Ahead, an older model tank stood at an intersection flanked by a jeep, from which two soldiers had already begun to dismount.
“Don’t even think about slowing down,” Sheng ordered the jeep’s driver, whose eyes widened at the thought of a couple of guards spraying the jeep with thirty caliber bullets. After weighing the certainty of being shot in the back against the possibility of being shot by those manning the roadblock, the caravan continued without slowing.
“When we’re almost even with them, salute,” he ordered the officer, “and make it good if you want to keep your spine intact.”
Upon seeing the tanks, preceded by a jeep, which typically indicates the presence of an officer, the soldiers at the road block simply moved aside, returning the officer’s salute.
“Now that wasn’t so bad,” Jim said as one of the other Seals turned to look out the back window. It didn’t appear that any of the tank driver’s feathers had been ruffled either; he seemed primarily focused on keeping the beast pointed in the right direction. Once again the phone in Jim’s lap buzzed.
“Yeah.”
“This is Jun. I’m about three blocks ahead of you. I didn’t think they’d let you through.”
“We didn’t exactly stop to ask permission, Jun, how does it look up ahead?”
“I spoke with a friend a couple minutes ago on the phone; each hour there are more tanks blocking intersections. It’s going to get harder and harder to find a way through.”
“Thanks, Jun. We’ll have a little powwow here and get back with you.”
“A what?” asked Jun.
“A discussion, Jun, a discussion.”
“Jun says the tanks are getting more numerous. If some officer is determined to stop us, we can’t expect our buddies back there to just run him over. At some point we’re going to have to get a divorce from our noisy friends.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Rad.
“I hope it doesn’t involve blowing anything up,” replied Jim.
“How ‘bout we have the officer up front tell the tankers they need to guard the next couple of unoccupied intersections we come to and then we and the jeep go the rest of the way alone.”
“We lose the intimidation factor,” said Jim.
“That’s right, but sooner or later we’ve gotta lose it anyway. We’ll be a lot more agile without a hundred tons of steel behind us. If Jun tells us there’s trouble ahead, we can do a huey and try something else. Hard to do that with a couple of tanks. Besides, those tankers are bound to get curious if we start telling ’em to change course every time we see trouble up ahead.”
“What about the officer?”
“He rides back here with us. I’m not comfortable with getting stopped and having to rely on him to bluff our way through. Sooner or later, he’s gonna make a break for it and then we’re hosed. Sheng can stay in the jeep behind the driver. That driver’s not going to feel nearly as brave without his officer.”
“I got a better idea,” said George, “I say we ditch the officer and the driver. If we’re not planning to stop for anyone or anything, they’re just excess baggage and a liability.”
“You mean we kill ’em?”
“Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“I don’t know how Sheng and our van driver would feel about that. Just because they defected doesn’t necessarily mean they’d be comfortable with murdering their fellow soldiers.”
“I agree,” said Rad. “We’ve each got a roll of duct tape in our packs along with everything else, more than enough to keep ’em out of circulation for awhile, especially if we taze ‘em first.”
“OK, but where do we put ’em where some paisano won’t find ’em in five minutes and sound the alarm?”
“How about the trunk of Jun’s cab? It’s not gonna attract a lot of attention parked on some side street. Then Jun rides with us and our driver with Sheng in the jeep, that is, after a change of uniform with the officer. The jeep becomes our outlier; if an army jeep does a huey, it’s not gonna attract near as much attention as the van, especially not with an officer in it.”
Jim looked at each man in turn. Their eyes told him all he needed to know and Jim picked up the cell phone.
“Jun, there’s been a change of plan.”
At the next intersection, the first tank was ordered by the officer to set up a road block and told that soldiers would soon arrive to help man it. The Seals watched as the tank driver obediently pulled his tank into position to partially block the intersection.
“Nothin’ like unquestioning Chinese army discipline,” quipped Brett.
Three blocks west the second tank took up its position. As far as Sheng could tell, the officer had said nothing on the radio that would in any way alert either tank crew to what was going on. Apparently he was more focused on staying alive than being a dead hero.
Then the plan hit a glitch. Jun, who had performed magnificently every step of the way, was less than enthusiastic about having bodies in his trunk, alive or otherwise. He felt that the officer would not have let him go at the intersection if he had suspected him. That and the fact that Jun had always communicated with the van from a distance meant that the two vehicles could not be tied together and Jun could continue to help the dissident cause anonymously. So, using the cab was out of the question.
Jun, however, had another idea; he knew of a restaurant that had been temporarily closed due to a problem with licensing. The restaurant’s dumpster was still in the alley behind it. But the restaurant was some distance away. The team weighed the risks of keeping the officer and his driver onboard versus jettisoning the liability. To a man it was felt that it was time to part ways.
Twenty minutes and several detours later, the jeep made an unexpected right turn. Both the officer and his driver bristled when Sheng ordered them to turn into the dark alley, but before they had a chance to protest, their doors were jerked open and Tasers applied to their necks. Five minutes later, their uniforms had been peeled from their unconscious bodies and enough duct tape applied to keep them immobilized and quiet for some time. The Seals gently lowered the dumpster lid and did a final check of the alley. Apparently no one lived above the businesses that were closed at this hour and there was no sign that anyone had been disturbed or alerted.
