Flypaper: A Novel

by Chris Angus

  It took a little over an hour to reach the border city of ­Manzhouli, where the aircraft hovered for thirty minutes, running low on fuel before they received permission to land.

  They were met by a contingent of uniformed Soviet guards. Premier Zhao and Gengyan were surprised to see the guards approach their aircraft wearing protective breathing masks. Before Zemin could so much as identify himself, they were herded into a remote building separate from the main terminal and told to wait.

  Premier Zhao was beside himself with anger. “What way is this to treat a fellow ruler?” he declared to no one in particular.

  “The outside world is learning of our troubles,” Gengyan replied with a long face. “It won’t make our task any easier. The masks those guards are wearing is proof enough of their fear.”

  They were alone for almost two hours. Finally, Gengyan looked out a window and saw a fuel truck approaching their aircraft. Two masked men descended and began to refuel the helicopter.

  “Well, that’s better,” said Zemin.

  But Gengyan did not think it was at all a favorable sign.

  A few minutes later, the door opened and three men entered. They also wore masks and carried Kalashnikov machine guns. As soon as they entered, one of the men held up his hand, indicating the Chinese were not to approach any closer.

  “State your business in Russia,” he demanded.

  “My business?” asked Zemin. “You can see perfectly well who I am. You’re speaking to the premier of China. I wish to speak with President Godunov at once.”

  The man hesitated for a moment, then consulted quickly with his comrades.

  “President Godunov is in Moscow, where he belongs. Why are you not in Beijing, where you belong?”

  “Why . . . ? You know why I’m not in Beijing. Because we have an epidemic raging out of control. My government has been moved to Qiqihar for the time being. Once the danger has passed, I’ll return and begin the recovery effort. We’ve come here to ask for supplies and for your assistance.”

  “The president has already reflected upon this matter. His decision was made almost a week ago, once we began to see the seriousness of the epidemic. For all we know, you and everyone in China have already been infected. We refueled your aircraft and you will now get back on board and return the way you came . . . or you will be shot here and now and your bodies will be burned.”

  Premier Zhao gaped at the man. “You can’t be serious.”

  The men stood silently, their weapons pointed at the premier and his party.

  “We’d better do as they say, sir,” said Gengyan. “They’re not going to change their minds.”

  The guns followed them all the way to the helicopter. Just before they boarded, one of the men pointed to the sky. Half a dozen MIGs flew overhead. “If you attempt to fly into Russia, you will be shot down,” the man said.

  It was a glum return flight. The premier mumbled to himself most of the way at the indignities he’d been subjected to. When this was all over, he would issue a protest with the United Nations.

  “We’re on our own,” said Gengyan at one point. “God help us if any of the sick decide to come this way.”

  At the same time Premier Zhao was on his way back to his compound, tail between his legs, General Zhou was also aloft. Using a radio that LiLing, the leader of the women at the farmhouse showed him, he’d been able to contact his headquarters and order another helicopter to fly in to pick him up. By sneaking out two days earlier, Littlefield had passed up a pleasant chopper ride back to Hohhot in place of the near death experience he’d endured.

  Once back in Hohhot, General Zhou ordered the men from LiLing’s farm to report to his office. The reunion that took place between LiLing and her friends was heartwarming to see. Clearly, everyone was very close, and they all begged LiLing for word of their loved ones. Zeli personally signed the discharges for every man.

  “So, then. You are a man of your word,” said LiLing, as they waited to board the helicopter that would return them to their home.

  “You saved my life when you didn’t have to and probably had good reason not to,” said General Zhou. “I’m not one to forget a personal debt. But . . . I see no man of yours here.”

  “My husband died ten years ago. We never had children, so I am alone,” she said.

  Zeli looked into her eyes. “I, too, have no family left, at least none that I can find.” He sighed. “If it were another time and place . . . I might ask you to stay here . . . with me.”

