Chapter 3

 

The Shepards crossed into West Virginia on a cold but sunny afternoon. It had taken them two weeks to cover forty miles. It was not that they were extremely slow hikers, but they were very different hikers. Dressed in camouflage, they would go off the trail and conduct war games against each other for hours. Using various means of subterfuge, they would chase each other about with paintball guns. At one point, Jean spotted a park ranger. Rather than present themselves to him with their fake identity papers, they stalked him until they had backtracked ten miles. He never knew they were there.

Jean Shepard won the game one day by finding a black bear in torpor and then maneuvering Arthur into accidentally awakening the beast. Arthur fled into the open, at which point his wife splattered him with blue paint. Along with hunting birds and other animals with their cameras, these games made their progress on the Appalachian Trail very slow. Both knew they could not frolic about in the mountains forever, and at some point, they would have to face the threat that powerful people wanted them dead. But neither was anxious for that confrontation, and both relished their time together in the wild.

The Appalachian Trail crosses over West Virginia State highway nine at a place called Keys Gap. There is nothing there except a small parking area often used by day hikers and weekend adventurers. Jean went off into the woods to track whitetail deer. She had spotted deer rubs on a couple of trees and determined that a large buck was probably still in the vicinity.  Commanding a clear view of the parking lot while still infoliated in the woods, Arthur pulled out another of his burner phones. For him, burner phones were like starting pitchers on a baseball team, each only used once in five days. Some would be untouched for months like a pitcher sent down to the minors. All were expendable in the end.

The weatherman on the "telly" was just informing Jay Smith that it would be a hot sunny day in Canberra when his phone rang. Switching the tv to mute and setting down his first coffee of the day heard a familiar voice say:

“Don’t feed me any of those vegemite sandwiches.”

"Hey, mate!" he replied. "I've got some good news. Those two wallabies you and your friends were looking for have been found. Last I heard, there was a plan in motion to get them to a zoo in Istanbul."

"That is good news. How is the website doing?"

"Oh, I'm still posting like there is no tomorrow. No successful intrusion on it so far. Surprisingly I am not getting many requests from those busy body friends of ours." Meaning, of course, reporters." You need to get back in the game, mate."

“I’m working on it. They know I know.”

As he talked, Arthur watched the parking lot. Seeing no people, he walked out into the open space and began to examine the three cars in the lot.  A sedan with Virginia license plates and an Audubon Society sticker on the back bumper looked the most promising.

"Well," Jay Smith continued. "I have read my boss in on the situation, and he has given me full clearance to help you in any way. So, if need be, you can get sanctuary down under."

“Thanks.”

"No worries, mate."

As the conversation ended, Arthur walked up behind the sedan and took a roll of duct tape from his cargo pants' pocket. He squatted behind the car and quickly taped the phone onto the inside of the back bumper. The exiled CIA agent then retreated into the woods and positioned himself where he could have a clear view of the car. As he sat quietly waiting, he heard his wife’s voice whisper in his ear.

"You need to tighten up, sweetheart. This is the second time I've gotten the drop on you."

He turned and saw Jean in her camo. She had come up behind him unnoticed.

“If you were the enemy, I would not last a day.” He said with a smile as she sat down next to him.

“Check it out!” she said as she handed him her camera with the viewer open. On it, he could see an 8-point buck that appeared to be staring at the camera.

“Awesome. It didn’t take you very long to find him.”

“Yeah.” She said. “He was almost as easy to sneak up on as you are. By the way, I saw a couple of bird watchers on the trail.”

"Did they look like overnight campers or day-trippers?"

“Definitely day-trippers.”

The sun was starting to get low in the sky as the two of them sat in the woods by the parking lot and chatted quietly. An elderly couple with binoculars around their necks came down the trail. Jean nudged her husband and motioned in their direction with her head.  She whispered:

“We are about to find out if you picked the right car.”

He had. As the couple drove out of the lot, he watched to see which way they would turn onto highway nine. They turned right and headed into Virginia. It was just what Arthur wanted them to do.

“So, is it north or south for us?” Jean asked.

"It is north for us, and we will get off the trail at Harper's Ferry."

"Let's push tomorrow to get there." She responded as they stood up and began to head for the trail. "I am ready for a shower, some fresh fruits and vegetables, and a good night's sleep in a bed."

"It's only thirteen miles. Hopefully, we'll do more than sleep in that bed." Arthur replied with a sly smile. "We'll camp out here tonight and hike to Harper's Ferry in the morning. We'll be off the trail for just one night, you understand.

“Of course. We are thru-hikers. We don’t stick around. So, are we going to be Dutch or Swedish this time?”

“Swedish. I like the way you do the accent.”

“Yah, sure. Tack så mycket”

******

As the Shepards made camp for the night along the Appalachian Trail, Rocky, Kalihs, and their traveling companions broke camp deep in the Tian Shan Mountains. It was going to be another day of hiking towards Kazakhstan. Breakfast was a bowl of porridge made from Tartary buckwheat with nuts and dried fruit. It would sustain them for the whole day. Both former inmates of Dabancheng ate it and anything the Kazaks provided with gusto and appreciation.

As they moved along the mountain trail, the Kazaks chatted in Turkish, and Kalihs translated for Rocky. He was careful to avoid the derogatory remarks they would make from time to time about the Han Chinese. Rocky figured this was the case but didn’t care. The rough outdoor experience invigorated him, and the beauty of those rugged mountains was captivating. Despite the disillusionment he experienced in the camp, he was in no hurry to run away from his country.

Prison confinement had weakened both former inmates, more so Kalihs. The party needed to stop frequently to allow him breaks, which slowed down their progress.   Fortunately, except for a couple of helicopter fly-bys, they had seen no sign of the Chinese authorities. The Kazak smugglers knew their job, and the route they chose for this enterprise was the most remote.

After more than two weeks, they came upon a small cottage with a corral full of horses. An old Uyghur greeted them at the front door and stared suspiciously at Rocky as they exchanged greetings in Uyghur. The lead Kazak patted Rocky on the shoulder.

"He's a good guy. Helped save this Uyghur," he remarked, pointing his thumb towards Kalihs.

More words and then money exchanged hands. The old man took them back to the corral and picked out horses for each of them. He would travel with them as far as the border and then take his horses back home.  Rocky had never ridden a horse, and it became necessary for one of the Kazaks to lead his horse for him.

Kalihs, on the other hand, was a bit of an equestrian. He and his brother Yakub had an uncle with horses, and the two of them would groom the horses and clean out the stable in exchange for the chance to ride. It never occurred to them that their uncle also needed the horses exercised, which their riding regularly took care of for him.

 

On the narrow mountain trails, the party on horseback moved in a single file. The two Kazaks lead the group, the second one holding onto the reins of Rocky's horse. Behind Rocky was Kalihs secretly wishing he and his horse could break loose on some open stretch. He had a feeling the horse would make for a fun ride. Behind him were the two men who, back in Istanbul, wore dark suits and black ties but now were dressed very much like Kazaks.

Rocky held onto the horn of his saddle. The horse riding was very uncomfortable, and he would rather be walking, but he said nothing. Instead, his mind wandered, and thoughts about his circumstance made him sad. Would he ever return to China? He wasn't married, but he did have a family. Would he ever see them and his friends again? They were good people. Han people. So many good Chinese people who had little idea of what was happening to the Uyghurs. Even those who did were powerless to do anything about it. The way these Turkic people condemned them was unfair. The thought that he had he turned himself against his people filled him with sadness. He could blame it all on the Communist Party and its corrupt ways, but that did little to relieve his melancholy.

Rocky was lost in thought as the trail took the group around a bend. There was a small plateau on the right and a steep side of a mountain rising on their left. It was there that a snow leopard startled them. The hungry animal had caught the scent of horses, and it was attempting to ambush one. All the horses responded with fear. The one carrying the Kazak with Rocky's reins reared up, forcing the rider to drop them. The now untethered horse with Rocky on its back broke into a gallop charging across the small plateau towards a steep drop off. Helpless, Rocky held on to the saddle as the rim of the plateau approached.

As soon as he saw this happen, Kalihs kicked his horse in the ribs and raced after Rocky. He quickly caught up to Rocky's horse and, using a trick he developed while playing on horseback with Yakub, leaned way over his horse's right side and grabbed Rocky's reigns. He then turned both horses away from the edge of the cliff and brought them to a halt.

“It looks like we are even now.” He said to Rocky with a grin that vanished as soon as he saw the terrified look on Rocky’s face.

The sound of a gunshot from the trail made both men turned to see the lead Kazak shoulder his smoking rife and climb a short distance up the mountain. He returned with the snow leopard's carcass over his head and strapped it onto the back of his horse while he and his fellow Kazak talked and laughed. This so repulsed Rocky, and everything cop about him began to boil to the surface.

“That’s illegal. Those animals are in danger of extinction. That’s why there are laws against killing them. Tell them that I could arrest them for that.”

Kalihs could see the terror once in Rocky’s face had been replaced, not with anger but with extreme sadness.

"Come on.' He said. "I'll show you how to ride a horse. It's not hard. The horse is calm now. Just hold the reins like this," he held his hand in front of himself, "and sit still."

