced. Furthermore, the brutal way in which the strikers were treated by the police had further inflamed passions. Brutality, in fact, was quickly becoming the face of his administration. From the South China Sea to the streets of China’s major cities, his iron fist was leaving an imprint that would not soon be forgotten.
That his citizens had begun to perceive him as a brutal leader did not trouble Li in the least. To the contrary, he saw it as an indicator of his success. For millennia, China’s emperors had governed by fear and brutality and Li considered that a historical testament to its effectiveness. If anything, he felt emboldened and resolved to use China’s now formidable power in the furtherance of his goals – even if it meant war. So when he was informed that the thugs he had sent to the prison in Hong Kong had not fared well, he did not hesitate to act, ordering that Brett be flown to Tianjin immediately, where he would occupy the same cell his son had. Only this time, there would be no escape.
******
Less than twenty-four hours later, an informant at the airport reported seeing a chained, manacled and bandaged American male being led by police through the concourse without so much as a hood to shield his identity. Based on the description, it almost certainly had to be Brett. That Li would be so bold and so disdainful of any consequences only underscored the sheer hubris of the man.
A report of the sighting was in Benedict’s morning packet at CIA. He in turn relayed it to the president during the morning briefing. The president sat silently for several moments, as if weighing the news and then moved on to the next item, leaving Benedict, National Security Advisor James Langley and others wondering what, if anything, he planned to do. If the report was correct, one had to wonder why the Chinese would be moving Brett north from Hong Kong. Certainly they didn’t believe that the Americans planned to break him out of a Hong Kong prison. There was another possibility that no one wanted to contemplate but, given Li Guo Peng’s actions thus far, could not be discounted.
At 10:00 am, Captain Davis picked up the phone. Benedict was calling. It was not so much that the DCI felt that Captain Davis would know how to deal with what he was about to share with him but that the captain had proven himself to be both resourceful and audacious in the past. And once again it involved his family.
“Yes, good morning, Sir,”
“Richard, I have something I
want to share with you, something that has not been confirmed and must not be acted upon in any way. I’m sharing it with you first because it may involve a member of your family and second because after you’ve had time to think about it, I’d like to invite you to pass along any thoughts you may have.”
“I understand, Sir. What is it?”
“A man resembling your son-in-law was seen being taking through the Hong Kong airport in manacles, with no attempt to conceal his identity. Based on the gate number, it appears that he was being flown north to Beijing or perhaps Tianjin, but we cannot be certain. I must stress that even his identity has not been confirmed.”
“Is the president aware of this?” asked the captain.
“He was briefed this morning.”
“What does he intend to do?”
“As yet, he has not shared that with me,” replied Benedict.
“In other words, nothing,” said the captain with obvious disgust.
“It’s too early to know that, Richard, but I must ask that this be kept strictly between us and I repeat, that no action whatsoever be taken. Do I have your word?”
“Yes, of course. Frankly, I don’t know what anyone could do but I’ll give it some thought and let you know if I come up with any ideas.”
“Director?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t have to tell you that two young members of my family have been through something that I can scarcely comprehend. I don’t know how I would tell them if anything happened to Brett, especially in Tianjin.”
“I hope that you will never have to do that, Richard. Some of the best people I have will be working very hard to bring Brett home.”
“Thank you, Sir, I’ll be in touch.”
Only days ago, Davis had thought they were close to getting Brett released, but that was before the sinking of the container ship, the crackdown - and rumors of a coup. There had obviously been a sea change in China. What it meant could only be guessed. The next call was going to be difficult, but he had to tell Jim. The three of them had together saved a great many Americans; most would never know to whom they owed their lives.
Jim and Sally arrived at half past seven. The news was followed by several minutes of pained silence; it was as if China had decided for some unfathomable reason to not turn loose of this family without inflicting further suffering. The worst part was that none of them knew how to tell Maggie that by saving Raymond and Holly, Brett may have sacrificed himself.
They talked until well past ten but in the end came up with not a single option that sounded workable. They didn’t even know where Brett was, but if he was where they dreaded most, it was possible that he might have only days or perhaps even hours to live. It was with great regret and sadness that they decided to break for the evening.
“Richard, Navy Seals don’t leave other Navy Seals behind! Period! Ever!” were Jim’s parting words as he walked out to the car.
Davis sat at his desk for several more hours turning over everything they had discussed, hoping to see something, anything they had not noticed before. A faithful friend who had once put his life on the line for the captain was in danger again, this time for helping save the captain’s granddaughter. He could not be allowed to be sacrificed for the price of his body parts or the pleasure of a megalomaniac.
The heads of Defense and CIA had already put their careers on the block to save the captain and his family and in so doing, had defied a president. The nation would never go to war over one man, no matter who it was. Nevertheless, Jim’s words haunted him.
Navy Seals don’t leave other Navy Seals behind! Period! Ever!
