“Now nothing,” Adrian answered. “Now we go ahead with the process as planned. There is nothing else we can do. If we talk to the police, we’ll be involved in this up to our eyeballs. We may be stuck here for months. We may even screw up our chances of finalising the adoption.”
“My brother is dead,” she said. “He was my only relative. I have no family anymore.”
“You have a family. You have me, and after today, you will have a daughter. Anna is counting on us to be good parents. Can we really take the chance she might be sent back to the orphanage? What if Anna never finds a home of her own?”
Ting-lo sat beside him, her body rigid.
“Do you think he did it?” she said.
“I don’t know. Was he capable of it?”
“The Tang I knew was not capable of such an act. When we were growing up, I was the serious one. He was full of fun, hated to study and loved to play. We called him Tang for short. His proper name was Ting-lang. When our mother wanted us to come inside for dinner, she would call out ‘Ting-Tang’, joining our names as one. That was our family joke. It was appropriate because we were inseparable. Our parents doted on him. He was their only son, after all.”
“He seemed to be pretty serious last night,” Adrian said. “I don’t think he smiled once, even when he first saw you.”
“My brother has changed. This cult, this Falun Gong has changed him. The things he said, I wish you could have understood him. He was like a crazy person, raving on about torture and murder.”
“There have been a lot of reported cases of abuse against Falun Gong members,” Adrian said. “Tang may have been telling the truth. After all, he believes his wife was killed. He has not had word of her for months. That would be enough to drive any man out of his mind. If anything ever happened to you….”
“Now he’s gone,” she said. “All of our plans, all of our hopes, gone just like that. I’d hoped to bring Tang into our home and help him to make a new start in Canada. He would’ve loved the wide open countryside up north. Now, it’s all for nothing.”
Adrian put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. He was frustrated, unable to give her any real comfort and unable even to allow her to spend her grief fully. After all, in a few short hours they would be expected to board the bus and meet Anna for the first time. It was supposed to be a time for joy. Puffy eyes that were red from crying would not look good under the circumstances. Somehow, he would have to help Ting-lo pull herself together.
If they were doing something, anything other than just sitting in this room, wallowing in thoughts of what might have been… They needed to take action, to regain a measure of control over the situation.
“I’ve got an idea,” Adrian said. “Fa-ling said she would be staying in her room for the morning. Why don’t we pay a visit to the sixth floor and see if she can tell us anything about what happened to Tang.”
“How do we bring the subject up,” she said, “without letting on we are related to him?”
“We just ask her outright whether she knows anything. People get curious about situations like this. It’s human nature. After all, the police said it was a suicide. Paula Kader said it was murder. We tell Fa-ling we’re upset by the whole thing, and ask her what she knows about it.”
“Won’t she suspect there is more to our interest?”
“She might, but she seems like she knows how to keep her mouth shut. It’s worth a try, if we can get some closure on what happened rather than just sitting here.”
**
Fa-ling was enjoying a dreamless sleep when the knock on the door woke her. Annoyed, she realised she had forgotten to place the Do Not Disturb sign on the door for housekeeping.
She was surprised to see Ting-lo and Adrian Harlan through the peephole.
“Come in,” she said, opening the door widely. “Are you feeling any better, Ting-lo?”
“Not really. We came to ask you whether you have any Advil. They don’t seem to have our brand in the hotel store.”
“No,” Fa-ling said, “but I do have some extra strength Tylenol. Will that work?” She studied Ting-lo’s face, which was pasty and drawn despite a layer of makeup.
“It should help, thanks.”
“You can keep the package.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll take some now.” Ting-lo reached for a paper cup from beside the water dispenser and filled it with steaming water.
“Can I give you a bottle of cold water, or some juice?”
“No, thank you. I’m used to hot water.” Ting-lo swallowed two of the pills. It wasn’t a lie. Her head had been throbbing ever since she’d heard the news Tang was dead. “May I sit for a moment?” she said.
“Of course.” Fa-ling hurried to pull out a chair for her, perching herself on the edge of one of the twin beds. Adrian sat on the other.
“What brings you on our little excursion?” Adrian said. “Do you have relatives in China?”
“No. My family are in Toronto. I have no one here. I was born in Gui. I wanted to see my birthplace.”
“The country is changing so quickly,” Ting-lo said. “How will you even find the right place?”
“My mother gave me a map. I was planning to take a taxi today, if I could find a driver who speaks English. I wanted to start by seeing the Li River. It’s not on our group agenda, so I wanted to fit it in today. It’s too late now, though. I don’t want to miss the baby ceremony.”
“I wanted to ask you about what happened last night,” Adrian said. “According to Paula, there were sounds of an argument coming from room 607.”
Fa-ling studied her hands before answering. Adrian’s question seemed out or sync with the previous conversation. She wondered whether curiosity had been the real reason for their visit.
“I was asleep,” she said. “I didn’t hear anything. I was wearing my IPod.”
“The police questioned you,” he persisted. “They told you it was a suicide.”
“That’s right. As I understand it, the man was a Falun Gong martyr. He set himself on fire and jumped out of the window.” Fa-ling winced at her own words. Her most basic instinct, planted firmly during her early years of struggle, had been to preserve life at any cost. She could only imagine what kind of suffering would cause a human being to willingly end his or her own life.
