The storm had also hindered their progress. With the gusty high winds, they had been forced to reef the huge butterfly sail that they’d been using up until the storm. Switching to the diesels, the captain merely kept the boat on course. Bentley explained that he wanted to conserve fuel.
Evenafter the storm had passed and the sail was rehoisted, the traveling had not been pleasant. The wind had all but died, and a dense mist had formed over the water creating a pea-soup fog.
On several occasions, huge ships suddenly loomed out of the darkness with foghorns blasting, giving everyone on the small junk a terrible start.
But finally they had arrived, and for the last half hour they had been slowly cruising the coast back and forth between the mainland and some small offshore islands. At first Marissa had watched the shoreline with everyone else, amazed that she was looking at Communist Chinese territory. But after a time she’d retreated below to lie down for a while. By then, she was more exhausted than seasick.
“Come on!” Tristan called out.
“I know you’ve had a bad time of it, but this is what we’ve come for.”
Marissa struggled to her feet. She was dizzy for an instant.
“Do you have any of our water?” she asked.
“Sure, luv,” Tristan said. He handed her the bottle he had tucked into his back pocket.
When she’d finished drinking, she gave Tristan the bottle and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she took his arm. Together they walked out onto the foredeck. The boat was completely dark. Not a single light was lit.
The captain had started the diesels, but he had them at such a slow throttle, the only way Marissa could tell they were running was by feeling their vibration through her feet. She couldn’t hear them except when the water momentarily covered their exhaust, resulting in a muted, popping sound.
Squinting her eyes, Marissa. could just make out the shoreline through the mist. She could see the dim silhouette of the treetops against the sky.
It was apparent that Captain FaHuang was tense. So were his L two crewmen. This was the most dangerous part of the whole exercise, not only because they might be discovered but also because of underwater shoals.
No one spoke. They were close enough to shore for Marissa to hear the sounds of swamp creatures. The only other sound was the lap of the waves against the side of the boat until she became aware of the whine of mosquitoes.
Suddenly, from the shadows of the trees came a distinct flash of light. It was repeated twice more in rapid succession. The captain immediately cut the engines, flashed his own light toward the trees, and gave a hand signal to his crew member in the bow.
A moment later came the muted splash of an anchor being dropped into the water.
The captain and his deck mates conferred in hushed tones as the boat slowly swung around to point directly away from the shore. One of the men disappeared below briefly. When he reappeared he was wearing a bandolier and carrying an AK47 assault rifle. In the distance some exotic bird cried, casting an eerie spell over the scene.
Yhey are afraid of pirates,” Bentley whispered to Marissa and Tristan.
“There are still pirates?” Marissa whispered.
“There have always been pirates in the Pearl River,” Bentley whispered in return.
“Always have been and always will be.”
About five tense minutes passed with only the drone of mosquitoes and the lap of waves disturbing the silence.
Then, out of the mist appeared a small wooden boat with two figures in it. One was in the stern using a sweep oar. The other was sitting amidships, facing forward.
The captain addressed the men. The armed deckhand kept his automatic rifle pointed at them. One of the men answered timidly in a whisper. The captain listened and then motioned for them to come aboard. With that, everyone seemed to relax a little.
“It’s the men they were expecting,” Bentley said with relief.
The man with the sweep oar moved the small boat around the side of the junk.
Marissa leaned over the gunwale to see the two Chinese-men climb aboard. They abandoned the small boat, letting it drift off into the fog.
Within seconds, the anchor chain was pulled up from the depths. The captain ordered the sail hoisted to take advantage of the light offshore breeze. Silently, the large junk sailed away from the shore. The silhouettes of the treetops soon vanished in the mist.
We must stay very quiet for another half hour,” Bentley whispered. All eyes strained into the velvety blackness; all ears listened for the slightest sound of another boat. But all they could hear was the creaking of their own rigging.
The two newly arrived Chinese men huddled together against the mast. No one spoke to them. They were dressed in simple black cotton clothing which reminded Marissa of pictures she’d seen of the Viet Cong during the Vietnam War.
“What should we do?” Tristan asked Bentley in a hushed whisper.
“Can we go talk to those buggers?”
“Wait until the captain gives the word,” Bentley told him.
“We have to get far enough away from shore.”
Even Marissa began to relax. The sea was like a sheet of black glass. Looking up, she could see the great billow of the sail against the gray mantle of the sky. Through the fog she saw a single star, a far cry from the profusion she’d seen in the Australian outback.
Lowering her eyes, Marissa was shocked to see once again the dim silhouette of treetops. They were again close to land!
“There’s the shoreline again,” Marissa whispered.
Tristan and Bentley looked.
“That’s strange,” Bentley said.
“Just a moment. I’ll be right back.”
Bentley walked back to the poop. Marissa and Tristan could see him converse with the captain. After a lengthy conversation he came back and sat down.
“It’s an uninhabited offshore island,” Bentley explained.
“We are entering into a lagoon where we will drop anchor.”
As if on cue, the anchor plunged back into the water at the bow. At the same time the sheet holding the boom was given slack.
“Why are we stopping?” Marissa asked. She was concerned something was wrong.
