by Fritz Galt
Scowling, he removed the handcuffs that bound him to Liang. He unsnapped a cell phone from his belt and pressed a preprogrammed number. Liang listened in, as did most of the room. Transfers up the chain of command to the Minister of Defense took several minutes.
Still attached to the other soldier, Liang took the opportunity to wave at May across the room. Young and sexy as ever, she seemed even more appealing in handcuffs. Why hadn’t he thought of that when they were lovers in flight school and at subsequent posts? If things went his way in the next few minutes, maybe he would get the chance to try it out.
The poor captain was interrupting a meeting of the Central Committee. Given how old the men on the committee were, it must have been some achievement to get their doctors to let them meet.
Qian came to the phone, and the captain jumped to rigid attention.
“Mr. President, I have Liang Jiaxi in custody as you requested. However, your friend Yu May Hua is also being held here in Kunming by another command.”
Most of the room could hear the angry response.
“Sir.” The captain held up the arrest warrant. “Interpol has issued a Red Notice for the arrest of Yu May Hua and Brad West. I am holding the warrant in my hand right now.”
Then, apparently, the president demanded to talk with May directly. The captain marched to the other side. He held the phone to May’s ear, and everyone strained to hear.
May turned red. “I am sorry. Yes, the French were after me as well.”
Several apologies later, she turned away from the phone.
Apparently she hadn’t come clean with the president and had failed to mention that she was wanted. This undercut her credibility.
The president issued a curt order to the captain, who nodded into the phone, acknowledged, saluted, and hung up.
He returned the Red Notice to May’s captors. “Take the young man and woman into custody,” he commanded. “And hold the other two for questioning.”
Then he pointed across the room for his men to release Liang.
“Jeez, this is crummy,” Brad said. He asked May what had gone wrong.
She was clearly distraught. “I did not tell Qian that I was also a wanted person. I lost his trust.”
The soldiers removed Liang’s handcuff. Liang rubbed his sore wrist. It was with satisfaction that he watched May and her motley crew being hauled off by Peng’s men, warrant in hand.
“I apologize,” the captain told him. “This was a simple misunderstanding.”
Liang nodded and waited for the soldiers to leave before wiping the sweat off his forehead. Luck, or his quick thinking, had saved him once again. It seemed that the gods were smiling.
He turned to Dr. Yu. “We have a plane to catch.”
The forlorn anthropologist couldn’t take his eyes off his daughter, who looked too ashamed to acknowledge his presence.
“What will become of May?”
Liang pulled him aside to let the soldiers file out. “Don’t worry. My men will see that she gets what she deserves.”
“Your men?” A worried look crossed Yu’s face.
“And if you don’t come with me, she will get even worse.”
The old man’s shoulders slumped. “What have I done wrong?”
“I guess you’re too smart for your own good.”
Liang turned the old guy toward a sign that read “Chartered Flights.” He felt a surge of excitement. They were on their way to the fabled land of Shangri-la.
Chapter 41
Brad watched a bowed Dr. Yu follow Liang out of the room. It nearly broke his heart.
He felt total allegiance to Dr. Yu. It was not merely professional; he had his future as Yu’s son-in-law to consider.
But what could he do? Brad and his friends were all being led away with their wrists cuffed behind their backs.
As they were loaded into the rear of a police van, he contemplated all the forces arrayed against them, not least of which was the President of China, who had ordered their arrest.
The van rumbled over the streets of Kunming, and all he could see out the tiny rear window were the tops of buildings. The twenty-story buildings, each with a different ornament on top, stood in stark relief against a deep blue sky. How could he get through to the leader of such a powerful nation?
The group was silent. All their options were quickly evaporating. Even without a guard inside the van, they were powerless.
“Hi ho, hi ho,” Earl started singing. “It’s off to work camp we go.”
Brad stared at him fiercely.
That stopped the singing for only a short while.
“Working on a chain gang…” Earl began in a soulful tone.
This time both girls gave him the look, and he wiped the grin off his face.
May spoke at last. “If we only could convince President Qian that Liang is going to Shangri-la.”
“Why didn’t you tell him that over the phone?” Brad said.
“I could not tell Qian about Shangri-la,” she said. “Your father makes us swear.”
“If anybody ought to be told, it’s President Qian,” Brad murmured. Was she right? How much were they subject to the code of silence?
“So we rot in prison,” May said, “while Liang finds Shangri-la. It is not fair.”
“But May,” Earl said quietly. “There is no Shangri-la.”
May looked to Brad for support.
“Boys and girls,” Brad said, and tried to fight off his petulant mood, “I want you to start getting used to this idea. It appears that Liang and Yu and even, yes, my dad believe that Shangri-la in fact exists.”
Earl stared at him slack-jawed. He wouldn’t believe it in a million years.
“Mind you,” Brad quickly added, “I won’t fall for this for a second, but we have to proceed under the assumption that everybody involved believes it exists. Call it being blinded by greed or fooled by fool’s gold, the belief is real.”
“Whoa,” Earl said. “That’s deep.”
“More importantly. We must keep this under our hats. The more people know about Shangri-la, the more dangerous it becomes.”
