Fugitive

by Chris Bradford

  Zhen blinked. ‘Shock? Of course I’m in shock. Just look!’ He pointed to his rickshaw. The front wheel was bent and misshapen. ‘This tour going to cost you plenty extra!’

  ‘Are we in a movie?’ asked Zhen, eyeing them both hard.

  While the rickshaw was being repaired in a bicycle shop across the street, their guide had taken them into the cover of a nearby bird, fish and insect market and found a tiny restaurant to hunker down in. With little more than a few rickety benches and an open wok, the restaurant’s sweaty chef nonetheless served up a mouth-watering concoction of noodles, spices and crispy veg. Having only eaten an insubstantial breakfast on the plane in the early hours of the morning, Connor and Amir were now ravenous and heartily tucked into their meal.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ said Amir through a mouthful of noodles.

  ‘Collapsing buildings, car crashes, motorbike chases, martial arts fights – it’s like Fast and Furious!’ Zhen looked over his shoulder. ‘Or is this some reality TV show? Am I on camera?’

  ‘Not any more,’ said Connor, glad to have lost the drone at last. ‘This is no movie or TV show. But this is reality. And we’re all in real danger, including you.’

  Zhen blinked. ‘Me?’

  Connor nodded. ‘As long as you’re with us, you’re a target too.’

  Their guide leant forward across the Formica table, apparently more intrigued than scared. ‘So, are you spies?’

  Connor shook his head. ‘Bodyguards.’

  Zhen laughed, clearly unconvinced. ‘Who for?’

  Connor offered a strained smile. ‘Well … at the moment, for ourselves! But usually we’re protecting the sons and daughters of the rich and famous, those who might be a target for kidnapping, blackmail or assassination.’

  ‘Kid bodyguards!’ smirked Zhen, slurping on a can of soda. ‘This has got to be a movie!’

  ‘Perhaps this’ll convince you,’ said Amir, lifting his jacket and shirt to reveal the dark red bruise spreading across his back where the round from the handgun had struck. ‘In a movie, bullets don’t hurt the actor.’

  Zhen’s jaw fell open. For a moment their guide was stunned into silence, then he asked, ‘How did you survive that?’

  ‘Bulletproof jacket,’ Connor explained, shovelling in another mouthful of food with his chopsticks while he had the chance. One of the first things he’d learnt as a bodyguard was to eat, drink and relieve himself at every opportunity, since on an assignment one never knew when the next meal or toilet break might be. And on this mission he realized each and every meal could well be his last.

  ‘So why were those people chasing you? Why do they want you dead?’ asked Zhen.

  ‘That’s what we came to Shanghai to find out,’ Connor replied, crunching on a particularly crispy piece of veg. ‘Our base was attacked and our friends and fellow recruits abducted. The office you took us to was supposed to be the rendezvous point with our commander, Colonel Black.’

  ‘Not the best place to meet!’ snorted Zhen, arching a slim eyebrow. ‘Considering it was about to be demolished.’

  ‘That was a trap,’ explained Amir as he teased out a crumb of cement still lodged in his tangle of black hair. ‘We can only assume the colonel’s been captured too.’

  Zhen bit at his lower lip and gave them both a sympathetic look. ‘So what are you going to do now?’

  Connor put down his chopsticks. ‘Without any official back-up of our own, we need to contact the British Embassy here in Shanghai and tell them what’s happened. See if they can help in any way.’

  ‘I’ll take you there,’ offered Zhen.

  Connor shook his head. ‘No, you’ve risked enough for us already. We’ll catch a taxi.’

  ‘And put that driver in danger?’ said Zhen. ‘At least I know what’s going on.’

  Amir glanced at Connor. ‘He has a point.’

  ‘Then we’ll walk,’ said Connor.

  Zhen laughed. ‘You have no idea how big Shanghai is! It’ll take you hours – if you don’t get lost first. I know Shanghai better than any taxi driver and I can avoid the drones.’

  Connor rubbed a hand across his chin. ‘OK,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘As soon as the rickshaw’s ready, you drop us off at the embassy. But that’s as far as you go. I don’t want you putting your life on the line for us any more.’

  ‘Deal,’ said Zhen, sticking out his hand. ‘The fare’s three hundred yuan.’

