Just as he spun it over into his hands, Jon jumped out from under the barrack behind him and reached to clamp an arm around his throat. The man immediately slammed back the butt of the rifle. Jon saw it coming and dodged, but he lost his grip on the guard.
The man whirled around, aimed his rifle at Jon, and tightened his finger. At that moment, Dennis Chiavelli blasted out from under the barrack, racing shoulder down, like a battering ram. He crashed into the guard, pushing him a good six feet, while trying to yank the rifle from his hands. But the guard managed to pull the trigger.
The rifle fired. The noise was like a crack of thunder. It seemed to shake the buildings and explode up into the starry heavens.
Fear shot through Jon. “Hide him. Quick!” He kicked the guard in the chin, knocking him out.
At the same time, a voice shouted in Chinese, then another. There were questions in the voices. The old man straightened up onto his feet. He bellowed into the night, his voice strong. Jon had no idea what the words meant, but they were confident. The old man laughed, and there were responding chuckles in the distance.
“I told them I was an idiot,” Thayer whispered as they quickly bound, gagged, and blindfolded the two guards. “I said I nearly shot myself in the foot by accident and begged them not to report me.” He chuckled again.
“Nice save,” Jon said in a low voice.
“Jolly right,” Asgar agreed.
Chiavelli said nothing, merely smiled.
With the fear of being caught goading them, the four rushed the two unconscious guards toward the mess building. Two Uighers were waiting there, the door ajar. Inside, one of the Uighers asked Asgar a question.
Before Asgar could translate, David Thayer did: “They’re saying they’ll hide the guards, if we like. We should leave before the moon comes out again.”
Jon nodded. “Tell them yes. Thanks, Dr. Thayer. Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.”
At a trot, they retraced the path Ibrahim had led them on, from the mess hall to the kitchen and finally to the rear double doors where another Uigher beckoned them to hurry even faster. The moon, approaching full tonight, was still low as they trotted out into the blind spot to the fence where the Uighers on both sides had already reopened the passage.
Asgar swiftly crawled under, but David Thayer suddenly stopped. He stared out through the chain links as if in a trance.
Jon looked all around. The hairs on the back of his neck were starting to rise. They’d had fairly good luck so far. Now was not the time to test it. “Dr. Thayer? Your turn. You go next.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “My turn. Astounding. Truly astounding. I used to be a big Dodgers fan. I understand they’re no longer in Brooklyn.” He looked at Jon.
“They’re in Los Angeles now.” Jon pulled him toward the passageway. “The Giants left New York, too. They’re in San Francisco.”
“The Giants in San Francisco?” Thayer shook his head. “I’m going to have a lot to get used to.”
“Come on, sir,” Jon said. “Down you go.”
“It’s odd, but I’m reluctant. Foolish, aren’t I? My mind and heart are very full.” He straightened his spine. Years seemed to fall from him, and he stepped to the fence, dropped stiffly to his knees, and crawled under. Jon immediately followed, and Chiavelli once more protected their rear, gazing carefully all around.
“Can you run, sir?” Jon asked urgently.
Behind them, the Uighers were already covering the wood squares with dirt again. Ahead, Asgar was dashing across the open space toward the trees. Jon and Chiavelli helped Thayer to his feet and finally got him to run. The stars seemed particularly bright. Too bright. At last, when they entered the safety of the forest, Jon felt as if he had just won the gold ring on the biggest carousel. They had gotten the old man out of prison. Now the trick would be to keep him out, keep him safe, and get him to America.
They stopped in a grove so Thayer could catch his breath. Sweat streamed down his face, but he was smiling broadly. He pressed a hand to his chest and inhaled raggedly. “I never managed an escape before. I tried.”
They stood in a knot, sheltered all around by trees, waiting for him to recover, as they watched uneasily everywhere. An animal scurried away through the underbrush, heading north. Thayer never stopped smiling, even as he panted. His brown teeth were dark in his face. Some were chipped and broken. Two of his fingers were crooked, as if they had been broken but never splinted, so had healed wrong, perhaps after torture. The heaving in Thayer’s chest slowed at last, and they ran on.