  She considered him calmly. “Who can say what any of us will have in this new China. Perhaps . . . I will stay for a time and see what happens.”

  Zeli’s eyes sparkled. “I’d be most grateful for someone with whom I can share whatever future is left.” He moved forward and put his arms on her shoulders. Awkwardly, he leaned in and kissed her gently. She didn’t pull away, but met him as an equal. When they separated, she said, “Give me a little time, General, please. I’m not used to male attention. But . . .” she smiled and quickly leaned in and kissed him again. “I think I like it.”

  Yä Ling sat in the cramped back seat of the tiny Yugo automobile and stared at the nightmarish cityscape that rolled past her window. She hardly recognized it, though it had been her home for much of her short life.

  Urumqi had been overtaken by the sickness. The first waves of displaced, but still uninfected, refugees had come and gone. Now the streets were filled with thousands of the dead and dying. It was like viewing a great, panoramic Hieronymus Bosch painting, images too horrifying to contemplate. Sometimes Huang had to drive up on the sidewalks or across lawns to escape the bodies. Once, swerving to avoid half a dozen men who crazily tried to stop the car with their bare hands, he drove over a body. Yä Ling couldn’t get the thumping sound it made as the car’s wheels lurched over the corpse out of her head.

  She was only nineteen and had already been a runaway, lived on the streets, and worked as a prostitute. For three years she’d been the sexual plaything of a man old enough to be her grandfather, a man who’d been kind to her, but who, nevertheless, controlled every aspect of her existence. Now she was on the run again, from something she couldn’t begin to understand. The city streets she’d once called home were filled with the frenzied faces of the sick, dying, and delusional.

  Her brief encounter with Diana had marked the first time in her life she’d actually felt connected to another woman even remotely near her own age. It had given her great pleasure to be able to help the American while at the same time thwarting the slimy little Huang. That she was now traveling in Huang’s company filled her with a sense of unease almost as great as that caused by their circumstances.

  With the radar that most attractive women have, Yä Ling had determined Huang’s infatuation with her almost from the moment she had first met him. If not for Zhong, she had no doubt he would have been all over her. It was never far from her thoughts that if anything happened to Zhong on this most dangerous of journeys, she would almost certainly become Huang’s property. That she could survive such an unpleasant circumstance she had no doubt. Hadn’t she worked the streets from the time she was fourteen? There had been many Huangs during those years. But living in relative comfort and security with Zhong these last three years had made the unpleasant duties of that earlier time fade.

  They escaped the city finally and began to follow the main road toward the Bogda Feng Mountains. The highway was filled with refugees in ever-growing numbers. Their progress became so slow they feared they might be brought to a halt, which would almost certainly expose them to attack. To avoid this, Huang turned onto a series of smaller dirt roads. It happened that Zhong was familiar with the region and could direct them through the confusing crosshatch of tiny country dirt paths.

  “Turn down this one,” he said without hesitation when they saw yet another swarm of refugees ahead of them.

  Huang swerved onto an even tinier lane. “Do you have any idea where we’re going?” he asked.

&nb
sp; “I grew up around here,” Zhong replied. “My father was a laborer. He moved us all over this area. We’ll get to the Bogda Feng all right. It’ll take more time than the main road, but we’ll be a lot safer.”

  The new dirt track wound higher into the foothills. They could see the massive, white-capped mountains hanging in the sky ahead of them. It would have been beautiful—the ­Switzerland of China—if they’d been inclined to reflect on their surroundings. But they were all on edge. They knew they’d been exposed by now to whatever it was that was sweeping across Asia. They might already be as good as dead, though it served little purpose to think about it.

  Two more hours brought them back to a more modern, paved road, but they were now off the main routes connecting to the east. There were few people on the roads. Yä Ling opened her window and breathed deeply of the clean mountain air. After the stench of death in Urumqi, it was a relief almost beyond imagining.

