The Sky Might Fall (Harry Vee, PI)

by Michael Young

  Harry left her sipping coffee and disappeared outside. She watched the people bustling past the window. It was a business district, so most of them were suited office workers, bracing themselves against the cold in over-sized winter coats. It felt good to watch other people being so busy. Wasn’t this safer, Mui thought to herself? To be one among millions, hidden by crowds and buildings, a needle in a haystack.

  She felt better in some ways, but couldn’t get rid of the empty feeling in her chest or the flutter in her stomach, the fear of having to finally face the truth. She didn’t want to be special anymore. She wanted to be one normal girl surrounded by a million normal strangers.

  Twenty minutes later Harry returned from speaking with Jim James. He showed Mui an address written in pencil on the back of their breakfast receipt, and told her, “This is where we have to go, at 10am.”

  She looked at her watch, “That gives us ninety minutes.”

  “Well then,” he said, “Let’s go shopping.”

  They ventured out again to the street. Harry’s coat whipped about his legs, while Mui tried to hold her hood up against the wind. A hundred yards down the street was a hiking store, and they pushed their way gratefully into the warmth. Mui picked out the biggest, thickest, coat in the store, with a giant fake fur-lined hood, as well as a pair of warm gloves. Harry didn’t seem too bothered by the cold, though he was wearing several layers under his leather coat. Still, she picked out a scarf and a pair of gloves for him, “We don’t want you to get sick now, do we?”

  The scarf wouldn’t have been her first choice, but it was the nicest one in the store. Maybe she could find a better one in a proper clothes store later. She reached up to wind it around his neck and pull it into a loose knot, then put on the new coat. At least they would be protected from the wind.

  Outside they stopped a taxi and showed the address to the driver. The doctor’s office wasn’t far but the morning traffic was still heavy, and they arrived with ten minutes to spare. It was a plush private clinic on the tenth floor, and as they came out of the lift they saw a leather and oak waiting room through plate glass windows.

  They were welcomed by a small Chinese man in an expensive suit, who stood up from behind the reception desk and smilingly held out his hand to indicate the doctor’s door. Harry pushed his way in and stopped. The doctor sat behind a huge oak desk, an aging, bald man with a heavily lined face. Three more men in suits were waiting, each holding a pistol that was pointed at Harry and Mui.

  The man from reception came up behind them and pushed them into the office. He too, had a pistol in his hand. The doctor’s face was miserable, “I’m sorry. I had no choice.” He looked down at his desk.

  The man from reception was the first to speak. “You,” he waved at Mui with his gun, “are Anita Fong. And you are Harry Vee. You are both wanted criminals, and you have forced us to take drastic measures. I’m afraid you will have to come with us.”

  Harry stated simply, “So you’re Bureau 21.” The man gave Harry a sharp look. He seemed surprised, but didn’t confirm or deny it.

  “My friend over there,” he nodded towards one of the others, “is from Sixth Bureau, Counterintelligence. It will be he that arranges your arrest, trial and execution, after we have finished with you.”

  Harry was calm. “On what charges?”

  “Oh, kidnap, selling of state secrets, conspiring against the People’s Republic. I’m sure we will have plenty to choose from.”

  “And the girl?”

  “That will not be a problem.” He looked at Mui, “She will simply vanish, as though she was never here at all. Perhaps we will arrange for someone else’s body to be found and identified as her? These are small details.”

  He signalled to one of his colleagues, who took out some plastic cuffs and bound Harry’s hands in front. He patted Harry down, looking through Harry’s wallet and returning it to his pocket. “Now, we should leave. Please do not make a scene. It would be unfortunate to have to shoot you in public, though of course that wouldn’t stop me.”

  With the pistol barrels poking into their backs, they were hustled out of the office and into the lift. As they descended, Harry’s mind was working overtime, but he couldn’t see any way out. Mui looked up at him. She remained silent, but there was terror and sadness in her eyes. Harry tried a smile. She smiled a little back, and a small tear dropped down her cheek. Then the lift door opened and they were pushed out onto the street, where a fifth man was holding open the rear door of a large black SUV.