Chapter
Forty
Monday, September 18
Washington, D.C.
The mood in the tomblike situation room was tense. An electric tension that sapped at nerves already frayed. Throughout the morning, the assembled joint chiefs, service secretaries, National Security Adviser, secretaries of state and defense, the vice president, Charles Ouray, and the president himself had been discussing, sometimes heatedly, the rapidly approaching moment when a decision would have to be made whether to board the Empress and risk a military confrontation with China. After each had summarized his readiness, Secretary of Defense Stanton brought up the larger matter of long-range strategies and appropriations.
It was then that General Guerrero had reiterated what he called the army’s obvious need to enlarge their quicker, lighter concept to include heavy weapons for sustained campaigns against strong forces over large areas. He cited several examples of weapons, including the Protector mobile artillery unit, as vital to be approved and put into production.
“You’re alone on this today,” the president told him. “At the moment we have a crisis to face that none of that can help us with.”
The general nodded agreement. “Yessir, you’re right.”
The president turned to Admiral Brose. “What can you give us, Stevens, that’ll make the Chinese and their submarine back off before all hell breaks loose?”
“Not very much, sir,” the admiral admitted, his tone uncharacteristically gloomy.
Air Force General Kelly said, “For God’s sake, Brose, you’ve got the whole damned Fifth Fleet out there. One carrier-based Viking, or even a Hornet, should scare the crap out of them.”
Secretary Stanton chimed in, “Doesn’t the Crowe have antisub choppers, Admiral?”
“Yes, to both comments,” Brose said. “Or was it three? In any event, what you gentlemen seem to forget is that this isn’t a military question, it’s a political nightmare. We have far more weapons than we’d need if we could attack. Hell, barring advanced capabilities we’re not aware of on that sub, the Crowe can juggle the situation on its own on at least an equal basis. But attacking first is precisely what we can’t do. Isn’t that so, Mr. President?”
“In a nutshell,” the president agreed.
“So what I have to offer is a cruiser. I’ve got the Shiloh steaming full tilt. If it can get there in time, that might scare them off.”
The president nodded calmly. This was to be expected and did not especially disturb him. His manner exuded quiet confidence, except for his right hand. The fingers drummed reflexively on the table in front of him. “Thank you, Stevens. All right, where do we stand? Our attempt to secure proof of the Empress’s potentially lethal cargo by using the SEALs failed. We can’t attack first, or we’ll lose what credibility we have left that we’re a nation that wants only peace and respects the rule of international law. I am, of course, still pursuing diplomatic avenues. But that pretty much exhausts our options, with one exception.”
He paused to choose his words carefully, while his fingers continued their reflexive drumming. “Earlier, I mentioned an ongoing intelligence operation designed to secure proof of the cargo. I can report that I have high hopes of a successful conclusion to that effort, within hours.”
The buzz in the room was excited. Emily Powell-Hill asked, “How many hours, sir?”
“Can’t say for certain. You should know that the effort is inside China
, and of course it’s risky. Plus, there are enormous difficulties in running a mission on the other side of the world as well as having to contend with the vast distances of China.”
“May I ask who’s making this effort, Mr. President?” the vice president asked. “I’m sure all of us would like to pray for their safety and success.”
“Sorry, Brandon, I’m not going to reveal that. I can tell you our man’s close to success, but how close I can’t be certain. Which leaves us faced with a simple, if potentially devastating decision. If I fail to hear from inside China in time, the Crowe will stop and board the Empress before it can reach Iraqi waters, which, in practicality, means before it enters the Persian Gulf. Exactly how many hours is that, Admiral Brose?”
The chairman of the joint chiefs glanced at his watch. “Seven, Mr. President. Give or take an hour.”