The two of them on their horses began to move slowly back and forth across the small plateau. Kalish focused on starting and stopping but took some time to tell Rocky what to do if his horse ever bolted like that again.  At one point, he had both horses stay still, and he looked into Rocky's eyes.

“What I said back there was just in jest. You have sacrificed a lot for me, and I will be forever in your debt. There is no way I can ever repay that debt.”

"Hurry up!" the lead Kazak yelled in Turkish. "We are not here, so your Han friend can have equestrian lessons."

"You wait!" Kalihs shouted back at him. The turning to Rocky, said, "Let's go around this area one more time."

"No. It's O.K.," Rocky replied. "I think I'll be all right with what you showed me. Let's join the others, but tell them not to shoot any more animals as long as we are in China."

 The party continued their journey with Rocky in control of his own horse but feeling like he was not in control of his own life. He moved his eyes around the mountains to avoid looking at the dead snow leopard tied to the back of the horse in front of him. 

They camped that night in a small clearing of relatively flat ground. The Kazak took the snow leopard's body off his horse and pulled out a knife for skinning.

“Please tell him to do that somewhere else,” Rocky asked of Kalihs.

The reply from the Kazak didn't need translating and pushed Rocky past his limit of tolerance. He sprang up from the ground where he had been spreading out his sleeping bag, strolled over to the Kazak, and grabbing him by his coat, shoved the man up against a tree, forcing him to drop his skinning knife.

The Kazak's countryman immediately unshouldered his rife, flipped off the safety, and pointed it at Rocky, shouting something Rocky didn't understand and at that moment didn't care. The two Uyghur's grabbed their rifles, removed the safeties, and pointed them at the gun-holding Kazak.  The horses' owner stood frozen in silence. Kalihs realized that only he could diffuse the situation spoke, trying desperately to keep the nervousness out of his voice said.

"You are charged with the responsibility of bringing us out of China to Kazakhstan. Killing one or both of us would be failing to do your boss's bidding, and I understand that your boss doesn't take kindly to failure. Besides, if you shoot my friend, these two will drop you in no time. "

"You cannot get out of here and into my country without us," the Kazak responded. "You will be stuck here to die if they kill us. Besides, they are Turks like us. They won't risk their lives for a Han."

"They already have risked their lives for this Han," Kalihs replied. He avoided saying that unlike the smugglers, these were men of honor. During the time he spent on the trail with the two Uyghurs from Istanbul, he learned they had a code of honor and a commitment to whatever was their mission. Besides, they practically worshiped Rocky's friend Trumpet.

“As far as getting out of here, it would not be a problem for us. These two men have cell phones with GPS.”

Kalihs switched to Mandarin and spoke to Rocky, who still held the Kazak against the tree, glaring menacingly into his eyes.

"Rocky, when I say so, release that man and step back away."

Rocky said nothing but slightly nodded his head.

Switching back to Uyghur, Kalihs spoke to the Kazak with the gun.

“When my friend releases your friend, you are to point your rife away from him and put it on safety.

 Kalihs turned to the two Uyghurs and said.

"When that man points his gun away from the Han, you are to point your guns away and make them safe."

The two men nodded, and Kalihs returned to Mandarin and Rocky.

"O.K. Rocky. Let him go."

Rocky released the Kazak’s coat and walked backward for about six feet.  The others followed Kalihs’ instructions. Rocky continued to glare at the Kazak as he picked up his knife and the dead cat and moved off into the woods to complete his ghastly chore. Kalihs walked over to the two Uyghurs and spoke to them quietly.

The horses' owner decided that what had just happened was more than he bargained for and said he was taking his horses and leaving. The two Uyghurs went over with their guns still unshouldered and convinced him that it was not a good idea to renege on the deal he had made.  Kalihs defused the situation, but the tension would remain.

“So, what did you tell them?” Rocky asked Kalihs when he returned to the campfire area

"I told them that under no circumstances were they to turn on their cell phones while we are on this trail. It would send a signal the Chinese government could easily trace. They are good men but not very sophisticated. And then, with a smile, he added: "Oh, I also thanked them for saving your life."

For the first time in a long time, Rocky smiled back.

“There has been a lot of that going around today.”

For the rest of the journey, the party functioned like two parties. The Kazaks rode together ahead of the rest and spoke only to Kalihs, and then only when necessary. They looked at Rocky with utter contempt.  Nevertheless, they killed no more animals on the trail. And a week after that, they crossed into Kazakhstan. The old horse owner gathered up his horses and took off for home. The six remaining men traveled on foot until they reached the small town of Zaysan. There the lead Kazak, made a phone call to his boss and then directed the rest of the party to a small airport on the edge of town. Two hours later, they were airborne to Almaty.

The smugglers had a large compound in Almaty, not unlike their friends in Istanbul. Rocky and Kalihs were each given their own rooms, and although spartan, they were warm, and the beds were soft. The two men slept uninterrupted for hours. Meanwhile, the leader of the Kazak smugglers held court.

Bekzat Alikhan had built his illegal empire through shrewd and sometimes ruthless dealings. It had taken most of his life to bring himself to the point of extreme wealth and, at least in Kazakhstan, extreme power. Most of Kazakhstan's police and all of its politicians were in his pocket. On the other side of the border, the same was true of some Chinese police. The Chinese policeman now occupying a room in his compound was not in his pocket. That made Bekzat Alikhan a bit uneasy.

 In a wide-open room in his compound's main house, he listened to his men account for their experiences with the Uyghurs and the Han on the mountain trail. When they had finished, he looked compassionately at them and told them they would receive a bonus for all they had done.

Next came the Uyghurs who had been with Sally and Trumpet in the car at the airport. They had been retrieved from Vzroslyy Park by two of Alikhan's men posted there in case Trumpet had to enact his plan B. It was from them that he learned of Trumpet's death.  He then ordered his lackey to bring in the two Uyghurs that had guarded Rocky and Kalihs. The four Uyghurs' faces brightened when they saw each other, but Alikhan changed their mood quickly.

“You threatened to kill one of my men on the trail!” he said to the two that had just entered the great room.

"Yes, sir." One of the Uyghurs replied. "He was pointing his gun at the Han, and the Han was one of the men our masters had ordered us to protect. The Han misbehaved, and we would never want to kill a fellow Turk for the sake of a Han. In fact, we would much prefer to kill the Han. But we were honor-bound to do our masters bidding. We were pleased when Kalihs was able to end the standoff.  We re as loyal to our masters as these men are to you."

Bekzat Alikhan kept the scowl on his broad face, but he did admire the young man's argument. He demanded loyalty and unquestioned obedience from his men. Why shouldn't his friends in Istanbul expect the same? The Han policeman complicated the operation. He called in his two men and instructed the Uyghurs to apologize, which they did without argument. He then turned to the two Kazaks and told them to accept. When they hesitated, Alikhan stood up, his large body a dominating presence the room. His scowl turned more threatening. The two men realizing they were about to experience the wrath of Alikhan, quickly turned to the Uyghurs and accepted the apology.

"Good," Alikhan said. He remained standing, and still looking at the Kazaks continued. "I want you two to take these two into town and show them our lovely city. "

And turning to the Uyghurs, said. "Your master has rewarded you for your loyalty. He has sent your pay and a bonus for me to give to you. Spend some of it in Almaty. See my secretary for the money."

Alikhan walked out of the room. The six men remaining bowed, and the Kazaks led the Uyghurs to the secretary's office. They then went into Almaty, where the Uyghurs bought new dark suits and thin black ties.

Alikhan walked down a hallway to the room he had provided for the Han policeman. Without a knock or announcement, he opened the door and walked into the room. Rocky was awake. He had washed and dress and was bent over the bed, rearranging items in his backpack. He looked at the large man with the salt and pepper beard in his doorway. As far away as Rocky's police station in Beijing, police knew the name Bekzat Alikhan.  Another time, another place, Rocky would have arrested Alikhan and received a big promotion. Now he was a guest in this criminal's house.

“My friend, we went to a great deal of trouble to get you out of China. I am distressed to learn that you attacked one of my men because he killed a cat. That was extremely disrespectful and unappreciative.”

"It was a snow leopard. Snow leopards are an endangered animal. Under other circumstances, I would have arrested him for that." Rocky said, straightening himself up and looking in the big man's eyes. "There was no disrespect intended towards you. I didn't know they were your men until we arrived here. Had I known, I would have used more discretion." It was a lie, but it was one he was pretty sure Alikhan wanted to hear. And then swallowing all his pride, he followed it up with another lie.

"I am truly sorry," He said and slightly bowed his head.

"I will accept that on behalf of all my household. Now we must talk about what we are going to do from here. Your friend, the one who organized this escape and had of late been going by the name Trumpet, was killed in the operation. No one has seen his daughter."

Rocky fell back onto the bed and covered his face with his hands. His friend was dead, and he died saving him. His eyes began to fill with tears, but he quickly grabbed the towel he had used after his shower and wiped his face. It was bad enough to be in the same room with Alikhan without slapping cuffs on him, but Rocky was not about to let that man see him weep.