  “Are you sure you know how to get to the monastery?” asked Huang.

  “Yes, I know of it, but we won’t be able to drive all the way. It’s an isolated place. We’ll have to leave the car and walk, perhaps a dozen miles. It would be better if we had horses. If we can locate one of the security forces in the area, they may be able to provide us with mounts.”

  “Why should they help us?” asked Yä Ling. “It’s every man for himself in China now.”

  “Two reasons,” said Zhong. “First, I’m counting on their not knowing about the extent of the epidemic. These back-country patrols are very isolated and generally have no radios. They’re set to conduct patrols of several weeks in duration before returning to their base to report and receive new assignments. I know, because I used to do this when I was in the army. Second, as regional director for the Ministry of Culture, I have the authority to command soldiers in the field if I suspect there’s been looting at an archeological site.”

  “That all sounds good,” said Huang, who was becoming increasingly emboldened in his attitude toward his boss. “But if they have heard how bad things are, they may pay no attention at all to your authority.” Huang knew this intuitively, for it reflected his own thinking now. With the complete breakdown in governmental control, Zhong no longer looked so formidable to his former employee. They were in Huang’s car, after all, relying on his supplies. He was the younger, stronger man, even taking his diminutive size into account. He felt as though he was on an equal footing with Zhong for the first time in his life.

  Huang glanced back at Yä Ling. His look made it perfectly clear. When the appropriate time came, Zhong would be expendable and Yä Ling could expect a new man in her life.

  They’d been climbing for some time now and were on a high ridge overlooking a long valley. “Pull over,” Zhong said, pointing to a wide place on the road that offered a spectacular view.

  As soon as the car stopped, they got out and stood staring down the valley. “Just a minute,” Huang said, turning back to the car. After rummaging for a moment, he emerged holding a pair of binoculars and began to scan the horizon. After a couple of minutes, he exclaimed, “There’s something moving at the far end of the valley.”

  “Let me see,” said Zhong.

  He moved the glasses back and forth, then halted suddenly as he saw the dust being raised. “It’s a column of men!” he said excitedly. “At least thirty or forty. They must be soldiers. No other group that size would be out here on horseback. Come on, we should be able to reach them in thirty minutes or so.”

  They clambered back into the car and Huang began driving at a bone-jarring pace down the ridge toward the distant cloud of dust. It took almost an hour to reach the men, as the road wound back and forth. Huang pulled up in front of the first riders, who sat staring with bored eyes at the new arrivals.

  “I’ll do the talking,” Zhong said. “I’ve dealt with this sort all my life. Yä Ling, you’d better stay in the car. These soldiers haven’t seen a woman in a long time.”

  Jiang Gaoming sat on his horse and watched as the two men got out of the tiny car. He couldn’t imagine what these people were doing up here in the middle of nowhere, though he suspected it had to have something to do with the epidemic. He’d kept his men traveling the remote wilderness pathways in ignorance for more than two weeks now and had no intention of returning to civilization until he received some sign the disease had played itself out. Maybe these people would have some information.

  Zhong came up to the senior officer and gave him an abbreviated salute. He scanned the soldiers, a bit dismayed at how young they looked. He introduced himself and explained who he was, that he was under orders to search for a group of American spies in the area.

  Gaoming grunted. “We passed a group of Americans. They weren’t spies, though, only tourists—climbers—guided by a foreigner from Urumqi.”

  “Were there two women and three men?” asked Huang. “One woman was young and pretty, the other middle-aged and skinny. One of the men was very big and strong-looking.”

  “That could have been their guide,” said Gaoming. “And yes, your description of the women fits.”

  “Good,” said Zhong. “They’re the spies we’re looking for. Your men must help us find them.”

  Gaoming stared at Zhong with distaste. The man was obviously a bureaucrat with who-knew-what authority. It never paid in China to offend a possible superior. Still, authority in the country would probably be breaking down by now if the epidemic was bad. He dismounted and walked over to the two men so his own soldiers couldn’t hear what he said.