  ‘Three hundred!’ exclaimed Amir, pulling a face. ‘Exactly how far is this embassy?’

  Zhen gave a cocksure smile. ‘Oh, not far. Ninety per cent of the fare is danger money.’

  Stung by their guide, Connor admired the boy’s negotiating skill and handed over six fifty-yuan notes. The three of them resumed eating, Zhen slurping noisily on his noodles as Amir scooped up another mouthful of crispy veg.

  ‘You like the food?’ asked Zhen, peering up from his bowl.

  Munching hungrily, Amir nodded. ‘The noodles are tasty, but what are the crunchy bits?’

  ‘Centipede.’

  Amir choked. Then retched. He spat out the half-eaten mush into his bowl. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘This is an insect market,’ explained Zhen matter-of-factly. With his chopsticks, he selected a crispy brown wedge that looked like a beetle and popped it into his mouth with a grin. He pointed in the direction of the greasy-faced chef, who was about to lower a wriggling red centipede into the wok. A loud hiss and sizzle filled the air as the multi-legged creature was stir-fried with other insects and freshly chopped vegetables.

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Amir, his dark complexion somehow turning green. ‘Where are the toilets?’

  ‘At the back,’ Zhen replied with a smirk.

  Amir rushed through the beaded doorway, clutching his stomach. Connor was too hungry to care what he was eating. He’d consumed snake and fried rhino-beetle larvae on a previous mission to Africa. A stir-fried centipede wasn’t anywhere near gross enough to put him off his food.

  Zhen wiped his lips with a napkin and finished off his soda. ‘I’ll go and check if the rickshaw is ready.’

  Connor nodded. ‘OK, I’ll pay up and we’ll meet you there.’

  Zhen hurried off through the market. Connor wasn’t unduly bothered if their guide decided to bolt with the three hundred yuan in his pocket. In fact, he hoped the boy would. Zhen didn’t seem to appreciate the true scale of the threat. The enemy had followed them all the way from England, attempted to kill them in a demolition, tried to crash them into the back of a lorry, and finally shot at them, chased them across Shanghai on motorbikes, then attempted to murder them in a backstreet courtyard in clear view of a witness. The enemies’ actions proved they were bold, ruthless and relentless. And, most worrying of all, it appeared they had no concerns about the police or security services.

  Their power and influence clearly went above and beyond the law.

  Having paid the chef for their centipede stir-fry, Connor passed on the man’s offer of a deep-fried tarantula and stepped out of the little restaurant into the crowded market to wait for Amir. His ears were instantly assaulted by a cacophony of animal cries – cats mewing, birds chirping, dogs barking and monkeys howling. The stench of stale urine and musty animal feed hung in the cloying air. Multicoloured fish flitted about in large water tanks, while caged chinchillas peered through their bars with shell-shocked stares. Fat snakes writhed in neon-lit glass caskets. Mice scuttled over one another in crowded plastic rat runs. And shell-less turtles tried to crawl from their glass prisons like swarms of little aliens.

  The strange market completely overwhelmed Connor’s senses. Then above the noise he heard an intense buzzing. Is the drone back? Connor ducked behind a glass enclosure containing a green-striped lizard that eyed him with cold disinterest. Searching around, Connor quickly realized that the high-pitched tone was actually emanating from the legions of tiny wicker baskets on sale at the various insect stalls. Peering closer, he saw the baskets housed
thousands upon thousands of crickets, all calling out in a roar of chirps and buzzes.

  ‘No use hiding,’ said a voice as chilling as a winter wind.

  A shiver sharp as a razor blade ran down Connor’s spine. It was a voice he knew only too well. And one he’d hoped never to hear again.

  With dread, Connor slowly turned to confront the assassin ‘I could’ve guessed an insect like you would be crawling around here,’ he said, trying hard to suppress the tremble in his own voice.

  Mr Grey stared at him, his expression absent of all emotion. ‘That’s no way to greet an old friend.’

  ‘I didn’t think you had any friends.’

  Connor was struggling to maintain his composure. Being in such close proximity to the ruthless assassin made his skin crawl, as if a dozen centipedes now scurried across his body. Cold-blooded as the lizard in the cage, Mr Grey struck a baleful figure as he emerged from the shadows of the market stall. While of average height and build with a plain lean face, the assassin’s pallid complexion and dead-eyed look gave the impression of a walking corpse – the Grim Reaper in human form. And by all accounts he should be dead.