Jade turned to her girlfriend. “So that’s why you didn’t tell Qian?”
May nodded.
“But,” Jade protested, “only President Qian can stop Liang.”
Earl caught her eye. “Stop him from what? What harm is Liang to the world if he chases an illusion?”
Jade tensed her jaw. “Liang is a menace to society. To the world. I think Qian should know, either way.”
“I doubt if we’ll even be allowed to talk to each other, once we’re locked up,” Brad said.
To this, they all agreed.
But the conversation was cut short by the sudden application of brakes. The group squeezed together into a tight ball.
The police van veered to the side of the road and came to a halt. Brad could hear the clink of bicycles riding past. It seemed they were in the bike lane of a major street, possibly in front of a prison.
“I’m going to fight back.” Jade lifted both feet. She consulted May with her eyes.
May nodded and looked down at her own bare feet. She flexed her toes. “When the farmer opens the barn….”
Jade nodded.
“What can I do?” Brad was inspired by their determination.
“Uh,” May said. “Just stay back.”
“I can do that,” Earl chimed in.
Jade agreed. “May’s right. We don’t want you hurt.”
Brad listened to the thud of boots as several soldiers rounded the back of the van.
The moment the first door opened, Jade jabbed a foot at it. The door swung wide and smashed into two soldiers’ faces.
The pair fell to the ground and grabbed their noses.
May was first to leap out of the van. Hands still cuffed behind her back, she kept her balance by maintaining a low center of gravity. Her legs flashed out in all directions to keep the soldiers on their backs.
Jade, Br
ad and Earl poured out of the van.
The tree-shaded part of town looked like a battle zone with bodies sprawled on the street. Brad was no expert at martial arts, but he was able to kick the guns away from the writhing soldiers.
Earl stooped down and picked up an assault rifle behind his back. He stood and pointed it at the downed men.
“Bravo, Skeeter,” Brad said, impressed.
May shouted out instructions to the soldiers, who froze in place.
“Yeah. Take that,” Brad added.
An armored jeep pulled up to where the drama was unfolding. Earl whirled around to train his weapon on the jeep. In the process, he messed up and dropped the gun.
May and Jade fell to the pavement and began some sort of contortionist act with their arms and legs. But Brad’s attention was drawn to the military man stepping out of the jeep. The gaunt fellow with cold, piercing eyes was flanked by a pair of armed guards.
“Peng!” May exclaimed from her position on the ground.
“Who’s Peng?” Brad whispered to Earl.
“You are,” Earl quipped. “I’m broke.”
“Ba-da-bing.”
May began to rattle off a long question in Chinese.
“English, please,” Brad interrupted. He didn’t want to miss a thing.
Still squirming on the ground, May explained, “Colonel Chou Peng is head of security at Party headquarters. He can bring our news about Shangri-la to President Qian.”
An incongruous grin appeared on Peng’s sunken face. It was a horrifying sight. “I’m afraid Qian already knows about Shangri-la,” he said in flawless English.
“So you know about Shangri-la, too,” May said.
He nodded. “I heard Iron Man Zhuang reveal its existence on his deathbed to Qian.”
“Reveal?” Earl said, skeptical.
“And you told Liang about it,” May concluded.
The grin remained fixed. At first Brad wondered if Peng was born that way. Or maybe it was the lingering effects of a stroke. Then he realized that Peng, despite his otherwise unflattering appearance, was actually happy.
May sucked in her breath. “You work for Liang.”
Almost inconceivably, the grin spread wider.
May struggled to her feet. Jade did the same.
Earl seemed bowled over by the revelations and sat down hard on the tile sidewalk.
But the two women had managed to step through their handcuffs and swung locked fists at Peng’s men.
The two guards were sent reeling. That left Peng alone among his fallen troops. A pistol glinted in Peng’s hand. It was pointed at Brad.
May backed off, and so did Jade.
Brad was moved that they didn’t risk his life by attacking Peng. What a privilege to have such friends.
Automatic gunfire erupted behind him. Still seated like a tubby Buddha, Earl had managed to snag the rifle he had dropped and was letting loose. Bullets flew unerringly into Peng’s chest. He flailed both arms, dropped the pistol, and went flying back under the fusillade.
“Ye-haw!” Earl shouted. “Got him in one try.”
Brad was aghast. Peng lay spurting blood from his chest, his limbs shaking in a death dance. All around him, Chinese soldiers groaned and writhed in pain while bicyclists veered out of their way.
“Let us go,” May urged under her breath. She took him by the arm to steady him. “We must find Liang and stop him.” She led him toward the nearest alley.
“I can’t go with you,” Jade called, and heaved her chubby lover to his feet. “I’ll take Earl to Beijing where we can talk to Qian. He has to stop chasing you and mount an operation to find Liang.”
“Good luck,” May said as a siren wailed toward them.
Brad found a ring of keys dangling from a soldier’s belt. “Grab these keys.”
Jade used them to unlock Earl’s handcuffs, and he proceeded to spring everybody else free.
“Thanks, little buddy,” Brad said. “I swear that Peng was going to shoot me. You saved my life.”
