A Killing Air

by Nigel Price

  They arrived at the entrance to the park and went in. Empty flowerbeds and lawns and ornamental ponds abounded, mature trees, temples and pagodas. Once again, the pathways were deserted. Lisa knew exactly where she was going. She seemed happy. As if her great mission was drawing to a successful conclusion. She turned around to hurry him along.

  “Come on, Harry. It is such a shame you couldn’t have seen this in better conditions. It is lovely when the sky is blue and the flowers are in bloom.”

  Even through his wariness Harry caught her enchantment. Her enthusiasm was infectious. He looked at the miserable concrete and artificial structures adorning the park. Compared to the greenery and wild profusion of other parks across the world, it was a poor place. Spontaneity confined. An imprisoned nature, compressed like flowing water crushed and frozen to make ice cubes.

  And then there was Hans. He was alone and walking towards them. Lisa raced to him. He held out his hands and took hers. Harry joined them.

  “Did you do it?” she asked.

  “Have you got the SIM card?” Hans asked.

  “Harry’s got it. What did your contact say? Can he use the file?”

  Hans turned to Harry. “Can I have it please?”

  Harry looked at him. “What did your contact say?” He reached into his pocket. His fingers curled around the butt of the pistol.

  “Everything’s going to be fine, Harry. The SIM?”

  He held out his hand.

  Fifty One

  Hans threw himself onto Lisa. She screamed, catching him under his arms. She was covered in blood. She screamed again, high and shrill. Hans slid down the length of her, his hands dragging down her body as if he was drowning in quicksand. He looked up into her face. His mouth opened.

  “I’m sorry. I tried to …”

  Harry snatched at her arm and dragged her away. The pavement at his feet exploded, shards of concrete stinging his leg.

  “Sniper!” he shouted. He shouted it as if he was at the head of a platoon. Right now his men would be reacting to the incoming shots, slipping into rehearsed, second-nature battle drills. Action on enemy contact. Take cover. Locate the enemy. Give fire direction orders to the remainder of the squad. Return fire.

  What was it? Dash, down, crawl, observe, sights, fire.

  Except there was no one else. Harry was on his own. In a park, with a blood-spattered girl, and a shit little gun with barely half a dozen shit little rounds.

  He caught sight of something protruding from Hans’ collar. He had been wired. Someone had set him up and been listening in.

  He dragged Lisa to a pagoda as another round smacked into the balustrade. She screamed again.

  “Are you hit?”

  Her hands searched herself, seeking out the bullet wound. She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Harry shot a quick glance round the side of the building. Nothing. Just Hans’ body crumpled five yards away, a pool of blood spreading from underneath it. He whipped out his pistol as another bullet tore a chunk of brick from beside his face. A shard cut his cheek.

  “The bloody thing’s silenced.”

  “What?”

  “Whoever’s firing at us is using a silencer. I’ve no chance of spotting them. And even if I could, this thing’s useless at any range further than I could chuck it.”

  A voice came out of the smog. “Throw out the gun, Harry. All we want is the SIM. Hand it over or you’ll both be killed.”

  Not Miller. “Who the fuck’s that?”

  Lisa got it first, a second before Harry. “Ryder,” she said.

  “Then he’ll have back-up,” Harry said. “And we’ve got sweet bugger-all.”

  He hunted for a way out. To their rear, a trellis and hedge concealed a gardener’s tool shed. “This way,” Harry said. “On your hands and knees.”

  He pushed her in front of him, shoving her in the direction of the shed. She found her way behind the trellis and into a narrow space between hedge and shed. “There’s a gap,” she called over her shoulder. “We can squeeze through it.”

  She started to poke her head and shoulders into it. As Harry watched, she vaulted into the air, hauled through as if a giant had laid hold of her from the other side. There was a scream and her legs thrashed in the air as she disappeared. Harry rose from the ground and charged through after her. He smashed through the hedge, bringing his pistol into the aim ready to fire at whoever was there.

