A Killing Air

by Nigel Price

  “Guess.” Lisa hunched her shoulders and started to climb the stairs. Harry slung his holdall over his shoulder and followed her. The stairs were bare concrete, worn and cracked. Cooking smells filled the narrow passageways, together with all the sounds of multiple family lives lived cheek-by-jowl.

  “You say this guy’s a lawyer?” Harry asked.

  Lisa got the point. “Lawyers who interest themselves in the wrong things don’t earn much money in China. Herbert is not rich.”

  Floor after floor, they climbed up through the building. “Hope to God he’s in, after all this,” Harry panted. He was impressed that Lisa hardly seemed to have broken a sweat, yet was still encased in her puffy jacket. Bright flashes of colour on the heels of her trainers winked at him as she led the way up, ever up.

  At last they arrived outside a shabby door. A grille protected it but was pulled to one side. Harry took this to be a good sign. He stood beside Lisa trying not to gasp for breath as she checked the slip of paper, comparing the number on it to the plaque screwed to the wall. Satisfied, she stuffed the paper in her pocket, brushed back her hair with one hand, and rapped on the door with the knuckles of the other. She looked at Harry and widened her eyes in a ‘made it’ kind of way.

  They heard footsteps inside the apartment. The door opened. A long thin man of indeterminate age regarded them suspiciously.

  Lisa smiled a greeting. “I am Lisa Tang. Hans sent me.”

  Herbert Zhu visibly deflated with relief. “Come in.” His voice was soft to the point of inaudible. For Harry, who came from a lifetime of gunfire and explosions, it was a trial. Even his usual lip-reading skills were of little use as Herbert’s mouth hardly moved when he spoke. It was as if the words emanated through the pores of his skin rather than exiting in the customary manner.

  The interior of the apartment was spartan and spotless. Looking around, Harry understood that the man wasn’t just not rich, he was utterly skint. Either that or he had chosen to live a life of self-denial for purposes of spiritual enlightenment.

  His trousers and baggy shirt were threadbare, and on his feet he wore a pair of incongruous tartan slippers, the heels of which appeared to have been deliberately but badly cut away.

  “Tea?” he asked when Lisa had introduced Harry. They nodded in tandem. Herbert shuffled off to the kitchen which was visible through a doorless doorway. Old hinges rusted to one side of the empty frame. “Sit down.” Then, as if remembering something from a long distant past, he added in English, “Make yourselves at home.” His accent lilted pleasantly in the sing-song manner Harry was used to when talking with native Mandarin speakers. Inflexions and stresses were wonderfully jumbled from their more accepted usages, making the whole encounter a treat. With Herbert, it was like talking with a rare songbird conjured into human form and given human speech. The movements of his wiry frame reinforced the impression.

  “Can I offer you something to eat?” he asked when they were seated like three points of a triangle facing inwards as for a séance.

  Harry wondered whether the apartment contained food sufficient to feed Herbert himself. Lisa quickly answered for them both, declining.

  “How may I be of assistance?” Herbert enquired a little laboriously. He seemed to be a man who enjoyed ceremony. Again, the image of a monk seeking enlightenment occurred to Harry. Zen perhaps. Or one of the old Desert Fathers contemplating the impenetrable silence of space in his mountain cell. And finding it penetrable after all.

  Harry put his cup to his lips and tasted the tea. Jasmine. At his side Lisa began to explain the reason for their trip, the wretched fate of Mrs Yan Yajun and the mystery surrounding her trip to Beijing.

  Fifteen

  Herbert Zhu listened intently to Lisa’s account. From time to time he stirred his tea then sipped it. The account didn’t take long. There wasn’t a vast amount to say. Trotted out like this, the fate of the poor woman seemed more pathetic than ever.

  When Lisa had finished she sat upright, uncrossed her legs and stretched. The chairs were straight-backed and rock hard. There didn’t appear to be such a thing as an armchair or sofa in the whole apartment. Herbert fetched a tea pot from the kitchen and refilled their cups. Sitting down again, he gazed out through the window deep in thought. Harry and Lisa swapped glances. It was like waiting for an oracle to pronounce.

