by A. H. Wang
“What are you doing?” she asks as Charlie begins to climb over the balustrade.
“We have to go, Georgia. We cannot risk being captured.”
“No, wait—”
But Charlie is already over the partition and heading for the next one. Behind her, the insistent banging at the door grows loud and aggressive, and she makes the split decision to follow him. She is just climbing over the balustrade a couple of rooms down when a loud crash issues from their room.
They burst into a run, jumping over each partition they come across. Georgia tries to keep up with Charlie, who moves with fast, graceful precision. He makes it to the last room on the corner and takes a left, disappearing from sight. She looks behind her to see two tall, Caucasian men pursuing them. A third is speaking into his two-way radio.
Stumbling over a chair that she didn’t see, she crashes to the floor, yelling out in pain. Before she can recover, one of the men has already reached her. As he bends down to grab her she sees with horror there is a gun in the holster on his hip.
Charlie appears out of nowhere, and before she comprehends what is happening, he has smashed a ceramic vase over the man’s head, knocking him unconscious. Picking up the balcony chair, Charlie hurls it at the second assailant, who stumbles back and crashes into the balustrade, his skull making a loud crack against the concrete.
Charlie pulls Georgia to her feet. “Come. Hurry!”
They round the corner to the next balcony. Charlie grabs another chair and throws it against the guest room window, shattering the glass. They run through the room, bursting through the front door and into the corridor.
Charlie leads her down a fire exit stairwell beside the lift. At the bottom level, panting from their run, he edges the door open slightly as he peeks outside. Satisfied it is safe, he grasps Georgia’s hand as they enter into the lobby of the hotel.
“Walk calmly. Do not draw attention to yourself.”
It is now late afternoon and there are a few new groups of tourists arriving in coaches, spilling into the already busy foyer and wandering about with their cameras. As Charlie and Georgia walk swiftly towards the main entrance, they spot two Caucasian men standing near the door. Even though they are dressed casually, their height, build, and the standard military crew cuts make them stand out in the Asian crowd. One of them is talking into his two-way radio.
Charlie motions for Georgia to turn around, and they walk back towards the rear of the building, only to see in the distance two more men bursting out of the stairwell.
“Shit,” Georgia mutters. “What now?”
“I know a way,” Charlie says, pulling at her hand. “Come with me.”
They veer left in the opposite direction, just as the men from the stairwell spot them and start running over. The swarm of tourists hinders the men’s progress as they try to dodge through the vacationing crowd.
Charlie leads them quickly down another set of stairs to the side, heading into the basement of the building. Down here, the ceiling is a lot lower, and Georgia can hear the clinking of crockery and smell the aroma of food in the air. They must be on the kitchen level. They round another corner and come to an abrupt dead end, faced with a feature wall painted with the view from the hotel balcony, overlooking Keelung River at night.
“Charlie?” She panics. She hears hurried footsteps on the stairs.
Charlie rushes over to the feature wall and pushes against it, and to Georgia’s surprise, it gives way to reveal a dark passage beyond.
Sudden realisation comes over her. This must be the tunnel that has been long speculated over since the opening of the hotel. When Chiang Kai-Shek built the Grand Hotel for the purpose of entertaining state-level dignitaries, there was a rumour that he ordered secret passages to be constructed. Allegedly, one of these tunnels ran from the premises to the nearby presidential residence for his convenience, and also for safety in the event of an air strike from the communists.
In 1995, two air-raid tunnels were accidentally uncovered after the hotel suffered from a major fire. Each tunnel was a hundred and eighty metres in length, with the capacity to shelter ten thousand people. Both of these passages connect to nearby parks: one heading east and the other west. To this day, the one rumoured to lead to the former presidential residence has not been found.
As Georgia approaches the doorway to the tunnel she sees this must be the western passage, as it is equipped with what’s said to be the world’s longest concrete slide, polished smooth and painted white. It was supposedly designed for disabled access—or for the elderly generalissimo Chiang—as an alternative to the long flight of descending stairs. Though, judging by how steep the slide is, Georgia would rather take the steps. It looks like a giant water slide at an amusement park, plunging into darkness, and she’s not sure there will be a soft landing at the other end.
But Charlie is already climbing on. “Hurry, Georgia,” he says. “It will be quicker this way.” With a push of his hands, he disappears into the dark abyss.
She climbs onto the smooth, cold surface, surprised at how slippery the varnished concrete is. With an involuntary yelp, she glides down the steep decline, picking up speed as she descends. She feels it veering left and right, spiralling into the darkness in an uncomfortably high-speed course.
It seems to go on forever, and then all of a sudden the solid surface disappears from underneath her, and she is flying into the black void. She lands in Charlie’s arms as he catches her.
“Are you okay?” He steadies her, then pulls them through a set of metal doors into the light. She sees they are in a park, the entrance to the tunnel concealed behind a rock.
“Yeah,” she gasps, still reeling from the roller coaster ride.