  ‘I shot you,’ said Connor defiantly.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Mr Grey replied, drawing uncomfortably close, to the point where Connor could smell the assassin’s nicotine breath. He fixed Connor with his slate-grey eyes.

  Despite the mesmerizing horror of it, Connor held the man’s gaze. ‘You were at the airport, weren’t you?’

  A twitch of a smile passed across the assassin’s thin bloodless lips. ‘They don’t allow minors in the first-class lounge. More’s the pity – we could have had our chat there and then.’

  ‘What do you want?’ said Connor, though he knew there could be only one thing the assassin wanted – revenge.

  Extending a pale hand towards him, making Connor flinch, Mr Grey reached beyond him and picked up one of the wicker cages from the stall.

  ‘According to Chinese folklore, crickets bring good luck,’ he said, tipping the chirping insect into the palm of his hand. ‘They can also be highly valuable. Some prized crickets sell for over a thousand dollars.’ He prodded the bug’s antennae, goading it to attack with its mandibles and forelegs. ‘You see, cricket fighting is a lucrative pastime in China. Fortunes are bet on the outcome of matches. Are you a gambling man, Connor?’

  Connor shook his head.

  Mr Grey raised an eyebrow. ‘You surprise me, considering you gamble with your life every day.’

  Connor shifted on his feet, preparing to fight or flee the assassin.

  But Mr Grey continued to inspect and torment the specimen. ‘The best crickets, I hear, are bred in the Shangdong province. Fierce, tough and unyielding, they’re born with an indomitable spirit to survive.’ He glanced up to ensure he had Connor’s full attention. ‘Much like you. You refuse to die easily or without a fight. But I’m afraid your luck is fast running out.’

  With brutal indifference, Mr Grey crushed the cricket in his hand, the insect’s hardened body crunching into little shards. The assassin dusted his hands of the dead creature. Connor tensed, every muscle in his body ready to battle for his life. But the assassin didn’t make any move to kill him. Instead he asked, ‘Where’s Colonel Black?’

  Connor was thrown by the unexpected question. ‘I … don’t know.’

  Mr Grey sighed irritably. ‘That’s a shame. For you, at least. Because, unless you know where the colonel is, you and your friend, throwing up in the toilet, are expendable. So I’ll ask you again: where’s Colonel Black?’

  ‘What do you want with the colonel?’ demanded Connor, baffled as well as playing for time – if Amir joined him, they might have a chance to overcome the assassin. Then a horrifying realization hit him. ‘It was you who attacked HQ, wasn’t it? Did you abduct my friends too? Were you –’

  Mr Grey tutted and wagged a finger. ‘Remember what I once said to you? Curiosity killed the cat.’

  ‘Just answer me!’ Connor snapped. ‘Is this your idea of revenge? All because I shot you in Russia!’

  Mr Grey snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself! This goes way beyond our little disagreement. Although it’s true to say you are the catalyst for Buddyguard’s destruction. Your intervention in Russia ruffled a few feathers and the people I represent have decided to shut your organization down. Permanently.’

  Connor frowned. Viktor Malkov was dead. So it couldn’t be his organization. Then a missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. ‘Are you talking about … Equilibrium?’

  ‘Your knowledge of its existence is the very reason Buddyguard has been targeted. You really shouldn’t have told Colonel Black. Now, where is he?’

  A spark of hope ignited in Connor’s heart. If Equilibrium didn’t have the colonel, then their situation wasn’t as desperate as it appeared. They still had an advantage to play. ‘No,’ said Connor, squaring up to the assassin. ‘You tell me where my friends are first.’

  Mr Grey tapped a bony finger on the side of a glass tank housing a long brown snake, trying to rouse the creature, as if bored by Connor’s defiance. ‘Contained,’ he eventually replied.

  ‘What do you mean contained?’

  The assassin shrugged. ‘They’re still alive, if that’s what you’re worried about. For the time being. And, unless you want that time to dramatically shorten, tell me where Colonel Black is.’

  Connor’s jaw tightened. Through clenched teeth, he said, ‘You’ll never find him.’