"Yes, your friend is dead, and that is too bad. I really liked the guy. But people die every day.  What's more important now is that we get you and your friend out of here. I have been in touch with Trumpet's employers, and they will set something in motion soon. You can stay here for a while and get some rest, but I'm not running a hotel for Han. The way I see it, the valuable cargo on that run was the Uyghur."

"Yes, he must get to Istanbul," Rocky responded. "Your friends there might know how Trumpet planned to use Kalihs to stop the conspiracy."

“What conspiracy?”

Should he confide in this smuggler? What choice did he have? Rocky filled Alikhan in, and when he finished, the smuggler responded.

"You are trying to foil a plot to kill that guy? The American President is a pig. I should have left you two in China and let the plot happen. I spit on the name of that American President."

"The killing of the American President is only part of the plot. Blaming the killing on a Uyghur gives China's government the excuse to exterminate the Uyghurs.  Once they have the Uyghurs out of the way, who do you think they will go after next? Kazakhstan is Muslim too. Kazakhstan is in the path of the One Belt, One Road. This is more a matter of self-preservation for you than you realize."

 Alikhan’s eyes narrowed in anger.

“And of course, you as a Han would be O.K. with that.”

"If that were true, I would not have put myself in the situation I am in now. You will never understand the rule of law, but  I live by that code. Once you get Kalihs to Turkey, I will be gone."

"And where will you go, Mr. Chinese policeman?"

“To find Sally Peyton,” Rocky replied.

*****

Hangzhou

Lawrence Trumbell stared at the image of Sally Peyton on the television screen and tried to make sense of what had happened to his school. In all his years as a school administrator, he had never had the first day back from a Christmas break go so badly. And he was still trying to understand why.

It began ten minutes after the first bell when a student from Richard Grant's class came into his office and announced that her teacher was not there. Grant had always been good about reporting any delays he incurred caused by trains, airplanes, or buses. Trumbell figured Grant had tied one on again and was too hungover to teach. But he didn't call in and feign sickness, another thing Grant typically did. Accompanied by the administrative assistant responsible for housing who had keys to all faculty apartments, Trumbelle went to Grant's abode and knocked on the door. When no one answered, he had the assistant open the door.

"This is exactly how it looked the other day when I came in to turn on the heat, as I did for all our teachers." The administrative assistant said. "I do that so that they will return from their break to a warm apartment."

“Yes, well,” Trumbell replied as he walked through the apartment. “It is apparent that Mr. Grant did not return from his holiday.”

Upon returning to his office, he learned that another teacher was missing. No one reported Sally Peyton's absence sooner because she had left her students' assignments on the class cloud. The students had diligently worked on those without really noticing that Sally was not there. Only when they completed their work and did not know what to do next did the students go to the office to inquire of her whereabouts. Trumbell didn't know her as well as he knew Grant, but until now, he thought she was reliable. With the administrative assistant in tow, he went to Sally's apartment with the same outcome. "Was there a plane crash or something?" he thought.

His vice principal, who had been calling about for substitutes, came into Trumbell's office to tell him there was a call from the American Embassy in Beijing. Trumbell picked up the receiver of his office landline and punched the appropriate button. The voice on the other end informed him that the police were holding Richard Grant in Dabancheng. There had been a disturbance of some kind there that involved Grant. Would the headmaster be willing to travel with an embassy employee to Dabancheng to see what could be done for Mr. Grant? The police agreed to such a meeting but made no promises that such a visit would change Grant's circumstances.

Nevertheless, the headmaster's good word could help the embassy's efforts to get Grant deported instead of a prison sentence. Trumbell agreed to the journey and then asked if the embassy had any information on Sally Peyton. They had nothing to tell him.

 

And yet there she was, her image at least on the television screen. Trumbell's knowledge of Mandarin was strong enough to understand that the Chinese government had declared her a terrorist. He was sure it also said that there was a reward for any information leading to her capture. How could he have so misjudged her? Her resume was strong, and her references very solid. There wasn't the slightest hint that she was a terrorist. A cold feeling came over him. Everyone in his school was now under suspicion, and his campus would be crawling with police. The chances of them finding something he did not want them to discover increased. He would have to rely on people in the Chinese government he did not know to protect him.

There was a knock on his door. He shut off the tv, and opening the door, found the detective he recognized immediately from the marijuana incident. Trumbell waved him in and offered him a seat. But the detective remained standing.

"You have no doubt heard about your teacher in Dabancheng." And before the headmaster could acknowledge, continued. "This reflects very poorly on your school Mr. Trumbell. All your staff will have to undergo interrogation. What happened with marijuana was bad enough, but this is so much worse."

“Yes,” Trumbell replied. “We will cooperate fully. Just like before. I do not know how this happened, but I can assure you that none of the remaining members of my staff are party to anything criminal.”

“Really? And how can you assure me of that? Could it be because you already knew about the other two?

“No, and I am still not sure of what it was they did wrong.”

“Law enforcement officers were killed in Dabancheng." The anger in the detective's voice was evident. "Your Miss Peyton was seen driving a getaway car in a prison break. One of the policemen pursuing her car reported her description. That policeman, along with three others, is dead. Based on the investigation, it is believed she killed all of them."

“The press is calling her by another name,” Trumbell responded.

"Yes. Zeynep Asker. It's the name on the passport we found in a police car with a dead man inside.  But when I saw her picture, I recognized her from the files I examined in your office during the marijuana incident. She is your language teacher Sally Peyton."

“And Mr. Grant?” the headmaster asked?

“We believe he used a drone to create a distraction to affect the prison break. “

“I thought the only thing in Dabancheng was a re-education center,” Trumbell said.

This time the anger in the voice was obvious.

"You are in no position to mince word with me, Mr. Trumbell. I can have you and your entire staff arrested and charged with collaborating with a terrorist.  We have the death penalty for such a charge."

Then seeing Trumbell's face grow pale and his hands tremble, the detective softened a bit.

"Tomorrow, we will follow the same procedure we did the last time I was here. You will keep all your teachers on the campus for interrogation while we search their apartments. Mr. Grant's and Ms. Peyton's apartments are crime scenes, and none of you are to go near them. You will notify me immediately if you hear anything from Ms. Peyton.

"Absolutely," Trumbell replied. "When can we re-open school?"

"Not tomorrow and probably not the day after that. Whether it opens at all will depend on the outcome of this investigation. Tell me, Mr. Trumbell, did Ms. Peyton every mention a Chinese policeman named Rocky?"

“Rocky? You mean like the movie character?”

“Yes.”

“No. But I can ask my teachers….”

“We will be doing that.”

"I have been asked by the US embassy to go to Dabancheng and meet with Mr. Grant. Will that be O.K. with you?"

The detective stood up and went for the door.

"Yes, but you will tell me every detail about that meeting. Be very careful what you say and do, Mr. Trumbell." He said, closing the door behind him.

Trumbell sat down on his couch and turned his television back on. The Chinese news was over, and a game show was on. He switched to the BBC.

"The President of the United States announced today that the date for his visit to China will coincide with the Chinese New Year. This follows another shakeup in his administration earlier this week, resulting in the departure of several key government officials. Included in this is an abrupt resignation by Colin Hale, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff."

The next morning parents packed the lobby of the international school. The teachers were in their classrooms, but the students were not. Trumbell asked all the parents to join him in the canteen. The police were already there. He began with an apology, followed by an attempt to be reassuring. This was an anomaly he told them. He was confident that none of the teachers on the campus had anything to do with terrorism.  They are all cooperating with the police.  The school will re-open as soon as the police finish their investigation.

He then spent another hour answering questions. No, you cannot get a refund if you withdraw your child from the school because of this incident. Yes, the seniors will graduate on time. No, I don’t have replacements for the two teachers yet. We are working on that. And on it went until the unhappy parents finally fell silent. He returned to his office and used the public address system to talk to his teachers. He reminded them that they were to stay on the campus and cooperate with the police. And then he tried to be reassuring to them.

"This has been a tough year for us, but we will soldier on. That some among us have turned out not to be who we thought they were reflects my judgment and not on you or our school. Rest assured, we in the administration will do all we can to restore our school's reputation and protect yours."

He then went to the front of the school to hail a cab. One with a green light indicating it was free pulled up, and he got in the back. Heading towards the Hangzhou International Airport, the cab turned down Xinhe Road. It passed the shuttered windows and doors of Yakub Almas' restaurant.

*******

 

Virginia and West Virginia

 "It looks like our guy just made his first mistake." The voice on the other end of the landline reported to the Assistant to the CIA Director. Simon Conklin listened as his FBI contact went on to explain:

"He just made a call to his friend in Australia and forgot to turn the phone off. We could not trace the content of the call, but we are tracking the phone itself. It appears that he is in a vehicle heading south on Highway 9 towards Leesburg.

“Where did he come from.”

“The phone went on in a rural parking lot on the Virginia/West Virginia state line. He probably pulled into that lot to make the call. He seems like an old school sort of guy who would not make phone calls while driving. He may be heading towards his house in Fairfax.”

“Is the house still under surveillance?” Conklin asked.

"We have been driving by periodically. When I heard about the phone signal, I immediately resumed the twenty-four-hour watch on the house. I also have a team on the road pursuing the phone signal, which is still active."

