70
The flight from Tibet, inside the windowless fuselage of a military transport, was one of the longest Kilkenny had ever endured. After being retrieved from the shore of Bangong Co along with Peng and the crew of the damaged helicopter, Kilkenny had been taken to a military base where his injuries were treated. He was placed in solitary confinement in the base stockade. Aside from routine questions by the attending physician, he was not questioned. It was as if no one there knew quite what to do with him. The brief respite of indecision ended when a squad of military police led by Peng entered his cell and escorted him to the waiting aircraft. Peng spoke to him only once, and that to inform him to remain silent during the flight. The tone in Peng’s voice, though curt and official, conveyed that silence was in Kilkenny’s best interest.
It was dark when Kilkenny, Peng, and the contingent of MPs landed at a military airfield. Kilkenny’s guards quickly ushered him from the plane into a nearby hangar. There, both he and Peng were provided with a change of clothes — the professional attire of businessmen. Kilkenny dressed slowly, careful of his wounds and the dressings that protected them. As he cinched the Windsor knot on his tie, Peng approached with a pair of handcuffs and the final accessory to Kilkenny’s wardrobe.
‘When we are inside the vehicle, I will place this over your head,’ Peng explained as he showed Kilkenny the black hood. ‘This is to conceal your presence for where we are going.’
Kilkenny nodded. ‘At least it’s not a going-away present.’
Peng considered the remark for a moment, then shook his head. ‘My orders are only to deliver you.’
Kilkenny sat with Peng in the rear seat of a black SUV. The windows surrounding him were thick and darkly smoked, and the doors closed with the weighty thunk of armor plating. When the motorcade was ready to depart the hangar, Peng slipped the hood over Kilkenny’s head.
As the journey proceeded, Kilkenny’s thoughts retreated from the muffled sounds around him and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Instead, he found solace in the memories of Kelsey. The bitter anger of his loss was gone, replaced by an acceptance of the tragedy for what it was, and a deep gratitude for the love he shared with her. Of all his life’s accomplishments, he was most proud of being her husband.
Thank God, Kilkenny thought, then realized that was exactly what he was doing. His prayer wasn’t the rote formula of an ancient catechism, but a sincere expression of his thanks for a relationship through which he defined himself. For the first time since losing his wife and child, he found himself able to pray again.
The motorcade came to a stop. Still hooded, Kilkenny was led from the vehicle. He heard the rustling of dry leaves in the cool night air and their crunch beneath his feet as he trod across a paved walk. Peng wordlessly guided him toward their destination. When Kilkenny heard the sound of two wooden doors close behind him, he knew he was inside a building.
Peng brought him to a stop, and ahead Kilkenny heard a man’s voice give an order. Peng responded respectfully and removed Kilkenny’s hood. Kilkenny found himself inside a small, ornate pavilion. Seated before him was a stocky man with gray hair and a round face lined with experience. Like Kilkenny and Peng, the man was dressed in business attire as if the three were there to discuss real estate or the stock market.
‘Mister Kilkenny, do you know who I am?’ the man asked, his accent barely detectable.
‘No,’ Kilkenny replied honestly.
The man nodded to Peng, who then leaned close to Kilkenny’s ear.
‘The man you are addressing is Wen Lequan, the Premier of China. Be very careful.’
‘Premier Wen, it is an honor to meet you,’ Kilkenny offered with a polite bow of his head.
‘Mister Kilkenny, Mister Peng describes you as a man of honor. Can I accept your word that I have nothing to fear should your restraints be removed?’
‘You have my word.’
Wen gestured with his hand, and Peng removed the handcuffs. With an equally subtle gesture, a circular table and two chairs were placed in front of the Premier.
‘Please sit,’ Wen said, more an order than a request.
Wen studied Kilkenny as he seated himself and noted he was favoring one side.
‘I understand you were injured as a result of your illegal activities inside my country,’ Wen began. ‘Have you been well treated since your capture?’
‘Your doctors have treated me very well, thank you.’
‘Mister Kilkenny, as is the custom of your countrymen, I will be direct. You have placed me in a very difficult position.’
‘I take complete responsibility for my actions and freely accept the consequences.’
‘You are an American with ties to the CIA, yes?’
‘I am,’ Kilkenny admitted.
‘But I presume that you deny any involvement by your government in this—’ Wen paused in search of the right word, ‘intrusion into China and deliberate interference in our internal affairs?’
‘That is the truth.’
‘The truth is your actions are considered by some to be a hostile act against the government of China. My military advisers have labeled your assault on our sovereign territory an act of war. The question is, Against whom are we at war?’
‘Do you think the United States would risk war with your nation to liberate a political prisoner?’ Kilkenny asked.
‘Your President, like his predecessors, has an annoying habit of inquiring about certain criminals in the custody of our justice system, but I am certain that the United States is at worst an abettor in this circumstance. In fact, I know you are here on the personal authority of Pope Leo the XIV.’
Kilkenny carefully studied Wen but offered no response to the Premier’s statement.
‘Peng,’ Wen continued, ‘in your report following the recovery of the crew of Shenzhou-7, you praised Mister Kilkenny as a hero. Why?’
‘He risked his life to bring the persons responsible for that tragedy to justice. If I may, though his recent actions have violated our laws and territory, I believe his motivation was the same.’
‘Explain,’ Wen commanded.
‘There are many who view the incarceration of Yin Daoming as unjust. Kilkenny acted with the sole purpose of liberating Yin and correcting this injustice. As with Shenzhou-7, he remains consistent.’
Wen considered Peng’s logic for a moment, then conceded the point with a nod of his head. From the table beside his chair, the Premier picked up a plain brown envelope and slid it across the table to Kilkenny.
‘Open it,’ Wen said.
Kilkenny unfastened the clasp and extracted a pair of eight-by-ten black-and-white photographs. The first, an old original print, depicted a class of dour-faced children with their instructor. The children were all dressed in identical uniforms, the future of the Chinese Communist state. The second photo was a computer-enhanced enlargement of the first highlighting the faces of two boys no more than twelve years of age. The boy on the right possessed finer features and a slighter build than his classmate, but Kilkenny’s attention was riveted on the clarity in his eyes.
‘That photograph is over fifty years old,’ Wen said. ‘I am the boy on the left.’
‘And to your right is Yin Daoming.’
‘Yes. Yin and I shared a common childhood, but as adults our paths diverged. His path led to a prison cell in Chifeng. Mine brought me here.’
‘Yin had no regrets,’ Kilkenny offered.