  When it finally did, Harry found himself underwhelmed. “That is a sorry tale indeed,” Herbert said, gaze still averted. “Indeed.”

  “Indeed,” Lisa chimed. Harry resisted the urge to join in.

  Then Herbert added, “And what can I do to help?” He enlarged. “As Hans will have told you, I am not the most popular person with the authorities. From time to time they search my apartment. I have a small house in the hills and they ransack that too whenever it pleases them. Just to make a point. So that I don’t forget who’s boss.”

  Harry suspected this might explain the sparse furnishings. If things were broken up or thrown around by the police every so often, there was hardly any point taking too much trouble over the décor.

  “They are not especially watching me at the moment,” Herbert continued. “I haven’t done anything to warrant their attention for some time. So they have left me alone. Your visit here today will probably not yet have been noted.”

  Lisa was visibly relieved. She checked that Harry felt the same. The earnest face that he had dutifully adopted on first sitting down had become sincere the more he had listened to Herbert.

  “The moment I make any enquiries, there is a risk the police and other security services will notice and step up their surveillance,” Herbert said. “But I can do a little digging. Discreetly.” He stared thoughtfully into his cup.

  Harry stood up. “I think we owe you an apology, Herbert,” he said. Lisa looked up at him, puzzled. “Come on, Lisa. Time to go.”

  Herbert too was confused. “Have I said something to upset you, Mr Brown?”

  “Not at all. It’s we who have caused the upset.” He felt cross with himself all of a sudden. And with Lisa and especially with her boss Hans. “We’ve come barnstorming in here without invitation, plonking this problem in your lap, while you are doing your best to keep out of trouble and survive.”

  Herbert smiled warmly. “It is kind of you to say that, Mr Brown.”

  “Harry.”

  “Kind of you to say that, Harry,” Herbert said. “But the times when I am not in trouble are mere intervals. Eventually something always comes along to prompt me to take up the torch of freedom once again. It appears to be my destiny.”

  Harry shook his head refusing to accept this. Lisa stood at his side uncertain what to do. Herbert answered for her.

  “Hans is a good friend of mine. There are a lot of us throughout the country, trying to nudge and goad and prod China towards a better society. We can do nothing else. If we ever stop, our country’s development towards greater freedom stops. Today it is your visit that spurs me on to the next step of my journey. If it hadn’t been you and Miss Tang, it would have been something else. Sooner or later.”

  Noises from the city intruded. A bus, a car horn, children playing. Herbert got to his feet and showed them to the door. “Let me do some research and see what I can find.” He held up a hand to forestall Harry’s protest. “Rest assured I will be careful. There are ways of doing it that won’t draw attention to myself. I will see what I can find out about Mrs Yan and her village. Where will you be staying?”

  “Hans gave me the name of a guest house,” Lisa replied. “The Golden Lotus.”

  “I know it,” Herbert said. “Basic but clean.” Harry wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. Clean was fine, but basic?

  They said their goodbyes and agreed that they would wait to hear from Herbert. Taking the long trek back down the stairwell, Harry couldn’t help feeling guilt at having drawn the soft-spoken Herbert Zhu into their enquiry, in spite of what the man himself had said. It didn’t help when Lisa said, “He has spent so much time in
prison over the years.”

  The sky remained overcast when they stepped out onto the pavement. They hunted up and down the road but there was no sign of a taxi. “We’ll have to walk to the nearest main road,” Lisa said. They set off. Harry was getting tired of lugging his holdall around with him and was looking forward to securing a room. He was wishing he had a backpack like the old days. Since he’d become an executive he’d never felt comfortable with just a suitcase. Without the tug of straps over his shoulders and the feel of a rifle in his hands he felt somehow naked. He wondered if it would always be like that.

