Covert One 4 - The Altman Code (52 page)

Asgar translated everything in a whisper:

“You stealing food again, Ibrahim?”

“Don’t you know you always get caught? What is it this time?”

The first guard searched the trembling Uigher and pulled a jar from
inside his shirt. “Honey again. You know damn well that’s not for
prisoners. We would’ve discovered it was gone, and then we’d have
tracked it to you. You’re the dumbest inmate here. Now we’ve got to take
you to lockup, and you’ll be talking to the governor in the morning. You
know what that means!”

His head hanging lower, Ibrahim was marched to a small building at the
far edge of the yard.

“What does it mean?” Jon asked, concerned.

“Detention for a week. Ibrahim’s an operator. It’s his contribution to
the cause.” Asgar looked both ways. “Now!”

As Ibrahim disappeared inside, Jon and Asgar slipped out the front door,
ran full speed to the right, and dove under the barrack. They clambered
underneath to the other side, jumped out, ran again, and dove again,
repeating until they were three barracks distant, in another part of the
camp. They lay panting beneath the last one, peering out at another
group of barracks. The most distant one from the fence where they
entered was straight ahead.

Asgar breathed in deep gulps. Jon’s heart pounded, and his face itched.

But all he could think about was … in that barrack was David Thayer.

They studied the new area. Again, there were wood walkways uniting the
buildings. Two more guards patrolled 180 degrees apart. As soon as the
guards’ backs were turned, Asgar nodded, and they ran once more, this
time lightly.

The barrack door cracked open without a sound, and a figure motioned
them into the dark interior. He was in his early thirties, with a scar
down his right cheek that looked as if it had come from a blade. The man
put a finger to his lips, closed the door, and padded quietly off
between pallets of snoring male prisoners. Shafts of moonlight from high
windows illuminated the bleak, regimented scene, which looked as if it
had sprung from some monochromatic moment in a Solzhenitsyn novel.

Jon and Asgar followed the prisoner to a door at the rear. He pointed at
it and returned to his pallet. Jon and Asgar exchanged a look in the
gloom, and Asgar gestured as if to say, “Your turn, if you want it.”

This was David Thayer’s cell. This last door in the last barrack in the
compound. A man who had been declared officially dead for decades. Whose
wife had remarried and died. Whose best friend had married her and died,
too. Whose son had grown up without him. He had missed several
lifetimes.

Jon opened the door eagerly. This man deserved more than pity. He
deserved freedom and every happiness the world could offer.

Inside was a tiny room. Two men looked up from where they sat side by
side on wood chairs. Each held a small, lighted flashlight, a hand
cupping the beam. Jon could see little more. He and Asgar quickly closed
the door behind them.

“Chiavelli?” Jon whispered into the dark.

“Smith?” asked a voice.

“Yes.”

The hands released the beams. The cell erupted in shadows and light.

Both men were fully dressed. The one who wore the usual prison shirt and
trousers was younger–muscular, with a gray buzz cut and gray stubble on
his chin. He immediately crossed the room and pushed aside the pallet in
the corner.

The older one stood up, tall and rangy, with sunken cheeks and bony
shoulders. He was dressed in a rumpled Mao jacket over loose peasant
trousers, a Mao cap on his head. Under it was thick white hair and an
aristocratic face that was riven with lines, not from the sun but from
more than eighty years of life. Around his waist was a belt with a small
pack. He was ready to travel. David Thayer.

Chiavelli said from the corner, “Asgar?” He was on his knees, where the
pallet had been. “I could use some help.”

“Certainly, old man.” Asgar crouched beside Chiavelli, as Chiavelli
explained what needed to be done. With their fingers, they worked loose
and removed four-penny nails from the floor where Thayer’s pallet had
been.

Meanwhile, a warm smile wreathed David Thayer’s wrinkled face. He
extended his hand. “Colonel Smith, I’ve waited a long time for this.

Wish I could think of something profound to say, but my heart and mind
are too full.”

“Actually, I was thinking the same thing, Dr. Thayer.” He shook the
hand. It was dry, warm, with only a slight tremble. “It’s an honor to
meet you, sir. I mean that. We’re going to get you out of here. From
this moment on, consider yourself a free man.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to meet my son.”

“Of course. The president sends his greetings. He wants very much to see
you as soon as possible.”

Thayer’s smile widened, and his eyes shone. “I’ve hoped that for more
than fifty years. Is he well?”

“From everything I know, he is. You have two grandchildren. Both in
college. A boy and a girl. Patrick and Amy. You’ll be going home to a
beautiful family.” Jon thought he heard a sob catch in Thayer’s throat.

“Let’s go!” Dennis Chiavelli called softly from the corner.