  Harry could see the driver inside: six against two. It didn’t look good. That was when he heard the first screech of tires, and in an instant a white van had skidded to a halt in front of them, behind the agents’ car. One man charged from the front seat of the car, swinging an Uzi submachine gun, and the side door slid open to reveal two more.

  Harry reacted instantly as the bark of gunfire erupted around them. He jumped on Mui, knocking her to the floor and landing on top of her. He looked up to see two of the agents fall immediately, as the others dived for cover. The one who had held the door for them was now ducked down behind the car. Harry kicked out at him as hard as he could, then dragged Mui, half crouching, down the street.

  Shots rang out, and fragments of concrete showered down on them as the building above their heads was hit by automatic gunfire. Harry dragged Mui behind a parked car. She was dazed and unresponsive, shell-shocked. He tried to look over the car, but had no idea what was happening, so he yelled “Run!” in her ear as loud as could and shoved her out into the traffic.

  Several cars had already collided, and people were abandoning their vehicles and sprinting away from the gunfight, or simply ducking down as low as they could. Harry stood up to try and shield Mui, and saw one agent and one of the gunmen from the van each start after her. He stepped in front of the agent, both of them sent flying by the sudden impact.

  From his position on the ground Harry could see into the street beneath a car bumper. The gunman had just reached her, and tried to grab her hood, but she shrugged her arms and he was left with just the coat. Then with another burst of shots he fell and rolled several times along the ground. Harry watched him; he didn’t get up again. Mui disappeared amongst the abandoned cars, and he just saw her feet as she turned a corner.

  Harry struggled with his cuffs for a moment, but there was no way to slip his wrists out. He looked around. The agent he had collided with was back on his feet, looking over the cars to see where Mui had gone, when suddenly he twisted and fell as a bullet hit him in the shoulder.

  Harry looked back to the gunfight. At least two of the agents had taken cover inside the building, and were firing through the doorway. The two remaining gunmen were climbing back into the van as the driver shouted at them. One of them took a bullet between the shoulder blades and fell back into the street, and then the van roared towards Harry. The man in the back grabbed Harry through the side door and pulled him up into the van and they accelerated around the corner.

  7

  The gunman and the driver shouted frantically at each other. Cantonese, Harry noted, in the middle of Beijing. He began to feel that allowing himself to be pulled into the van wasn’t such a good idea, but he wasn’t going far in the state he was in.

  He hadn’t felt it at the time, but now his knee hurt, and it seemed to be swelling up. It must have been knocked when he collided with the agent. His head and shoulders were bruised all over from rolling across the ground without his hands to protect himself.

  He was being thrown around the back of the van now, as it rolled at high-speed around sharp corners. More than once Harry heard the screech of brakes from other cars, not to mention the torture of their own tires. He tried to brace himself against the side, but the back of the van was completely empty, with nothing to hold onto. Daylight streamed through bullet holes in the sliding door.

  The driver was still yelling in Cantonese, while the gunman in the back checked his Uzi, threw the empty gun down, and to
ok a pistol from inside his jacket. A final scream of brakes threw Harry headfirst against the front seats, then the side door slid open, and the gunman dragged him by the plastic cuffs out in to a rubbish strewn back alley. An old, anonymous-looking car was waiting for them.

  The gunman threw Harry onto his knees and put the pistol against the back of his head. Then the driver was beside them, talking into a phone. The two men spoke to each other for a moment, and Harry heard the click of the gun being cocked. He knelt, frozen to the spot, while the driver spoke into the phone again. Then the driver was bending down to Harry’s face. His teeth were crooked. He said, “You Harry?”

  “Yes.” Harry nodded. The man went back to his phone conversation, while the gunman complained. The gun barrel against Harry’s skull jabbed about impatiently.