The caravan proceeded as before, minus two soldiers, but with one of the Seals sitting in the jeep next to Sheng, managing communications while Sheng drove. In a questionable move, George, who of all of them appeared the least obviously American, had donned the officer’s uniform. However, at a muscular 6’2”, George had to practically be poured into the uniform of the shorter and considerably slimmer officer. With arms and legs protruding several inches, it was just as well he spoke utterly no Chinese because it would have appeared ridiculous in the extreme had he been forced to disembark to deal with a situation. For all intents and purposes, George was now a heavily-armed, uniformed mannequin. But in the darkened interior of the jeep’s cab, with only his hat covered head and shoulders visible, no one would be likely to notice that the soldier on the passenger side didn’t look very Chinese.
As he continued exploring potential routes, Jun called a dissident friend and learned that the authorities’ tactics were evolving, and to update himself on where the caltrops were likely to be. The authorities were now employing roving patrols, and in order to limit the damage from caltrops, they had started commandeering privately owned cars and taxis to ride ahead. On a more ominous note, they were also regularly shooting at anyone throwing the devices into the streets, resulting in the deaths of innocent bystanders as well as the throwers. Jun grimly soldiered on.
It was on one of the many detours that his luck ran out. Looking for a clear route he saw a roadblock ahead and turned into a side street to avoid it. But a police car stationed at the roadblock saw him divert and began pursuit. In less than a minute, flashing lights lit up his rearview mirror. Panicked, he called the Seals.
“Jun, listen to me carefully,” said
Jim. “I want you to lead them to us. When you get here, make a U-turn in front of the jeep and pull over, leaving enough space so that the police car can pull in behind you. Then place both hands on the steering wheel where they can see them and remain calm. We’ll take over from there.”
No sooner had Jim closed the phone than the wailing of a police siren could be heard. As instructed, Jun slowed when he reached the convoy and made a U-turn, placing the taxi about thirty feet in front of the jeep. The two police officers, pulled in behind the taxi and shone their spotlight on it. In the excitement of the chase, the officers barely glanced at the army jeep or the soldiers inside, thinking it serendipitous to have backup close at hand. Both exited the police car, hands on the butts of their service pistols and approached the taxi cautiously.
They were not yet even with doors of the taxi when they heard a voice behind them:
The Chinese version of ‘freeze’, a term well-known to any virtually any moviegoer in the world, stopped them in their tracks.
“Do not turn around! Using your thumb and forefinger only, grasp the butt of your side arms and carefully place them on the ground. Then step back three paces,” Sheng ordered, sounding very much like the movies he had seen.
The officers did as they were told and Jun was ordered to collect the pistols. Had the officers turned around, they would have been shocked to see two soldiers, one of whom looked a bit like a high school sophomore who had seriously outgrown his clothes. But they never had a chance to see the soldiers before the electrodes found their necks and they collapsed in the street.
“Quick, get ‘em out of their clothes. Tape their mouths and then their hands behind them and put ‘em in the trunk of the police car. Jun,” Jim continued, “change into that one’s clothes – quickly; you are hereby an honorary member of the Beijing Police Department.” The look on Jun’s face clearly said he was not happy, but he did as he was told.
Unlike the alley, where the team had enjoyed privacy, they were now stripping two police officers on a public street and even at this hour, it had not gone unnoticed. At least two residents could be seen, one in a window and the other in a partially open doorway. Either could alert the authorities. As the Seals stuffed the two unconscious police officers into the trunk of their own car, the doors of two residences opened and more Chinese faces peered out at the extraordinary gathering. Then a most unexpected thing happened. Citizens, who for all their lives had hated and feared the police, began to clap. In a sign of both peace and victory, Brett raised his right hand, with index and middle fingers in the shape of a V, which prompted one resident to shout: “Good luck!” in heavily accented English. The other residents raised their own hands in the sign of victory.
“They are wishing us success,” said Jun as he finished buttoning his uniform shirt and tucked the pistol into its holster. The people detest President Li’s regime and hope that we will help put an end to it.”
“OK, team, let’s move,” shouted Jim. Brett got behind the wheel of Jun’s taxi, looking not at all like a Chinese cab driver, but hoping that the police had not had an opportunity to radio in the tag number, thus tying Jun to what had happened here. The cab would be dropped several streets over where Jun would hopefully be able to retrieve it and his clothes later, a prospect that seemed increasingly unlikely as events unfolded.
With Brett in Jun’s cab bringing up the rear, what was undoubtedly the oddest procession on the streets of Beijing that night pulled away from the curb. Jun, driving the police car, led them out of the area as quickly as possible, lest an unsympathetic resident call the authorities. They were now, according to Jun, approximately seven miles from the embassy, seven miles filled increasingly with roadblocks, tanks, soldiers and police, all looking for the men who had so angered the president. They were also, it appeared, almost out of options.
It was at this point they passed something that gave Rad an idea. They circled several blocks away as he explained over the phone. Then, after dropping Jun’s taxi in the parking lot of a small convenience store, Brett piled into the van and the procession turned around.
