“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 stones. 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.
“Our prisoners are sent to clean and repair the Buddha art. I was interested, so sometimes I was allowed to go, too. In Chinese culture, the old are respected simply because they’ve managed to live a long time, even if they are prisoners.”
At last, the trio of vehicles parked off in the trees. The Uighers jumped out and piled brush on the cars to camouflage them. Thayer walked around, stretching his legs, while Chiavelli accompanied him, keeping close watch.
“Time to go,” Jon told the two at last. He gave Chiavelli the limo’s keys. “Asgar’s written out directions to the hideout. If we’re not back by dawn, you’ll have to take him there yourself.”
“No problem. Then what?”
“Asgar’s sister, Alani, will smuggle you both to the best border.”
