Private Beijing, page 6
Finally satisfied we didn’t pose a risk, the officer waved us on, and we gathered our effects from the X-ray machine.
The south door buzzed and swung open automatically as we approached.
“Your uncle is deputy governor?” I asked.
“It’s not something we ever talk about in our family. People would seek to exploit the connection for good or bad,” she replied. “There he is.”
We stepped into a long corridor secured at both ends by large metal doors, each of which was monitored by three video cameras. A tall slim man in a black suit stood waiting for us.
“Uncle Yuhang,” Zhang Daiyu said, as he stepped forward. “This is my boss Jack Morgan. Jack, this is my uncle Ma Yuhang.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” he said, shaking my hand. “We must be quick. There is a shift change in ten minutes. You must be out before guards who are less loyal to me take their posts.”
Zhang Daiyu nodded and Ma Yuhang led us toward the steel door at the eastern end of the corridor. He used a key card to open it and rapidly led us through a network of corridors. It was a bleak place, and even though I only caught glimpses of dead-eyed prisoners and grim-faced corrections officers, I knew life here was hard, and could understand why the cell walls might be padded.
Zhang Daiyu and Yuhang talked quietly until we reached our destination, a short corridor with five doors either side. Nine of these stood open and I could see into small unoccupied interview rooms. The tenth door was closed and there were two corrections officers standing guard outside it.
Ma Yuhang issued an instruction and the officer nearest to us opened the door and allowed Zhang Daiyu and me inside.
David Zhou, the man I’d seen in the surveillance footage from the night of the murders, the man who’d almost got away from me at Meihui’s apartment, was seated at a table in the center of the interview room. His arms and legs were shackled and the chain that linked them had been secured to a metal loop anchored to the floor. He wore a blue boilersuit and a defeated expression. He glanced up at us as we entered and shook his head wearily. I saw fresh bruises on his face.
Zhang Daiyu spoke in Mandarin as she sat down opposite him. I recognized the word “Private” and saw a flash of recognition on Zhou’s face. I remained silent and leant against the wall while I scrutinized him. He’d fallen a long way from the luxurious lifestyle of only a few days ago.
“I have nothing to say to either of you,” he replied in perfect English. “I don’t care who you are or what you’re here for.”
“The police think you murdered our colleagues,” Zhang Daiyu responded. “If you didn’t, you need all the help you can get.”
Zhou sneered at her. “You’re not here to help me. I have nothing to say.”
“I don’t think you’d be stupid enough to kill the men who were tailing you,” I chipped in. “But even if you weren’t involved, you were there that night. You can tell us what happened. One of our colleagues is missing. The police think he’s dead. We need to know what happened to him.”
Zhou glanced at me. I could tell he had something to say, but he stayed silent.
“Let us help you,” I told him. “If you’re innocent, we will find who really did this and you’ll walk.”
“If you find who really did this, you will end up dead,” he replied. “I didn’t know your organization was following me until the police informed me I was being charged with luring your colleagues there to be murdered. I’m innocent but I’m no fool. Look around you. See where we are. I’m here because someone has declared me an enemy of China. I’m rich, powerful, and have friends. If they can do this to me, what do you think they will do to you?”
“Appreciate your concern, Mr. Zhou, but we can take care of ourselves,” I replied.
He scoffed. “You think it’s safe to go into the cave because it’s dark and you can’t see what’s inside. If you knew, you would run.” He sat back in his seat, stretching the chain to its limits “Run! Run away from the darkness while you still can.”
Then he hesitated for a moment, his expression visibly softening.
“I don’t know what happened to your colleague but you should expect the worst.”
He barked something I did not understand and one of the custody officers opened the door, speaking to Zhang Daiyu.
“He wants to know if we’re finished,” she said.
I was about to reply but before I could say anything, David Zhou cut me off.
“Yes, we’re finished.”
CHAPTER 16
ZHANG DAIYU’S UNCLE chivvied us back to the lobby, eager to beat the shift change. We were searched again and our belongings X-rayed before we were allowed out.
“What do you think?” she asked me as we crossed the perimeter road to the parking lot.
“He’s claiming innocence,” I replied, “which isn’t surprising. And he’s suggesting someone is out to get him. Someone with the power to put him in there.”
“He doesn’t trust us,” she observed.
“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust anyone if I were in his shoes. Whether he’s innocent or guilty, one wrong word might get him killed.”
Zhang Daiyu nodded and we got in her SUV.
The heat had become stifling in the late-afternoon sun, and I was glad when she started the engine and the first breaths of ice-cold air-con hit me, soothing away the heat and humidity.
Zhang Daiyu drove us out of the parking lot and gave a cursory nod to the gate guard before we joined Huaichang Road, a large and busy highway that would take us out of the valley and back into the city. We sped through fields, past industrial estates and factories, into suburbs that grew denser the farther west we went.
“So what now?” she asked.
I never got to answer her question. Instead, when I looked over I saw something that froze my blood. A motorcycle had drawn alongside the driver’s side of the H6. Both rider and pillion passenger were in black helmets with opaque visors, and the second man was pointing a QCW-05 suppressed submachine gun directly at Zhang Daiyu. I had only had a split second in which to act.
I grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it right, hard.
“Down!” I yelled.
She cursed. She hadn’t seen the threat, and only looked left when I pushed the wheel that way in an attempt to side-swipe the bike.
Muzzle fire blinded us and there was a terrible rattling sound followed by the crack and crash of shattering glass. The bullets missed their target, flying in front of Zhang Daiyu before smashing the windscreen. My maneuver of turning toward the bike had startled the motorcyclist, causing him to go heavy on his brakes. It looked as if the two assassins had been left behind..
Zhang Daiyu cursed again and took the wheel, but she couldn’t see very well as the remnants of the shattered windscreen blocked her view.
I slid off my jacket, wrapped it around my arm and punched and swept away the cracked white glass, creating a hole through which we could both see the road ahead.
“Turn off here,” I said, gesturing to an exit ramp to our right.
I turned my head and saw the bike directly behind us.
She stamped on the brakes. As she followed up and spun the wheel, the rear window erupted under a burst of machine gunfire.
There was a cacophony of horn blasts and the screech of tires as we cut across another lane of traffic. Craning my neck around, I saw the bike follow. The pillion rider was reloading.
We shot onto Changcui Road, a broad street that cut through the surrounding residential area. We went east, passing beneath the highway, racing by low-rise apartment blocks and houses to either side of the street. There were vehicles parked the whole way along, and a few shops and restaurants at the base of the buildings flanking us, which drew crowds of diners. This was no place for a chase; too many lives would be put at risk.
“Stay close to the side of the street,” I said, signaling left. “And get ready to stop.”
I glanced back to see the man on the pillion raise his gun.
“Emergency stop … now!” I yelled, and Zhang Daiyu stepped on the brakes again.
The tires screamed as they bit into the road, and the motorcyclist had no choice but to swing right to try and avoid us. As the bike came past, I flung open my door and the bike tore it off. The collision had the desired effect, though, and the door became tangled beneath the bike’s wheels and frame and took it down. The CFMoto 650GT and its riders skidded along the road for thirty feet before hitting a parked truck.
I leapt out and started running to the machine gun that had been dropped halfway between us and the crashed bike. The dazed driver and pillion man struggled to get to their feet as they came to their senses. Then the gunman started sprinting toward the fallen weapon.
I had to beat him to it, I had to, or Zhang Daiyu and I were both dead.
CHAPTER 17
I DROVE MY legs as fast as they would go, glancing back momentarily to see a dazed Zhang Daiyu still sitting in the driver’s seat of her H6, struggling to come round. She wasn’t in any state to help me so I sprinted on, my feet pounding against the concrete road surface, chest heaving, arms pumping through the air, but it wasn’t enough. The gunman was closer to the weapon and his gloved fingers coiled around the grip, which he swung up to level the muzzle at me.
I stopped dead.
I couldn’t see his face, just my own reflected in his opaque visor.
So this was how I was to die. Killed by a stranger for reasons unknown. Gunned down in a foreign land.
I was three feet away from the muzzle. I was as good as dead. No one could dodge a bullet at this range, and the moment I moved, the gunman would fire.
I saw the motorcyclist get to his feet and stagger away. Only then did I become aware of the groups of onlookers gathered on the sidewalks and others at their windows. My death would have an audience. I might not have had any chance of beating these odds, but I was damned if I was going to go down without a fight.
The gunman held his aim for what felt like an age.
I tensed my body, ready to make my move.
Then the gunman surprised me by shifting his aim toward Zhang Daiyu.
“No!” I yelled. I barreled forward and drove my shoulder into his midriff as he pulled the trigger.
The shots flew high and wide, clattering into the awning over a storefront. I pushed on and the gunman and I went down. I rolled clear, got to my feet and kicked the man in the ribs. He caught my foot and swept his round to kick my supporting leg out from under me. I fell heavily, knocking the wind from my lungs as I landed on my back.
I rolled and got to my feet. The gunman was already up and had Zhang Daiyu in his sights again. She’d staggered out of the van and was coming toward us. Why was he trying to kill her and not me? He’d had a direct shot and had spared my life.
I didn’t have time to answer the question. I rushed him as he opened fire and knocked the gun off target. Bullets sprayed the adjacent building, thudding into the concrete and shattering windows. I unclipped the gunman’s helmet strap and pulled it off as he hit me with the butt of the machine gun. As I fell back I took the helmet with me and saw the face of the man I’d pulled it from—young, scarred, with jet-black hair that had been shaved close to his scalp. He came at me again, but I held the helmet by the strap and swung it at him. The hard plastic shell caught him on the side of the head, and he dropped the gun and staggered back, dazed. As he clutched at his head, I saw a tattoo on his wrist: twin dragons coiled around a larger one. I heard the roar of an engine and glanced over his shoulder to see a black Mercedes E-Class racing up the street. An older man, mid-forties, also heavily scarred, leant out of the passenger window and yelled something, and the gunman turned and ran toward the speeding vehicle.