“Hand me that.” Charlie shuts the metal doors behind them, pointing at the fallen branch on the ground next to Georgia. He jams it through the handles as she passes it to him.
They walk briskly away from the exit and into the afternoon light. Moments later, a loud banging booms from behind them.
32
They run through the park to the main road and hail a yellow taxi. Charlie holds the door open for Georgia and climbs in after her.
“Towards Tamsui,” he instructs the driver in Chinese. “Hurry, please.”
The taxi speeds off as Georgia spots the two men running through the park in their direction.
“Who’re those men?” Georgia turns to Charlie, her heart still racing. “They were armed!”
“I do not know,” Charlie shakes his head. “But they are clearly after us because they believe you have achieved your goal. My guess is that Lambert sent them.”
“Why would he do that? I work for him.”
“Yes, but does anyone else know about this quest Lambert has commissioned?”
“Apart from my assistant and my grandmother, no.”
“And when was the last time you updated Lambert on your progress?”
“When I found the names in the Romance of the Three Kingdoms… I told his assistant I would update them in a few days’ time when I had something more concrete.”
Charlie gazes ahead, considering this. “If I were a powerful man who had hired someone to search for something I wanted desperately, I would probably have her followed to keep an eye on her movements, in case she neglects to report all of her findings. The fact that you have been keeping your progress from him will most likely be read as an act of betrayal.” Charlie looks at her in the eyes. “And besides, his prize is now in sight; all he has to do is grab it.”
She chews on her lip, working over his theory in her mind.
The taxi slows, crawling to a stop. Up ahead, cars are at a standstill as far as she can see, waiting for the traffic to break.
“Damn,” Charlie mutters, “Taipei traffic.”
He pulls out his wallet and hands the taxi driver some cash, opening the door. “Come, Georgia, we have to keep moving.”
She climbs out of the taxi and follows him, half-jogging to keep up. Cha
rlie is heading directly towards the metro station entrance across the street.
“I think we have lost them,” he says, looking behind them. “I do not see anyone following us.”
They enter the gates of the station, taking the escalator up to the platform for Tamsui.
“Where are we going?” Georgia asks.
“We need to get to my place,” he replies. “I have something to show you.”
Ex-Lieutenant Michael Kerr holds the phone away from his ear as the enraged voice of his client bellows over the line.
“What do you mean, you lost them?!”
“Sorry, sir,” Michael replies, trying to quell his own rising frustration. “They escaped down an air-raid tunnel, that was not something we’d anticipated—”
“I don’t care, just find them!” his employer yells.
“Yes, sir—” he says, but the client has already hung up the phone.
Michael stuffs the device into his back pocket to resist the urge to throw it against the wall of the surveillance van. Only a couple of years out of the military, and he is already beginning to miss being in the forces. Not that he has an option of going back, after being booted out for what he did to those women in Iraq. A god-damned, unwarranted mess, that was. He only gave them what they rightly deserved.
After wallowing in an inebriated state of self-pity for months, it was his best friend who convinced him to go private. Colin had started the firm a while ago and needed a right-hand man for his growing business, promising Michael freedom and lucrative returns as a hired gun. But instead of carrying out serious operations of importance, Michael is now reduced to babysitting rich, spoilt kids and running errands for arrogant clients such as the one who was just on the phone.
His jaw tightens.
When he took on this job, he didn’t understand the need to deploy so many men. The brief was simple: all they had to do was locate the couple and bring them in. They looked harmless enough. The woman is a small and petite Asian, and the man looks like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. But the client insisted on bringing in more cavalry. Money was not an issue, he said. And now Michael knows why—judging by the way the tall man handled two of his assets, the subjects are not to be underestimated.
This is precisely why he always asks for full disclosure when taking on a job. But Colin, his best-friend-turned-boss, insists that some clients like their privacy. It’s what they pay for.
Just get in, get the job done, and don’t ask any questions.
That motto has not served him well today.
“Sir?”
“What?!” he barks at the rookie on the computer.
“Er… we picked up this footage, sir. From the Taipei Metro CCTV. I think it’s our subjects—”
Michael whirls around to fix his eyes on the monitor. A woman and a tall man stand in the train, huddled close. The image quality is not great, but there is no doubt they are the couple he’s looking for.
“This is live?”
“Yes—”
“Which metro line is it?” he asks, already dialling on his phone.
“Tamsui, sir. They’re headed towards the end station now.”
33
The man hangs up the phone, rubbing his bare scalp with irritation. The old scar that runs from his chin to the right ear throbs with a dull ache.
Imbeciles.
It was meant to be easy. His prize was right there in sight. All they had to do was bag them both, and bring them in.
The mercs are not worth a cent of the money he paid them.
He hurls the phone across the room, feeling none of his rage lessen as he watches it shatter against the wall. Grabbing his briefcase, he checks that he has his passport and everything else he needs before slamming it shut. He stalks towards the door.
It looks like he’s going to have to do this himself, if he wants the job done right.
