Beijing Payback

by Daniel Nieh

  But we’re not in a small country.

  “They are Ai’s army,” Wei whispers in my ear. “These soldiers post on social media, manipulating people’s reputations and that sort of thing. The sergeants like Young Zhang here do espionage and sabotage.”

  At the sound of his name, Zhang shoots a puppy glance up at Wei, who is as mesmerizing as ever in blue silk pajamas and no makeup. When we roused her from her chambers in another wing of the compound, she touched my puffy face with her fingertips and looked into my eyes with an expression of tender concern, and for a moment I was glad Ouyang had gotten in a few good punches.

  “Sergeant? He looks about eighteen years old. What kind of hours are they working?”

  I use my toe to nudge an empty bag of chips under the table. It’s not yet eight in the morning.

  “There are three shifts. Fresh troops come in at nine.”

  “I was able to circumvent the password protection and log in to the computer,” Zhang says, speaking directly to Wei. “And I found the software client he’s using for email, but everything in it is encrypted. We can’t see the contents without a key.”

  “Is there anything else on the hard drive?” Sun asks.

  Zhang shakes his head. A disappointed quiet settles over us, and the sounds of tiny fans, whirring drives, and fingers clacking on ergonomic keyboards fill the small room as Zhang looks up at us expectantly. Tired, tired, tired is all I feel, and I wonder if we’ve come far enough: Ouyang dead, Ice halted, and us here at this impasse. Unless—how do I put it politely?

  “Is this kind of encryption completely unbreakable? Or are there people who could do it?”

  Zhang nods and blinks. “Probably a small number of people with superior resources and experience,” he says, and I silently bless him for his nerdy lack of ego. “Those people are not often available.”

  “Say I wanted someone to look at it in the States—could they try remotely?”

  “I could take a capture of the drive and send it.”

  “Do you have Skype?”

  Victor! Holy fuck, man! Are you okay?”

  The call quality is full bars, but my Skype window is solid black.

  “Hey, Eli.” I dig around in my head for the English language. “You’ve got a Post-it over your webcam.”

  “Oh, right.” He peels it off and his dorm room fills the screen, familiar, distant. Eli looks genuinely concerned but also thrilled, and he’s bouncing up and down on the baby blue yoga ball he uses for a desk chair. The bookshelf behind his head is carefully staged with parent-pleasing props: Hanukkiah, tefillin, The Path of the Just.

  “Dude, you are not looking your best right now,” he says.

  “Yeah. I got in a scuffle. Sorry I haven’t answered your emails. I’m actually coming back really soon. I just need your help with something. You got a minute?”

  “Sure, sure, of course I do! What’s going on? Is Sun there?”

  “Yeah, he’s right here with me.”

  I tug on Sun’s sleeve. He bends into webcam range and waves.

  “We figured out who’s behind Dad’s—behind what happened to Dad, and now we’re trying to find evidence that connects them to the people in charge. So we have this guy’s computer, but his email is encrypted. Can you help us read it? Or, like, someone you know?”

  Eli stops bouncing and the smile fades off his face. I can tell he’s thinking, because he isn’t talking.

  “What makes you think I can do that?” he eventually says in a quiet voice, his brow furrowed.

  “I don’t think you can do it, necessarily.” I sigh, and another wave of fatigue crashes over me, the riptide dragging at my legs. “I just thought I would ask.”

  Eli is scribbling on a piece of printer paper with a Sharpie. “Well, sorry to let you down, man. That’s way out of my league,” he says, then holds up the sheet of paper with two hands:

  SFTP TO: 213.114.212.118

  I grope around for a pen, scrawl the number onto my hand. “Okay. Sorry to trouble you.”

  “No worries, get home safe.” He flips the sheet of paper over and scowls in concentration as he tries to make his wretched handwriting legible, then holds it up again:

  ←WHO’S THE MEGAFOX?

  DID YOU BONE

  I cast a glance over my shoulder at Wei, who’s visible in profile chatting with Zhang in the background.

  “I’ll let you know when I have my flight. Lots of stuff to talk about.”