  A hand chopped down onto his wrist, knocking the gun clean out of his grip. Another hand grabbed him and swung him through the air. In his confusion he glimpsed his attacker. The Wrestler. Beside him, Mr Wai had Lisa fast in his grip. Harry leapt to his feet and spun to face the coming attack. The Wrestler waded in, punches flying. Harry blocked and countered. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lisa fighting for her life. She was clawing at Wai’s face. Great red streaks gouged his flesh. He was howling, shaking her like a rag doll. Then slapping and punching her.

  Harry flung himself back at The Wrestler, going onto the attack. In a second Chau and his sniper would be on the scene. He went against his man with everything he had. Punches and kicks, placing them with what little precision he could muster. Simply trying to swamp the man with blows. Punches to the gut, an upper cut to the chin. Then wild hooks to the face. Left and right. His fists were bleeding but he was getting the better of him.

  To the side, Lisa was kicking wildly at Wai. He drew back his fist and let fly at her. She snapped her head aside, leaned in and bit the hand that was pinning her. Wai howled. Let her go. She ran. As she went, Harry heard her screaming for help, calling for the police, the soldiers, anyone.

  The Wrestler went down. Harry turned to Wai but he was scrabbling for Harry’s gun. Harry rushed at him and kicked him in the ribs as hard as he could. Wai grunted and sprawled on the floor. He looked round and Harry punched him on the jaw as hard as he could.

  He reached for his pistol. It was a foot away. He heard running footsteps. Chau and the sniper? If he could just get to his gun he might be able to …

  The pistol burst open in front of him. He snatched his fingers away as the gun skidded across the concrete, the bullet that had struck it, leaving it twisted and useless like an old can.

  He spun round. Gun Man stood five feet away, the muzzle of his pistol smoking. It moved lazily as the aim shifted to Harry’s face. Behind the gun Harry could see the firer aching to pull the trigger. But he wasn’t alone. Coming up behind him was Sidekick. Behind him, jogging and out of breath was Miller. His face was red with the exertion. A paunch that previously he’d been able to conceal, bounced on top of his trouser belt, shirt tails hanging out. The lowest buttons had popped open. He looked a mess. His face, on the other hand, was gloating with triumph.

  “Got you, you fucking bastard,” he wheezed.

  “Boss?” Gun Man said. Harry translated the question precisely. Can I shoot him?

  Miller shook his head. There was the sound of scuffling and Harry saw Lisa being manhandled round the side of the pagoda. A man had a firm grip of her arm in one tight fist. In the other he held a silenced rifle. The Sniper. Lisa struggled and kicked and tried to bite him, but each time she bent her face to his wrist he shook her off, adding a kick of his own. She yelped and hung there wriggling.

  Beside the two of them, came Ryder Chau. He was sunk into a bulky parka, the hood doing a fine job of overshadowing his face.

  He glared at Harry then cast a quick glance at the body of Hans. “Get him out of here.” Sidekick went to the body, checked it briefly, then grabbed it under the armpits. He started to haul it round the pagoda to the gardener’s shed at the back. While he did so, The Wrestler got shakily to his feet and went to help. He opened the shed door and stood aside as Sidekick dumped the corpse that had been Hans. They closed the door and slid the bolts shut. It would do for now.

  “Move,” Ryder Chau said. Miller took charge, shepherding the group away from the scene of the shooting to a mock temple nearby. The front was o
pen and they grouped inside. Mr Wai was helped to his feet by Miller and when they were all assembled, he took his place at Chau’s side like a long bruised grumpy shadow. Harry looked at the lot of them and something worried at him. He was missing something but couldn’t place it. There was a connection he couldn’t place. Something about Gun Man and The Wrestler especially. Family?

  It was Lisa who got it. “Uyghurs.” She said it as if an epiphany had slapped her in the mouth. “You’re terrorists.”

  “Shut up,” Chau snapped. In two strides he was at her, striking her viciously round the face. Harry moved to attack. Gun Man clubbed him behind the ear with the body of his pistol. Harry went down on his knees. Gun Man stuffed the muzzle against Harry’s cheek.

  “Please, let me do it,” he begged.

  Miller sniggered. “You can have all the fun you want with him in a moment.” He grabbed Harry by the ear and yanked his head back. “I’ll have the SIM card now, Harry old boy.”