  They reached an intersection and sure enough a taxi soon drove past, its ‘For Hire’ light on. Lisa waved it down and gave instructions for the guest house. It was a surprisingly long way but gave them a feel for the city.

  The Golden Lotus was modest in the extreme when compared to the conference hotel Harry had just been enjoying. Bare concrete stairs led up to a long corridor. They had checked into two rooms at the far end, side by side. To his amusement Harry found a connecting door inside, linking the two. Before he could try the handle, it moved, the door opened and Lisa was inspecting his room from the safety of her own side of the threshold.

  “I think you can lock it from your side,” she said.

  “Don’t worry,” Harry rushed to assure her. “I’ll wedge a chair under the handle to keep you out.”

  “Ha ha.” She breezed into his room and looked out of the window. “Your view is better than mine.”

  “They’re identical. The rooms are side by side,” Harry said. “They face in the same direction.”

  “Hm.” She cast a critical eye over his room’s contents. Harry sat on the bed and watched her.

  “Identical too,” he said, seeing her open her mouth.

  “I was going to say that,” she answered irritably. “So. Perhaps we should find out the best way to get to Mrs Yan’s village.”

  Harry agreed. It was going to take time for Herbert to see if he could help. At Mrs Yan’s village there would probably be family. They would know her story and what she had intended with her visit to Lisa Tang. Normally he would have asked the concierge. They were paid to be founts of all knowledge about such things. Having seen the meagre reception arrangements downstairs he realised they would have to look further afield.

  “Back to the bus station?” he suggested. Lisa thought so. Harry checked the time. Looked out of the window. The sun had gone down. It had been a long day. The last thing he felt like doing was hacking all the way back to the bus station. For safety’s sake he had left his laptop stored in his briefcase with his other luggage at the hotel in Beijing so an internet search wasn’t possible. In any case, it would be unlikely to yield the detailed advice they were going to need for route options and timings. For that it was best to speak to a human.

  “I suggest we get something to eat then sleep and tackle it first thing in the morning,” he said.

  By her reaction he could tell that Lisa was feeling the wear and tear of the day just like him. Leaving their bags in the rooms they made their way outside. There was a run of shops within a couple of hundred yards. One of them was a restaurant. It was a poor shabby affair. Like the site of their first meal together in Beijing, the frontage was of glass and similarly coated with condensation concealing the interior. There the likeness ended. Inside it was virtually empty. Tables and chairs were unoccupied. Harry felt it didn’t augur well for the quality of the food.

  He was right. They ordered safely, avoiding things that might be too easily contaminated, but even the basic rice dishes they ordered arrived barely lukewarm. The beer was draft. Flat and room temperature.

  They ate their cheerless meal in silence. A mood of despondency came over them which the single waiter stoked by gawping morosely from the sidelines throughout. As soon as he could, Harry produced bank notes sufficient to cover the small cost. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  It was dark by the time they stepped outside. They stood for a moment looking up. Nothing. No moon and not a star to be seen. He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen the refreshing spectacle of a full-blown night sky.

  They started to saunter back to the guest house. “How old are you?” Harry asked.

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “And not married? Isn’t that unusual in China?”

  She looked sideways at him. “What are you saying? That I’m too ugly for a husband?”

  He caught the twinkle in her eye. “Hideous.”

  She nudged him. Then, “I had a boyfriend. Not long ago.”

  “And …?” Harry prompted when it became obvious she had finished.

  “He got a good job offer in another city. So he left Beijing. Went down south.”

  “Didn’t he ask you to go with him?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “What?”

  She shrugged. “He wasn’t right for me. He wanted me to stop what I was doing with the website and with Hans. He just wanted to make money.”

  “How awful. What a brute,” Harry smiled. She returned it.

  “I have a good degree too. Beijing university. That’s where we met. Business consultants. Both of us. But I didn’t like what I saw around me. Then I met Hans and he got me involved with his work. And that’s where I’ve been ever since. I never meant to. I just felt I was doing something worthwhile.”

