Two Peasants and a President (25 page)

In 2006, there were claims that organs had been harvested from live members of the banned
Falun
Gong
.

2006
–
BBC report had showed ne
gotiations with doctors at No. 77
Central Hospital in Tianjin for a liver transplant.

Advertisements for livers
–
priced $60,000 and up

There were also articles disputing some of the claims as well as asse
r
tions by Chinese authorities that organ transplants are under strict control, but chilling clips of kneeling prisoners being meticulously shot through the neck so as not to destroy valuable organs spoke volumes.  One article even had a photograph of a sleek, black, windowless motor home, a rolling death chamber that increased the executioner’s reach.

After many hours of study, Richard dozed off, sleeping fitfully as the train rushed through the Chinese night, memories of Holly as a small child sitting in his lap appearing again and again in his dreams. 

42

It had been dark for more than an hour; the temperature had already dropped ten degrees on the soccer field outside the hospital.  The headlights of the ambulance lit the ground in front of them.  Dr. Min
Qiang
and his fellow doctor shivered as they stood silently, each holding one end of a stretcher. 

Several feet away the manacled prisoner was forced to kneel.  He was then given an injection that he was told was a tranquilizer to prevent unne
c
essary suffering.  He thanked them profusely; they always did, not knowing that the syringe actually contained heparin to prevent blood clotting. 

The prisoner trembled as he felt the cold steel gun barrel touch the back of his neck.  The shot pitched him forward, landing first on his face and then tumbling sideways.  He lay twitching as the bailiff removed the cuffs and leg irons.  The doctors had already set the stretcher beside the prisoner and moved him quickly onto it and then into the ambulance, where urologists stood with scalpels poised.  They deftly opened the abdomen as the man continued to breathe, his heart still beating.  In less than five minutes, they  rushed the kidneys into the hospital.

Then other doctors removed the liver and corneas, while Min
Qiang
and his fellow doctor removed the skin.  When they were done, the half-dead corpse was thrown into a plastic bag and sent to the crematorium.  The family was never given the body. 

Min
Qiang
had done this more than a hundred times, he reckoned.  But the revulsion never abated.  Once inside the physicians’ bathroom he vo
m
ited into the toilet.  He was shaking too much to leave the bathroom, so he sat pretending
to
have a bowel movement until the nausea passed.  Then he went back to his office and made it appear that he was doing paperwork.  But he merely moved the papers around on the desk to look busy; in reality he was thinking about the plan. 

Soon, he and others would attempt something that had never been done, saving two human beings from this ghastly place.  Within the hospital there were two co-conspirators, one also a doctor, the other an ambulance driver.

He thought there might be others, but the movement was carefully co
m
partmentalized and that had not been shared with him.

If all went according to plan, they would wheel the ‘donors’ out of their
rooms under the pretext of moving them to another hospital.  Once outside, they would be smuggled out of the city to safety.  It sounded so easy, but he knew it would be anything but.  Min
Qiang
was well aware that if they failed, he would become an organ ‘donor’ too.  He had prepared himself as best he could if it came to that. 

He
thought about the plan for two years, slowly, carefully getting to know his colleagues, trying to discern who, like him, detested what they were doing.  But they had not only to detest what they were doing, they had to be prepared to risk their lives doing something about it.  He felt confident that he could trust the other doctor as well as the ambulance driver.  But there were others who they would need to carry out the plan.  Those he did not even know.  Someone else trusted them.  He
would have to rely on others.  That frightened him.

43

There was a Crown Vic parked outside, just like they said there would be.   The kitchen and living room lights were on.  He pulled up alongside the big sedan and rolled down the window.

“How’s it going?” he asked the plainclothes officer inside.

“Pretty quiet, I came on about an hour ago.  Local PD’s been by a few times; they’re cruising the area keeping an eye out for anyone who doesn’t belong.  The stopped a jogger a little while ago, but turned out he lives a couple blocks over.”

“Just thought I’d check,” said Baines.  “Need some coffee?”

“Nah, thanks just the same.  I’ve got a thermos on the seat next to me.”

“Well, if you change your mind or need to use the bathroom, just call ahead.”

“Don’t worry about that, Senator.  I wouldn’t dream of sneakin
g
up on you
–
not with that big .45 of yours.”

Baines turned into the drive and parked.  After he’d retrieved the Sig from the console and stuck it in his waistband, he got out, deciding to walk around the house and
check things out
for himself.

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 ma
r
ried, 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 lo
oking 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 o
b
viously 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 b
e
hind 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 di
s
trict 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 a
s
sertions 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 pr
o
vided the call girl in their own attempt to disgrace the senator.  Using inte
r
cepted 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 consc
iousness 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.