Assignment Peking
Page 9
The guards saluted, their automatic weapons held at the ready. A noncom came up in his peaked hat and quilted uniform and spoke to the chauffeur, then glanced in at Tai Ma, nodded, and waved the Zis inside.
They entered another world.
Beyond the high walls that shut off the tree-lined avenue, the compound was one of palatial elegance in the old Imperial palace style. The limousine rolled silently along a curving driveway between black-tiled, curved roofs, jewellike gardens, and tiny lacquered bridges over ponds that reflected autumn tree branches and stone lanterns like so many giant gems.
Tai Ma chuckled. "You look surprised, Shan. This was once the home of the Emperor Ch'ung's favorite concubine, and "
"Do you forget, Tai Ma, that I have worked out of this center for some years?" Durell asked coldly.
"Ah, yes. Forgive me, but you seemed so interested. And there have been some changes here, true?" Tai Ma asked.
Durell took a chance. "I notice none, as yet."
"You are right. None, outwardly. But do you remember our research on the many miles of tunnels that once connected this palace with the Imperial complex? It was like discovering another world used by the Emperors to avoid being too closely observed by the populace as they went about their private affairs. Most fascinating—and useful to us, you may be sure."
"Just take me to General Chien as quickly as possible."
"Yes, I know your temper better now." The fat man seemed more cheerful now that they were within the walls of the Black House. "I must check in first, of course."
"Skip it," Durell said shortly. "I haven't much time."
"Unfortunately, the chauffeur has orders to ignore any commands I may give that are not part of the established security schedule. I value my life, comrade, as must be obvious to you, and I suggest we do not cause any alarms."
The car stopped before the main building. Durell saw no choice but to accept Tai Ma's word for what was necessary. A uniformed soldier opened the car doors. Tai Ma grunted and squeezed out, and Durell followed close behind. There was no sign here of the national celebration going on all through Peking today. Everything was swift, cold efficiency. Tags were pinned on the fat man and Durell after Tai Ma briefly identified and vouched for Durell's presence. There was no reaction from the guards, and Durell enjoyed a brief respite from his tension.
"This way," Tai Ma said. "To my humble little office."
The building had been kept as intact as possible in the old architectural style. There were enough treasures in tapestries, painted screens, porcelains, and fine furniture to stock a modest museum, Durell reflected. The Black House did well for itself. The incongruity of trim young Chinese typists in blue smocks, the sound of bells from teletype machines, did not bother him. Tai Ma moved swiftly, for all his ponderous bulk, through what had been a huge Imperial reception hall, with red-painted timbered ceilings, between the rows of young women stenographers, then on across a small covered court and into a maze of cubby-like offices. Tea was being served. The hot fragrance was infinitely superior to that served to the masses on the trains and in public restaurants.
Tai Ma sniffed appreciatively. "It is my routine to ring at once for tea, you understand."
"Forget it, this time," Durell ordered. "I'm getting nervous. Have you forgotten my gun? You won't be easy to miss."
"But you will never get out of here alive, now."
"Then neither will you. Take me to Chien."
"Are you so impatient to silence him? I wonder if you have any personal reasons. Chien is a notorious womanizer. Did he by any chance steal a woman from you?"
"Wrong track, Tai. I'll kill Chien, yes, but only if it's necessary—even though a traitor, of any kind, even from the enemy side, is a loathsome creature."
"I agree. But I remind you that General Chien Y-Wu is a voluntary defector to our cause, in disgrace with the imperialist KMT on Taiwan. He came to us of his own free will. You know the details, eh? A weak man, but most knowledgeable in the details of American electronic espionage equipment and information-gathering methods. His data will be invaluable."
"Hasn't he talked much yet?"