  Eli makes the “A-OK” sign with one hand, then looks surprised as the first two fingers of his other hand come along and start penetrating it. I shake my head and click the little red phone in the Skype window. The application plays its “end call” chime, and everyone looks over to me.

  “I think he can help. Just one more call to make.”

  Unlike Eli, Jules isn’t constantly available on Skype, so I call her phone first and ask her to get in front of her computer. Thus she has a solid minute to prepare a barrage of vitriol for me, and she unleashes it as soon as we’ve got the video call going. Her vocabulary would impress a panel of scholars and sailors, her allusions are startlingly eclectic, and her enunciation crackles like a cattle prod. Pretty soon Zhang, Wei, and Sun have dropped their side conversation and gathered around the screen. As she enumerates to me the myriad ordeals I have brought upon her, since birth in general and particularly in recent days, I do feel guilty, but I have to fight back a tiny smile, because I’ve missed my sister.

  “. . . Okay? And think a little more critically about the ramifications of your actions. And most of all, you—hey, who the fuck are these people doing all the hovering? I can see your sleeve, dickbag!”

  Sun ducks into view. “Hello, Lianying,” he says, smiling hopefully.

  Juliana’s eyes and mouth go round, then narrow to slits. “You! You are waaay deep in the shit with me! None of this would have happened if you hadn’t lured my idiot brother to China with your tall tales and Shaolin Temple charisma. Look at him; you promised me he wouldn’t get hurt, and his face is all fucked up now! What happened to his face?”

  “Jules, my face is going to be fine. Look, you’re totally right, okay? I’m sorry. I fucked up, and I owe you big-time. Have you spoken with Lang? Did he find anything in Dad’s computer?”

  She shook her head. “The hard drive had been wiped. Lang hasn’t gotten anywhere, no DNA, no leads, nothing. And he’s getting curious about your whereabouts.”

  “I’m booking a ticket home as soon as I get off this call. I’ll be on the next flight. Lang can’t solve this unless we help him, Jules. There’s just one thing I need you to do.”

  “You’re in no position to ask for favors right now, Victor.”

  “I know, I know, just listen to me. You have to go to the Quad and help Eli look at some files he’s decoding. You have to read the Chinese for him and see if there is any information about Rou Qiangjun, Zhao—what’s his name?” I turn to Sun, lowering my voice.

  “Zhao Chongyang. Chong like Chongqing, yang like yin-yang.”

  “Okay, Zhao Chongyang. And Dong?”

  Sun shakes his head. “It’s not even his real name.”

  “Well, any references to Zhao Chongyang and a guy called Dong. Jules, these are the guys who called the hit on Dad. I’m coming home now, okay? I’m not in any danger. Please just do this one thing.”

  On the screen Jules looks small, deflated. “Victor, I tried to file the claim for the insurance policy, and then Perry Peng called me up out of nowhere. He said there was a mistake and the premiums weren’t paid. He told me there’s no insurance money.”

  My head plunges like a stone into a pool of frigid water. I had forgotten about the insurance policy. Four million dollars slipped my mind, and now it’s gone. It disappeared in one sentence. Not that we ever had it, not that it ever sat in our hands. Did it really exist? Was it important? More important than what we’ve done? I have no idea.

  “Jules, that was blood money, okay? We don’t want that dirty mo
ney. You don’t want to know what those people are doing to make money, because it’s seriously the most awful shit you can imagine.”

  “This is too fucked up. It’s all just way too fucked up.”

  She’s crying now, and the bubble of pain inside me just bursts, and I start crying, too, and for a minute there we are, finally, two heartsore orphans bearing a load that’s way too heavy. Sun turns away, Zhang is staring, and Wei gently puts her hand on my shoulder.

  “I know. It really is. I—I’m sorry.” My voice quavers through salty tears. “Just this last thing, okay? I’ll be home soon.”

  She puts her hands on her face, shakes her head, takes her hands away, and exhales.

  “Send me your flight info and then I’ll go.”