  “What news of the epidemic?” he asked in a low voice.

  Zhong was taken aback. If the soldiers knew about the sickness, it would be much harder to control them. He thought fast. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of it, but the worst is over. The government has acted quickly and rightly to find a cure and send medicine. You and your men will have to get inoculations once you return. But you’re safe for the time being here in the mountains. And you now have a more important mission, to help us catch the American spies.”

  Gaoming stared hard at the older man, as though he might somehow see into his head and determine if he was telling the truth. But there was no way to know. In China, if you were a soldier, it was good to do what you were told. Even if it was by someone who could only claim to be in authority. The man certainly looked the part of a bureaucrat, there was no denying that at least.

  Zhong didn’t allow Gaoming time to think it all through. “We’ll need mounts. We suspect the Americans are hiding at the monastery.” He looked down the row of soldiers. They had several pack horses. “Unload three of your pack animals and cache the supplies.”

  Gaoming sighed and gave the order. Perhaps the monastery would provide a good resting place for his men and maybe even some better food. Their own supplies had been growing low. It was only as the horses were made ready that Gaoming turned and saw Yä Ling get out of the tiny car. He stared in disbelief.

  “What is the woman doing here?” he asked.

  “She’s our interpreter,” Zhong answered. “She speaks English and will help interrogate the Americans.”

  “But—she’s a woman!” Gaoming said ridiculously.

  “I admire your powers of observation,” said Zhong.

  “A beautiful woman,” Gaoming said in a low voice. “My men are very young and have not enjoyed the company of a woman in a long time. It’s not good to put such temptation in front of them.”

  “Are you in control of your men or are you not?” asked Zhong coldly.

  Gaoming shrugged his shoulders and stared longingly himself at Yä Ling. There was nothing to be done. He turned away to supervise the unloading and stockpiling of the supplies to be left behind. It might not be all bad to have such a sight to look at during the long days and nights here in the mountains.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  LOGAN HAD JUST returned from a two-hour walk around the perimeter of the monastery, including a climb up onto a rounded peak that towered over the build
ings. He wasn’t sure what he’d been looking for. Even in the isolation of this beautiful place, he felt uneasy. Terrible things were going on outside the secluded Bogda Feng Mountains. Sooner or later, other outsiders were bound to come this way in their efforts to escape the epidemic and raging anarchy.

  Leeanne, Duncan, and Alan were gathered around the strange, oblong-shaped object that lay on Xuemin’s desk. Using a series of brushes and files to avoid touching the still-bitter-cold surface, they had cleared away much of the conglomerate-like outer covering of the oval. What remained was a stygian, slate-like rock covered with fine markings. They were attempting to transcribe the markings onto paper and also to find in them any sort of patterns or meaning they might begin to decipher. Xuemin sat to one side, silently watching the process. He’d grown taciturn and quiet since the discovery.

  “Anything yet?” Logan asked.

  Leeanne looked up and sighed. “We still can’t touch it directly. It’s really quite astonishing. The cold doesn’t seem to dissipate with time. It’s constant, as though it’s being produced internally.”

  “You mean like a refrigerator? How is that possible? What’s the power source?”

  She shrugged. “Internal nine-volt battery?”

  He gave her a caustic look.

  “Listen, there’s no telling, and we haven’t been able to find any way to dent the thing. Beyond the surface material we removed, which was almost like carbonized rock, as though it had been through a fire, there’s nothing we’ve found that can make any impression on the surface. Whoever—or whatever—carved these markings had better tools than we do.”

  “Do you think it’s solid all the way through?” Logan asked, peering closely at the oval.

  “You mean could there be something inside of it? Beats me. There are no seams or fastening devices of any kind.”

  “It’s not very big and certainly not very impressive-looking. Why would anyone bother to try to hide it? Wall it up so thoroughly?”