Charlie pulls open the door to his apartment building. It is a worn, humble construction that is typical of the old Tamsui area, located in a quiet alley not far from her grandmother’s home. A row of cars is parked along one side of the road, leaving barely enough room for traffic. Several buildings down, two elderly women speak loudly as they catch up on the latest complaints about their children and grandkids.
Georgia follows Charlie up the steps to the third floor, and he unlocks one of the two doors, leading her inside. She walks into the cosy space, surprised to see that it’s even smaller than her grandmother’s place. A mere studio apartment, its furnishings are simple: a single bed against the far wall, a small desk to the side, a couple of bookshelves bursting with volumes, a pedestal fan, and a meditation cushion in the corner. There is a small wardrobe, a bathroom at one end, and a kitchenette at the other. She sees no TV, no computers, no dining table, or even a settee.
Hardly the mansion of a man who has just donated a collection worth millions of dollars.
“This… is your home?” Georgia asks. She’s not sure what she was expecting, but it surprises her.
“My current one, yes.” Charlie smiles at her expression. “I like to keep my life simple. I do not need much; this is all I ever use in my daily life. In fact, this is all anyone ever really needs, when it comes down to it.”
She nods, watching as he walks to his desk and opens the drawer, retrieving a thick notebook. He slips it into a knapsack, along with some changes of clothing, and slings it over his shoulder.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“I will tell you in the car,” Charlie says as he grabs the car keys hanging on a hook by the door.
“Where’re we going?” asks Georgia as he ushers her out of the door.
“We have to keep moving. They could still be following us.”
His reply spikes her anxiety, and she follows him without another word, down three flights of stairs and out onto the street. Charlie stops next to a small, old Proton and unlocks the doors, starting the engine as Georgia climbs into the passenger seat.
Behind them, a black van swerves around the corner about a hundred metres away, gunning up the street.
“Damn.” Charlie quickly puts the car into gear, pulling it out of the parking spot.
“Is that them?” she exclaims, turning around to see the van. The dark tinting on the windscreen makes it difficult to make out the driver.
With all of the vehicles parked along the road, the narrow alley can only accommodate one-way traffic. Charlie navigates the myriad of alleyways with familiarity, making a few quick random turns, losing sight of the black van each time. But moments later, Georgia sees the same vehicle pursuing them again.
They speed up, merging onto a main road. But this is Tamsui, on the outskirts of Taipei, and there is only one double-lane road that leads in and out of the seaside suburb. The traffic is intense as Charlie switches from lane to lane, trying to gain distance on their pursuers. Georgia keeps turning to gauge their progress, each time noticing the unmistakable van trailing not far behind.
She glances at Charlie, wondering how he can appear to be so calm, even now.
“As long as the traffic does not stop, and we can keep moving, we will be okay,” he reassures her as if reading her mind, keeping his eyes on the road. “If they intended to shoot us, they would have done it already.”
He switches lanes a few more times, earning them plenty of honks as he squeezes into each narrow space between the moving cars.
Georgia grips her seat, gasping at every near miss.
Their car reaches an amber light that turns red as they approach, and suddenly Charlie slams down the accelerator, speeding through the intersection as cross traffic comes at them. Georgia squeezes her eyes shut, hearing the screeching of tyres and the loud honks, expecting a collision that never comes. When she opens her eyes again, she whirls around on her seat to see they are the only vehicle that made it through the crossing.
“I think we’ve lost them,” she says.
Charlie flashes her a reassuring smile, then looks back to the road
, driving silently. They merge onto a freeway and begin to pick up speed, and after she has looked back several times to make sure they aren’t being followed, she leans her head back and exhales a long sigh.
Her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she pulls it out, looking at it for the first time since that morning. She has missed quite a lot of calls: four from Ethan, a couple from Sarah, and even more from Hank. Clicking into her messages, she sees a long string of texts from Hank:
— Georgia, haven’t heard from you, everything okay?
— Georgia, Mr. Lambert would like you to update on what is going on. Can you please give me a call.
— I have left you a few voice mails. Please call me.
Georgia switches off her phone, slipping it into her bag.
34
As they speed down the freeway, Charlie can sense Georgia’s intense stare.
“Are you okay?” he asks, casting her a glance.
“No.” She shakes her head, visibly agitated. “No I’m not. I want you to pull over.”
“We are on the freeway right now,” he protests.
“I don’t care,” Georgia says, still shaking her head and raising her voice as she becomes more upset. “I don’t want another minute of this. I’ve had people come after me with loaded guns. I’ve been in a car chase. We could’ve been in an accident back there. I have no idea where we’re going, and you still haven’t answered my questions!”
“Okay, calm down, Georgia,” he coaxes. “What questions?”
“Where are we going?” she demands.
Charlie shifts his eyes back to the road. “We need to get out of the city. Lambert probably has men staking out at all the familiar places you go to, and they will not stop until they track us down. I helped out a friend some time ago, and as a token of gratitude, he lets me use his holiday house on the north-east coast, near Yilan. It is secluded, and we will be safe there until we figure out what to do.”