"I would like to tell you to terminate him with extreme prejudice as soon as you find him, but I know you have your restrictions."

"We will arrest him on charges of treason and try to do so with as little public attention as possible. As soon as we have him, we will bring him to you."

“It could be a ruse,” Conklin said. “Arthur Shepard has been in the spy game for a long time.”

"It could be, but it is the best lead we have had in a while, and I cannot commit any more of my men to this project without explaining what I am doing to my higher-ups. You indicated that they were not to be in the loop under any circumstances."

“Follow up and let me know when you get him.”

They didn't get him. The predawn raid conducted at the home of the two frightened bird watchers confirmed that it was indeed a ruse.

"Where did you say that call originated?" Conklin asked.

As the FBI associate repeated the parking lot's location, Conklin used map software to get the position. He thanked the agent, told him he should stand his men down from the project, and await further instructions. He then opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a cell phone reserved to contact one person. It was the same person that took the shot at Trumpet and Shepard as they stood by the statue of Stonewall Jackson.

"Enough with the keystone cops." He said aloud as he dialed the number from memory.  A meeting was set for a park bench near the carousel on the National Mall. There Conklin sat with a brown paper bag next to him containing a copy of Arthur Shepard's file and $25,000 in cash. His hired gunman arrived and sat next to him. He picked up the brown paper bag.

"The guy is probably moving about on the Appalachian Trail, and right now is in the area of Harper's Ferry," Conklin said. "I need him and his wife, who is probably traveling with him, to disappear. As usual, half your fee in the bag and the rest you will get when you finish the job. Don't miss like you did at Manassas Park."

The assassin said nothing but took the bag and left.

*******

Jean Shepard snuggled up to her husband in the warm bed of a B and B at Harper's Ferry. It had been a luxurious evening, but now it was time to get back on the move again. They both knew the cell phone diversion would have a limited life.

"Where to now, my fearless leader?" she asked.

"Back up into the hills for now." He replied. "I just bought a tablet with a data stick so I can find out what is going on while we're are on the trail. I know this has so disrupted your life, and I promise to get everything back to normal as quickly as possible. The plot is unraveling, and I have little doubt Conklin will be on the run soon instead of us."

"You are just tired of getting beat in the war games." She said with a smile as she got up to take her second shower since they had come off the trail. Arthur propped himself up on a pillow, turned on the tv, and found an all-news channel. A story was just finishing on the mysterious resignation of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Arthur did find that resignation curious, but then so many people left the government during the current administration; it wasn't that unusual.  The next story, though, caused him to sit up straight and lean in towards the television.

"We have a report out of China of a disturbance in the Xinjiang Province and the detaining of an American in that region by Chinese authorities." A map of China appeared behind the anchorman with the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region filled in red.

"Richard Grant, an American teaching in an international school, is accused of participating in what amounts to a prison break in which two inmates in a Chinese camp escaped. Unconfirmed reports indicate that several Chinese law enforcement officials were killed. Sources indicate that the escape was well planned, by an unknown group the Chinese government spokespeople now refers to as "the terrorists". Mr. Grant is accused of participating by flying a drone into the camp to create a distraction. They are looking for a Turkish woman who also taught at the school."

"This is a region that has been a human rights sore spot for the Chinese for quite some time. The Chinese government has ignored the international community's outcry over its mistreatment of Xinjiang's Uyghur's. It continues to destroy the Uyghurs' way of life systematically. The question in the short run is what effect will the arrest of this  American, who appears to have been on a human rights crusade, have on the President's trip to China."

To Arthur, this had all the markings of a Trumpet operation. Not only had the "wallabies" as Jay Smith referred to Rocky and Kalihs located, but extracted as well. Undoubtedly those in the Chinese government involved in the cabal to kill the President would back out. It would now be up to him and Jay Smith to assemble the evidence to bring down Simon Conklin and any other conspirators on the American side.

As they dressed and packed up their backpacks, Arthur updated Jean.

“Got the good guys out. Now all ya gotta do is get the bad guys and put them in,” she said in reply. “That’s going to be tough.”

"Not," Arthur replied. "as long as I got you." He gave her a squeeze before they headed down to join the other bed and breakfast guests for breakfast. While Jean poured on her Swedish persona, Arthur poured on the maple syrup and devoured both his and her allotment.

The Appalachian Trail cuts through Harper's Ferry and includes a footbridge across the Potomac River into Maryland. A chain-link fence separates the pedestrian part of the bridge from that used by trains. At the end of the bridge, a set of stairs connects the bridge to a footpath that is the Trail's continuation. When the Shepard's reached the bottom of the stairs, Conklin's hired killer was waiting for them with a gun in his hand. He pointed it at Arthur. Jean Shepard stepped back and, in a flash, kicked the gun out of the man's hand. Arthur rushed man, knocking him to the ground while Jean picked up the gun.

“I didn’t know you could do that with hiking boots on!” Arthur said to Jean.

“Twelve years of ballet and four years of martial arts.” She then trained the pistol on the man who was picking himself up off the ground.

“You’re lucky.” She said coolly. “If I were barefoot, I would have broken your jaw.”

He could see there was murder in her eyes, so he slowly raised his hands.

“What are we going to do with this guy?” she asked.

"I'd like to tell you to go ahead and kill him so I can dump his body in the river, but that would probably draw a lot of unwanted attention." While Jean kept the gun on the man, Shepard moved around behind him, and taking some rope from his backpack, tied the man's hands behind him. He then pulled the man’s coat down from the shoulders making the coat bind the arms even more.

"Let's move off the trail into the woods. Glad you put a silencer on that gun of yours, pal. One wrong move and my wife will kill you with it.  Judging by the look on her face right now, she is restraining an impulse to blow your head off."

The man said nothing as they moved off the trail and deeper into the woods. Once properly infoliated, Arthur pushed the man on the ground.

"O.K., here is our problem. We are not set up to take prisoners, yet if we turn you in to the police, they will ask a lot of questions, which would take us in directions we do not want to go.  So, here is what we are going to do. You will tell us who sent you to kill us, and we are going to use that information to stay alive. By providing that information, you will also manage to stay alive. Do you understand?"

The man had read Arthur's file and knew he was capable of killing. He knew that at any moment, he really could be shot in cold blood, if not by the woman, then definitely by the man.

“So, one choice here.” Arthur went on. “Tell us who sent you to kill us.”

“I think you already know.”

“Wrong answer,” Shepard said as he took the pistol from Jean and pushed the muzzle against the man’s knee.  ‘Did you ever see Monty Python and the Holy Grail?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “There was a black knight in that story that lost all of his appendages stubbornly preventing people from passing him in the woods. You are about to be that knight if you don’t answer that one question. I call this my ‘None shall pass policy’”.

“What will you do with me if I do tell you?”

"Not kill you. But my patience is running thin, and if you don't tell me what I want to hear, you won't walk the same again. And if you push my patience, you will never walk again."

“I am on a mission from the president.”

The gun made a spitting sound as it sent a bullet into the left knee: blood and bone flew out. The man screamed. As calmly as if he were lighting a backyard barbeque, Arthur moved the pistol over to the right knee and looked into the man's eyes.

"Are you going to give me the correct answer or confine yourself to a wheelchair for the rest of your days? Of course, after that, the bullets in the elbows can be even more painful. Right knee cap gone in five, four, three…"

“Simon Conklin! Honest!”

"Yes, I do believe you just had a moment of honesty." Arthur grabbed the man by the jacket and belt and hauled him up against the tree. Jean came around behind the tree and used a fishing line around the man's neck to secure him to it. Arthur went through the man's pockets until he found a cell phone, wallet, and a set of car keys.  Holding the cell phone up to the man's face, Arthur asked.

"Which one is Conklin's number? Come on! You are going to bleed out if my wife doesn't apply more dressing, and she won't do it unless you answer my questions."

"It's the contact called 'boss.'" He said. And Jean immediately took steps to slow down the hemorrhaging.

“It’s really hurting. I need some pain medicine.”

"We didn't pack any," Jean replied. Then patting him on the shoulder, continued: "Tough it out, big fella."

Shepard dialed the number and left a message.

"I'm sending you a picture of the guy you sent to kill my wife and me." He lined the phone up and took a short video of the man strapped to the tree by his neck and bleeding from a leg wound and sent the image.

“You’re next.”

Arthur Shepard threw the phone down at the feet of his captive. It was still on, still providing live feed and geo-positioning. He motioned for Jean to follow him, and the two left in the direction of the Appalachian Trail.  When they reached the Trail, they did not head north into Maryland. Instead, they backtracked across the bridge into Harper's Ferry. Using the expropriated keys, they walked from one parking lot to another until the bleeding man's car responded to its locator button with its horn. They loaded their backpacks into the back seat. Jean took the wheel as they slowly began the one-hour drive to Washington, D.C. Arthur looked in the glove box and found the paper bag with his file and the $25,000. The car rental receipt indicated the alias their victim used was Barnaby Jones.

"Our friend's nom de guerre is an old tv detective. And it looks like he just provided us with a windfall." He said, pulling a chunk of the money out and waving it in the air. "All that and a car. He certainly was a generous soul." Jean responded sarcastically.