“Paula seemed certain of what happened,” Ting-lo said. “She said she heard an argument. It must have been loud for her to call the police.”
“The only thing I heard,” Fa-ling said, “was some quiet Chinese music and a man’s voice repeating some words. That went on for awhile. I needed sleep, so I put on my headphones and couldn’t hear anything but my music after that.”
It was obvious Fa-ling was not open to speculation about how Tang had met his end. Adrian was quick to change the subject, sensing Ting-lo might persist until the topic became even more uncomfortable.
“When will you fit in the Li River trip?” he asked.
“Tomorrow. Cynthia told me all of the parents will be spending the day in government offices, and I will not be allowed to tag along. I plan to line up a driver today so I can get on the road first thing tomorrow.”
“Be careful,” Ting-lo warned. “Make sure Cynthia knows who you are travelling with.”
“I will.”
“And thank you for the Tylenol. My head feels better already.” Ting-lo stood. “I should get some rest before this afternoon.”
Fa-ling closed the door behind the Harlans, and leaned her head against it. Ting-lo’s headache, the questions, the weird vibes coming from Adrian — Fa-ling did not believe for a moment idle curiosity had prompted their inquiries about the death in room 607.
What, she wondered, were Ting-lo and Adrian up to?
TWENTY-NINE
“Hello,” Yong-qi said into the tiny cell phone.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice responded. “May I speak to Wu Tang?”
Yong-qi lied without missing a beat.
“This is Wu Tang,” he said. “What
can I do for you?”
“I am calling about your wife,” the woman said. “She has been injured. She would like to see you.”
“May I speak with her?”
“Unfortunately, no. Gui-Jing is weak. She was already near death when she was brought from the prison two weeks ago. I am sorry to tell you, she may not live through another day.” Shopei did not want to waste words. Wu Tang would have to hurry to the little house in Shanghai if he was going to see Gui-Jing again.
So, Wang thought, our victim’s name was Wu Tang. His wife was in prison. From what he already knew of Wu Tang’s manner of death, he had an inkling of what his wife was arrested for. She had probably been charged with involvement in the outlawed Falun Gong religious movement.
“Who am I speaking to?” he said.
“My name is not important,” Shopei said. “I am here with Gui-Jing now. We will try to keep her alive till you get here.”
“How do I know this isn’t a trick? Maybe you plan to arrest me as soon as I arrive?”
“I won’t blame you if you choose not to come. Frankly, Gui-Jing may not survive until you arrive, anyway.”
“I will come,” Wang said. “Where will I find you?”
“I cannot give you this location over the phone.” Shopei knew ‘Big Mama’, as the government’s so-called Golden Shield censorship program had been nick-named, could easily extend its intrusive behaviour to include cell phone monitoring as well as Internet filtering. Too late she had realised it was through Dahui’s email communication that the Ministry of Security had learned about Randy’s arrival in China. Dahui’s naïveté had resulted in his own death and the murder of their parents. Shopei would not make the same mistake.
“How will I find you?” Wang asked.
“I will meet you near the American Consulate building in Shanghai. How soon can you be there?”
Yong-qi looked at his watch. It was 10:30 am. He’d had less than half an hour of sleep. The flight to Shanghai would take several hours, and on top of that he had to factor in travel time to the domestic airport. He would sleep on the plane.
“I will do my best to come today. Give me your number,” he said. “I’ll call you when I’m sure of the time.”
Shopei gave him Randy’s cell phone number. In truth, Yong-qi could easily have found it out. He had a good friend at the Ministry of Security. On the other hand, the real Wu Tang would have asked for the number. If he was going to capitalise on the only lead he had, he would have to remain in character.
The moment the call was disconnected, Yong-qi dialled his friend at the Ministry of State Security. Susi Song picked up on the first ring. They had dated once upon a time, but she ended up marrying some government bigwig who landed her a job in the Secret Service. Susi still enjoyed hearing from Yong-qi, which worked out well for him, since she had access to a wealth of information he couldn’t get anywhere else.
“Hello, Susi, how’s life?” he said.
“About as much fun as a chilled dildo,” she said. Susi was not known for her couth. More often than not, Yong-qi was shocked at the language that came out of her pretty mouth.
“I need a favour,” he said.
“That’s my boy,” she laughed. “Cutting right to the chase.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m under the gun right now.”
“As always. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling from a cell phone. Can you see the number on your screen?”
“Big as Buddha,” she said.
“Good. Can you find out for me who this number is registered to? Also, I need to get a list of the incoming calls for the past two weeks.”
“I can tell you right now who it’s registered to. It’s a throw-away.” Susi meant that the phone was an over-the-counter gadget with no registration on the number. Its owner paid for user time by purchasing phone cards.
“What about the incoming calls?”
“That’ll take a couple of hours to dig up,” Susi said. “Where can I reach you?”
“I’ll be on this number when you have the info.”
“All right. I’ll get back to you this afternoon. Tell me, Qi, where have you been hiding lately?”