  The driver came around in front of Harry. He pulled a switchblade knife from his pocket, and waved it in Harry’s face. “Lucky,” he said, and sawed through the plastic cuffs. “Lucky, lucky,” he repeated in Harry’s face. They got into the car and drove off, leaving Harry on his knees in the alley.

  Harry stood up and checked his pockets. He still had his wallet, but his bag was gone. Mui was gone. She had nowhere to run to and little money in her pocket, and he had no idea how to go about finding her. He didn’t even know where he was. He walked out of the alley, onto a busy road that followed a river. He crossed the street and walked onto a bridge. He needed a landmark.

  The river, partly frozen, snaked languidly into the distance. Following the street above the far bank he saw what he was looking for: a large English sign that read The Embassy of Lebanon. That would help him find out where he was, now he needed a map. This area looked too upmarket, so he turned and followed the river a little while, before turning into a side street. There were a few bars here, closed at this hour, and restaurants and, finally, a sign for a PC room.

  Jogging up the stairs to the third floor he pushed the doors open to see lines and lines of computers filling the dark, sunless space. At this time of day it was almost empty, a few students were dotted around, playing computer games. Harry winced at the sound of gunfire coming from their computers, and thought of Mui.

  The bored young man sat at the front desk gave Harry a plastic card with a barcode and a number. He took it and instinctively chose a seat away and out of sight from the few others in the room. Typing the number on the card into the box on the screen brought up the desktop, and Harry quickly pulled up an internet map of Beijing.

  He searched for the Embassy of Lebanon, and found that he was in East Beijing, not far from the centre. The van had only driven for five minutes, so they couldn’t have gone far. He searched for the doctor’s address. It was only a little south of where he was now. He tried to remember which way Mui had run. He thought it was north.

  He zoomed in and started scanning the streets in the area. It was still the business district, so it was filled with banks, sales centres and office buildings. She might have gone into a café, or a restaurant, to hide and look out for him. Then he saw it: a little to the north of where he had last seen Mui, just three streets from the doctor’s office, was the St Angel Hotel.

  In Hong Kong they had stayed in the Angels Motel, almost the same name. If she had seen it, perhaps Mui had gone in to wait for him. In any case, he didn’t have any better ideas. Who else knew where they had stayed? No-one as far as he knew, but then, who else knew they were going to see the doctor?

  Logging off and paying at the desk, he ran downstairs again to take a taxi. He didn’t think he’d been followed, but he didn’t have any time to take precautions. He’d just have to deal with that after he’d found Mui.

  The taxi dawdled through the busy streets, with Harry impatient in the back. A few minutes later and they stopped outside the hotel. It was more expensive than its near namesake in Hong Kong but not by a lot, though it certainly tried to look the part. The old brick building was painted deep red with neo-classical columns dripping down the outside walls. He walked in and quickly scanned the reception and small lounge bar. Nothing.

  He could ask if she had checked in, but didn’t think she had that much money, and she certainly wasn’t carrying any credit cards. They’d ask too many questions of a girl her age trying to check in alone. He walked back out to the street, and that was when he heard his name, “Harry!”

  Mui came sprinting from a small café across the street. She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard, sobbing into his shoulder. He looked around the street over her head. He couldn’t see anyone suspicious but they didn’t want to draw too much attention. He whispered in her ear, “Shhh. It’s okay now. I’m here, it’s okay.”

  She gathered herself, and wiped her tears away, now looking up and down the street self-consciously. They started to walk, and she spoke in an exaggerated fearful whisper. “What are we going to do? Who were those men, Harry? Are you okay?” She checked over his body for blood, then fingered his forehead, “You poor thing. That’s a bloody big bruise.”

  He looked down at her, and suddenly she giggled, and hugged him again. “I’m sorry. I’m so glad you’re alright. But what are we going to do?”