Tai Ma blandly stroked his moustache. "We have treated him kindly so far, indulging his vices. We suspect that he has given us only a small portion of the information he can be made to yield. Being soft, he thinks he can blackmail us for the luxuries, the food and women, he has always craved. A disgusting creature, my dear Shan, typical of Western decadence. But our own patience has run out. Today he will be shown the fine print in his contract with us. We don't doubt that a sudden and shocking change in his circumstances will now make him babble like a spring brook." Tai Ma looked bleak. "If you renounce this insane mission to silence him, it will be to your credit. I do not know what dangerous conspiracy you have become involved in, but much may be forgiven if you allow our glorious People's Republic to reap the benefit of so many months of patience with this revolting and disgusting creature."
"When did you intend to put pressure on him?" "Today, comrade. It was on our agenda for some time, before you returned and began to interfere."
Durell thought for a moment. He stood tall and ominous in Tai Ma's elegant little office. His borrowed Chinese face was immobile. He heard several gongs echo softly through the antique building, and he was aware of the fat man's intense scrutiny of his features, as a tiny flicker of puzzlement came and went in the other's shrewd eyes. It passed quickly. At last Durell said, "I'll indulge you for a bit. Let's go to him now."
They went out into the light falling dawn rain. Durell began to wonder if his luck would hold; he wasn't even sure if it was luck that had brought him this far. Until now, he had been moved only as a pawn in a deadly conspiratorial chess game, the outlines of which he could only glimpse. Soon it would be time to make his own move and break the pattern of the game; it was his only chance of survival. The unexpected, the apparently illogical move, might get him safely out of it. He had to make the move soon—Tai Ma had recovered too much confidence—but it must not really be illogical, from his viewpoint. Back in his boyhood days in Louisiana, his Grandpa Jonathan had played chess and poker with him in this manner, teaching him to confound his opponents with the unexpected. In all his years at K Section, he had not forgotten these lessons, although his behavior had often been deplored by the strategists at No. 20 Annapolis Street in Washington. But he had survived. He hoped to survive again.
The Black House compound was more complex than it appeared. There were hidden and unexpected buildings behind these walls, large and small; a maze of courts, gemlike little temples and pavilions, all with the familiar black-tiled Chinese roofs. They were halted at a gate in a low wall, guarded by Manchurian soldiers. The delay was brief. Then they found themselves in an area of small, elegant pavilions near a tall pagoda. Two more burly Man-churians, in winter uniforms, were obviously waiting for TaiMa.
"Is everything ready?" the fat man asked cheerfully.
"He has had his usual meal, and has eaten and drunk like a pig and sent for the two women he enjoyed recently." The Manchurian barked his report with disgust. Then he grinned, showing a gap in his front teeth. "It has been difficult to pamper the running dog of an imperialist for so many weeks."
"His good time has ended, you may be sure. He was a fool not to cooperate, eh? Come. Major Shan will be with us to observe our new methods. They will prove instructive."
The man's slanted eyes considered Durell. "Very good. Are you armed, Comrade Major?"
Durell did not hesitate. "Yes, with Comrade Tai's permission "
There was a brief pause, a momentary silence that told him that this time he had said the wrong thing. Evidently it was against rules to carry weapons here. But it couldn't be helped now. He kept his hand on the gun in his pocket. The pause ended as the burly Manchurian shrugged, and Durell could only hope for the best. They went on.
The small house with its red columns and upturned black eaves had once been a summer pavilion for the Emperor's
concubine. Heavy doors had been added recently, with good-luck tiger dragons over the portal. A man's shrill laughter echoed from within as one of the Manchurians unlocked the brass-bound door. They stepped into perfumed shadows, on a rich carpet over teak plank flooring. No luxury had been spared in the furnishings. Ruby eyes in a grotesque dragon lamp glared at them from its brass face, and somewhere a gong sounded softly. A white-jacketed servant hurried to them, bowed, nodded to the Manchurians, and said, "All is as usual, Comrades."
"It is the last day of his summer," Tai Ma pronounced. "He does not suspect?"
"He knows nothing, Comrade."
Tai Ma grunted. "So much the better."
There was a moment when one of the Manchurians tried unobtrusively to get between Durell and Tai. Durell moved closer to the fat man, the gun nudging Tai's broad back. The security chief negligently waved the burly guard aside.
"Come, Shan. It will be amusing."