  Harry shook his head free and glared back. “Careless bugger, aren’t you? Letting an old woman get the better of you. Should look after your property a bit better.”

  “My property?” Miller chuckled. “Not mine. Ryder’s. The old bitch stole it from the villa. We should have thrown her out, but we didn’t. She said she was thirsty so I went to get her some water. That’s how she repaid me.”

  Harry stared back at him. “You poison her grandson. Then kill her son when he complains. That was his grave in the glade, wasn’t it? You try to shut her up like the rest of the village with a few Yuan. When she won’t accept it, with her family dead around her, you think a glass of water will do the job. You really are a despicable bunch.”

  Lisa tugged herself free. The Sniper levelled his rifle at her. She stood rock solid, rubbing her arm, numb from where he had gripped it. “There’s more to it than the medicine, isn’t there?”

  Ryder Chau sized her up. “You’re not quite as stupid as your boss. Even he didn’t get it.”

  “Get what?” Harry asked.

  Lisa was working it out. “We never had time to look at the rest of those invoices, Harry. All we saw was a sheet with some poisonous drug on it. The medicine was only a tiny part of the consignment.”

  Ryder Chau was smiling, enjoying the game. Especially as he had all the guns. “She’s right,” he said to Harry. “The faulty drugs were one item on the Hideyoshi-maru. And a minor one at that, for just one of my enterprises. The Japanese wanted a trial done, so I obliged. They knew it was dangerous so wouldn’t do it on anyone in their own country. With justification as it turned out, as confirmed by the unfortunate results that upset Yan Yajun. But I paid the village handsomely. She had to be noble though. Liar. She said she only wanted justice for her dead grandson. She was a fool. She should have taken the money. And her son before her. So he died first, then her.”

  “And after our visit, her daughter-in-law as well. The shallow grave next to her husband’s. As your killers worked through everyone who wouldn’t bow to you and your blood money.”

  Chau was as relaxed as if attending a board meeting, confident behind the protective screen of guns.

  “So what else was on the ship? What would any wannabe terror group need to smuggle into the country?” Harry already knew the answer to his rhetorical question.

  Rhetorical or not, Ryder Chau obliged. “Guns, Harry.”

  Harry laughed. “Oh this is priceless. Let me guess. Some poor sap in Japan dutifully put them on the invoice?” He put back his head and roared, loving it. “That was a bit of a balls-up, wasn’t it? You’re trying to be all clandestine and smuggle in weapons, and a clerk lists them on the invoices. Wonderful.”

  “A clerical error,” Chau said. “The man responsible paid for his mistake. All copies were destroyed. Except one which was overlooked it seems. Well done for finding it. And thank you. Now we can destroy that one too.”

  “How did you get hold of it? Why did Hans have to die?”

  “Hans Zhang was a fool.”

  “Hans believed in a better China,” Lisa stormed. “He believed there were men of principle in the Politburo.”

  “Well then it’s a shame for him that the one he trusted to give the documents to owed his position to me.” He smirked with delight. “He gave it straight to me. Together with Hans.”

  Ryder Chau stepped up. He held out his hand. “And now I’ll have my SIM card, Mr Brown.”

  Harry struggled to find a way out. Anything to turn the tables. As if he guessed what was going through Harry’s mind, Gun Man stuffed the pistol harder into the side of Harry’s face. The Sniper laid aside his rifle, pulled out a lock knife, flipped open the blade and held it to Lisa’s throat. Mr Wai and The Wrestler closed in, Miller and Sidekick too. They were trapped. The only option was surrender.

  Harry knew when he was beaten. He reached into his pocket for the SIM card.

  Which wasn’t there.

  His fingers probed the furthest corners of the material. No holes. Everything intact. A few clumps of fluff, but no card.

  “One moment,” he mumbled. He checked the other pocket, although he knew he had already searched the correct one. Then the big pockets on the legs of the cargo pants. The Sniper pressed the blade into the soft flesh of Lisa’s throat, pushing it against the windpipe and throbbing jugular.

  “Harry,” she whispered through the pressure of cold steel. “Perhaps you should …”

  “I don’t have it,” he said, still searching.