  They walked on in silence for a while. Then she asked, “What about you? You were at the conference. I saw the banners in the lobby. So, you plan for crisis management?”

  Harry gave her the short version. School, university, the military, Delaney’s. “And do you enjoy it?” she asked.

  Like her he shrugged. They both seemed to have tumbled into careers they had never planned. Harry wondered if that was the same for most people. “I can’t think what else I could be doing. It’s okay. It pays well.”

  “And you are married?”

  “I was,” he replied.

  “And …?” she said, copying him.

  “You know how it is.” That was the best he could offer by way of explanation.

  “Oh …” She started to ask something but thought better of it. Harry was grateful. He hated talking about himself. Preferred things nicely packaged and shut away. Better to talk about other people. Much more interesting. Simpler too.

  They had arrived back at the guest house. There was no one behind the narrow reception desk. They already had their keys, big chunky metal affairs, nothing fancy. They made their way upstairs and along the corridor.

  They arrived at their doors. Stopped. Faced one another. “Good night then,” Harry said. “Reveille at zero eight hundred hours?”

  “Reveille?” Lisa queried.

  “Wake up time. Getting up. Army style.” He braced to attention trying to inject humour.

  Lisa saluted. Very badly. Wrist cocked, fingers curled. Harry stifled an instinctive desire to correct it.

  “Until eight then.”

  They went into their rooms.

  It was pitch black in Harry’s. The curtains had been drawn so no light could penetrate from the street. The turn-down service must have called and prepared the room for bedtime. He was impressed that The Golden Lotus had such a thing. He fumbled for the light switch, found it, turned it on.

  The Golden Lotus didn’t have a turn-down service. The room had been taken apart. Drawers were on the floor. The bed clothes torn from the bed. His holdall was virtually inside out, the contents strewn across the stripped bed and the floor.

  At that moment the door linking his room to Lisa’s burst open. Harry spun to face it. Lisa stood in the doorway, face ashen. She took in the state of his room.

  “Yours too?” Harry asked. She nodded.

  He settled on the edge of the bed. “Well there’s a thing.”

  Sixteen

  It didn’t take them long to clean up the mess. The rooms contained only the bare essentials of furniture. It was mostly repacking their belongings that took the
time. They compared notes as they went. As far as they could tell nothing had been stolen. Sure enough, they had not left any valuables in their baggage, keeping wallets, phones and, in Harry’s case, passport, on them. The holdall and backpack had contained only overnight and spare clothing, along with toiletries. In Harry’s case that was very little. Razor, brush, shaving soap. Toothbrush and paste. Deodorant and a cologne he had picked up at the Duty Free in Bangkok. That was about it.

  Oddly, the cologne had been opened and tested. Harry could smell it on the air. It was one endorsed by a Hollywood celebrity, the thinking being that anyone using it would attract the same success, fortune and startling women for all of which the star himself was renowned. Whoever had ransacked the room clearly had hopes similar to Harry’s.

  With the tidying up completed they went in search of the management. “Do we ask them to report it to the police?” Lisa asked.

  “It was probably the police who did it. But we can at least ask what the manager saw.”

  Lisa let out a hollow laugh. “Yes. Right.”

  Her cynicism was well founded. When confronted, the duty manager looked nonplussed. He hadn’t seen anyone entering who didn’t belong there. Harry was tempted to ask the same question, but in a more robust manner. Lisa caught his line of thought before he could try it out and led him away, cursing the manager not quite under her breath, prompting him to respond in kind.

  “I think we should move hotels,” she said when they arrived back in Harry’s room. He thought about it.

  “Why bother?” If it was the police they’ll know where we go. Presumably they’re watching the hotel. Perhaps they’ve even bugged the rooms. The question is, how did they find out we were here and, presumably, what we’re doing?”

  She tried one last ditch hope. “I suppose it could just have been a burglary.”

  Harry looked at her. “Was there anything of value in your backpack?”

  “Not really. I mean, they didn’t take anything, but there wasn’t really anything worth taking.”