  Mr Grey narrowed his eyes. ‘Well, if you don’t know where he is, I’ll just have to ask Charley.’

  The mere mention of Charley’s name from the assassin’s lips sent a surge of rage through Connor. He felt his stomach knot into an iron ball, his fists clench and his neck muscles stiffen. ‘You leave her alone!’

  Mr Grey smiled, or what at least passed for a smile formed on his lips. ‘Touched a nerve, have I?’

  Struggling to control his fury, Connor was determined to keep the assassin away from Charley at all costs. ‘I’ll find the colonel,’ he vowed. ‘Just leave her out of this.’

  ‘That’s the spirit I was talking about. Call this number when you do.’ He handed Connor a business card with a single line of digits. ‘By the way, don’t even think about going to the British Embassy or the Chinese authorities. Report this to anyone and I’ll be paying Charley a personal visit.’

  Connor couldn’t contain himself any longer. He went for the assassin. But a lightning-fast spear-hand to the base of his throat choked off his air supply and he was stopped dead in his tracks. Spluttering for breath, he collapsed to his knees, all the fight taken out of him in one single strike.

  ‘Don’t test my patience, Connor,’ said the assassin, walking over to a plastic cage full of mice. Opening the lid, he pulled one out by its tail. ‘Rest assured, when this Equilibrium business is concluded, we’ll settle our score, once and for all. Until then –’ he dangled the squirming mouse over the glass tank containing the brown snake – ‘you have a stay of execution.’

  The assassin dropped the mouse into the tank where it scampered over to the corner and frantically tried to claw its way out. The snake stirred and uncoiled itself.

  ‘But remember, in the end, the snake always gets the mouse.’

  Connor watched as the snake slowly and deliberately glided towards its prey. The mouse fled for the opposite corner. But the snake struck. Its fangs clamped into the little animal before winding its scaly body round the mouse and constricting it to death. Connor, still struggling for breath himself, felt sickened as the snake started to swallow the mouse whole.

  When he managed to tear his eyes away from the gruesome scene, Mr Grey had gone.

  Amir stepped out of the restaurant and saw Connor kneeling on the floor, his hand to his throat. ‘You’ve been sick too?’

  Connor shook his head and, supporting himself against the glass tank, rose unsteadily to his feet.

  ‘Then why so pale?’ Amir asked, grimacing
as he noticed the half-consumed mouse lodged in the snake’s jaws. For a moment it appeared he might throw up again.

  ‘I’ve just seen a ghost,’ Connor rasped.

  Amir frowned. ‘You must be jet-lagged. What are you talking about?’

  ‘Remember that suspect you identified for me in Russia with my contact-lens camera?’

  ‘You mean the nobody man?’ Amir had been unable to trace any background information on Mr Grey. Facial recognition had drawn a blank, his identity and records having been apparently globally erased from every database: criminal, civilian and governmental. It was as if the assassin didn’t exist.

  Connor nodded. ‘Well, he was here.’

  Amir’s jaw dropped. ‘In Shanghai! What did he want with you?’

  ‘I’ll explain on the way.’ Connor hurried out of the covered market and headed across the street to the bicycle repair shop.

  Zhen waved cheerily to them. ‘Rickshaw’s fixed. We can go to the embassy.’

  ‘Change of plan,’ said Connor as their guide rolled the rickety vehicle on to the road, its front wheel hammered back into shape. ‘We no longer require your services.’

  Their guide looked up, stunned and clearly offended. ‘What? But you already paid!’

  ‘The threat level has escalated. No amount of danger money is worth the risk for you,’ Connor explained. He knew the presence of Mr Grey meant that anyone associated with them became a target, and the assassin would have no qualms in killing Zhen to achieve his ends.

  Zhen shrugged it off. ‘As my grandmother says, once your toe is wet, you may as well dive in up to your neck!’ Mounting the rickshaw and donning his pollution mask, he beckoned the two of them to climb aboard. ‘A deal’s a deal. I’ll take the risk.’

  ‘Come on, Connor,’ urged Amir, jumping into the back seat. ‘If things are truly as bad as you say, we don’t have time to waste. Let’s get to the embassy while we can.’

  ‘We’re not going to the embassy,’ said Connor.

  Amir blinked in surprise. ‘Then where are we going?’