Tuesday, September 19
Dazu
After a harrowing run through the forest, constantly looking over their shoulders, Jon, Asgar, the two Uigher fighters, and the two former prisoners reached the Uigher unit. A few minutes later, the entire group slipped out across the fields toward their hidden vehicles. They climbed aboard. With Asgar driving, Jon, Chiavelli, and Thayer took the limo, so Thayer would be more comfortable. Three other Uighers piled in back, their assault rifles bristling like porcupine quills. The rest of the Uighers divided themselves between the Humvee and Land Rover.
With the limo in the lead, the team drove off at a sedate rate in an effort to attract as little attention as possible. At the same time, they watched all around for pursuit, aware of every light, every boulder, every possible threat.
Jon studied the luminous green dial of his watch. “Where’s Alani and her group? Aren’t they still supposed to escort Chiavelli and Dr. Thayer to the border?”
“They’re at the hideout,” Asgar told him, his voice clipped, as if waiting for more trouble.
“Meaning, you want to give Chiavelli and Dr. Thayer a vehicle and some of your men to get them out of China?”
“That’s the plan.”
“No way. We don’t know how many men Feng or Li Kuonyi will bring. We need everyone. Besides, your people won’t get back in time. We’ll have to keep Chiavelli and Dr. Thayer with us until we actually walk into the mountains. Then we’ll stash them somewhere safe and pick them up again when we leave.”
Asgar thought a moment. “Okay, makes sense. Besides, we’ll be able to use Chiavelli and perhaps Dr. Thayer. Can you shoot, sir?”
“A long time ago,” Thayer admitted from the backseat. “Exactly what’s this new mission?”
“We can’t risk you, sir,” Jon stated flatly.
“Absolutely not,” Dennis Chiavelli agreed.
“All right.” Thayer sighed. “But at least tell me what it is.”
Jon related the highlights of the meeting at the Sleeping Buddha, the goal, the stakes, and the danger.
“This is for the human-rights agreement?” Thayer asked, his wrinkles rearranged in a frown. “Then it’s vital. It’s one of the most important pieces of legislation of my son’s administration.”
“Agreed,” Jon said. “These are global stakes.”
David Thayer took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture Jon had seen the president make. Then he slumped back as if exhausted. He stared out the window, a half smile on his old face.
Jon turned around in the front seat so that he was facing forward again. He glanced over at Asgar, and Asgar shot him a look of relief. Then both men resumed their careful watch for trouble. They drove past farmyards covered with rice grains spread out to be dried in tomorrow’s sun, just as the red peppers had been. Unhulled rice was everywhere, even piled against walls and fences, like brown snowdrifts. Handmade wood tools leaned against the walls, too. There were penned chickens and pigs and vegetable gardens. Heavy wood vegetable buckets often sat neatly at the end of a row. And, of course, there were water buffalo, heads dangling, muzzles almost touching the ground as they drowsed.
Time ticked slowly. Too slowly, increasing the tension. They drove into a village, and Thayer roused himself. The houses were more prosperous looking, roofed with blue-black curved tiles and boasting two or more chimneys. At the same time, the road became a pavement of large stone slabs that appeared to be hundreds of years old. Thayer told them he had been brought occasionally out to do work around here, because of his clerking skills.
“See the chairs at the edge of the pavement? This road is like an extended living room,” he said. “Villagers sit out here at tables to play cards, drink tea, and gossip. They lay their rice right on the pavement to dry, too, and bicyclists roll over it as if it’s not there. No one cares. To the Chinese, rice is ancient. It’s like the moon and stars. Nothing can destroy it.”
Jon turned back to check on the president’s father. His worn face still appeared tired, but even in the shadowy backseat, his expression clearly was happy. And he obviously felt like talking. A good sign.
“How are you feeling?” Jon asked.
“Odd. Strange. My emotions are jumpy. They’re like gremlins, impossible to control. One moment, I feel like laughing, the other like crying. I’ve reached the age where I cry rather easily, I’m afraid.”
Jon nodded. “That’s normal. How are you physically?”
“Oh, that. I was a little tired for a while, but now I feel fine.”
“Were you ever tortured?”