Yong-qi laughed. Susi was married, but that didn’t stop her from flirting shamelessly with him, and for all he knew with any other man who caught her eye.
“Somewhere,” he answered, “where that husband of yours will never find me.”
“Coward,” she said.
“On the contrary,” he countered, “I am brave.”
Susi laughed out loud at the joke. Yong-qi’s name meant ‘brave one’. He was no coward, but on the other hand, he hardly fit her idea of a brave warrior with his neatly pressed suits and shaved boyish face. Still, she remembered the scent of his expensive cologne, which he purchased on the black market. She sighed.
“You are brave,” she said. “My shining knight — one day you’ll save me from this castle.”
“I think you like your towers and turrets,” he said, pleased to hold his own in the on-going contest of innuendo he and Susi shared.
Yong-qi’s next call was to his partner. Cheng growled like a bear waking from hibernation.
“What is it?” he said. “You having trouble sleeping? You need to get laid, my friend. Why call me? You’re not my type.”
“Give me a break, Minsheng. I’ve got some news about our Chen Sui Ming.”
“Not on the phone. Give me half an hour. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“There’s no need to disturb yourself,” Wang said. “I can come up to your apartment.”
“My mother is sleeping,” Cheng said. “I’ll come down.”
At 11:00 Wang pulled up outside of Cheng’s building. The big man was already waiting on a bench. His clothes were rumpled as if he had slept in them and he smelled no better than when Wang had dropped him off earlier that morning.
Wang filled Cheng in on his meeting with the girl, Li Fa-ling, and her report of seeing what must have been a Ministry of Security ‘cleanup’ man in room 607. Then he brought his partner up to speed on the call he had received about the victim’s wife.
“So, our flamer’s name was Wu Tang,” Cheng said. “I wonder what he was doing in a five-star hotel in Nanning?”
“His wife is in Shanghai. She may know what happened to her husband. I want to question her before she dies.”
“It might be a trap,” Cheng said. “If the husband has been on the run since the wife’s arrest, the Ministry may be trying to round him up as well.”
“The State has so many enemies,” Wang said. “Soon we will have to build more prisons to house them all.”
“Luckily many of the prisoners seem to be suffering from ill-health. They don’t take up space for long.”
“Institutional life is hard on people,” Wang agreed. “Perhaps it’s the food.”
Cheng smiled. Both men were well aware of how lawbreakers were treated in the People’s Republic of China. A prisoner, especially a ‘prisoner of conscience’ as defined by Amnesty International, did not have a high expectation of personal longevity.
Amnesty International had made a number of attempts to gain access to the country’s infamous penal system. Every effort had been rebuffed. A.I.’s reports, which were posted on its Website, were largely based on anecdotal evidence received from hundreds of people who risked their lives to come forward with their stories.
The International watchdog for human rights did its best to spread the word of its findings within China. Unfortunately the Republic’s obstructive Golden Shield Program, referred to by the population as the Great Firewall of China, blocked access to Internet information surrounding ‘sensitive’ issues, allowing citizens to view only those sites that did not threaten the government’s power.
With so many people rising up in protest and posting blogs and chats that were critical of the government, ‘Big Mama’ had her hands full. Sensitive sites were remaining available to the public for longer periods o
f time before they could be identified and removed. This meant some information, albeit sporadic and sketchy, was slowly beginning to percolate among the on-line population. The students, who had the widest access to Internet use, were becoming restless once again in their desire for political change.
Cheng bit his lip. He had no concerns for his own well being. It wasn’t that he didn’t value his life — on the contrary, Cheng had created a niche for himself that he found to be quite comfortable — but he firmly believed in his own ability to stand strong against any opposition that might come his way. Call it arrogance if you will, but Cheng was a man used to putting one foot in front of the other without backing down from confrontation.
He was, however, worried about Ma-ma. Cheng had inherited his iron will from her. His mother was a simple woman with a loving heart, but her mind was a fortress that would not be altered by the changing tide of public opinion. She had seen governments fall and great concepts flow in and out of favour. She would continue to follow her own path, wherever it might lead.
In the end, Cheng could not protect her from herself. He could only do his best to make her proud of him.
“We are off to Shanghai,” he said, checking his wallet to make sure he was carrying sufficient Yuan for the trip.
“It’s been awhile,” Yong-qi said. “I look forward to seeing the great city.”
THIRTY
Jiu Kaiyu nodded at Ng-zhi across the crowded office. They were in the habit of going out for coffee together in the morning. Once in awhile their new rookie, Yi, would tag along. Kaiyu waited until Yi had disappeared to the washroom before giving Ng-zhi the signal.
Neither man was comfortable talking in front of Yi.
They avoided their usual coffee shop, opting instead to walk the extra block to a bubble tea joint full of young people. Carrying coffee, Ng-zhi shouldered his way to a corner booth. Jiu Kaiyu followed.
“Anything on the girl?” Ng-zhi asked. He studied his sculpted fingernails nonchalantly, as if he was asking about the weather.
“Her name is Tan Shopei. She is Dahui’s older sister.” Jiu looked like he wanted to spit.
The First Excellence: Fa-Ling's Map Page 13