 Arthur took out his tablet and plugged in the data stick. He was soon on news websites that had moved off the China breakout story but were still pondering the Joint Chiefs of Staff's resignation. Arthur stopped at one sight and listened for a while.

"Well, we can make some assumptions based on what we know. Let's start with the President. He certainly isn't unhappy to see Colin Hale out of the picture. The man was jubilant at the press conference this morning. Colin Hale has been more outspoken than any other person in that position has ever been before in his criticism of the President. What is your take, Ted?"

“Listening to the talking heads, are we?” Jean said her eyes on the road her speed five miles below the speed limit.

"Yeah," Arthur replied. "It occurred to me that this resignation happened right after the news about Xinjiang. When you ask yourself, who would have to be in on a coup de tat, the military's head is typically considered indispensable. Most of the time, they are the driving force in an overthrow. Obviously not in this case."

The talking heads on the tablet continued.

"Jim," he said it was due to very personal family matters. So far, no one in the news business has found anything that suggests anything is wrong with his family. So, I'm as lost on this as you are."

Arthur put the volume on mute, and the two rode in silence for a while. Finally, Arthur spoke.

“Family shamley. He resigned because he is part of a conspiracy that is beginning to unravel. He is trying to distance himself. I wouldn’t be surprised to see that he has gone off on vacation in a country with no extradition.”

"Well, he would not be someone to shed tears over our dear president's death," Jean replied. "But do you think Colin Hale operates like that?"

"I do think he is running scared. We should pay him a visit, but to do that effectively I need to access my computer at home to see what security protocols have been added to or subtracted from him."

“Won’t that alert Simon Conking?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied with an elfish grin. We are taking the war games off the trail and bring them to him. Only paint won’t have nothin’ to do with it.”

*****

Simon Conklin's pajamas were soaked in sweat when he woke up after a restless night. The news of the Xinjiang breakout had brought about a series of frantic late-night phone calls from China. Some of his coconspirators were not only backing out of the project; they were frantically covering their tracks. Conklin tried to convince them that the breakout was a minor setback. He still had his man in China ready to do the deed and use Kalihs' paper to blame the murder on Uyghur "terrorists." Should the real Kalihs resurface somewhere, it was doubtful he would be willing to say anything. If he did, Conklin had a misinformation machine ready to spin him into an imposter of dubious reputation. So far, his efforts to persuade his Chinese colleagues to stay the course had brought most of them back in line. Still, he was beginning to wonder how much they would betray if necessary, to protect their own skin.

Conklin headed towards the bathroom, hoping a shave and shower would revive him, but he no sooner had shaving cream on his face when his landline phone rang. It was his friend from the FBI.

"Sir, the computer just came on in our subjects' house."

“I thought you still had Shepard’s house under surveillance.”

“We do, however, the man on location is not responding to our calls. We are sending a team to investigate now.”

“What is he doing on his computer?”

“He appears to be researching security protocols for the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”

Conklin could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"For God's sake, get him! Arrest him and his wife now!"

It was the beginning of the day, and he already felt exhausted. He hung up his landline and pulled the cell phone out of his desk drawer that he only used for his hired killer. The Shepards must have moved back towards home before the man got to Harper's Ferry. As the phone's screen illuminated, the man's image tied by his neck to a tree with a blood-soaked left leg told Conklin otherwise. Sweat began to break out all over him.  It was a live feed, and he could see the man was barely conscious.  There was a picture of the same thing and Arthur Shepard's warning. He felt himself grow weak.

Conklin considered taking steps to save the man's life, not out of a sense of human compassion, but because someone could trace the phone call to his cell phone.  He had to either save the man or ditch the cell phone. It was easier and less complicated to ditch the cell phone. Besides, he had another one in his desk drawer that he used for even more important calls. He would leave the man in the woods to die.

His landline rang. It was the FBI again.

“My team found our man on the scene unconscious in his car and the subjects gone. We searched the area, but I cannot throw out a dragnet around the area without authorization and…”

"Yes, yes, I know." Conklin acknowledged with irritation. "And that will require reviling a lot of information."

"Actually," his contact in the FBI responded. "It is now to a point where you will have to provide me with more information about what is going on before I continue with this project."

Conklin slammed the phone down on its cradle and collapsed into a chair.

*****

Beijing

Te Dan didn't have an English name. He didn't need one and didn't want one. He liked his name, which was humorous, if not nonsensical. His parents had named him after an ancient relative who lived when people believed that a bad name would keep evil spirits away. Te Dan meant iron egg. It was a name that had served him well. He climbed his career ladder from uniformed policeman to detective to captain of the central Beijing precinct. He had a nose for crime and powerful organizational skills. He was also utterly incorruptible.

Te Dan sat at his desk, staring at a picture of Sally Peyton and tried to put the pieces together.  His best detective had gone missing, and very shortly after that, this woman had shown up looking for him. Then there was the breakout at the re-education center in Dabancheng. Two inmates escaped, but no one at the compound has any information on the escapees. A prison official told him they were Uyghurs without papers. But this woman whose picture was in front of him was a participant in the breakout. A nationwide search was on to find her. He had interviewed every officer in his precinct that had been in the station house the day she came calling. Their stories were all the same. She was looking for Rocky because he was a family friend. The passport she presented to them was American.

And yet the police in Urumqi found a bloodstained Turkish passport with her picture on it. It was in the back seat of a stolen police car carrying a dead man who also had a Turkish passport.  The Turkish Embassy recognized the dead man's passport as legitimate and made arrangements to send the body to Istanbul. They claimed, however, to have no record of the woman and implied that her recovered Turkish passport was counterfeit.

Detectives in Hangzhou confirmed for Te Dan that she was trying to locate Rocky during a visit to their stationhouse. On that occasion, she again displayed an American passport when asked for identification. Who was this woman? What is the connection between his best detective, now inexplicably missing, and this female Muslim terrorist?

 

He initially sent Rocky to Hangzhou to gather evidence in a hunt for a Uyghur named Kalihs Almas. He did this on orders from his superior, who insisted that Te Dan send his best man. Rocky was Te Dan's best man. After Rocky returned from Hangzhou, Te Dan got a phone call from his boss, ordering him to cease that investigation. While that was strange, it was not like Te Dan to question his superiors. He would not have gotten as far as he had in his career if he had done that. So did Rocky pick up on something while in Hangzhou? Perhaps, Te Dan thought he could find answers if he went to Hangzhou himself, off the record, and unannounced. The chief of police in Beijing would take a vacation for a few days. He completed the necessary paperwork and then called his wife.

“Lin Lee, do you still want to go to Hangzhou and see West Lake?” he asked her.

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed. The excitement in her voice made Te Dan smile.

“Very well. I’ll book a flight for us to Hangzhou for tomorrow. We will stay for a few days. I have some matters I must attend to, but I will set time aside to spend with you at the lake.”

 He wasn't sure if this trip would bring him closer to finding his missing detective, but at least it would make his wife happy. 

*****

Te Dan arrived unannounced at the stationhouse in Hangzhou. The precinct captain was courteous but not pleased to see him.  Te Dan asked him about the detective who had accompanied Rocky during his investigations and found that a transfer had removed him to a remote part of China. It sounded like a punishment transfer, but Te Dan decided not to inquire too deeply into that. Instead, he asked.

“When did he get transferred?”

“Shortly after he submitted his report about the school. It came from higher up. I think party leaders are trying to avoid negative news about Americans before the American President’s visit.”

“What did his report say?”

“That the school should be shut down and all of its foreign staff be sent to their home countries. He seemed convinced that, with no evidence, the place was a den of terrorist activity.”

“Well, the female terrorist was using it as a cover. And there was a male teacher involved as well, wasn’t there?” Te Dan asked. He was beginning to understand why the punishment transfer was imposed. Not only would such an exodus of foreigners raise a lot of questions from the international media, but it would also draw attention back to the re-education centers. 

"To be honest, I think your man was in on the breakout and in alliance with the terrorist. They probably paid him a lot, and I'm sure you'll find him living the fat life somewhere in Turkey."

Te Dan could feel anger rising within him.

“Rocky is an honest cop.” He said sternly

“I’d make that ‘was’ an honest cop.”

“You don’t know the man.”

Te Dan resisted a rising urge to punch the police captain in the face.

 All during the conversation, Te Dan noticed a young uniformed officer listening in and watching. He pretended to complete paperwork, but to Te Dan's trained eye, it was not convincing. 

Te Dan decided to change the subject.

“What can you tell me about the night the woman came to your station house looking for my detective?”

“I had a feeling that there was more to it than a family friend. My suspicion was there was a sexual liaison. She was more than just disappointed that we couldn’t help her.”

As he finished his conversation with the captain, Te Dan raised his voice so the young police officer shuffling papers could hear him.

“I am staying at the Mercure Hangzhou West Lake hotel. If you think of anything that can help me, you can find me there.”

“I have nothing more to tell you, sir.” The captain haughtily replied.