  “Harry,” Ryder Chau snapped his fingers. “Hand it over now.” He glanced at Miller. “Search him.”

  Reluctantly Miller stepped forward. He gave Harry a suspicious look, checking to make sure it wasn’t a trap. Harry shrugged helplessly. Miller went through all his pockets, every single one. Harry gritted his teeth as he felt Miller’s soft hands exploring the corners, rubbing against his flesh beneath like a pervert in the cinema.

  Miller stood back, his face a picture. “He’s telling the truth. It’s not there.”

  Ryder Chau grimaced. “Then where the hell is it?”

  Harry wracked his brain. “The car,” he said. He looked at Lisa. “When you took the gun from my pocket it must have fallen out.” To Chau, “It must be in the car.”

  “Which is where?” He glared at Miller for an answer. Miller looked at his men. Who looked back at him.

  “It was abandoned back er … I can find it.” Miller stammered.

  “We can show you,” Harry replied, hope springing eternal.

  Chau smiled. “No need. It’s as good as lost. Even if anyone finds it, who will care about a tiny nano SIM?”

  “That’s obviously up to you. Where we left the car abandoned in the road, it’ll be picked up by the police eventually.”

  “Who I can bribe.”

  “It belongs to the friend of a friend who works on the admin for the National Congress. At some point they’ll be contacted to reclaim it. I wonder what they’ll think if they find a SIM card in the car? A car that’s been knocked around during a chase?”

  Chau swore. “For god’s sake go and get the bloody thing, Miller,” he snapped. “I’ll take the girl and wait for you.” Miller put a hand on Harry’s shoulder to pull him to his feet. But Chau was having second thoughts. “Hold on, I’ll do it myself. If you’d done your job properly none of this would be happening. He’d be out of the country or under lock and key or dead. You’ve mucked up at every step of the way.” He cast a savage glance at everyone who had let him down. The lot. Except The Sniper. “Come on. We’ll all go.”

  Fifty Two

  The ride back to the little Chery was a bundle of laughs that Harry could have done without at his age. He’d thought he’d left all this sort of stuff behind him. Yet here he was, crammed in the back of Ryder Chau’s car, Chau himself driving, The Sniper in the front passenger seat watching him like a hawk, gun in hand. And on either side of Harry, Gun Man and Sidekick. Gun Man had his pistol stuck in Harry’s ribs, and Sidekick his knife. It was as
cosy as could be.

  Chau had judged that as Harry had twice laid out his champion wrestler, The Wrestler was sod all use. He and Mr Wai could perhaps just manage the girl, taking her with them in Miller’s car.

  So it was that the two vehicles manoeuvred their way past the assembled army trucks and the few people who were out braving the day.

  Harry relaxed back into his seat. There wasn’t a lot else he could do. Just submit to the process. For now Chau held all the cards. Except the SIM card.

  Harry wasn’t even sure what kind of information the little thing might hold. Records of phone conversations? Emails? Perhaps it related to a secret phone number only known to Chau, knowledge of which might enable an un-bribed secret service to trace calls he would rather keep secret? Harry didn’t know. But Chau clearly wanted it so there must be something on it that threatened him.

  “So you’re Uyghurs?” Harry said, trying to open a conversation. “That’s nice.”

  No luck. He tried again. “What did you expect to do with some guns?”

  “Not some guns, Harry. A lot of guns. Explosives too. Enough for a lot of IED’s.”

  Light dawned. “A terror campaign. Nice. A big escalation from the knife attacks in train stations which is all the Uyghur separatist groups have managed to date?”

  Harry could see a thin rectangle of Chau’s face in the rear-view mirror that hung from the centre of the windscreen like a diminutive sloth.”

  “You don’t look like a Uyghur? Not that I’m one to stereotype people.”

  “On my mother’s side.”

  Harry frowned, puzzling. He thought back to the black and white photographs displayed in Chau’s villa. He remembered one of a venerable couple. Something didn’t stack up. “Your father’s wife?”

  “No,” Chau said. His sour smile was visible in the mirror. “In his youth he lived through the Cultural Revolution. He was sent for re-education to Xinjiang to work on a commune. A minor administrative post.”