  “You remember Jim said he had a friend?”

  “But what if the men are waiting for us there?”

  “We’ll have to be careful. I’ll check it out. We’ll get you somewhere safe, first.”

  “No. Don’t leave me on my own again. Harry, I was so scared.”

  “You’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll meet Jim’s friend. It’ll be safer for you to stay away.” The sun was out and the wind had died down, but it was bitingly cold, and Mui had lost her coat. Her cheeks and fingers were turning red. “Come on, let’s find you somewhere safe and warm.”

  He hailed a taxi, and asked the driver to take them to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Harry didn’t know where it was, but it was likely somewhere downtown. He was right, as the taxi dropped them in front of the hotel in a busy high street full of luxury brand stores. The uniformed doorman held the taxi door open for them. Harry thanked him and they walked off down the street.

  Within fifty yards was a Starbucks. Harry dragged Mui inside, and bought coffee and a sandwich, then took her upstairs. He scouted the place quickly, and sat her next to the window so she could watch the street. “Okay, over there,” he pointed towards the back, “past the toilets is an emergency exit. If you see anything suspicious, just run for it and take a taxi.” He pushed a large wad of bills into her hand.

  “Where should I go?”

  “Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. When you think it’s safe, get out and take another taxi. Make sure no-one follows you. Then take a third, and go back to the St Angel Hotel. I should be back in a couple of hours.”

  “What if you don’t come back?” Her big dark eyes looked at him, full of fear.

  “I will, I promise.” He stood to go. She caught hold of his arm.

  “Harry?” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you for coming to find me. I knew you would.” He smiled at her, squeezed her hand back, and headed back downstairs. From the window she watched him walk down the street, looking around suspiciously, until he was lost in the early lunchtime crowd.

  *

  Harry walked back down the street and took the first taxi waiting in line outside the Ritz-Carlton. He had memorized the address of Jim James’ friend while they were in Thailand, and he told it now to the driver. This was the time to find out how much of their plan was compromised.

  Had Jim James sold them out? It didn’t seem likely. Perhaps his communications weren’t as secure as he liked to think, in which case Harry could easily be walking into another trap. He sat back in the taxi, to watch old Beijing go past. The lump on his forehead was pretty big, but that wasn’t a problem. Worse was his knee, which had started to stiffen badly. He tried to stretch it out in the back seat. It was pretty swollen, and was only going to get bigger until he could get some ice on it. But there was no time for that now.

  When the taxi pulled
up at the side of the road, it was outside an enormous office building on the edge of the financial district. The tinted glass shone blackly in the sunlight, towering far over him. He checked up and down the street, but of course there was nothing to see. He would just have to go for it. The office was on the twenty-seventh floor, so Harry took the lift to the twenty-sixth.

  He climbed the last flight of stairs, wincing at the pain in his knee, and peered down the corridor. It was empty. There was the office door, inscribed with Clarke & Oldman in gold lettering. The door was glass, but frosted white so that he could see nothing inside. No other choice. He walked down the corridor and pushed the door open, ready for anything.

  Inside was a busy office, a dozen desks, with a mixture of people sat at computers or talking on telephones, and over everything the buzz of telephones, printers, and copiers. A young man in a business suit and clipboard came up to him, “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Richard Clarke.”

  “Of course.” He checked a note on his clipboard, “Mr Vee is it?” Harry nodded. “This way please,” he said, with a pleasant, secretary’s smile. He took Harry to a small office at the far end of the room, knocked twice on the door and opened it. “Mr Clarke? Mr Vee for you.” He ushered Harry inside.

  Richard Clarke’s office was small but filled with heavy oak and leather furniture. There was nobody else inside, except Clarke himself, sat behind the large desk. He was a middle aged, nattily dressed man who rose as Harry entered. “Mr Vee, it’s a pleasure. Do come in,” he said in a soft southern English accent. He put Harry in mind of an old civil servant.