“The captain said we have to wait for daybreak before starting back for Aberdeen,” Bentley said.
“He never mentioned that before,” Tristan said.
“You mean we have to spend the whole blasted night out here?” He slapped at a mosquito that had landed on his arm.
“Apparently so,” Bentley said.
“The captain says that at dawn we will be able to blend with the fishing boats leaving from a village to the north. If we tried to cross the Pearl River tonight, the PRC would pick us up on their radar. Since the locals don’t go out at night, we’d look pretty suspicious.”
“He could have told us,” Marissa complained.
“Can we talk to those blokes we picked up?” Tristan asked.
“I’ll ask the captain,” Bentley said. He went back to the poop.
“Sorry about this, luv,” Tristan said.
“I didn’t know this was to be an all-night affair.”
Marissa shrugged.
“It could be a lot worse,” she said Bentley came back quickly.
“Captain says you can talk all you want, just not too loudly.”
As the crew reefed the sail, Marissa, Tristan, and Bentley went. forward and sat down across from the two PRC refugees.
“First, let’s all introduce ourselves,” Tristan said to Bentley.
Marissa looked more closely at the two men as Bentley began speaking. Although it was difficult to judge, Marissa guessed that they were both approximately her age. Both wore their hair cut
K short. Both were clearly tense and edgy. Their eyes darted from person to person in the half-light.
“This is Chiang Lam,” Bentley said, pointing to the man with the slighter build. He bowed as Bentley said his name. ““And this is Tse Wah.”
After the introductions, Tristan told Bentley that they wanted to know where the men were from and what they did for a living.
He wanted Bentley to ask them why they were being smuggled out of the
PRC.
While Bentley spoke to the Chinese, Marissa and Tristan conferred to try to organize their further questions. In the background the crew was preparing for a late meal. They were also preparing to bed down for the night.
When Bentley was finished speaking with the men, he turned to Marissa and Tristan and told them that both men had come from small towns in Guangdong Province. Chiang Lam was a monk from a Buddhist order that had managed to survive the Communist era. Tse Wah was a rural doctor, a contemporary version of the “barefoot doctor” of the Cultural Revolution.
Bentley went on to say that the reason they had left the PRC was because they had been promised a lot of money. Both fully intended to return. However, neither one could say why he had been offered this opportunity.
“How did they happen to, be chosen?” Marissa questioned.
Bentley asked the men, then said: “Chiang says that he was chosen because of his ability in martial arts. He says that there was a competition in his monastery. Tse says he was chosen because he is a doctor. He says that there was no competition, that people just came to him and made an offer he couldn’t resist.
Tse has a family, a wife and a child, as well as parents and in laws
Marissa glanced at Tristan.
“I have a feeling the key lies with the doctor,” she said. Tristan nodded.
“Ask the doctor if he knows anything about infertility treatments,”
Tristan said.
“Particularly in-vitro fertilization techniques.”
“I speak some English,” Tse said suddenly, surprising everyone.
“Chiang doesn’t, but I do. I have been studying English over the years from medical books from Guangzhou, where I was trained.”
“That’s encouraging,” Tristan said.
“It sounds as if you’ve been studying well.”
“Thank you,” Tse said.
“Unfortunately, I read English better than I speak.”
“Do you understand the term ‘in-vitro fertilization?” Tristan asked.
“I do,” Tse said.
“But I know very, little. Only some mention ,in the books I have read.”
“Are you interested in in-vitro fertilization?” Marissa asked.
In spite of nervousness, Tse laughed.
“It would be of little help to me. In China we have too many people and too many babies.”
“What about tuberculosis?” Marissa asked.
“Is that a problem in the PRO Have you seen much of it?”
“Not recently,” Tse said.
“China has a national vaccination policy with BCG vaccine. Before 1949 tuberculosis was widespread, particularly here in the south of China. But the BCG has changed that.”
“What about heroin?” Tristan asked.
“We don’t have any heroin,” Tse said.
“Drugs are not a problem in China.”
“What about venereal disease?” Marissa asked.
“Very little venereal disease in the People’s Republic,” Tse said.
“The Communists got rid of venereal disease as well as opium, and launched a program of health care that emphasized prevention over cure. There wasn’t the money or the facilities for Westernstyle cure.”
“What about your practice?” Tristan asked.
“What did it involve?”
“I have a typical country practice,” Tse said.
“I have a small dispensary which is responsible for health education, immunizations, and birth control for nearly four thousand rural people.
We treat minor illnesses and minor accidents and refer to the district hospital when necessary.”
“Do you use traditional Chinese medicine?” Marissa asked.
“We use it if the patient requests it,” Tse said.
“We have access to herbalists and acupuncturists. But I was trained in modern medicine in Guangzhou although I have little modern equipment to use.”
Marissa looked at Tristan.
“I’m running out of questions,” she said.
“Me too,” Tristan said. He shifted his position. They were all sitting cross-legged on the deck. Readdressing Tse, he said:
“Who was it that recruited you?”
“The White Lotus Triad,” Tse said.
“There are triads in the PRCT’ Marissa asked.