From there, Te Dan walked by the international school where uniformed children played in a small playground, and uniformed teenagers were either playing soccer or hanging out on the school steps. He found the Uyghur restaurant where Rocky had made inquiries earlier. It was locked up tight with no signs of life inside. From one of the dumpling vendors on the street, he found out when it had closed. It was a time that matched closely with the Dabancheny breakout, a fact that Te Dan found very interesting. He pulled out a photo of Rocky and passed it among the vendors, but none of them remembered seeing him after his one visit to the restaurant.

Finally, he stopped and leaned up against the restaurant's wall, lit a cigarette, and surveyed the area. The answer is here somewhere, he thought to himself. I just don't know where. If he and Rocky were doing this together, they would have been bouncing ideas off each other so fast that he would have had it all figured out in no time. The thought made him feel low, and he knew what to do to lift his spirits. He crushed out his cigarette with a shoe and pulled out his cell phone. His wife answered on the first ring.

"How about I meet you at the boat landing at West Lake. We can rent a paddleboat and do our tour of the lake. After that, we'll have dinner in a nice restaurant and then take a walk down Hefang Street."

"Dinner, a romantic boat ride and a walk down a street full of tourist shops. You do know the path to my heart.!" Lin Lee said with such effervescence; his mood immediately began to improve.

Te Dan and Lin Lee did all those things returning late in the evening to the hotel. As soon as he entered the lobby, Te Dan spotted the young police officer from the Hangzhou police station who looked like he had been waiting awhile. Te Dan handed his wife the bags he was carrying for her and the pass key to their room. Lin Lee went into the elevator, and Te Dan, still hoping for a lead, went to talk to the young man.

"Something strange went on when your detective was here." The young man began. "He and my captain had a confrontation over procedural matters. It sounded to me like your man was following protocol, but my captain was blocking him. I don't know why. There was shouting, and at one point, I heard the word "conspiracy." It was as though your man…"

“He goes by the name Rocky.” Te Dan interrupted.

“Yes, sir. I know that. I was afraid you would think I was being disrespectful.”

“Hardly. It is a name he chose for himself.”

"Yes, sir. It was as though Rocky was trying to tell my captain something he already knew, and talking about it made him very uncomfortable. He was trying to shut Rocky up." He paused for a couple of seconds. "Then there was that woman terrorist. "

“What about the woman terrorist?”

"She came to the stationhouse looking for Rocky. Most of us assumed she was a reporter trying to get a scoop on a story. The thinking around the station house was that she had picked up the same thing Rocky had: she was trying to get hold of him to get more information."

“Why a reporter?”

"She asked so many questions like reporters do. When she left, my captain sent two of our meaner men out to rough her up, hoping that would keep her away. Fortunately for her, one of her teacher friends was there and interrupted them before they could do much to her."

He stopped, but Te Dan could tell the young man had more he wanted to say. It was a matter of making him comfortable, confident that what he would say would not get him into trouble.

“So, tell me, did you like my detective?”

"Rocky?  Oh, yes, sir. He and I watched Rocky movies together after work while he was here. "

"Well," said Te Dan, "he doesn't share those movies with just anyone. That makes you one of Rocky's brothers." He punctuated that sentence with a smile.

"Sir, there are things in my precinct that don't make sense. That detective you asked about in the station house. He was a good man. Suddenly he is transferred for no clear reason. It's like some cleaning operation is in play."

"Not bad for a beat cop." Te Dan said, the smile still on his face.  "I see you really are a Rocky brother. What was Rocky investigating?"

"To him, finding that Uyghur was something more than an assignment. He laid out a hypothesis one night. I thought he was just being creative, but now I wonder."

“What hypothesis?’

"What if American and Chinese officials conspired to kill the American President when he is here and blame it on the Uyghurs. China could then use the assassination as an excuse to eradicate the Uyghurs with American support. I'm thinking now that this was more than just a hypothesis, and I'm also thinking that the Muslim woman who was looking for him had something to do with it."

“What’s your name, young man?” Te Dan asked.

“I like to be called Rambo.”

"I should have known." Te Dan responded.  "Here is my card Rambo. Give me your phone number. You may need my help, and I am pretty sure I am going to need yours. You call me if anything else develops. By the way, I think Rocky would be proud of how you put all that together."

The young man smiled sheepishly as he extended both his hands to take the card and slightly bowed his head as he received it.

"Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Rambo."

The two men parted; Rambo out into the cold night air, Te Dan into the elevator that took him to his room and into the arms of his wife. After being treated romantically all evening, she was waiting for him in a most amorous mood.

******

Almaty/ Urumqi

It didn’t take long for Bekzat Alikhan’s contacts in the Kazakhstani government to process a Kazak passport for Kalihs Almas. Alikhan's friends in the Turkish embassy pasted a work visa in it that would allow Kalihs to stay in Turkey for an extended period. The day he boarded the plane with his four escorts, in their new dark suits and black ties, was an emotional one for both him and Rocky. They had been through the type of ordeal that creates a brotherhood among those who survive.  Each had saved the other's life. In the final moments before Kalihs departure, Rocky felt confirmed in his heart that he had done the right thing when he committed himself to save Kalihs. Not only for the honor of China and the rule of law but for the man himself.

"We will meet again," Kalihs said to Rocky. "Of this, I am sure."

“If so, it will not be in China,” Rocky responded. “Perhaps Istanbul.”

They gave each other an embrace, and then Kalihs was gone.

Rocky returned to his room and began to pack his backpack. He was going back into China but wasn’t sure just how he would go about it. He heard the door to his room open and saw Bekzat Alikhan again standing in the doorway.

"My friends in Istanbul will be very pleased to see Kalihs. They plan to use him to expose the plot against the American President. Personally, I would love to see that swine die. But not at the expense of the Uyghurs."

“I thank you for your hospitality Alikhan. I told you I would leave when the Uyghurs did, and I am preparing to do that now. After all, it won’t do to have a policeman living in your house.”

Alikhan smiled at the comment.

"Yes, well, along those lines, my employees on the other side of that border have managed to find some information on the woman you seek."

Rocky stopped packing and looked at Alikhan as he continued.

"It seems she is hiding in the Uyghur neighborhood in Urumqi. Some brave Uyghurs took her in, and she moves from one house to the other so as not to burden any one family."

“I need to go to Urumqi anyway.” Rocky responded. “there are things of mine there that I need to pick up.”

“How will you get there without papers?” Alikhan asked.

“I’ll figure something out,” Rocky replied.

Alikhan pulled out a Kazak passport and threw it on the bed.

“I figured as long as they were making a passport for Kalihs, they could make one for you.”

Rocky opened the passport and saw a picture of himself staring back at him. The image was him, but the name was not.

“Who is Boksşı?” he asked.

"That's you. It is Kazak for a boxer. Rocky is a boxer, no?"

Rocky couldn’t help but smile.

“And the picture? How…”

"I don't know how they do what they do. I tell them what I need, and they just do it. They are not cheap, but this is what money is for; to spend on things that please me. This pleases me."

Rocky was about to hand it all back. Taking these things from a smuggler like Alikhan was against everything he believed in as a cop. But he didn't. Instead, Rocky rationalized. While he was a policeman in spirit, he was a fugitive in his own country. He was a criminal himself.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked. "You know I am a cop, and I would arrest you if I could."

"But you can't. I'm out of your jurisdiction. You like American movies. Did you ever watch The Godfather?"

“No.”

“Watch it. Then you will understand.”

Rocky looked into Alikan’s eyes.

“One of the things I plan to recover in Urumqi is my badge. Once I have that…”

Alikhan cut him off. He didn’t want to hear a threat from someone he liked.

"Hopefully, we will never meet where you have jurisdiction. But if we do, I hope you will remember my kindness. For now, though, you are not a cop. You are a criminal like me." He turned to leave and parted with one last statement.

“May Allah guide you.”

Rocky took a bus to Urumqi. He took precautions ahead of time; he bought and wore clothing that made him look like a Kazak and practiced key phrases in the Kazak version of Turkish. Immediately upon his arrival in the city, Rocky took a local bus to the Uyghur neighborhood. He still remembered the bus number from his previous visit. The guard at the gate was different from the one who had been there previously. He took Rocky's Kazak passport and waved him on.

Rocky went straight to the old woman's house. He figured she if anyone would have information he could use.  No one was in the house, not the old lady, not her grandson, nobody. A feeling of desolation swept over Rocky. Has the government rounded up all the rest of the Uyghurs in this neighborhood? He went up one side of the street and then down another, knocking on doors that no one opened. He past Kalihs' house, now wrapped up in crime scene tape. Finally, he returned to the gate and retrieved his Kazak passport.

 It was late in the afternoon when he left the Uyghur neighborhood and secured a room in a cheap hotel for the night.   He was sitting on the bed of his sparsely furnished room when there was a knock on the door. Upon opening it, he found a young Kazak dressed in clothes that made him look more Han than Turkic. The young man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. 

“I work for a man you know in Kazakhstan. He asked that I share information with you about a young woman that was in the Uyghur neighborhood not long ago. “

Rocky nodded. The young man’s Mandarin was not good, but Rocky had grown accustomed to the sounds Kazahs made when speaking his native language.

"She is no longer here. It became too risky for her to stay. Uyghurs were being rounded up and tortured to find her. It was just a matter of time before she would get caught."