A panel of the wood floor was gone. It had been dropped down into the
opening. David Thayer explained the Uighers had dug tunnels years ago,
so they could move freely among the barracks.

Jon and Thayer hunched next to Asgar and Chiavelli, as Chiavelli
explained urgently, “We go out as quickly and quietly as possible. Looks
like the governor’s laid down the law about the guards getting too lax,
so we have to be damned careful. If a guard hasn’t been bribed and tries
to stop us, we jump him silently, without lethal force if we can, and we
stash him, dead or alive, in the mess hall where he won’t be found until
after roll call tomorrow morning. If our luck holds, they won’t figure
out before then we’re gone.”

“We’d better be far the hell away by then anyway,” Jon said. He looked
at Asgar. “All of that sound right?”

“With an emphasis on nonlethal. My people have to stay behind.”

Chiavelli frowned. “Why are they still here anyway?”

Impatience was written on Asgar’s face. He dropped feet first into the
hole and took out a small flashlight. “If we pulled off a mass escape,
the Han would come down on us and all of Xinjiang like the Great Wall.

It’s better we remain a bloody nuisance, and we pick our times and
places to strike. Besides, we slip people in and out of the prison when
we need to. The network here is useful. Come on. We need to move as if
the devil were nipping our heels.”

Jon helped Thayer down into the opening. The moist, earthen hole had
been scooped out into a tunnel about four feet high. They had to stoop,
but it was a luxurious exit compared to Asgar’s tunnel back in the
Shanghai longtangs. Chiavelli, the last down, reached up and pulled the
sleeping pallet across the hole. He angled the wood panel back up into
place and tweaked it to the side so it would hold.

“One of our people will fix it so it’s unnoticeable again,” Asgar
explained.

They headed off, almost doubled over, Asgar in the lead. Following were
David Thayer, Jon, and Chiavelli. Jon watched Thayer for signs of pain
or exhaustion from the strain of the bent-over position, but if he felt
either, he gave no indication. The dirt walls closed in around Jon, and
a sense of suffocation threatened to overtake him. He kept his gaze on
Thayer’s back. The tunnel writhed like a dragon’s tail, interrupted by
rough-hewn wood supports and occasional openings in the top where more
wood panels indicated another entrance into another building. No one
spoke, although Chiavelli sneezed twice, muffling the noise in his hand.

At last, there was a cool stream of fresh air.

Asgar breathed, “We’re here.” As they stopped, he continued, “We’ll be
coming up under the last barrack. After that is the mess.” He looked at
his watch face. “Right now, there should be no more than one guard
patrolling between us and the final barrack. I’ll handle him. If by any
chance we’re surprised by a second, which is possible tonight, Jon takes
him.” “What do I do?” Chiavelli asked, frowning, eager to help.

Jon said, “Your job’s to make sure Dr. Thayer stays safe.”

Thayer protested, “Don’t do anything special for me. I make it, or I
don’t. I’m too old for anyone to risk his life.”

“You are old,” Jon said bluntly. “But that means you’ll make it harder
on us if you try to do what you can’t.”

David Thayer said, amused, “So Captain Chiavelli becomes my bodyguard
and my wet nurse. Poor Captain Chiavelli. It is a sad fate for such a
brave man of action.”

“No worries,” Chiavelli assured him. “My pleasure.” “Here we go,” Asgar
whispered.

The panel above their heads had been unsealed and left ajar, the source
of the fresh air. Asgar pushed it out of the way, and they climbed up,
one after the other, into the crawl space beneath the barrack. Thayer
was awkward but made it. Chiavelli replaced the panel and brushed dirt
back over it.

Jon and Asgar took positions under the edge of the building, where the
dimly lighted yard stretched between it and the mess hall. As Asgar had
predicted, a single guard patrolled in a sloppy circle, his assault
rifle slung over his shoulder and his head down as if half asleep.

They scuttled backward to where Thayer and Chiavelli lay. Thayer gave
Jon a questioning look, but Jon shook his head, his fingers at his lips.

They waited. The night air was chilly against their skin. The moon had
retreated behind a gray cloud, and the shadowy prison took on an eerie,
dangerous air. They waited tensely.

At last, the guard headed back in their direction. Again Jon and Asgar
moved to the edge of the barrack. And waited. As the man’s feet moved
past, Asgar sprang out like a mountain cat and smashed the butt of his
pistol down onto the guard’s head. And it was over. Asgar started to
drag the man under the barrack, where they would tie and gag him and
smuggle him into the mess hall to hide.

Then it happened. A second guard marched out from around the next
building. He saw Asgar bent over his collapsed comrade. For a long beat,
the new guard stared, puzzled, his routine-dulled brain unable to
comprehend and react. Abruptly, it penetrated. He grabbed his assault
rifle, which was slung over his shoulder.

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.