  29

  I’m sitting at the table in the main room with my laptop in front of me, but Wei won’t let me get to it yet. She’s hovering over me with a washcloth and a bowl of warm water. She’s also got a little tin of root-based Chinese salve that smells like ginseng and menthol had a baby, and the baby took a dump.

  “Ow,” I say.

  “Shh,” she says.

  “Young Wei,” says Sun, “we have to talk. Ouyang is dead. Zhao will find out soon. He doesn’t know that Old Ai helped us, but there is a chance he will suspect something. He’ll probably suspend all Happy Year’s operations. Old Ai will be isolated, and this place may become unsafe.”

  “Big brother,” she says without looking up, “would you please boil some water for tea?”

  Sun stares at her for a beat, then turns away and walks to the kitchenette.

  Wei steps between my legs to get a better angle at the tear on my earlobe. She puts one hand on the back of my neck.

  “Tip your head back,” she says.

  I obey. “Sorry I don’t smell so good right now. There was some peeing.”

  “Mmhmm.” She dabs the salve on the tear with a Q-tip. “There. Now, no fighting for two to four weeks, okay?”

  She rests her hands on my shoulders and gazes down at me, her lips slightly parted as she smiles the secret smile. I meet her gaze and nod. Then she straightens up and steps away.

  “You’d better get that ticket,” she says.

  “Right.” I scoot my chair forward and call up a discount airfare site on my laptop. Sun is arranging the tea things on the table. Wei perches on a chair with one leg folded beneath her and plucks two tea canisters off the tray.

  “Wulong or chrysanthemum?” She turns to Sun. “So early, it’s the appropriate time for wulong. But you’ve been out all night playing games, haven’t you? So perhaps you would like to drink some chrysanthemum tea and have a nap.”

  Sun sits up very straight in his chair. “Young Wei,” he says, “Ouyang came after us. He kidnapped Xiaozhou. You know we had no intention of seeing him at all.”

  “Yes, of course.” Wei narrows her eyes at him. “But you were ready for him, weren’t you?”

  “I have to prepare for every contingency,” Sun says. “You know that better than anyone.”

  “And so you knew when you came here that maybe you would kill Ouyang and jeopardize Ai’s position. And you came here and asked for his help anyway.”

  “If Old Li’s original plan had worked, it never would have happened.”

  “Stop hiding behind Old Li,” Wei snaps. “You always know how things will happen.”

  Sun looks down at his lap. “That’s not at all true,” he says quietly.

  We sit there in a silence so tense that I just stare at my screen, not daring to touch the keyboard. Then the tea timer goes off and Wei stands up. She pours two cups of chrysanthemum tea and places them in front of us. Then she walks out of the room.

  I sit on the side of my bed with my computer in my lap and book a flight from Beijing to LAX that leaves just after 9:00 P.M. That more or less maxes out my only credit card, so I pay down the balance with the last of the money in my student bank account in case I need to buy a couple more tickets back to Los Angeles. In case Sun and Wei say yes to my proposal. I realize that it’s a good thing I’m not enrolled this semester, because at this point, I wouldn’t be able to afford textbooks.

  No insurance money after all. At least I have the cash Dad left me. I check the orange shoebox under my bed, and lo and behold, Sun has already returned the forty grand we were going to give to Feder. We haven’t used much of the Chinese currency. It’s enough to tide us over until we can sell the house or figure something else out.

  So Perry Peng was closer to Ouyang and Zhao than he was to Dad. He could even have been the one who did the killing—Peng, Rou, Ponytail, or someone else working for the wrong brothers. Maybe it was some poor sap who had no choice. Maybe I don’t care anymore. Like Sun said, Ouyang is dead, and Gregoire will help us expose Ice. I want some more answers out of the laptop, but what I really want is to get the fuck out of Beijing and bring Sun and Wei with me. Leave this cycle of lies and violence and start something new.

  Once I’ve cleaned myself up and put on some urine-free clothing, I find Sun still drinking tea at the kitchen table.

  “Did you reach Gregoire?” I ask him.

  “Not yet.”

  “Maybe he’s still sleeping.”