******
It was a rubber-neckers paradise. Ten minutes into the flight, everyone on board had already taken the opportunity to exercise his or her neck muscles, courtesy of the bandaged man in the rearmost seat on the plane. He sat fully manacled and sandwiched between two large police officers, but aside from the duct tape over his mouth, there had been no attempt to conceal his identity. It was obvious to all that he was either American or possibly European, with the former being the most guessed choice among the other passengers.
But while the manacles and gag clearly displayed his status as a prisoner, his eyes said something else entirely. They did not have the look of one resigned to his fate. The tall, well-built man surveyed his surroundings as would a cunning animal, ready to act with speed and decisiveness should the opportunity arise. Some also thought they detected a slight air of unease or even nervousness in the police officers. While the passengers knew nothing of the man’s background, the officers on either side of him were well aware that it had taken him only seconds to hospitalize a seaman in Hong Kong.
The brazen manner in which Brett was being transported in full view of hundreds of people in the airport and on the plane was no oversight. Li Guo Peng intended not only to exact revenge but to make an example for all to see. With all dictators, there comes a point at which they believe their power is sufficient to crush anyone who stands in their way. Li was now well past that point, but like other dictators throughout history, he failed to grasp that his most dangerous enemies were not necessarily those in front of him.
As the China Air 737 continued on its way to Beijing, where Brett would be transferred to a police van for the remainder of the trip to Tianjin, a reddish haired passenger with glasses glanced back at the prisoner. William Reynolds, executive of an American fast food chain with many restaurants in China, had been stateside for several weeks and had been following the story of the newlyweds. The prisoner in the back closely resembled one of the photos he’d seen; the hair, face, the manacles, the flight’s origination in Hong Kong; it all added up.
For a moment, the executive thought to himself that it would be the better part of discretion to just forget what he had seen. China was not only flexing its military muscles; Beijing had made it quite clear of late that it expected its business ‘partners’ to remember where they were and whose laws they were expected to obey. Clearly he had a duty to protect his company and shareholders, but the ‘Tianjin Affair’, as it was being referred to, was so far beyond any standard of civilized behavior that one might have expected it of a North Korea or Iran. But America’s biggest trading partner?
Reynolds didn’t look back at the prisoner again; he didn’t need to. He’d made up his mind. When the plane had touched down, the passengers were allowed to disembark first while the prisoner and his guards remained seated in the back. This was good since it provided time for him to grab his bag and get to the car that was picking him up.
As usual, a well-fed man in his late thirties was waiting by the curb. With thick, black hair combed straight up, as if needing sunlight to grow and wearing heels almost two inches thick, he, like many other males in China struggled with his stature. Jian had worked for Reynolds since the company opened its first restaurant in Beijing, and the two had developed a close friendship, so close that they trusted each other with dangerous secrets.
“Stay here as long as you can, Jian, and look for a police car or van of some sort.” Jian did not question the request, though looking out for police cars rather than looking for them would have seemed more logical. An officer was about to shoo them out of the temporary parking area when a large, windowless van pulled into an area reserved for official use. No sooner had the rear doors been opened than the two police officers from the plane emerged from the terminal with their prisoner. In seconds the van had pulled out into traffic with Reynolds and Jian following at a discreet distance.
“You know that guy?” asked Jian.
“No, but I think I know who he is. I hope your gas tank is full.”
******
More than thirty army buses were lined up three abreast, their gas tanks full for the long trip north. A fuel tanker would accompany them along with a water truck to quench the thirst of the more than fifty soldiers riding in trucks who would be guarding the buses.
It was expected to take much of the day for the cara
van to reach the point in the Gobi desert where the compound had been erected. Parallel rows of chain link topped with razor wire surrounded three acres of hot, dry sand. Outside the compound, Quonset huts with portable air conditioning and showers had been set up for the guards. For the prisoners there would only be crude tents, and the brutal sun.
“In the morning, we will cut off the head of the snake. Then we will watch the body squirm and die. By tomorrow night, the protests, like the snake will be finished,” Li said, as much to himself as to the aide standing next to him watching the preparations.
******
“He’s here! Come quickly,” Nuan said.
They had distilled the possessions of three lifetimes into two small suitcases which Jun placed in the trunk of his taxi as Nuan’s elderly parents climbed with her help into the back seat. Nuan closed the passenger door and turned to Jun.
“What’s happening?”
“The pig is sending soldiers before dawn to the homes of everyone they know about. They have erected a concentration camp in the northern desert where they plan to hold us until we die of thirst or sunstroke. It will be a huge raid, unlike anything they have ever done.”
“Are we ready?” asked Nuan.
“If they take the route that our mole tells they will use, then yes.”
“And if it is a trap?”
“Then we will need a lot of sunscreen.”
******
By sunset, there were over forty farm trucks parked in and around Hong’s family produce warehouse. Though more than usual, they did not look out of place since farm trucks come and go from this place every day as they carry fruits and vegetables to market. But tonight their cargo would not be produce.
Two Peasants and a President Page 33