Thayer frowned. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Again, the same gesture Jon had seen the president make. But as Thayer did it, Jon again noted the two broken fingers. He suspected there were other broken bones, too, out of sight under the old prisoner’s clothing. Ribs. An arm. Maybe a leg. No way to tell without a thorough workup. If they survived, the first order of business would be to make certain he had a physical.
Jon resumed his watch on the dark countryside.
Thayer gazed out the window, too. He was clearly enjoying himself, despite the danger and the stress inside the car. “The Chinese are a fascinating people. They’re constantly repeating myths and creating new ones. Once, when one of the Communists’ aqueducts was leaking badly in the mountains around here, they told the peasants living downhill that it was a new, scenic waterfall. That way they convinced them to keep working their farms, even when it wasn’t safe.”
“The Chinese culture entwines nature and myth,” Asgar agreed. “Did they survive?”
“Yes. The aqueduct was fixed in time.” Thayer continued, “Almost all of their natural phenomena have one or more legends. It’s a perfect tool to keep people ignorant. Science as we know it simply doesn’t exist out here. But it’s a beautiful way to live, too. They speak in a kind of poetry. A great tree is a transformed god. A rainbow is a cause for rejoicing. Heaven is alive on earth. But when that ignorance was transferred to Beijing, it caused a lot of problems.”
“Wasn’t Mao a peasant with barely an elementary school education?” Jon asked.
“Yes, and under him, other peasants ran the country. Some were actually illiterate. Couldn’t read the reports they had to put their chops to. They knew little about mass production, factories, science, or even agriculture outside their own farming areas. Five years after Mao took over, the nation nearly starved to death because of ridiculous Politburo policies. In prison, we ate anything. Birds, insects, grass. After a while, there wasn’t a weed left or bark on the trees. A lot of us died.” Thayer shrugged. “But that’s enough about that. Now that the impossible has become possible, I’ve got a reason to live long enough to meet what’s left of my family. I suppose I’m growing greedy, but I don’t care. Afterward, I can die in peace.”
While they had been talking, Asgar had been on his walkie-talkie, checking with the drivers of the two other vehicles. None had seen any tails or surveillance. There was urgency in their voices over the crackling machines as they kept watch and stayed in touch.
“We’ve had word from inside the prison,”
Asgar reported over his shoulder. “They haven’t missed those two guards yet, and they don’t know you chaps are gone. Luck is with us so far.” His gaze returned to the road. The caravan was climbing into the hills.
The tension in the limo relaxed a shade with the news. Thayer described the area of Baoding Shan, where they were headed, and the Sleeping Buddha, where the exchange was to take place for the Empress’s manifest. “Sometimes Baoding Shan is translated to mean Precious Summit Mountain, other times it’s Treasure Peak Mountain. Near the foot of it is where the Sleeping Buddha and other figures are carved into the rock, like at Mt. Rushmore. They’re painted, too.”
“I heard they’re a thousand years old,” Chiavelli said.
“Nearly,” Thayer informed them. “The ones around the Sleeping Buddha date back to the thirteenth century. Whoever planned the grotto had a real understanding of beauty. It follows the natural line of the cliffs. They’re crescent shaped and solid rock, but around them is thick vegetation—trees, bushes, vines, flowers. Very green and lush. The cliff itself is part of a gorge.”
“Tell me what you think of the Sleeping Buddha as a site for an exchange,” Jon asked. Fred Klein had faxed him maps and descriptions. Still, there was nothing like hearing it from someone who had been there.
“For Li Kuonyi and Feng Dun, it will be full of possibilities. For you, probably the possibilities will make it difficult, since you want to take the manifest from whoever ends up with it. The Sleeping Buddha is massive, but it’s in an overhang, and around it are a lot of different carvings, some of epic Buddhist stories. Many are at eye level, which means they’re good places to duck inside and hide. There are other statues in dark caves and carved temples around there, too.”
Asgar spun the wheel to miss a wild dog that had darted across the road. “You’re absolutely right in every detail, Dr. Thayer. Couldn’t have given a better report myself. But how do you know all this?” he asked suspiciously.
The Altman Code Page 41