They were led into an inner room, with fretwork sliding panels that opened on an exquisite view of a tiled court. It was warm here, but Durell could not locate the source of heat. His attention was fixed on General Chien Y-Wu—the apparent object of his assignment—and he felt immediate disgust.
The odor of heavy, rich food permeated the air, souring the incense that curled from a heavy bronze brazier. Platters and trays were scattered everywhere. The smell of rancid wine did not help. There were couches with ti-ger's-paw legs, massed with cushions, and a massive gilt mirror of Victorian design, perhaps from the reign of the last Dowager Empress of the Manchus. As they paused in the entrance, the mirror reflected the sprawling, nude figure of a middle-aged Chinese, thin in the shoulders and chest, pot-bellied, with a narrow black moustache and thinning hair. He was on his back—what could be seen of him—and was half smothered by the equally nude, agile bodies of two Chinese girls, very young, whose giggles were stifled by the rolling smooth flesh. It was hard to tell whose limbs belonged to which of the trio. Although it was now broad daylight on this rainy day, the big room was further lighted by lanterns—evidently ex-General
Chien liked to define what he was doing—and for a moment the tableau might have been out of the wildest blue movie of pre-Castro Havana days, Durell thought grimly.
There was a squawking of Chinese operatic music from an incongruously modern hi-fi in one comer of the room. Gongs clashed, samisens screeched, and a man's falsetto went up and down the atonal scales of the Peking aria.
Tai Ma lifted a finger. One of the Manchurians crossed the room and kicked the stero player. It crashed into sudden silence. There was a paralysis among the indulgent trio playing their sex game on the couch, and for a moment they were frozen in a ridiculous pose. Then one of the girls screamed, her red painted mouth wide and round. It was choked off as the second burly Manchurian tore her free of the tangle of sweaty limbs. She sprawled on the floor and whimpered, pushing back her tangled black hair. The second girl slid quickly off the Chinese man and huddled against the wall as if she wished she could vanish through it. She evidently recognized the meaning of the Manchurians, and her eyes went wide with horror.
"We only obeyed orders," she whimpered.
"Get out!" Tai Ma said.
Both naked girls scuttled from the room. Chien Y-Wu was left alone and defenseless on the tumbled couch.
"Sit up General," Tai Mai said flatly. "You look stupid, you know."
The defector stuttered. "How dare—it is not expected —you promised not to interfere while I did your work "
"We know your work. We have indulged you long enough."
"I need—I need my glasses."
One of the Manchurians threw a black-rimmed pair of glasses at the naked, scrawny figure. Chien, Durell thought, was pathetic in some respects. He tried to bluster, but his hands trembled as he adjusted the glasses on his saddle nose. He was covered with sweat and lipstick on his pot-belly, and he shivered as he swung his chicken legs over the edge of the couch.
"We made a bargain, Tai. I have kept my end of it. Perhaps I—perhaps I asked for too much. I tried not to be a nuisance, but I have certain tastes. It hurt no one, did it? I consider your intrusion here an outrage "
"Stand up," Tai Ma said.
"I have been working on the lastest Lotus VII device —electronic listening pick up with a range over one hundred miles—a really remarkable achievement of the Americans "
One of the Manchurians hauled Chien bodily off the couch and hurled him, naked, across the room. His head collided with the bronze incense brazier and toppled it over with a crash. Blood trickled from the prisoner's confused face. Only now, as reality dawned, did true terror gleam in those soft eyes.
"I told you to stand up," Tai Ma repeated. "You seem to have forgotten our true relationship."
"We—we made a bargain "
"You did not read all of the contract, I think."
"I don't understand. You promised certain accommodations, certain—ah—comforts. In return, I've been making schematic drawings, writing descriptions of electronic equipment you have been so eager to have-
"It has taken you months, Chien Y-Wu.
"But it has been difficult to reconstruct!"
"We think," Tai Ma said smoothly, "that your habits of living have slowed up your memory processes on the data you promised. We regret the present necessity. We feel it is time to use other methods with you. So you will now come with us."