“Really?” Earl said. “I thought he was aiming at me.”
“Whatever. Now off to Beijing with you.”
His friend hustled to catch up with Jade, who was already jumping on a local bus. What a fox. But Earl’s fox, of course.
Peng’s two groggy guards were getting to their feet. When they saw their commander dead, they looked around for a perpetrator.
Brad’s lovely lady stood waiting by the alley. Brad set off to follow her.
He skidded around the corner and entered the winding streets of old Kunming. Footsteps pounded just behind.
Chapter 42
Igor Sullivan took the red-eye from Paris back to Washington.
The sun never truly set on the flight over the North Atlantic, so he had remained awake looking out his window.
It was possible to imagine paradise while gazing at the towering cloud forms. But was there a real Shangri-la on earth? The idea sounded fanciful to him, but he had been witness to some strange realities in his time.
His mind kept returning to his German acquaintance slumped over dead, having accomplished his mission by passing the code on to Dr. Yu.
How did a professor locked down in the Russian-occupied sector of Germany come by such extraordinary information? And why had Professor Fried risked his life to keep knowledge of Shangri-la away from Khrushchev?
Fried was a small man running between the legs of giants.
Upon landing, Sullivan faced the rigmarole of immigration and customs and finding his Ford Taurus in the parking lot. The logistics of reentry momentarily replaced all thoughts of Paris.
Half an hour later, his car was in line with other early-morning commuters waiting to enter CIA headquarters at Langley. At last he was able to pull up to the gate. He waited for the bomb detection process to complete. A minute later, his car was cleared.
He turned into the employee parking lot next to his office building. Stepping from his car, he noticed the wrinkles in his suit. He hadn’t taken the time to pack clothes for Paris and was wearing the same suit that he had worn there. The Indian garb and orange robe were only temporary.
He sniffed his armpits.
He wouldn’t be spending much time in the employees’ lounge. Which was fine with him. No day at the CIA was a normal day. Every time that he passed his ID card before the machine and walked through those turnstiles was another day on the battlefront.
Sometimes he wondered if he had an overblown view of the CIA’s work. There were American soldiers dying around the globe every day. His universe of desks, computers and telephones hardly presented the same risk. But immunity from danger didn’t make him any less important. In fact, the motivation behind his intense work habits was to reduce the number of flashpoints and U.S. casualties.
He closed the door to his office and flipped on the light switch. He removed his suit coat and hung it on the back of his door.
He had been able to read the letterhead of the Shangri-la Code in Paris. It had come from the “U.S. Department of War.” How could an American military document end up in the hands of a German professor? When had the American army been in Berlin?
The manually typed stationery was a relic of the Second World War or earlier. It had to predate the National Security Act of 1947 that created the CIA and merged the Department of War and the Department of the Navy into a unified National Military Establishment, later the Department of Defense. Perhaps it had something to do with the famous meeting at Potsdam two years before that, in 1945.
Had the document been generated then?
Like every politically aware person of his generation, he had closely followed the Potsdam Conference. He remembered newsreels of the new president, Harry S. Truman, flying to Europe to meet with Churchill and Stalin to hammer out an agreement on what to do with the defeated Germany. Then, not long after college, Sullivan had been sent to Berlin to help make the most of the tortured agreement.
But he had never studied the conferenc
e process itself. What had actually happened behind closed doors between those three victorious leaders?
He rolled up his sleeves and looked around the small office. He had a television with 24-hour news. His computer had up-to-date maps and daily CIA news briefs. From his keyboard, he could access the latest information on the deployment of any country’s fighting forces. He knew where everyone was and what he or she was doing there. But what tools did he have to dig into the past?
Truman had been a faithful diarist. Perhaps his notes at Potsdam would contain some clue. Had Shangri-la ever been a topic of discussion?
He picked his phone up and dialed the research department. “I need a copy of Truman’s diaries,” he told the young lady. “Specifically, I’m interested in the Potsdam Conference.”
“That would be July of 1945,” she said. She was clearly more than a receptionist.
“I need to see a copy of the original handwritten pages,” Sullivan went on. “Not just a typeset copy.”
“I would need to go to the Presidential Library in Independence, Missouri, for that.”
He raised his eyebrows. This gal sure knew her stuff. “If you can get it to my desk by noon, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll put on my flying cape at once.”
Smart aleck.
Several hours later he ate an early lunch in the cafeteria. He was walking back through waves of young employees who strolled nonchalantly toward the food line when he saw a pert young thing leave his office.
Her heels squeaked to a halt when she saw him. “I left you the diaries, Mr. Sullivan.”
She didn’t wear reading glasses, nor did she have a Superwoman cape. He allowed a brief moment of fantasy where she wore nothing at all.
“I’m sorry,” he recovered himself. “I don’t know your name.”
“I’m the one they call Linda.” Her eyes smiled moistly like a cat.
He took a moment to savor the name, Linda. What could be more beautiful than the Spanish term for beauty? And wasn’t blonde hair the essence of beauty to the Spanish eye? Never mind the fact that he wasn’t Spanish. She was the kind of girl that could make him want to be anything.