Eight blocks later, Jun turned into a double driveway, flanked by ‘no parking’ signs. The red brick building was fronted by two large, garage-type doors, each with a revolving light that could be turned on in case of emergency. The men inside, who had been playing the Chinese board game, mahjong, looked up at the appearance of a police car. Jun took his time, pretending to organize his clipboard etc., before exiting the police car and approaching the men seated inside. By the time he stood before them, four Seals and two Chinese defectors had snuck around the side of the building and, on cue, burst into the garage and covered the men with Kalashnikovs and pistols, quickly herding them into a sleeping area out of sight of the two open doors.
Stripping and hog-tying police and soldiers had been a pleasure. Doing it to firefighters was not. As they did what had to be done, Jun explained to the men what had happened to Brett’s son and daughter-in-law on their honeymoon and to Brett more recently. The firefighters were clearly moved and professed that they would make no attempt to escape and alert the authorities, making the Seals task even more difficult.
It is interesting that in a city of 19.6 million people, covering 6,290 square kilometers, there are only 89 fire stations, a testament to the government’s preoccupation with police. 6,553 firefighters compared with more than 140,000 police officers is a telling statistic and one which helps to explain the universal antipathy toward the police. It is not crime that is responsible for the disparity, indeed, crimes against individuals are seldom investigated here, at least not without a hefty bribe. It is ‘crimes’ against the State that the government feels necessitates such a smothering police presence.
Fire Station #69, while by no means the largest in Beijing, nevertheless had two fire trucks, a hook and ladder and a standard pumper truck. Similar in most respects to other trucks, the Seals encountered no challenges in driving either, however, traversing the distance to the American embassy would soon prove to be an endeavor worthy of their considerable skills.
“Norwood,”
“There’s been a slight change,” said Jim, detecting the sound of the station chief taking a deep breath. “I need you to do something,” he continued.
“Am I to be surprised by this,” quipped Norwood, whose attempt at humor could not mask an uneasiness at what he knew would likely be the most stressful period of his life.
“I need you to start a fire,” Jim deliberately deadpanned.
“Excuse me!”
“I need you to start a fire to give us something to practice on,” Jim continued.
“Which part of the embassy would you like me to burn down?”
“You choose. I just need some smoke; oh, and the Marine guards prepared to open the front door wide when we show up in our shiny new red trucks.”
“Your flair for the dramatic has just rendered several thousand hairs on my head permanently gray. Is there anything else you desire?”
“If you’re a praying man, now would be a good time,” said Jim. “We’re a little more than seven miles from you, according to our faithful guide. How long it takes to get there depends on how many tanks we have to deal with.”
“Would you like me to call out the air force to help with that?”
“That would be nice,” replied Jim. “It’s been lovely chatting with you, but we‘ve got a fire to fight.”
“Good luck and God’s speed,” responded Norwood in a more serious tone.
The entire team, save for Jun, was now dressed in firefighting garb. As expected, the uniforms were ill-fitting, but with the enormous hats, heavy coats and other gear, they could pass for firefighters as long as no one got a close look. The Seals did not intend to slow down enough to give that to anyone.
With flashing lights and blaring sirens, Jun’s police car led the procession out of the fire station. Five minutes later, they were on the expressway speeding toward the embassy. For the first t
wo miles, cars and trucks obediently pulled aside to allow the procession to pass, but in the distance a tank sat on the shoulder with two police cars, lights flashing, funneling the traffic into one lane where a policeman was checking papers. The newly minted police officer and firefighters held their breaths and sat on their horns as the thousands of pounds of steel upon which they sat rushed forward unabated.
It had been decided that if a lane was totally blocked, Jun would pull his police car to the side and let the heavy fire trucks attempt to ram their way through the blockage, since stopping was not an option. It the fire trucks were disabled, the heavily armed Seals would hijack any serviceable vehicle they could and continue on. It was hoped that it would not be necessary to use their weapons, but if capture were imminent, they would not hesitate.
It was becoming clear to those manning the roadblock that the approaching police car and fire trucks were not slowing as the trucks air horns punctuated their sirens. The police officer who had been checking papers hastily ordered the motorist off to the side of the road along with two others in order to clear a path for the onrushing procession. The powerful gust of wind created by the speeding trucks pushed him back on his heels, emphasizing the wisdom of that decision.
Jun’s heart was pounding as he cleared the parked police cars by mere inches. So tight was the opening that one of the fire trucks decorated a car bumper with a streak of red paint. Those manning the roadblock were startled by the unabated speed of the fire trucks but were blissfully unaware that the firefighters were other than what they appeared to be.
Jim thought for a instant he was peeing his pants when he realized it was his secure satellite phone buzzing.
“Yeah,”
“They’re looking for a missing jeep,” Norwood said, “I don’t suppose you know anything about that.”
“Depending on which jeep they’re looking for, I might,” answered Jim. “I think we may have left a little red paint on a roadblock we just blew through. I don’t think they suspected anything ‘cause they were trying to clear the way for us.”
Two Peasants and a President Page 43