I stooped and grabbed the submachine gun, but there was no way I could take the shot. There were too many innocent bystanders in the line of fire, and besides, I didn’t have the same legal argument of self-defense if he was running away—if Chinese law even allowed for self-defense with a lethal weapon.
I dropped the gun and produced my phone to take pictures of the gunman as he jumped into the vehicle. I then concentrated on getting images of the license plate as the Mercedes sped away.
There was a great deal of commotion around us now and people had their phones out and were filming. I could hear the wail of approaching sirens and hurried over to Zhang Daiyu.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She looked dazed and was bleeding from a head wound, but she managed to focus on me and nodded.
“We need to get out of here,” I said.
She nodded again so I took her arm and led her down a cluttered alleyway that ran between two restaurants. It looked like the perfect place for us to disappear.
CHAPTER 18
I COULDN’T RISK taking Zhang Daiyu to her apartment or the hotel room that had been reserved in my name. It was obvious we’d been targeted. She was dazed but I didn’t think she was suffering from concussion, which was just as well because we couldn’t risk seeking medical treatment either. I pressed her for a suggestion as we ran away, and when we emerged from the network of alleys she gradually began to recover her senses sufficiently to get her bearings. We were on a busy street packed with grocery stores and at the end was a food market.
“Two blocks south,” she mumbled. “On the corner of Dongcui and Changcui Roads there is a hostel for workers.”
The effort of speaking was almost too much for her. She staggered and leant against me for support. I held her and guided her through the busy streets until we found the building she’d spoken of.
Four floors high and a block wide, sweeping curved balconies ran the width of every floor, providing an exterior walkway that offered access to the rooms, each of which was marked by a numbered red door.
There were a couple of old men sitting outside the building, smoking pipes. They eyed us up and down as I steered Zhang Daiyu inside. The lobby reminded me of an old cinema with red drapes, gray marble floor, and metalwork everywhere. Pipe smoke wafted through the open double doors, giving the place a musty scent. An old woman wearing half-moon glasses and traditional Hanfu dress sat behind the reception desk opposite a gold spiral staircase.
“I’d like a room, please,” I said.
The woman rattled off a reply in Mandarin. She seemed to be alarmed, and I guessed she was concerned for Zhang Daiyu’s safety.
“My friend needs rest,” I said.
She replied with growing agitation, bordering on anger, then picked up her mobile phone and shouted to the men outside as she dialed a number.
What was I thinking? Bringing a semi-conscious woman to a hostel while I was unable to speak the language and assure people I had Zhang Daiyu’s best interests at heart? The two pipe smokers came in and approached me warily as the old woman put her phone to her ear.
I hated to do it, but I shook Zhang Daiyu.
“Hey. I really need your help here,” I said, trying to rouse her. “Please, say something to them. Tell them it’s okay.”
To my great relief, she came to and managed to muster the energy to reply. Her voice was weak and faltering, but her tone was soothing. I couldn’t understand what she said, but the old receptionist nodded and ended her call. She spoke sharply to the two smokers, who ambled back outside.
I produced my wallet and handed over notes until the receptionist was satisfied. She gave us a key to room 15.
“Xièxie nǐ,” I said.
She smiled and I led Zhang Daiyu up the spiral staircase and through a door that took us onto the first-floor balcony. We walked along until we found room 15, and I supported her while I got the door open.
I ushered her into a tiny hostel room with a double bed, chest of drawers, and a dilapidated shower and toilet cubicle. I put her on the bed, and, like a child’s doll, her eyes shut the moment she was horizontal. Soon her breathing grew heavy with sleep, I sat on the end of the bed and watched her, wondering why someone had targeted her.
Was it this investigation or something else? I realized I knew very little about the woman I was working with, and the thought that I might not be able to trust her took root in my mind. Was Ma Yuhang, the deputy governor of Qincheng Prison, really her uncle? I only had her word for it. Had she really been able to gain access to China’s most secure prison because of a family connection? Or was there something else at work here? Could she be involved in something that had put Private at risk? If the gunman had been sent to stop our investigation, why hadn’t he shot me? What if he had been sent to kill a co-conspirator instead? Someone who knew too much about what was really going on.
I sat for hours, watching and puzzling over these questions. After a while I used the bathroom and washed my face. As I gazed at my reflection in the mottled, rusting mirror I came to a decision. I needed to find out more about Zhang Daiyu.
I checked she was comfortable, took her purse, grabbed the room key, and locked the door behind me. It was dark outside and the city was quiet. My watch said it was 1:06 a.m., but I wasn’t worried about the lateness of the hour because I was heading somewhere I knew I would always be welcome.
CHAPTER 19
BEING IN A strange city, particularly one in which you can’t speak the language, is a little like disappearing. You can never be an active, full participant and are relegated to the status of an observer, but even in that role you have limitations because you can’t fully understand what’s happening around you. It’s both liberating and disconcerting.
It’s freeing because you’re not bound by social expectation, so once it became clear to the taxi driver that my conversation was limited to what I could output through Google Translate, he gave up trying to talk to me and the two of us traveled through the city in silence.