“Where did she go?” Rocky asked.

"Hangzhou, but I don't know where in Hangzhou. She had Uyghur contacts in that city and may be hiding out with them."

“Thank you.” He opened the door to let the young man out. “Give your employer my best regards.”

“Will you be leaving soon?”

"Yes, but I have something I need to retrieve." And then pulling the young man back into the room and closing the door, added: "Perhaps you would like to help me with that matter."

“Of course, but I am due to make a trip back to my home country tomorrow night.”

“Perfect,” Rocky replied.

****

Huai Jingchan closed up his office for the night and began to make his way home for dinner. It had been an uneventful day for the Chief of Police in Urumqi. Not like the day he had put a fellow officer in a re-education center used for Uyghurs. It bothered his conscience that he had done that to Rocky, and now he knew Rocky had escaped Huai Jingchan's stomach constantly ached with anxiety. He consoled himself with thoughts that Rocky was out of China and probably would never return.

Huai Jingchan walked down a narrow alleyway that lead to a small, reserved parking lot, where his recently bought Mercedez-Benz waited for him.  He consoled himself further with the knowledge that he could never have afforded such a car without the extra cash his duplicity brought.

Huai Jingchan was almost in the parking lot when the arm of a large man went around his neck and began to choke him. He struggled to break free but lacked the power to overwhelm his assailant. Suddenly he was hurled to the ground. From the light of a streetlamp in the parking lot, he could see that it was the very detective whose escape was causing him such anxiety. Standing over Huai Jingchan, Rocky held a large kitchen knife he bought as soon as he arrived in Urumqi. Now the apprehension in Huai Jingchan accelerated. He wished he had not left his pistol in his desk drawer.

"Get up. We are going back to your office." Rocky told him in a stern voice. "If you signal any alarm, I will run you through with this." He waved the knife to make his point.

Huai Jingchan stood and began to walk back to his office with Rocky walking beside him. As two uniform policemen approached from the other direction, Rocky started to chat like one detective talking to another. He kept that facade going as they walked across the station house floor and into Huai Jingchan's office. Once there, Rocky closed the door and pushed Huai Jingchan against a wall. He opened all of Huai Jingchan's desk drawers until he found the pistol and some handcuffs. The gun he put in his waistband, the handcuffs he put on Huai Jingchan.

“There are two things you must deliver to me right now if you hope to see your family this evening.”

“My family?”

"Yes," Rocky replied, handing the office phone to Huai Jingchan. "Call your wife right now."

Huai Jingchan dialed his home number. His wife's voice reflected some nervousness as she told him there was a man in their house who was waiting to see him. She had told him politely to go away, but the man was still there. She wanted to know why he wasn't already on his way home. Huai Jingchan made up an excuse and promised her he was on his way. The color was gone from his face as he hung up the phone.

“What is it you want?”
“First,” Rocky replied. “I want my badge back.”

Huai Jingchan opened the desk drawer, silently lamenting that Rocky had had the foresight to go through the drawers and find the pistol. He took out the key to his filing cabinet and put it on the desk.

“It is in the filing cabinet. Those are the keys.”

Rocky was not about reach in front of Huai Jingchan and risk an attempt at being overpowered by surprise.

“Open your filing cabinet and get it.” He ordered. A sense of wellbeing came over him when he saw Huai Jingchan lift the badge out of the drawer.

“Put it on top of the cabinet and then sit down.” He commanded.

Huai Jingchan obeyed. Rocky picked up the badge and held it for a moment in his hand. For the first time since his incarceration, he felt complete. With his badge, he a cop was again.

“Now, the second thing I need is the name of the man you called the day you arrested me. The one that told you that ridiculous lie about a fire.”

Huai Jingchan hesitated and seeing that, Rocky added.

"That man in your house with your family right now is not mentally stable and prone to cruelty. If I don't call him soon, there is no telling what he might do. He can be especially vicious to children. You have two children, don't you?"

Huai Jingchan lost still more color in his face.

“Tóngmóu Zhou.” He said.

“And who is Tóngmóu Zhou?” Rocky asked.

“He is the vice president of the party’s Central Military Commission. A very powerful man. You will never manage to get to him like you got to me.”

"We will see about that," Rocky replied. He pulled the desk phone out of its cradle and ordered Huai Jingchan to call his home. This time Rocky held onto the receiver, and when the young Kazak answered, he told him in Kazakh to leave and wished him a safe voyage home. Although he had lived most of his life in western  China, Huai Jingchan never bothered to lean the first word of any of the Turkic languages. Hence, he had no idea what Rocky said.

“Your family is safe now,” Rocky told him. “Why did you call Tóngmóu Zhou?”

“He paid me a lot of money to keep the Uyghur incognito. When you showed up, I called him for instruction. He came up with the fire story that I could use as a pretext to hide you away as well.”

“Why did he want the Uyghur hidden?”"I truly do not know. He paid me a lot of money, and I did what he asked."

At last Rocky thought to himself, the name of a conspirator. A lead he could use. He looked at Huai Jingchan, who, in addition to looking pale, was slightly trembling. Obviously, he knew nothing of the plot to kill the American President. So Rocky briefly shared that information.

“Tóngmóu Zhou made you part of a conspiracy the punishment for which is death.”

"I knew nothing about this conspiracy." Huai Jingchan said in frustration.  "I took some money, that's all."

“That’s all? That’s serious enough. You and I are going to walk out of here as though we had just finished some last-minute police business. You will go to your car and go home. But you will speak to no one about this.”

Huai Jingchan nodded his head. The two men left the station. Once outside, Rocky walked behind as Huai Jingchan headed back down the narrow alley towards his car. When he reached his car, he turned to say something to Rocky, but Rocky had disappeared.  Three blocks away, Rocky hailed a cab to the airport. The key to the locker holding his suitcase was long gone, but a cop with a badge can get a lot of doors opened for him.

*****

Northern Virginia

Arthur didn't find much about security protocols on Colin Hale. The Shepards moved fast when they visited their neighborhood. While Jean rendered the FBI surveillance man, unconscious Arthur went around the back of the house, unlocked the door, and accessed the computer in his study. Although much of his access was still available, much on Colin Hale had disappeared. It meant they would have to do some surveillance before moving in on the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

The reconnaissance revealed that Hale indeed had bodyguards, but Arthur perceived that they were not Treasury guys.

“These guys could be problematic.” He said to Jean as they both peered through binoculars while perched in a large oak tree.

“Guys with automatic rifles are problematic indeed,” Jean replied. “Do you have a count yet?’

“I’ve seen three on the outside. I figure at least one more inside. Maybe two. What’s your count?”

“The same. I’m betting there is only one on the inside. Probably the group leader. Why do you think he found it suddenly necessary to hire bodyguards?’

Arthur’s elfish grin returned as he responded.

"He is afraid of people like us. We will have to either lure him away from all that protection or increase our firepower."

“Well, we are in Virginia where that kind of firepower is pretty easy to obtain. But all the noise and the mess...”

"Yeah, let's start with a lure."

Arthur dug around in his cargo pants and pulled out one of his cell phones. He punched in Colin Hale’s unlisted number, one of the few bits of information he obtained from his computer. When he heard Hale’s voice on the other end of the line, he began to cast out the lure.

"Ah, Mr. Chairman, my name is Barnaby Jones, and I work for Simon Conklin. I have some important information I need to share with you. Could you meet me at the food court in the Crystal City mall?"

“Why can’t Conklin tell me himself?”

"Well, sir, circumstances have been changing drastically since your resignation. He is not a friend to either of us now.  This is not suitable for a phone conversation.  With the resources Conklin has available to him, it would not be a surprise to find he has bugged your phone. Come to the mall. You will find me wearing a camo jacket and a red Washington Nationals' bill cap. I'll be at a table in front of Starbucks."

“This better be as important as you say it is.” Colin Hale responded warily.

"Oh, yes, sir. It is. The future of a lot of people, including you and I, are at stake. Say in an hour and a half?"

As soon as he heard Hale reply in the positive, Arthur Shepard powered down the cell phone. After all, there was a good chance that Conklin had tracers on it.

"Good choice," Jean remarked. "If you're going to do battle, it's always good to pick your battlefield."

“He will no doubt bring protection with him.”

The Shepard's arrived early at the mall and laid out their plan. Arthur donned his camo jacket and Nationals' ball cap and ordered a coffee from Starbucks. Hale arrived with only one bodyguard in tow, and as Hale approached Shepard, the bodyguard stayed back to watch.  This will be easy for Jean, Arthur thought as he took a sip from his coffee.

Arthur did not give Colin Hale a chance to sit down at the table. Instead, he stood up and addressed him immediately.

"Before you get a notion to signal anything to your bodyguard, let me tell you he is about to be neutralized. But don't worry. Do what I ask, and no harm will come to you. Let's take a walk outside. It's a brisk but sunny day."

  The two men began to walk towards a mall exit. As the bodyguard turned to follow them, he was struck suddenly in the back, causing him to fall and his pistol to drop out of its shoulder holster and onto the floor. He grabbed it by the handle and started to stand; Jean had executed her attack perfectly.

