by Greg Dragon
Angel watched them until they disappeared around the corner. With the loss of so many workers, she had assumed that the factory would be empty, but the appearance of the men told her that was incorrect. But was it still in full operation? She had no way of knowing what was going on inside. There might be a hundred people working away. Maybe several hundred. Or it might just be a few individuals.
In any case, she realized that even one was too many. She had wasted precious time coming here.
This time when she drew herself up to her feet, the ground did not shift, and her head didn’t spin. The sight of those armed men had been like a tonic, sweeping away the fog of her exhaustion. She turned and hurried back up the path, glancing often over her shoulder, ready to throw herself to the ground again.
She’d only gone a short distance before she heard the grind of a car engine, and she dropped, pressing herself flat on the trail. The tips of the thin grass along the path fluttered in the breeze just over her head. The stalks brushed her cheek. Would they be enough to hide her?
The engine sound grew steadily louder, and in a moment it was nearly on her. She could feel the mechanical thrum of the motor and the crunch of the tires through the ground. Afraid that they’d see the movement, she closed her eyes and remained frozen with her nose pressed against the dirt.
The car raced up the hill, its engine whining in low gear and the tires churning up a cloud of dust behind it. Only after it passed did she cautiously raise up her head. It stopped briefly at the top while the passenger got out to unlock the chain, then it disappeared over the other side. Minutes passed, and when she was sure it wouldn’t come back, she slowly stood up.
Chapter Twenty Seven
In the hour or so that it took her to reach Bairin Zouqi, Angel tried to take stock of all the information she had about the factory. It was pathetically little. According to Jian, the facility employed workers from his village, but he’d never mentioned if there were workers from other places. If so, was it possible that they might also be in danger? And what about the American girl, Jamie? He hadn’t been able to say much more than that she’d lived in the village and might have been an interpreter, which left Angel wondering about the extent of her involvement in the company.
It seemed reasonable to think that Jamie was some sort of liaison between the workers and their American employers. Most of the villagers probably spoke not a lick of English and many, if not all, would likely be illiterate. As the facility’s translator, she might have assisted their interactions with those in charge, communicating procedures, assisting in their training. Did she perform a similar role for any Chinese nationals who might be higher up in the corporate chain?
In such a capacity, Angel imagined that Jamie would be exposed to a lot of privileged information, perhaps even some that was proprietary. She might have been present during discussions between executives and other decision makers, been privy to their negotiations. She would know, regardless of any question about her sanity, the minutiae of what went on there.
And that would put her at particular risk with those who wished to keep anything untoward quiet.
So, what exactly did go on inside the building? Jian said that the factory made computers or computer parts, but that was pitifully vague. Was it simply an assembly plant, or something more? Such an operation wouldn’t necessarily require educated people, just a lot of hands and eyes doing the same tasks hundreds of times each day, day in and day out.
But if it were indeed such a site, then where were the supply roads? The narrow and rocky path connecting the factory to the main road was narrow, steep, and rocky, hardly sufficient for truck traffic. And Angel hadn’t seen any other roads.
Finally, how was the accident tied into all of it? Had the crash been intentional? If so, why? If not, then how would it have been possible for the Americans to respond as rapidly as they had, assembling a crew and equipment to remove all traces so quickly and efficiently? And, of course, that lead to the most important question of all: What were they so afraid of letting the world know?
Just as she had suspected on Huangxia Island, it seemed that the Chinese government had to be involved in some way, or at least it was aware of the situation and intentionally looking the other way. How could it not be? They had to know.
Did Cheong? She remembered that he had told her the accident investigators from some ministry of such-and-such were supposed to be on site. Today, in fact, Angel reminded herself. They’re supposed to be there today. She was supposed to meet with some guy named Jingping. She now believed that that this so-called ministry and the visit were a complete sham. Why would they wait a week before sending people out to investigate? What were they planning to do once they reached the site and found it bereft of wreckage? Wouldn’t that raise more questions?
She concluded that Cheong had to be in on it, too. Which meant that the bastard had knowingly sent her into the situation blind and at great peril. She should have trusted her first instinct and walked away. She certainly should not have sent him the video.
And yet, she realized, she’d really had no other choice, had she? He had been her only option for getting the video out. Now she was sure he’d done none of what she’d asked and instead had likely notified the Americans straightaway of what she’d witnessed and had proof.
With a sense of crushing finality, she realized that she really was on her own. Furious with herself, she slammed her palm against the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve onto the shoulder.
DeBryan knew, she thought, as she guided the tires back onto the pavement. That’s why he gave me the video in secret and didn’t show it to Cheong.
He knew that there was something fishy going on at Huangxia Island. Cheong must have found out, or at least suspected, and had the photog’s murder arranged in Shanghai. Perhaps he’d intercepted DeBryan’s communications. Or maybe he just didn’t like DeBryan’s internet snooping, digging up his past and his associations with 6X, getting too close to the truth.