"But—" The KMT renegade looked frantically from one to the other. His eyes slid to Durell, locked with his gaze for a blank moment, then lowered to consider his nakedness. "I will get my clothes," he whispered.
"You will come as you are," Tai Ma said.
"But my rank—I have a certain dignity -"
"You were not very dignified when we entered."
Without warning, the nearest Manchurian slammed a fist into Chien's throat. Chien's head snapped, his glasses flew off his snub nose, and he fell to his hands and feet.
Tai Ma put a small but ponderous foot on the glasses and ground them to bits. Chien whimpered. The cut on his head bled on the rich carpet. Tai Ma nodded to the guards, who hauled the naked figure upright, and shoved him from the room. Durell, standing a little aside, followed the grim procession.
They did not go far. Chien's naked feet dragged on the stone pavilion floor and began to bleed. Durell kept his hand ready on the gun in his pocket; his hand was sweating. Beyond the pavilion was a small stone structure, like the ornate top of a well, heavily carved with Chinese astrological signs. The first Manchurian opened a door in the octagonal panels with a heavy iron key. Steps descended in a tight spiral under the Black House compound. It was raining harder, and the wind was cold. Chien Y-Wu shivered, his thin body already dirty and partly bloody. His eyes, blind without his glasses, turned to Durell.
"Sir, I have tried to show my good faith "
The Manchurian hit him in the mouth, and a tooth went flying amid a small spray of blood. Chien fell into the doorway. The second guard picked him up and carried him down the steps. Tai Ma looked at Durell.
'The tunnels," he said. "A treasure trove."
"After you," Durell said. "Will he talk?"
"He will talk or die. Which do you prefer?"
"I'll indulge you for a short time," Durell said.
"If I called for help now, Shan, you would be a dead man in moments. Don't you realize that?"
"You would be the first to go."
"Perhaps not. I may be generous with you, Shan. If Chien talks, perhaps you will talk, too. We are anxious to learn all that you discovered about the American plot known as the Six Sentinels. We feel that our national existence may depend on what you have learned."
"We might make a bargain," Durell admitted.
Tai Ma nodded and intoned, "The reasonable man is a shining light under the Eye of Heaven. A man who uses his mind is not a beast of the field or a creature of the sea; he is touched with the divine."
"That hardly sounds like good Socialist doctrine."
"Not in line with Communist sentiments, however?"
"Come. You shall see some interesting things."
They went down into the earth under the Black House. Dim, utilitarian light bulbs had been Strang on open wires from the cunningly fitted masonry of the stairs. Durell heard the clang of iron somewhere, as if a door had been slammed shut. It was followed by a thin, ululating scream that seemed to come from a considerable distance. Chien halted and shuddered and was pushed ahead roughly, and again fell to his hands and knees.
Tai Ma growled, "You have been living a soft life of utter decadence. It is time you faced the realities of your situation, General."
"I have done my best," the KMT man whispered. "Please, I can't see—my glasses—why did you break them?"
"You will not need them again," Tai Ma said ominously.
The tunnels led into a long-forgotten underworld. Ancient emperors of China, either through an overly acute sense of their divinity or through fear of assassins, came and went through this underground maze from the Forbidden City and the Imperial Palaces for private meetings either with concubines, statesmen, or priests. Durell had once heard that the tunnels had extended for over two hundred miles.
Whatever the past use of the labyrinth, the Black House personnel had handily turned this section under Peking's busy boulevards into a private torture house, unsuspected by anyone outside of L-5. The tunnels were solidly built, lined with cunningly joined stone, with a curved overhead that was dry and clean. Other sections might be dilapidated or caved in by floods, but this area under the Black House had been restored to a top condition. There were rows of cells behind iron doors, a whisper of air-conditioning in the shafts, and an occasional groan from anonymous victims of the glorious People's Republic. It was a charnel house, a butcher's emporium, a dark world devoted to the infinitely exquisite tortures of China's history.
Apparently Chien Y-Wu recognized it as such and tried to drag back, struggling feebly in the arms of his burly guards.