"Oh my God!" she screamed, playing the role of a startled shopper. "He has a gun! He has a gun!"

At the sound of the word, gun shoppers began to run for cover. Mall security men grabbed their walkie talkies, contacted the police, and cautiously approached the man on the floor with his pistol. A metro policeman rounded the corner with his weapon drawn, demanding the bodyguard not move except to put the gun back on the floor.

"I have a permit for my gun." The bodyguard said, keeping both his hands were the policeman could see them. "That woman knocked me down, and I want to press assault charges."

“What woman?” the metro policeman asked.

The bodyguard turned around in a complete circle, but the woman who knocked him down and then screamed was gone.

Meanwhile, Arthur Shepard and Colin Hale walked out of the mall. Arthur guided the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to the Crystal City metro station and handed him a pass card.

“I thought we were going for a walk.” Hale protested.

"We are but not here. I want to go to  Arlington Cemetery and walk among the graves of those who gave their lives for this country you seek to betray." He continued to keep a firm grip on Hale's arm as he guided him to the subway's blue line. Arthur could not help but notice the irony as the subway took him, and the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs passed the Pentagon subway stop. Getting off at the Arlington stop, they walked in silence, Arthur no longer holding Hale by the arm but guiding him to the rows of white markers.

"If the dead could speak, do you think these men would approve of you plotting to overthrow the government by assassination?"

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Colin Hale replied indignantly. “What is this all about anyway?”

“Conklin doesn’t have anything to tell you, but I do. First of all, my name is not Barnaby Jones.”

“Yeah, I assumed that. I did watch some tv back in the seventies.”

"The man who is using that pseudonym is a professional killer hired by Conklin. You can call Conklin and verify that with him when we are finished. I am a CIA analyst who has uncovered a plot to kill the President when he visits China. "

He looked at Hale’s face as he spoke those words, but it revealed nothing. He continued.

“I have collected some evidence that shows that you and Conklin are a part of this plot. I am willing to lose the evidence that connects you to this conspiracy for full disclosure on your part.”

“Having evidence is one thing. Making it stick is another.” Colin Hale responded defensively.

"Let me be clear, Hale." Shepard. "I'm not a cop. I don't follow constitutional law. What I do have will, at the least, put you under enough suspicion to warrant an investigation. And the media will have a field day at the expense of your reputation. At the end of it all, if you are acquitted, I'll have my way of distributing justice. Why did you resign?"

"You're Arthur Shepard, aren't you. I thought…"

"Yeah, you thought Conklin got rid of me. Well, the punk who was supposed to do the job was left tied to a tree and bleeding on the Appalachian Trail. You can check with Conklin about that, too, if you wish. Again, why did you resign?"

"Personal family reasons, as I have stated several times already."

"More like a Uygher's escape from a Chinese concentration camp, an escape that promises to unravel the whole plan. You need to be straight with me, Hale. I'm the only one who can keep your reputation from being completely destroyed."

“I did get a call from a friend in the Australian government who told me that their secret service agency had uncovered a plot like the one you describe. I was not mentioned as a principal in this crime. According to Conklin…”

He stopped and looked out at the rows of white grave markers.

"According to Conklin, what?"

“I’m not saying anymore. You are no doubt recording this.”

"I don't need to record anything, Hale. Right now, you are out here with no protection, and I can leave you bleeding here among those who bled for us. So, I'll make this real simple. Tell me the names of everyone in the plot the Aussies described and do it right now. Do it, and I'll not interfere in any plan you make to get out of the country before this all goes public."

The former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff continued to stare at the graves. He slowly listed the men he had met with around that conference table on the tenth floor of the obscure hotel. The two men walked in silence back to the subway station and said nothing on the ride back to Crystal City.

As the subway doors opened, both men walked out, but as doors began to close, Arthur Shepard jumped back into the subway car, which proceeded down the tracks towards Reagan National Airport.  There he disembarked and walked into the public parking lot. A pair of flashing headlights directed him the car he and Jean had confiscated from Barnaby Jones.

"Did we get what we wanted?" Jean asked him as he slid into the passenger seat, and she turned on the engine.

"Yes, and I learned that Jay Smith did an excellent job of pushing the issue up his chain of command."

“And the names of the conspirators?” she asked impatiently.

“I have it all on tape.”

“On tape? Oh, Arthur, you are so wonderfully old fashioned.”

“Just as I thought the Alben Hobart is a part of it.” Arthur continued.

“No surprise there,” Jean said. “I always thought there was something Macbethian about him.”

Arthur pulled out the cell phone he had used to record Colin Hale and began to prepare a transmission of the file to Jay Smith. Suddenly the car was struck from the rear passenger side by a black sedan and forced into a spin.  Instinctively they both knew that it was not an accident but an attack. As two men climbed out of the vehicle with automatic rifles, Arthur and Jean scrambled out of their car through the driver's door. They ran behind another car that had come to a stop as a consequence of the crash. The two assailants poured bullets into the damaged rental car and then quickly jumped back into their black sedan and sped away.

“Wow!” Jean exclaimed, “We almost finished up like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“I dropped the cell phone,” Arthur exclaimed.

With their cell phones already on their ears, people got out their cars and came towards the riddled vehicle.

"We need to get that cell phone, our backpacks, and then get out of here," Arthur whispered to Jean. "When the cops find out we are driving a stolen car, it will lead to complications we don't need."

They both charged the car, and while Arthur jerked open the back door and grabbed the backpacks, Jean scoured the front seat found the cell phone, which had received bullets during the assault. She stuffed the busted telephone into one of her cargo pants pockets. The sound of approaching sirens forced them to move quickly.

Arthur spotted a grey BMW with the motor running. The driver he assumed was among the growing number of people crowding around the machine-gunned car.  He pointed to it, the two jumped in, and Arthur at the wheel put the BMW in gear and raced down the shoulder of the road until he could get a clear space to enter the right lane.

*****

Istanbul

“My name is Kalihs Almas. I escaped from a Chinese re-education camp where I was being held incognito as part of a plot in which I was to be the fall guy. An assassin has my identity papers. He intends to kill the American President when he visits China next month and use those papers as evidence that I killed the President. "

 A small group of reporters gathered around Kalishs taking notes as he spoke.  There were less than a dozen reporters there. Despite Jay Smith's best efforts, the Kalihs Almas story had not caught on with the global media. They found it much better for their ratings to focus most of their coverage on the American President's social media antics. Nevertheless, Kalihs continued with his prepared speech.

“I strongly urge the President of the United States not to travel to China next month. While I am not knowledgeable about the details of this conspiracy, I have been told it involves people in the highest level of both the governments of the United States and The People’s Republic of China.”

The reporters looked at each other with skepticism all over their faces.

“Who are these high-ranking officials?”  one of them asked.

“I don’t know,” Kalihs answered.

“Who do you know that can authenticate this story?”

“I was told this by a Chinese detective whose name I cannot disclose since doing so would put his life in danger.”

Two reporters left.

“Why did they pick you to be the patsy?” one of those who remained asked.

“Patsy?”

“Fall guy.”

“Oh, they picked me because I am Uyghur. They want to make it look like an act of terrorism committed by one of us, to excuse their treatment of us. To provide them with a reason to wipe us all out.”

The questions then shifted to the escape, and when Kalihs would not provide the names of the people who had helped him escape, more reporters left. The questions eventually petered out, and Kalihs, still standing at the podium, thanked them for coming. He knew his press conference had not served its intended purpose. He had struggled all the way through the questions. While the Turkish of Istanbul is similar to Uyghur Turkish, it is not the same. Even with the help of one of the two dark- suit- thin- tie guards that flanked him, he had difficulty. The more he stumbled with his answers, the more the story sounded, to the reporters at least, to be made up.

By the time the press conference ended, Simon Conklin's misinformation machine was running at full throttle.  Newspaper editors and television producers were given "top secret" reports that the man in Instanbul, a deluded Kazak, made up this story for self-aggrandizement. The real Kalihs Almas, they said in hushed tones, is a Uyghur terrorist hiding out in Afghanistan.

  That night, a few news outlets covered his story on their web page, but none of the television stations ran with it. Many of the reporters had not brought Kalishs's account to their editors. Most of those who did found the story spiked.

Members of the Turkish government heard about the press conference. The next morning, Turkish police visited the Uyghur compound. They informed Hala Bashi that such press conferences would force them to take a closer look at this guy who claimed to be a Uyghur but was in Turkey on a Kazak passport.

Hala Bashi was at a loss about what to do next. He and his friends had buried Trumpet when the body came back from China. He had no idea what Trumpet had planned next.  He thought that once Kalihs had told his story to the press, the American President would cancel his trip. That would end the assassination plot, and his people would be safe from extermination at least for a while longer. For all, he knew everything rested on Sally Peyton, and he had no idea where she was.

As for Kalihs, he was happy to be out of China. The close friendship he made with the men who had helped him escape expanded to the other members of their group, and like them, he had started to wear a dark suit and thin ties. He only wished that his brother and nephew could join him. Since his arrival in Istanbul, he had heard nothing from Yakub; the WeChat account in the Hangzhou restaurant was ominously silent.