And yet, the more she thought about it, the less it seemed to make sense. Cheong wasn’t being fully honest with her; that much she was certain. He was a dangerous man. But how it all fit together — Huangxia, the factory at Wenbai and the people of Baoyang Village, the apocalyptic prepper group 6X, and the crash — she just couldn’t seem to find the wires connecting them.
Get to Jamie. The girl must have answers.
This cycling of her thoughts back to the young woman caused her throat to constrict. She wracked her brain to remember if she’d mentioned her to Cheong. She was pretty sure she hadn’t, that all she’d said was that she was going to the hospital, but not why. Would Cheong have figured it out?
What if he got to Jamie first?
Angel arrived on the outskirts of Bairin Zouqi just as this last thought entered her mind.
Ten minutes later, she parked behind the hospital. The spot was much smaller than the one she’d found the day before, and in her distraction it had taken her several attempts to maneuver the car in. She thought of Jian and knew he would have been amused by her feeble attempts. The image of him laughing at her only made her feel angry and betrayed.
A different girl sat at the front desk this time, and when Angel tried to tell her the room, pointing and gesturing, the poor girl just got more and more flustered. Finally, Angel pulled out her IAFJ card. The girl took it and studied it for several seconds before handing it back with a half smile, a tentative nod, and a shrug of one shoulder. Angel doubted the journalist ID meant anything to her, but it probably looked official enough. The girl went back to her paperwork, apparently hoping Angel would just go away, anywhere, just as long as she didn’t keep talking to her in words she couldn’t understand.
Angel obliged, hurrying to Jamie’s ward, and the girl didn’t stop her. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found a different nurse working the floor. The woman looked up just long enough to register Angel’s presence, then turned back to the bed she was making. Angel turned right
and hurried down the aisle.
But the bed Jamie had been in yesterday was now empty, and the bag of clothing in the side table was gone.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Angel made her way over to Jamie’s bed, numb with disbelief. It was freshly made up, the sheets clean, though worn. The edges were tucked in tight beneath the lumpy mattress, ready for the next patient. The trashcan stood empty.
She spun around and quickly scanned the other beds, scurrying down the aisle with growing alarm. She didn’t see the young woman in any of them, although curtains had been drawn around three, so it was possible that she might still be here, just relocated to another bed.
Angel went to one and the nurse gave her a puzzled look and asked her something in Chinese. Hoping to avoid another scene, Angel gave her head a quick shake and moved to pass her. Behind her was a young boy wearing a monk’s sa?ghati. He stepped lightly out of the way, bowing to Angel as she stumbled past.
“English?” she asked. “Do you speak English? Français?”
The nurse shrugged and shook her head.
“There was a girl— a woman, I mean. American?”
The nurse said something, again shaking her head, a look of helplessness on her face. “Duc— uh, duc tore?” she said.
“No, not a doctor! I’m looking for a woman, a patient!” Angel pointed at the empty bed. “There was a woman. She was here yesterday. Badly hurt. Cuts?” She poked at her thigh with a rigid finger.
The nurse turned to the boy and said something. He replied. Then they both turned to her and smiled. The boy pointed to the chair beside the nurse’s tiny work station and invited her to sit.
Instead, Angel hurried back down the aisle to the bed, gesturing for the nurse to follow. The young monk trailed them both. Angel patted the mattress with her palm, then pointed her finger at the pillow, and at last the nurse finally seemed to make the connection. A wide grin took over her face. She nodded vigorously and started jabbering away.
“Did she leave?” Angel asked, holding up her hands in a gesture of confusion. “The girl— woman, I mean. Is she still here? Hospital?”
She didn’t know if the nurse understood any of it or not, but by the way she was nodding and gesturing at the door, it seemed she had finally guessed that Angel was here to see someone. She pointed toward the door.
“She left? When? When did she leave? Was it with a—“
dark
“—man? Did she leave on her own?”
The poor woman could do nothing but just stand there and shrug and smile at Angel. Worry had begun to crease her brow, concern over Angel’s growing agitation. Her eyes flicked to the side, taking in the nearby patients. Angel noticed that a couple of them were now sitting up, their faces turned toward them. Some were scowling at the ruckus, probably recognizing her from the day before. They started to mutter.
“Does anyone in this place speak English?”
There was no response.
Angel was at her wit’s end what to do. She needed to know for sure if Jamie had left on her own or was taken. It seemed unlikely she’d just walk out, not in her state. And Angel didn’t know what kind of sedative she’d received the day before, or the amount, though she thought it unlikely that the young woman would have regained consciousness before nightfall. She’d probably be groggy for several more hours afterward, too. But could she have snuck away in the early morning hours?
The nurse didn’t seem to be acting as if that were the case.
She touched Angel’s elbow, drawing her attention back, and indicated the door once again. Reflexively, Angel began to step toward it. First Jian, she thought. Now Jamie. How could she have been so cavalier about everything? If she had just forced Jian to stay yesterday, then Jamie would have been safe with her. She could easily picture the woman dead somewhere, probably by strangulation or a broken neck, her body dumped into a shallow grave where it would never be found.