  Sun nods to his tea. Lowered head, submissive posture. Sun and I were a lot alike in a way. We were cast in our roles by the same charismatic leader. Sun, a stand-in for Dad’s past, and me, a vision of his future. Playing sports, watching MTV, and disrespecting your parents, haha. Dad must have been referring to Juliana when he wrote that line of his letter. I didn’t give him much trouble. Sitting against that wall as he timed me on his watch. Choosing a practical major, one of the ones he approved. Hopping on a jet to China to go wrestle with his past.

  Don’t you even care who you become? Jules’s words echo in my head.

  “Sun, would you come back to the States with me? I’ve been doing some thinking. It’s not about Rou Qiangjun or the head-of-security guy—I want to put the police onto them if I can, and if you can help me, that’d be great—but that’s not the point. Look, you could stay at the house. Maybe work at the restaurants or something, and start teaching martial arts.”

  Sun is looking at me with wide eyes. Finally: the cat caught by surprise. “I just have a tourist visa. I don’t have a green card. I couldn’t stay.”

  “We’ll figure something out. I thought about this. Jules can marry you so you can get citizenship. She’s got a bleeding heart; I mean, when she’s heard how Dad treated you, she’ll do it in a second. He owed you this and a lot more. I understand if you want to stay here, but I’d really like it if you could come back with me.”

  Sun looks back into his tea and knits his brow, but I can’t read him—did my offer move him, or just remind him of all the things he’s been denied?

  “Just think it over, okay?”

  “No, no. I’m sorry.” Sun shakes himself out of his reverie. “I do not need to think it over. Of course I will go. You don’t know how tired I am of this place, this life. I want to crawl out of my own skin, some days, I—thank you, Xiaozhou. Thank you.”

  “I can’t begin say how welcome you are.” I round the table to put a hand on his shoulder. “Just think about all those tacos you’re gonna eat.”

  Sun pats me on the back. There’s a lot of heavy sentiment weighing on his voice. “Xiaozhou, I am grateful to know you. Even though you are so quiet, I can see you are a loving person. You have really changed me. I wish we could have met in different circumstances.”

  “I feel the same.”

  A moment of silence catches us in this way: me standing beside him, my hand on his shoulder, his hand on my wrist. I let it seep all the way to where it belongs inside of me before I tell him that I’m going to ask Wei the same question.

  He nods knowingly. “So you lost the no-games game?”

  Wei’s room is a lot more deluxe than mine, which makes sense given her seniority in Ai’s branch of the Happy Year family. It’s spacious, with a full bathro
om en suite and a walk-in closet. She’s got a big circular bed that seems to have one pillow on it in every size they make pillows. Xiaofang, her slow loris, is sound asleep in his own little round bed on the floor next to hers. Everything is done up in shades of blue, from the plush navy rug to the summer-sky sheets that match her pajamas.

  “I can’t go to America,” she says. I’m just inside her door and she’s standing in front of me, very still, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Look, Sun says he can get you a tourist visa within forty-eight hours. I can pay for your flight. We’ll meet you at the airport, and there’s a place for you to stay. Maybe you can claim asylum. All of it, we can figure something out.”

  She looks down and smiles slightly, as if to herself. “I know you like me. But it’s not possible for me. You would not be happy.”

  “No, no, that’s not it. I mean, of course I like you. But I don’t want anything from you. I just want to be your friend. To help you. To make things right. You shouldn’t stay here.”

  “This is who I am,” she says with a hint of frustration. “I can’t just go to the United States and become a waitress or a nanny. People are a certain way. They can’t change as much as you think.”

  “Okay, well.” This isn’t going the way I thought it would. I fish around in my tired brain for something persuasive to say, but nothing floats to the surface. I walk over to her formidable vanity and snatch up a pen. “Sun and I are leaving tonight. I’m going to write down my email here, in case you want to get in touch. Tomorrow, six months from now, a year, whenever. It’s a standing offer.”

  I scribble down my email address on a scrap of paper and put the pen down, but terrible fear keeps me from walking away: fear that as soon as I leave this room, I will never see this person again. I rest my weight in my hands on the vanity and take a deep breath.