And Jian would still be alive, too.
They reached the door, and the nurse pointed down the hallway toward the back of the building, crooking her finger to the left. Angel frowned. Was she telling her to leave out the back way? She didn’t see a door there. But just then, a patient in a thin gown and her attendant appeared from that direction, and Angel realized that there was another room back there.
“She was moved? She’s in another ward?”
Again, the nurse gestured, pointing directly at the pair of women walking toward them.
The two were slowly making their way up the hall. The patient leaned heavily on the arm of her attendant, who wore a hospital smock over her clothes. The former’s short, dark hair hung lifelessly over her face, hiding it. Her feet were clad in tattered slippers turned gray by repeated washings. Her arms and legs were clear of injuries.
“That’s not her,” Angel said. “That’s not the woman I’m looking for.”
The boy took her by the arm and guided her toward them.
“I’m telling you, that’s not her! Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “Parlez vous français?”
But he didn’t answer.
They reached the pair and the boy bowed in deference to them, then they continued on. His gentle hold of her wrist never faltered.
Finally, they reached the end of the hall, and Angel saw that it wasn’t a room but an alcove. The space was stuffed with laundry bins and canisters of trash. The air smelled strongly of chlorine. The boy pointed at a windowless door on the far side of the space, and only then did Angel realize what he and the nurse had been telling her. “She’s in there?”
Of course, the boy didn’t reply, so she nodded and stepped forward and laid a hand on the door handle. But still she didn’t go inside. She didn’t know why, but she felt afraid all of a sudden of what she might find. Would Jamie start screaming at her again? Would she start talking about being possessed by bad spirits? Angel turned around and looked at the young monk. With one hand, he gestured for her to open the door. With the other he waved her on.
The steam hit her first. The room was filled with it, condensing on the walls and ceiling and dripping down. The harsh sounds of running showers and flushing toilets and distorted voices assaulted her ears.
“Jamie?” she called. The door shut behind her, reverberating past her.
The tiled floor beneath her feet was slick with water. Many of the small white squares were missing or cracked; the grout between them was stained dark gray. Pale green tiles coated the walls; runners of mold colored the cracks and seams near the ceiling and floor. There were numerous stalls, half of which were in use, their occupants hidden by plastic curtains drawn shut.
Angel strained her ears for Jamie’s voice, but none sounded like the young American’s, nor did she recognize any of the words being spoken.
“Jamie Peters?” she called. “It’s Angelique de ‘lEnfantine. I visited you yesterday.” She walked deeper into the room and passed an open stall where an elderly lady sat slumped on a toilet, her head fallen forward. She appeared to have been forgotten. “Jamie?”
She bumped her thigh on the rim of an unused tub and let out a pained grunt. More stalls opened up past it, but they appeared empty.
“Jamie? Are you—“
“You left me.”
Angel spun around, her breath hitching in her throat, both in relief and surprise. “Oh, mon dieu! Thank God you’re still here.”
“You left me. I told you not to leave me. I begged you to take me with you.” The woman grabbed Angel’s arm and once again there was that unnaturally strong grip. Angel could see something in the girl’s eyes, and she thought back again to what Jian had said about her being crazy.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“
The girl let go, flinging her away. Only then did Angel realize she was naked. She gawked at the dripping body in the inadequate light and shuddered at the collection of cuts and bruises. She couldn’t tell if they were significantly diminished since yesterday, but she was less alarmed by their severit
y. The wound on her upper thigh had scabbed over, covering a web of new sutures. The skin around it was pink and healthy looking.
“You see it, too.”
“What?” Angel asked, tearing her eyes back to the girl’s face.
“It’s not natural.”
Angel opened her mouth to reply. But she didn’t know what to say? She didn’t even know what the girl was talking about.
Jamie turned and limped back to an open stall and reached inside for her towel.
“Where are your clothes? I checked in the room, by your bed and—“
“Thrown away. Today’s trash day.” She thrust a thumb behind her and laughed hollowly. “Once a week, whether it needs it or not.”
“You need clothes, Jamie. I’m going to take you out of here.”
“You should have taken me yesterday. It’s too late now.”
“I-I’m sorry. I know. But I promise, I won’t leave you behind again. You— I believe you now.”
The girl rolled her eyes at her. “You believe? And what exactly is it that you believe?” There was a hard, unforgiving edge to her voice.
“Everything. I mean, I don’t understand any of it, but I do know that something’s very wrong here. I’m going to get to the bottom of it. Are you well enough to walk?”
“Why?”
“Because we need to leave.”
“No, I mean, why did you come back?”
“Because I need your help in figuring it all out.”
Jamie chuffed and turned away. She stepped inside the stall and dropped the towel, not caring that she was naked once again and fully exposed. Water still spotted her shoulders and arms. It dripped out of her hair and down her face and neck. Her skin was a sickly shade of green, due to the wan light reflected off the tiles. She reached for the clean gown that had been set there for her and pulled it open.
“You need street clothes. You can’t leave in that.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Jamie said.
“Don’t say that.”